Collateral (14 page)

some covert conversation, am I?

It's a joke of sorts, and we all laugh.

But at the moment, nothing is funny.

Rising from the residual smoke

of the evening is a maelstrom

of emotions. I feel better, meeting

Kenny, witnessing his dedication to Dar.

I feel worse, intuiting major

problems to come, on all sides.

I feel happy, viewing a small

glimpse of the best friend I cherish,

the one who has felt lost to me

for much too long. I feel anxious,

knowing she is in turmoil

and only time will tell us how

things will all shake out.

This is a heavyweight decision,

the pressure to make it great.

Dissolving a relationship that once

meant everything is rarely easy.

It should make her nervous. Sad.

But why is she scared—really

scared? That makes me scared, too.

Halfway to Hawaii, eyes closed

and headphones fighting the noise

of crying babies with country music

when I remember something Dar

said the last time we played What If?

What if Cole got drunk and hit you?

I let it go. Why didn't I pursue

it? Was she talking about Spencer?

Is that what she's so afraid of?

That he'll plunge right off the deep

end? But she'd tell me that, right?

Yeah, sure. Of course I would.

Especially with Spence coming

home. She wouldn't face him

alone if that was really a concern.

Would she? God, I want to talk

to Cole about this. Ask his opinion.

I want you to promise me

you won't say anything to Cole.

I promised I wouldn't mention

it to Cole. But I never said I'd keep

quiet about it period. When I get back,

I'll call someone on base. A counselor.

Or chaplain. Someone who can help.

Cole had been back from Iraq

for several weeks. He had fifteen

days of leave, and his request

to take it when we could spend

uninterrupted time together

had been granted. He went

home to Wyoming his first week,

saved the second for me. The day

I picked him up at the airport

was crazy. First, I couldn't decide

what to wear. I swear, I tried on

eight different outfits, hated

everything the mirror showed

me—too slutty, too old lady,

too college student in need

of new clothes. I finally settled

on a turquoise sundress that

showed off my legs and just

enough cleavage to be tempting

without shouting, “Hey, check

out these babies!” Then I had

to shave my legs. It had been

weeks. Not like I cared most

of the time, and mostly I wore

jeans. Then I needed makeup—

not too little, not too much, and

how did that smoky-eyes thing

go again? Everything took way

too long, and when I finally felt

ready and glanced at the clock,

I was already running late. Traffic

was heavy, and when it opened

up, I drove like a maniac. It didn't

go unnoticed by a particular California

Highway Patrolman. Shit. Shit. Shit.

By the time he reached my window,

I was crying mascara and plum

eye shadow down my pretty blushed

cheeks. Apparently, he'd never

brought a driver to tears before.

Excuse me, miss. But may I see

your license and registration? Please?

And could you please stop sniffling?

Uh, is something wrong? Besides me?

Why not use it? It was the truth,

after all. “My boyfriend is just

back from Iraq and I'm supposed

to pick him up at the airport, and

I'm late and traffic, and now this . . .”

He let me off with a stern warning,

and I might have felt really good

about that, except now what the mirror

revealed was a total hag. I cried

most of the way to baggage claim.

By the time I spotted Cole, I had

cried off most of the makeup. That

turned out to be a good thing, because

seeing him only made me cry more.

I ran into his arms, which were even

stronger than I remembered. He lifted

me off the ground, spun me around.

Brought my face right up into his

and I swear, despite my streaked

puffy eyes, the first thing he said

was,
Goddamn, you're beautiful.
And

then we were kissing, and we kissed

without stopping until we really

couldn't find air, and I was glad

he was wearing his uniform because

at least then everyone waiting for

suitcases didn't think we were just

plain horny or something. In fact,

they clapped and one old guy

whistled. “Careful,” I whispered.

“I think he just saw my panties.”

Cole tugged down my skirt in back

and we laughed and kissed until

his duffle came rolling around.

We walked to the car, velcroed

together. He reached for the keys.

Let me drive?
I slid into the passenger

seat, studied him as he exited

the parking lot, made his way

to the freeway, merged into traffic.

His hair was freshly cut, grunt-style.

The ruddy tan of his steel-jawed face

made the gold of his eyes even more

striking. He punched the gas pedal,

and we were flying. “Careful. There's

a CHP out here somewhere who's

already a ticket short today.” I told

him about my earlier encounter

without mentioning the makeup

problem. Cole just smiled.

Don't worry. He can't see us.

Nobody can. We're invisible.

Maybe we were, because despite

hitting close to a hundred miles

per hour, no one stopped us.

No one even seemed to notice

us. We made it to the apartment

in world-record time, at least for

a beater car like mine.
Tomorrow

we'll go by Uncle Jack's and get

the truck. It could use a little blowing

out, I bet,
Cole said, pulling into

my parking place. Less than five

minutes after turning off the ignition,

we were in the bedroom, getting

ready to make new memories.

Cole actually slowed us down.

He stopped me just inside the door.

Stay right there, where I can look

at you.
He sat on the bed, unlaced

his boots, unbuttoned his shirt.

His eyes never strayed from me

once.
Take off your dress. Slowly.

It's been a long time. I want to savor

every second.
He watched as I slid

the sundress up over my head.

Very slowly. Working the tease

as if I had a real clue what to do.

I stood there, in nothing but

my prettiest pair of thong panties.

Turn around. Easy. Not too fast.

Now, come here.
I floated toward him,

and when I got close to the bed,

paused. He reached out. Touched

my breasts with hands much too

gentle for their size. Then they slid

around my back, coaxed me forward,

and his lips circled my right areola,

sucked it like a baby might. Hungry.

He sat me on his lap, his incredible

erection straining against his pants,

pushing his zipper into the thin strip

of cloth covering my crotch. “Cole,”

I exhaled. “God, baby, I need you.”

The statement was truth, and felt

that way. He sighed, laid back against

the quilt, loosened the closures on

his camos. I kissed his eyes, his mouth,

his neck, down his chest to granite

hard penis, urged it into my mouth.

I am no expert, but did all I could

to bring him all the way off. He came

very close, but stopped short.
No.

I jerked off this morning, twice in fact,

thinking about you and what we'd do.

Does that make you pissed? It shouldn't.

I did it for you, because I want you to

come before I do. Twice, in fact.
He smiled.

Took total control. And he made me

come before he did. More than twice.

We had sex three or four times

a day. Halfway through, my body

ached, but I couldn't say no.

Cole bordered on desperate.

When I go back, I'll just have

morning wood and my fist. I want

to fuck you till I'm black and blue.

I need to remember you. This.

Pretty sure it was me who wore

bruises. His muscles were concrete,

and he gripped my arms as if he

let go, I might try to escape. Not mean.

Just determined. His eyes never

left my face as he chanted,
That's

my girl. My beautiful, beautiful Ash.

It was cadence. Beautiful. Beautiful.

Ash. I loved listening to his voice.

After a while, orgasm was the last

thing on my mind, but the rhythm

of his voice kept me going. That, and

knowing our time together grew ever

shorter. When we weren't in bed,

we walked the beach. Watched

movies. Ate. Drank. Laughed. Held

hands as we talked, trying to learn

all we could about each other before

he was called back to work. To duty.

Cole's truck from his uncle Jack,

who had stored it under a metal

roof in his backyard. It was dusty,

and the tires were low, but it started

right up once Cole reconnected

the battery cables. I didn't realize

how much Cole loved that truck—

a 2006 Chevy Avalanche with a big

V-8.
This puppy screams,
he said,

proving it as we headed east toward

Palm Springs one morning. At least,

that's where I thought we were going.

Instead, where the highway split,

he drove north toward Twenty-Nine

Palms.
We're going to train here.

I want to see it, and I want you to see

it, too.
The Marine Corps Air Ground

Combat Center is a huge stretch

of yucca-and-cactus–studded sand,

where they train soldiers in the ways

of desert warfare. It is stark. Cursed.

Dry-Sahara in summer, dry-tundra in

winter. But, for a small, magical

window in spring, wildflowers paint

the landscape purple and poppy

and raspberry pink, clear to the far

horizons. It steals your breath away.

And that day, Cole and I drew

the lucky card that brought us

there at that perfect time of the year.

The base proper, Cole turned

off on a dirt track that plunged

us into all that frail beauty.

He barely slowed, fishtailing

the truck, scaring up bunnies

and flushing quail. “Hey, take

it easy. I'd like to make it out

of here all in one piece.”

He backed off the gas, just a little.

What? You don't trust my driving?

I rested my hand on his thigh.

“I trust everything about you. But

it's so pretty out here, I'd like to enjoy

the view. Hard to do when you're

raising such a big cloud of dust!”

It was behind us, and that made him

laugh.
You're looking the wrong way!

But he did slow down and, in fact,

drifted to a stop, letting the Avalanche

idle and said dust catch up to us.

Once it settled, he opened his window.

It is pretty out here, isn't it? Empty

of people, just the way I like it.

A muted
ka-boom
of artillery

reverberated off faraway hills,

echoed back across the valley.

“Guess we're not so alone out

here after all.” An afternoon

training session must have

begun, because more reports

followed.
Definitely not alone.

We listened to the rise and fall

of munitions fire for a few minutes.

“Is that what war sounds like?”

Not the war I was in.
Regret

inflected his voice.
Damn. Look

at the size of that critter! Wish

I had my rifle.
It was a huge

jackrabbit, with ears half as long

as my arms and almost as wide.

It sniffed its way out of the brush,

stopped in front of the truck

and froze right there, staring

through the window with piebald

eyes. Unafraid. Curious, even, like

it wanted to know more about us.

“You wouldn't really shoot it?”

Hell yeah, I would. Desert's overrun

with the damn vermin. They ain't