Come Back To Me (4 page)

anyone in the military – not after seeing the destruction

it’s wrought on my own family.

A knock on my door startles me. I pull my head out

from under the pillow. Riley’s standing in the doorway.

He glances over his shoulder, walks into my room and

closes the door quietly behind him.

‘Hey,’ he says, dropping down onto the bed beside me.

‘How you doing?’

‘Yeah,’ I say, sitting up cross-legged on the bed and

shrugging. ‘You know.’

He nods. He knows. Birthdays, Christmas, Thanks-

giving . . . they are without a doubt the most stressful

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days of the year in our house. Having Riley here helps

because at least we get to share the load and both of us

can tag-team my mom. When he’s not here it’s all on

me, something I think Riley feels guilty about as when

he hands me a well-wrapped present he looks kind of

sheepish.

‘Happy Birthday,’ he says.

I take it curiously, glancing at him. ‘What is it?’ I ask.

‘I got it over in Sudan.’

That makes me raise my eyebrows. I mean, I can’t

imagine what sort of shopping malls they have there.

I tear open the wrapping with difficulty. My brother

and I have spent our lives being taught to square away

our rooms at the end of each day, to make our beds like

we were preparing for a daily inspection, which in fact

we were. The present is as tightly and perfectly wrapped

as a marine dorm bed. It takes me almost five minutes to

get into it.

‘An iPhone?’ I say in amazement when I finally

manage to tear off the paper.

‘Yeah, don’t show Dad,’ Riley says unnecessarily. As

if. My dad is vehemently against social media, smart

phones or, well, any technology that isn’t designed for

military use. He’s just naturally suspicious of anything

he can’t understand and that puts social media at the

top of his list, with teenage girls just below it. Not only

has he banned me outright from having a Facebook

account but he’s only recently agreed to let me have a

cell phone (the most basic brick-sized one on the mar-

ket) on the condition, he stressed, that I use it only for

emergencies. The guy in the phone store looked at me

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Mila Gray

with a pity normally reserved for victims of humanitar-

ian disasters. The only good news is that he didn’t

qualify what he meant by emergencies, so every con-

versation with Didi now starts with ‘Didi, it’s an

emergency.’

‘You got this in Sudan?’ I ask Riley, noting it’s the

latest version but that it has no box to go with it. Or

instructions for that matter.

Riley shrugs. ‘I got it unlocked for you and I put on a

few apps.’

I scroll through. ‘Candy Crush? Angry Birds?’

‘You know, for all those boring lectures you’re going to

have to sit through in college.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, smacking him on the shoulder.

‘You’re welcome,’ he says, smacking me back. We

don’t say anything for a while. Riley seems different

these days, especially after this last tour: older, more

careworn, tired. He rarely smiles any more and I can’t

remember the last time I heard him laugh or tell a joke,

which is strange as Riley was always the joker − the kid

who stuck waterproof stickers of his teachers’ faces in all

the toilet bowls in school, the kid who covered his princi-

pal’s car in tin foil and who led his entire sixth-grade

class on a Ditch Day. I guess he quit with the pranks

around the same time my dad starting losing it.

I don’t tell Riley but the thing that scares me most,

besides him dying, is that one day he’ll come back and

start behaving like Dad. The day he enlisted with Kit

was one of the worst days of my life. But I smiled like

always and pretended I was happy for them both. I

want to ask him now about Sudan, about his job, about

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what he’s seen, but I know he can’t tell me much and I

also get the feeling he doesn’t want to talk about it

anyway.

‘Do you want to watch some TV?’ I ask, hoping he

says yes because it’s not like I’ve had a chance to hang

out with him much since he got back. And it’s my birth-

day.‘I can’t,’ he says. ‘I’m going out to meet Jo.’ He shoots

me an apologetic smile and gets up.

I try to cover my disappointment. It’s decided then.

I’m just going to lie here and have a little pity party for

myself because who spends the night of their eighteenth

birthday alone in their bedroom playing Angry Birds

on a phone where the settings are all in Arabic, wearing

a heart-shaped locket their mom gave them? Oh yeah,

that’s right, someone with no life. And no prospect of

ever getting one.

‘How is Jo?’ I ask, smiling, though on the inside I’m

sighing.

‘Yeah, she’s good,’ Riley says, his face immediately

lighting up. He and Jo have been dating for three years

already. They met just before he and Kit enlisted. Jo was

waitressing at his favourite steakhouse. He spent most

of his savings on steak and tips, trying to convince her

to date him, and eventually she caved in. My brother is

what some might call persistent. My mom says he just

doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. They seem

to make it work, even though they only see each other

every nine months or so. I ponder on that as Riley walks

out the door. No doubt to spend the night having sex. It’s

not even his
birthday, I think to myself grudgingly.

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not even a minute after he goes, the sound of some-

thing rapping against my window makes my head snap

up. I get up from the bed and cross to the window. Riley.

He always used to throw stones up at my window on

the nights he’d snuck out as a signal to come down and

unlock the back door to let him in. I open the window

and peer out. Maybe he forgot his keys. It’s totally dark

out, the moon just a sliver, and the lights in the backyard

aren’t on so I can’t see anything.

‘Jessa?’

My heart leaps into my mouth when I recognize Kit’s

voice.

‘What are you doing?’ I hiss into the darkness. My

excitement is marred by the fact that my dad has super-

sonic hearing and if he finds Kit loitering in his bushes

he won’t need an excuse to reach for his gun.

‘Come down,’ Kit says.

I hesitate. My stomach feels like a washing machine on

spin cycle. Why does he want me to come down? What if

my dad hears? But my body is responding of its own

accord − I’m already walking to the mirror. I drag a

brush through my hair and stare at my eyes, which look

slightly feverish and glassy.

I tiptoe out onto the landing, trying to think up an

excuse as to why I’m heading downstairs in case I get

caught. Then I remind myself it’s just after nine o’clock.

I don’t need to have a reason for going downstairs.

What I need is to get it together. I walk into the kitchen,

straight over to the door and then ease back the lock and

creep out, the whole time murmuring a silent prayer

that I don’t get caught because I might be good at acting,

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but when it comes to my father I’m only winning

Razzies. He can see through me like I’m a window with

no glass.

I’m barefoot; the grass tickles my feet. I move swiftly

across the lawn towards the bushes at the side of the

garden. When I get there, though, there’s no sign of

Kit. I look around. Where is he? Am I losing it? Did I

imagine it?

Then though a hand covers my eyes and an arm wraps

around my waist from behind. ‘Boo,’ Kit whispers into

my ear.

Shivers ride down my spine in waves. His left hand

lingers on my stomach but he removes his other hand

from my eyes. I turn around slowly, shakily, suddenly

self-conscious. I’m only wearing pyjama shorts and a

cotton camisole top, no bra. Maybe I should have

thought to put on a sweater. But it’s too late. I watch Kit’s

gaze fall to my legs and slowly sweep upwards. Goose-

bumps rise across the surface of my skin as though he’s

tracing my body with his fingers, not just his eyes. When

he reaches my face I see the smile on his face and the

way his eyes are glittering.

My breathing hitches as I stare at him. ‘What are you

doing here?’ I whisper.

‘I forgot to give you this,’ he answers, pulling an enve-

lope from his back pocket.

I stare at it. ‘What is it?’

‘Open it,’ he says, pushing it into my hands. ‘It’s your

birthday present.’

I take it and open it, the whole time aware that he’s

watching me. Inside are two tickets to
The Merchant of

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Venice
in Balboa Park for a fortnight’s time. I look up at

him wide-eyed. ‘Are you serious?’

He nods, smiling as he sees my grin. ‘I remember

when you were in it,’ he says. ‘You want to go and see it?

I wasn’t sure . . . ’

‘Yes, yes,’ I say quickly. ‘Thank you! I can’t wait.

You’re coming with me, right?’ I ask, holding up the

second ticket.

He shrugs. ‘Sure. I mean, I didn’t want to presume or

anything. You know, in case maybe you wanted to take

Didi. Or . . . ’ he has been staring down at his feet but

now he looks up at me and I realize he’s fishing to see if I

have a boyfriend.

‘No. I want to go with you,’ I say, the words stumbling

over themselves in their haste to get out. Should I have

played that cooler?, I wonder. But too late. And anyway,

he’s now grinning.

‘Cool,’ he says, toeing the ground.

We both take a breath in. My eyes dart towards the

house. I guess I should head in before the game ends or

my dad hears us. Without saying a word Kit suddenly

takes my hand and pulls me deeper into the shadow of

the bushes. I make no attempt to protest.

‘You know,’ he murmurs, not letting go of my hand,

‘I’ve been thinking about you. While I was away.’ He

looks straight into my eyes, the smile gone, a look of

studied seriousness on his face, and maybe, just possibly,

a hint of nerves. ‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot.’

‘Oh,’ I say. Kit’s presence seems to directly affect my

literacy levels.

‘Yeah,’ he says, looking down at our hands. His thumb

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starts almost absently to stroke my pulse point and I

draw in a sharp breath. It’s as if he’s stoking a fire,

making my blood course through my veins like molten

lava. I can feel the heat flooding my face, rushing to

other parts of my body too.

‘How long have you been here?’ I ask, trying to keep

my voice steady, though I’m losing the ability to concen-

trate as his thumb keeps stroking.

‘About thirty minutes. I waited until I saw Riley go

out.’

‘You’ve been waiting in the bushes for half an hour

just to speak to me?’

Kit shrugs. ‘I’ve done sniper training. I can sit for

hours in the dark, waiting and watching.’

‘That’s comforting,’ I say. ‘And not creepy in the

slightest.’

He laughs quietly and the sound makes me want to

lean in closer, to press my body against his.

‘I figured your dad wouldn’t want me coming around

and knocking on the door.’

I glance over my shoulder automatically, half expect-

ing to see my dad taking aim from the back porch. ‘You

know if he finds you out here he’s going to kill you.’

‘I’ll take the chance,’ Kit says, shifting ever so slightly

and drawing me closer so only a sliver of space remains

between us. I barely come up to his chin so I’m having to

tilt my head all the way back. This close I can smell his

scent – laundry powder and something else, something

citrus, aftershave maybe.

‘I just had to see you again,’ he murmurs, his voice as

soft as a caress.

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I pull back an inch, my heart galloping. I’m scared.

Not of Kit, but of what’s about to happen between us. It

feels like I’m about to take a step off a cliff and into a

void and I have no idea whether I’ll land safely or end

up smashed to pieces on some jagged rocks I can’t yet

see. This could be reckless, stupid, dangerous. Or it could

be the best thing I ever do. ‘I’m serious,’ I mumble. ‘If my

dad finds you out here, he’ll go ballistic.’

Kit smiles. He lifts his hand and strokes a strand of

hair back behind my ear. ‘It would be worth it,’ he says,