And there’s still so much to do.
Cole came around, not that I gave
him a choice. I refused to budge
on the location. I’d already given
them a deposit. “We can’t afford
to lose a thousand dollars,” was
my excuse. “And, anyway, your
mom said she’s happy to fly out.”
So that was mostly that. Darian
and I picked out an amazing dress.
It’s knee length, strapless, ice blue.
I’m not such a formal girl after all.
And it was only four hundred dollars.
I decided to save as much as I could,
through simplicity. It’s turned into
kind of a game, one I’m mostly winning.
Except when Cole goes all silent
on me. I try to ignore it when
it becomes obvious he’s pissed
at something I’ve said or done.
I’m sort of getting used to it, though.
WHEN I TOLD HIM
About my plans for grad school
next year, he went completely mute
for quite a while. Like, a week.
Finally, he e-mailed back:
I THOUGHT WE DISCUSSED MOVING
TO CHEYENNE. BUT I’VE BEEN THINKING,
AND ANOTHER YEAR IN SAN DIEGO IS FINE.
FOR ME TO QUALIFY FOR THE GI BILL, I NEED
TO PUT IN SIX YEARS BEFORE MOVING INTO
ACTIVE RESERVES. AS FOR CHANGING PATHS,
WE ALL HAVE TO FOLLOW OUR HEARTS.
It’s good to know he’s in my corner,
not that I expected anything else.
I asked about him requesting a transfer
to Camp Pendleton. I got this back:
ALREADY TAKEN CARE OF, AND I EXPECT
APPROVAL. I’LL KNOW FOR SURE WHEN
I GET BACK TO KANEOHE. NOT LONG NOW.
I WANT WHAT’S BEST FOR YOU. FOR US.
He’ll be back in two weeks. By then,
I’ll have finished up this semester.
Each year seems to rush by faster. I hope
next year tarries. I’m scared, in a way.
Half of me loves the idea of seeing Cole
every day. Sleeping with him every night.
The other half loves my freedom and
is afraid of losing me to his dreams.
FRIDAY EVENING
Postfinals, I go over to Darian
and Spence’s to celebrate. It will
be the first time I’ve seen him
since before the accident. He’s had
two skin grafts and is healing
“like a stubborn grunt,” according
to his nurses. It’s been seven
months. Still, Darian warned,
He’s not beautiful. But he has
come so far, mostly through sheer
will. He’s even using a walker
to get around now. It’s amazing.
Amazing, and he’s more than good
enough to stand up with Cole
as his best man. He even answers
the door. “Hey, soldier.” I give
him a quick kiss on one cheek,
trying not to stare at what’s left
of his ear. There isn’t much.
His face has a strange texture,
too. But it’s definitely Spencer
beneath it, reconstructed or not.
“God, it’s so great to see you.”
So great he’s standing here in
front of me. Not as good as it
is seeing you. Hey, Dar. We need
more pretty girls around here.
Can you work on that, please?
Yep, most definitely Spence.
Some things are hard to change.
OVER LASAGNA
And beer, we talk about school. Poetry.
About surfing and nurses (hot and not)
and wedding plans. Just like old times.
Except someone’s missing. “Too bad
Cole’s not here. But he might be soon.
He asked for a transfer to San Diego.”
I know, says Spence. No worries.
He’ll get in, no problem. Cole is
everything MARSOC could ask for.
“He put in for MARSOC? He didn’t
tell me that.” There is a Marine Special
Operations Command battalion
at Camp Pendleton. “But that’s extra
training and more years of active duty,
Well, yeah. But if anyone was ever
cut out for special ops, it’s Cole.
What else is he going to do? Be a cop?
The question is what else is he going
to do without consulting with me first?
Lasagna starts churning in my gut.
“I . . . just . . . he never said a word
about it.” Not to me, only to Spence.
Why the hell does he think that’s okay?
ANXIETY BUILDS STEADILY
The rest of the evening. I decide
to leave early. Don’t need to freak
out in front of my friends. Darian
walks me to the door. “Sorry, but
I’m not sure I can deal with this
pharm-free.” Xanax is calling to me.
What did you expect, Ashley?
I told you there’s no happily-
ever-after married to a Marine.
“But I love him, Dar.” That, above
all, is true. “And after everything
we’ve been through, it has to work.”
I’d take some time to seriously
think it over. Think about what you
want. Not about what he wants.
Call me if you need to talk. I’m not
going anywhere. Not for a long time.
I drive home a little too quickly.
Rush inside, hurrying to e-mail him
and ask what the fuck he’s doing.
But as I turn on my laptop, I reconsider.
Instead, go take a pill. With tequila.
Dar is right. I really need to get my head
on straight. It’s feeling a little crooked
right now. I need order. I drink tequila.
Reorganize my kitchen drawers. Salad
forks. Dinner forks. Teaspoons. Soup
spoons. Perfectly stacked. Steak knives.
Boning knives. Butcher knives. Ordered.
SATURDAY MORNING
I wake up, slightly hung over.
My head aches, but at least it
doesn’t feel crooked anymore.
I take an ibuprofen, drink a quart
of water. Glance at my computer,
still dark, on the table. I leave
it that way. Get dressed and head
to the beach. The last thing I’m
going to do is sit inside moping.
Or make wedding plans. It’s gorgeous
outside, the kind of day late spring
gifts Southern California with.
I’m not alone here. Not nearly.
I skirt the ocean’s edge, avoiding
children as best I can. They run in front
of me, into the water. Duck behind
me, toward their towels. No bombs
strapped to their middles. Lucky kids.
I keep walking, listening to laughter.
Yelling. The build-crash-lap of gentle
surf. Noises, lacking danger. I am
blessed. California is my home. And
this ocean is my heart. I can’t give
this up for Wyoming. Was I naïve
to believe he’d give up Wyoming
for me? I picture his face. His grin.
His gold agate eyes, holding on to me
like treasure. I see him in camouflage.
In dress bl
ues, surrounded by grapevines.
I hear him say, I want what’s best for us.
I STAY OUT ALL DAY
Walk miles of beach, moving in and out
along with the tide. By the time evening
falls, my legs are sore. But my head
doesn’t hurt, except from thinking
so much. I will sleep well tonight,
regardless. When I get home, I realize
I haven’t eaten all day. I go straight
to the kitchen, don’t find much except
eggs, cheese, and enough veggies to create
a semi-interesting omelet. I get busy on
that, pull out the skillet, and have just turned
on the heat when I get a call, not an e-mail,
from Cole. Hey, beautiful lady.
He’s working it, and I can’t say I hate
that. Just arrived back in Kaneohe.
They brought me home a little early,
to facilitate training. I’ll be in San Diego
soon. My transfer was approved.
I turn off the burner. All of a sudden,
I’ve lost my appetite. “Oh. Good. Um . . .”
Just go ahead and say it. “I heard you put
in for MARSOC. Is that right?” My stomach
growls, but when I look at the beaten eggs,
it kind of turns. Tequila might be better.
Yeah. About that, I didn’t want to tell
you until I knew for sure I got the transfer.
I didn’t want to get your hopes up.
Hopes up? What? “Cole, a transfer here
is one thing. Special ops is something
else. You never even mentioned it to me.
You can’t make a decision like that
without talking to me first. What’s your
commitment, if you pass the screening?
Two years? Four?” I don’t care about
the answer. That isn’t the point. “I can’t
do this much longer. That wasn’t our deal.”
There’s someone else, isn’t there?
Where have you been? I’ve tried
calling all day. Is he there right now?
What? How did we get from figurative war
widow status to screwing around?
“There isn’t anyone else! Do you really
not understand what the last five years
have been like for me?” I’m glad he can’t
see me break down. Especially when he
says, What they’ve been like for you?
What about me, Ashley? I’m doing this
for you. For us, and our future family.
DENSE
Is not a strong enough description.
Doesn’t come within a klick of the distance
between us. Distance that has nothing
to do with miles. He sincerely believes
what he’s saying. I know that. And I also
understand that what I’ve been through
because of loving him can’t compare
to what he’s experienced. But where
does sacrifice end? “Cole . . .” I let him
hear tears, inflecting my voice. “I love you
more than I ever thought was possible.
There is no one but you. I’ve spent
the last six months planning a wedding.
Our wedding, you know like in ‘I take
thee forever.’ But you and I have a problem.
We don’t communicate like married
people need to. Grad school was a big
decision, one I definitely should have
asked your opinion about. But MARSOC?
That’s huge.” More like life changing.
Maybe game changing, too. “Look.
I don’t think we can rationally discuss
this on the phone. I’m glad you made
it back safely, and that you got the transfer.
See you when you get here. Love you, Cole.”
I HANG UP
Before he can argue or offer reasons
why special ops was his best path
going forward. I’m sure he has plenty
of them stashed inside his head.
I could deal with another year
of him on active duty. Maybe even two.
We’re pulling troops out of Afghanistan.
But, according to news stories,
we’ll be replacing regular combat
grunts with special operations forces.
The leaner, meaner units will target
insurgent leaders and encourage
their ANP brethren to do the same.
It’s the warfare of the future. Along
with drones that do their dirty business,
piloted remotely by guys sitting in comfy
trailers in the Nevada desert, where
cameras can show them the damage,
but not the collateral carnage. I talked
to a couple of them at the VA hospital,
fighting PTSD. Sometimes they see
the results of their surgical strikes on
TV and it clicks. The video games they’ve
been playing? Those are real people
on the far end. Not aliens. Not zombies.
The Bible counsels an eye for an eye.
Wonder how many eyes Cole has plucked.
I’m sure his debt to his cousin has been paid.
ONE BIG QUESTION
Comes marching out of the cerebral
prison I’ve confined it to. I’ve invested
five years in our relationship, and Cole
has rewarded me with his amazing love.
If something were to happen to him
now, would that half-decade have been
worth it? And if we get married, ride
yet another wave of time together, only
for me to lose him to a bullet, would
I celebrate those years, or curse them?
I need to talk to Celine. Almost four
months since she buried Luke, the shine
must have worn off the pain by now.
I give her a call, ask if I can interrupt
her Sunday for a short visit. She gives
me directions to her house. On the way,
I stop off for flowers—a huge spring
bouquet, yellow roses and orange daffodils.
I sent an arrangement to the funeral,
but it likely got lost midst the dozens, most
of them red, white, and purple/blue.
Thus the yellow and orange. No reminders.
EXCEPT THERE ARE REMINDERS
Of him everywhere. Small flags
decorate the white picket fence
protecting Celine’s immaculate
front yard. They flap, red, white,
and blue, in the breeze. Inside,
framed photos of Luke hang
on the walls, and take up space
on end tables. Luke, in uniform.
Luke, holding his girls. Luke,
kissing Celine. Luke, Luke, Luke.
A shadow box holds the folded
flag that had draped his coffin.
That sits on the mantel of the little
stone fireplace that takes up most
of one wall of the living room.
I’m not sure I could look at Cole
like this. Not if he was never
coming back to me. I’m not sure
how to open the conversation.
Celine saves me the trouble.
Sit, please. Can I get you some
coffee? When I decline, she says,
Okay, so tell me. What’s up?
Still planning a June wedding?
“That’s just about all I’ve been
doing . . .” I give her a quick rundown
so we can push small talk to one side.
I finish with, “Cole’s being transf
erred
to Pendleton. He wants MARSOC.”
Ah. And that’s counterintuitive
to planning for a future together.
I understand completely. Luke and I
had a similar discussion once.
“But you encouraged him to stay
in, right?” Of course she did. That’s
what all military wives do—support
their soldiers, no matter what.
Celine shakes her head. I told him if
he reenlisted, it would be the end
of us. Obviously, he convinced me
otherwise. Love can be stubborn.
“So . . . I don’t know how else to ask
this, other than straight out. And I’m
sorry, but you’re the only person I know
who can answer it. Was it worth it?
I mean, if you had it to do over, would you?”
I’ve thought about this a lot, Ashley.
Every day with Luke was a better
day than one without him. But there
were way too many of those days.
I’ll always love Luke, and what
we were together. But I’m watching
my children suffer. And when I’m
alone at night, I get so mad at him!
How could he do this to us? Her eyes
brim. Spill. Was it worth it? Probably.
Would I do it again? No fucking way.
I SPEND THE WEEK
Tying up loose ends. Finishing
my time at the women’s shelter.
Finding a replacement volunteer
for the VA hospital. After all, I’m
getting married. Probably.
I should be ecstatic. Barely able
to control my excitement. Counting
down the days. Somehow, I’m not.
But how could I call it off now?
All the plans are finalized. Except
for the honeymoon, which will
have to wait until after Cole’s training,
assuming he’ll be accepted, and no
one believes he won’t be. People
are coming from all over to witness
our “I do’s.” Even Dad’s parents,
all the way from their retirement
heaven in Alaska. Weird to retire
in Ketchikan, yes. But they are
the tree my father fell from.
Mainstream is so not the family
thing. At least, not on my side.
Cole’s side? Well, they’ll just have
to get used to us, I guess. I hope.
I’ve spent a lot of time hoping lately.
FRIDAY MORNING