Mr. Clinger. My poetry teacher.”
Awkward. But Darian smiles
and Jonah grins and I guess that
means it’s all good. Great to meet
you, Darian. May I join you ladies?
Poetry is better with excellent company.
Darian shrugs. Okay by me. Ash?
It’s your party. She looks at Jonah,
and amends, Her birthday party.
“Belated birthday, actually. And
sure, please join us.” I consider
playing coy, but I think at this point
confession is the better path.
“Jonah took me to my first slam.”
That elicits a single eyebrow raise
from Dar, and that might be as far
as it goes, except Jonah adds, I also
watched her ride her first big waves.
I don’t know if she told you or not,
but she was amazing. Twelve-foot
breaks, and she totally rocked ’em.
I can see Darian trying to process
all this, and am infinitely relieved
when the lights flash, signaling
the start of the slam. I’ll have some
explaining to do later. But right now,
Darian is laughing at something
Jonah said—I seem to have missed
it—and all I want to do is immerse
myself for a little while in the energy
of my best friend and my . . . If I had
to label him, my best male friend.
Rewind
I NEVER HASSLED COLE
About Lara again. It wasn’t fear,
although the way I covered the bruises
reminded me of how abused women
have hidden secrets beneath fabric
ever since the invention of the loom.
Before that, no one cared. Few enough
cared after. I was warier of Cole’s
moods. But I wasn’t afraid. Not really.
No, the reason I quit worrying about
Lara was because I had no choice.
As my mom had once counseled, I
could either believe him or leave him.
I had invested too much time in us
to throw it all away. I even stopped
combing posts on his Facebook
page, decided it was best to accept
his word that she was only a whisper
from his past, echoed. Echoed loudly.
I never expected to actually meet
her. But as bad luck would have it, I did.
IT WAS A ROTTEN DAY
All the way around. Funerals
generally are, and Dale’s was
a particularly sorrow-steeped affair.
He passed on Good Friday. Something
significant there, to someone of faith
anyway. Mine continued to waver.
God. Dude. Why did you bring
Dale and Rochelle together, only
to force them apart so quickly?
That’s what I was thinking as I flew
to Denver. Cole, who was granted
emergency leave, joined me
there and, rather than puddle jump
into Cheyenne, we rented an SUV.
Spring had officially started more than
a month before, but Old Man Winter
was stubborn, if fickle. One day it was
sixty; the next topped out at forty.
That’s life on the prairie, said Cole.
Capricious, any time of the year.
The funeral itself was at Rochelle’s
church, officiated by Reverend Scott.
He was nowhere near as jolly as when
I met him the first time, at the Christmas
nuptials. In fact, he looked almost as sad
as Rochelle, though his sermon argued,
We must celebrate Dale’s death
as a beginning. Like opening a new
journal with crisp, clean pages inside.
I sat next to Cole, who sat beside
his mom at the front of the church.
On her far side was Dale’s brother,
Donald, and beyond him his wife,
Carlene, their four grown children
and a passel of grandkids. I’d been
introduced, but their names were
lost somewhere in the swirling sadness.
The pews filled in behind us—old
friends and rows of family members
I had yet to meet. And though Cole
knew most of them very well, he became
noticeably nervous, especially as
the noise of voices built. He cocked
himself sideways, and I could see
over his right shoulder. Always,
his face rotated past mine, which
seemed to ground him in the there
and then. So did familiar music.
Especially “Amazing Grace,” which
allowed him to close his eyes,
comfort in what could be trusted.
THERE WERE NO TALIBAN
At the funeral. No insurgents,
sneaking through the sacristy
or hiding in the pews. Every single
person was a “honor the red, white,
and blue American,” and as Anglo
as they came. Still, Cole teetered
on the edge of nerve-driven
claustrophobia. I’d never seen him
like that before and it was more than
a little disquieting. There was only
one bad guy—or girl, I guess—there,
though I didn’t realize it until after
the benediction, when we finally
stood and walked to the rear
of the sanctuary to form a reception
line. Lara sat midrow, toward
the back. Cole spotted her right
away, and when his attention turned
toward her, she drew mine as well.
Her face was a little rounder than
in her Facebook photo. She’d put
on a few pounds. That satisfied
me immensely. I knew it was not
a good way to feel, so I did my best
to retract my claws. I looked her
straight in the eyes. Smiled. Her wistful
expression didn’t change at all. Oh,
she was good. But I belonged to Cole.
And she was here all alone. Had
she believed Cole would be, too?
DECORUM
Is my middle name, at least in public
situations, sans alcohol and scaffolded
with Xanax. I could hear my mother
reminding me, “Always act like a lady
in front of closed doors. Never show
emotion if it means risking your power.”
She had plenty of practice. I conjured
her face, steeled my own in the same way.
I was a lady. I only hoped that meant
something to the man I plastered myself
to. I couldn’t hold his hand because we
were expected to shake hands with those
who came by, offering condolences.
Truthfully, I felt like an imposter. I liked
Dale just fine, but I didn’t really know
him that well. Lara could have accused
me of stealing her commiseration, like
some petty pickpocket, pretending
to be a lady. She didn’t, though. In fact,
she was gracious. She shook my hand
gently. So happy to finally meet you.
Cole has told me so much about you.
Okay, she got me there. I couldn’t really
offer an honest reciprocal greeting.
So I relied on a detour. “You, too, Lara.
I feel like I know
everything about you.”
NO NEED TO ADMIT
I was a snoop. She moved down
the line, gave Cole a small kiss, mouth
on mouth. Which, oh yeah, bothered
me mightily. Not that I’d let it show.
And not that I’d bring it up to him later.
I was sleeping with him that night.
She’d be on her own in a lonely hotel
bed. Or back in Denver, if she decided
to drive that far after the burial and wake.
She attended both. Of course she did.
The cemetery was like something out
of a nightmare. Iced-over headstones.
Once-lush grass crunching beneath
our feet. It must have taken a bulldozer
to dig Dale’s final resting place. Grave.
That’s what it was. A three-by-eight-
by-four-foot-deep trench in the frozen
earth. It may sound strange, but it was
the first time I’d ever seen a casket
lowered. It was fascinating and awe-
inspiring, at the same time. I hoped
I’d never have to witness such a thing
again, knowing, of course, I would
some day. Cole’s mom. Or my own.
That was the natural order of things.
Reverend Scott seemed almost
as uncomfortable as I was. He muttered
some basic words, the usual . . . ashes
to ashes, capped off with a simple, Amen.
I CARRIED THE VISION
Of that coffin all the way back out
to the ranch. It faded once I went
inside to help spread out all the
food on the tables. It seemed like
everyone brought something, most
of it sugary or otherwise carb laden.
As more and more people arrived,
cloying the rooms with body heat
and swelling noise, Cole began to
get anxious again. I fixed him a plate,
found him a beer. “Why don’t you
eat outside? It’s not so bad in the sun.”
Besides, by then, Lara was perched
on a chair in the living room. I kept
looking at her few extra pounds
and this little voice inside my head
insisted I should skip eating, go
straight for the alcohol. Not brilliant.
Two drinks on an empty stomach
beelined to my brain. There’s a paragraph
in the Book of Drunk that begins
when your head fuzzes over and
your tongue swells to twice its normal
size. The first sentence starts, “You really
don’t want to say this, but . . .”
AND, YOU KNOW
Had she respected me, my space,
my relationship with her ex—who, by
the way, she dumped, not vice versa—
I might not have said a thing. Might
have listened to my mom and maintained
the loftier plane. Instead, after watching
Lara buddy up to Cole’s mom, knowing
they maintained a relationship—one I had
yet to establish with Rochelle—I soft-core
freaked. I waited until Cole took his plate
outside and joined a few other men on
the porch. Until Rochelle’s attention diverted
to a kid spill. Then I sidled over to Lara,
who was working on a plate of pasta—
Hamburger Helper, was my best guess.
“Can I ask you something?” I worked
really hard not to slur in the slightest.
Her mouth was full, so she nodded.
What I wanted to ask was why the hell
didn’t she leave my boyfriend alone?
But caution kicked in. “How long did
you and Cole go out?” I waited for her
to swallow. She looked at me with
curious eyes. Not quite two years.
“He and I have been together more than
four—the hardest years of my life.
As I understand it, you broke up with
him because he joined the Marines.”
I wanted her acknowledgment.
She gave it to me. Pretty much, yes.
“Well, I fell in love with him despite that.
I’ve stuck it out through three deployments.
I’ve stressed. Cried. Celebrated every
homecoming. Been destroyed when he
couldn’t make it for some special occasion.
I’ve done all those things for Cole, and you
refused to . . .” Bolstered by what I’d already
said, emboldened by alcohol, still I calculated
my words carefully. “So why won’t you
just go away? Leave him alone. Please.”
She might have gotten angry. Maybe
it was the “please.” Her shoulders dropped.
It’s hard to let go of love. I tried. But once
the anger faded, the love was still there.
IT WAS THE ADMISSION
I’d been looking for. So why didn’t I
feel righteously vindicated? I felt sorry
for her. Regardless, I wanted her out
of Cole’s life. Not to mention my life.
“Cole’s still a Marine. I support him
in that. You can’t take it away from
him. And I don’t believe you can
take him away from me, if that’s what
you have in mind. I don’t know if it is.
But you have no right to interfere
in our relationship.” It was a strong
statement, and I thought it a good
place to truncate the conversation.
Rochelle had finished her cleanup
and focused her attention our way.
The smile I flashed her was more
triumphant than friendly. Not that
I knew for sure if I had triumphed.
But, at the very least, I had said
my peace. And all the suspicion
and resentment I’d been harboring
came pouring out. I turned my back
on Lara. Went to the food table.
Skipped the pasta. Gorged on salad.
LATER, AFTER
Most everyone had gone, Rochelle
sank into an overstuffed leather chair.
Dale’s favorite, where she could
still smell him, she said. I could relate.
The weight of the occasion seemed
to settle down onto her shoulders.
She shrunk. And so did my ego.
I sat on the ottoman in front of her.
“Will you be okay out here alone?”
Cole was worried about it, I knew.
But Rochelle was adamant. This
is my home, even with Dale gone.
Everything he loved is all right here.
Horses. Cattle. Dogs. The land.
I won’t be alone. He won’t go far.
And he left me plenty to do, too.
So, yes, I’ll be okay. He made sure
of that. But what about you?
“Me?” I had no clue what she was
asking. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged. Lara told me what
you said to her. Cole loves you.
But love is like water. You have to
let it run its natural course. Dam
it up, you’re asking for trouble. It’s
gonna go looking for a way to escape.
WATER NEVER DISAPPEARS
It only reinvents itself,
liquid, solid
liquid
gas, liquid,
forever
in random echo.
Every drop
encapsulates
the beginning, its
undulating
glass a window,
opening
into Genesis.
Wake to platinum
beads of dew,
the very first
morning breaking
within
the clutch
of dawn
dampened grass,
consider
that we are essentially
water and wonder
how many eons
we squander, every
time
we allow
ourselves to cry.
Cole Gleason
Present
FOR THE SECOND TIME
In a month, I find myself hitting
the highway to Lodi. Only this
time, I have Darian for company.
“You’re sure Spencer’s okay with this?”
Yeah. They’re having a big to-do
at the hospital. Pretty sure his
physical therapist is dressing up
as Santa. She won’t need a pillow.
The plan is for Dar to stay a couple
of days with me, while we scope
out the wine country. Then she’ll
spend Christmas with her parents.
Mom says Dad cut a giant tree.
Not sure why. Guess he’s trying
to make up for the last four years.
“What does he have to make up for?
You’re the one who stayed away.”
I know. She actually sounds contrite.
Since the accident, Dad has been so
supportive. He even offered to let us
move home when Spence is released.
“Really? Are you thinking about it?”
I’d kind of hate for them to leave
San Diego. Then again, who knows
where I’ll be living after the wedding?
I’m not sure. Coming home seems
like backward motion, you know?
Still, if we can find a good VA
hospital not too far away, we’d
probably have to consider it.
She goes on to outline courses
of treatment, physical therapy
requirements, etc. Poor Spence.
“How’s he doing, attitude-wise?”
Depends on the day. It’s like he built
a big wall around himself. Sometimes
you can’t break through it at all.
Other times you can peek through
a crack and see the old Spencer inside.
That brings up a lot of reminiscing.
Swallowed up by yesterday, the drive
passes quickly. Finally she asks if I’ve
heard from Cole. “Not lately. But I don’t