When I See You (39 page)

I don't go after her.

What would I say? What would I promise her?

It's better this way.
She hates me now. And, that's better. That's easier.

I stare at my phone.

The text is from Kate.

"Good news. You leave Sun. Aust. to Dulles 0400 hrs. On to Afghan. 1400 hrs. You'll get your sniper partner upon arrival. Stein's ecstatic. 2 hours in Dulles. Let's make the most of it. xo Kate. Again, sorry about your dad."

Somehow, I have to make this right. Explain it to Jordan. Will she believe me? Would
I
believe me?

I've broken every promise I've ever made to her.

And, what do I promise her now?

*≈*≈*

Chapter 24. You lost me

Jordan

The lyrics of Christina Aguilera's 'You lost me' reach for me, like tentacles tearing at my heart, breaking it wide open. I've lost too much. I pour myself a generous shot of Jagermeister and swallow quickly. Another. Another.

Ashleigh comes over to me. "What's going on?"

"I'm going home. L.A. Wanna come?" I mouth the words Christina sings, while Ashleigh takes control of the bottle, and pours us both a shot. Liz slides in next to me on the chaise lounge.

"What's going on?" Liz asks.

"Not sure," Ash says, studying my face.

"He's going back to Afghanistan. He leaves Sunday." I practically choke on the words.

Ashleigh hands me the shot glass, and I drink it down.

Prudence. Decorum. Manners. They all go out the window.

"Selfish son of a bitch. Sorry, Janie. Not you," I mutter.

I absently wave at Brock's mom, who's surrounded by a bunch of people near the fireplace in the living room. I raise my glass to Janie through the open patio door. She raises one back.
I love Brock's mom. I really do.

"Are you talking about
me
?" Brock asks from directly behind my chair.

I turn and watch both, him and Tate, walk boldly around and up to our girls-only circle. Liz and Ashleigh physically block him from me. I stare at him with defiance and definable hostility.

"Can I talk to you?" Brock asks.

"No."

"Please?"

"No, Brock. You can't. Go pack or something. I'm spending time with the people I care about. The
only
people I care about. Tate, you can stay. Adrian, you too."

I wink at both men, who both now stand, uncertain, right behind Brock.

"Don't do this to us," Brock whispers.

"There is
no
us
."

I stand up to prove my point, sway side-to-side, and attempt to look him in the eye. My balance is off. My head feels funny. Too many shots. No food. I helplessly look back at Ashleigh and Liz.

"I don't feel so good," I say.

Then, I promptly vomit all over the front of Brock's suit and shoes before he can jump back out of the way.

"Well, we're right back to where we started from," I say in despair, a few minutes later, while everyone rushes around to clean up the mess. Tate helps Brock take off his jacket and shoes, while Ashleigh makes an even bigger mess trying to clean it all up.

Liz takes control of the scene. Well, she orders everyone around, including Adrian, who carries me off to the master bath of the main house.

Once there, I look around in appreciation at all the gold fixtures, until I remember who probably designed them. I promptly turn away.

"Sorry, about this." I hang my head in embarrassment.

"No problem," Adrian says. "Brock got the worst of it. Maybe, that's not such a bad thing." He gets this wide grin, and I start to laugh a little.

"I don't want to see him," I say with sudden urgency.

"Okay. I'll tell him."

"Thanks, Adrian, you're a good guy. I like you. Liz should marry you. And, if she won't, I will."

"Nice. Hitting on the boyfriend, Jordan," Liz says as she comes through the doorway.

"Sorry. It's just that one of us should be happy. One of us. At least." I get teary. "Don't you think one of us should be
happy
?"

Liz links her arm with mine and puts me into the running shower with a knowing look. I'm still wearing the black silk dress I wore to Henry's funeral.
Ruined. Just one more thing that's ruined.

"Sober up, sis. We're leaving in an hour. Back to L.A. I'd like you to be coherent enough to see us off."

"I'm coming with you."

"Are you sure?" Liz asks quietly. "Seems like you have some unfinished business here."

"It's finished. Definitely finished."

Ashleigh comes in, looking out of sorts.

At the same time, Liz and I say, "What's wrong?"

"Brock really wants to talk to you," she says.

I'm disappointed with her now. Disappointed with Brock for asking her to do his bidding for him.

"I can see you're anxious to fit into the family, but damn it, Ashleigh, whose side are you on?" I glare at her.

"There are no sides," she says emphatically. "He loves you. He told me."

"No." I shake my head emphatically. "Doesn't matter."

I wave a hand at her, begging for silence. I put my head under the shower spray, put my hands over my ears, and refuse to say anything more to anyone.

≈ ≈

A half hour later, I feel slightly normal. With shaking hands, I put on lingerie and black jeans. I finger-fix my hair. I button up a fresh white blouse, slip on a black leather jacket, and shove my feet into black ankle boots.

Most of this get-up is Ashleigh's. She's looking at me with approval.

"You look really good," she says. "That's going to drive him crazy."

"I don't want to drive him crazy. I want him—to fuck off."

Ashleigh's lower lip quivers. Her eyes fill with tears.

"I really don't know what to say, what to do," she says. "About Tate. About Brock leaving you. About
Max
, most of all. I miss him. I love him. And,
I know
you don't like us to talk about them, but God damn it, Jordan, what are you going to do?"

"Please don't do this to me," I whisper. "Not now. I'm barely holding it together here."

Liz appears in the doorway. "If you're going with us, we really need to be taking off. Adrian wants to be early, so we can return the rental car."

Liz is worried about rental cars, while Ashleigh and I are caught up in a conversation about heartbreak and Max. The incongruence is so severe, I start to laugh, somewhat hysterically.

Get a grip. Keep it together.
Don't let Ashleigh or Liz see your real pain.

With trembling hands, I hand her a note I managed to write to Brock ten minutes earlier. It's simple.
Sweet?
I'm not sure. I'm not sure he'll take it that way.

Brock,

Thank you for everything. Best of luck in Afghanistan. I hope you find what you're looking for. I hope you see it, when you find it.

Jordan

"I'll be right there," I say to Liz's retreating back.

I look at Ashleigh. My eyes fill with tears, too.

"You don't have to do anything, you know. Stay a while," I say to Ashleigh. "Figure things out with Tate. Stay here." I sweep my arm around the room. "I
own
it
for now
. I just need some time to sort things out, to figure my life out from here on out. I need to get back to Le Reve. I'm sure Louis is buried with all of it. And, I'm going to be okay."

Someday.

Ashleigh wanly smiles at me. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure. Liz and Adrian will help me out. I'll be fine."

"What about Brock?"

I take an unsteady breath and force myself to smile. "Tell him I said thank you for everything, for being there. Tell him I said goodbye."

"He's not going to let you go that easily."

"He doesn't have a choice." I feel defiant. I'm sure it shows.

Ashleigh shakes her head at me. "He's not going to like that."

"No, but he made a choice," I whisper.

"Afghanistan? Not you?"

I shrug and don't say anything. Ashleigh looks at me closely, but I hold firm, staying composed. We hug for a long while, and I fight the urge to break down.

"Be good. Find happiness. I figure you'll either be home in two weeks or get a teaching job, here in Austin," I say with wan smile. "Give it some time with Tate, okay? Just make sure it's what you really want."

"Good advice," Ashleigh says to me, watching me closely.

"Gotta go," Liz says from doorway.

She's oblivious, for once, to the serious nature that our conversation has taken.

I zip up my suitcase and look around. I've got just about everything. With reverence, I carry the intricately carved wooden box that Igor Dasher had delivered. The silver urn inside contains Max's ashes and is enfolded in a red velvet cloth. Igor had it engraved with one of my favorite Winnie The Pooh sayings. I already know it by heart.

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."

~A.A. Milne

I hold onto the box as tight as I can. I don't cry, and I don't say goodbye to anyone else.

*≈*≈*

Part Three—To be sure of you

Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. "Pooh!" he whispered. "Yes, Piglet?" "Nothing," said Piglet, taking Pooh's paw. "I just wanted to be sure of you."

~A.A. Milne

Chapter 25. A falling through

Brock

Afghanistan hasn't changed all that much. Only me. I've changed. My sniper partner has changed. The reason I'm here has changed. I guess everything has changed.

The dust infiltrates at a soul level. I inhale deeply of the air-less, lifeless land. I remain oblivious to the harsh conditions, oblivious to the danger. And, if there's a risk to a mission, I'm the first one to volunteer. I don't hold anything back, least of all, myself. I'm too intent on self-destruction on some level, on any level I can find.

A breeze picks up and swiftly shakes me from my dark reverie. With a sigh, I recalculate the coordinates and reposition my scope. Sergeant Daniel Reed, my partner for the past three weeks, waits patiently beside me. A nice enough guy. An enlisted man, an officer, with three kids and a wife back home. He talks incessantly about all of them, all of the time. I listen with feigned interest, nodding at the appropriate times at the words and sounds he makes, but, in reality, I'm too far away to ever actually hear him.

I call out the newest coordinates and openly smile when his high-powered rifle goes off. I look through the scope just in time to see the bad guy fall. Another shot rings out. Another falls. Reed takes a final shot and the last one falls.

"Not bad for an honest day's work," I say after a few minutes as we quickly gather our gear. Reed looks at me as if I've lost my mind, while I slowly nod in the affirmative.

I start packing up the gear with solicitous interest and essentially ignore his studied look.

"You okay?" Reed asks for the hundredth time this day.

"Never better. It doesn't get any better than this."

He frowns with notable disapproval. "I don't quite see it that way."

"Look. I've got a hundred and sixty days left, and then, I'm out of this God-forsaken place. I'm going to Paris for a while, and I'll re-up after that."

"You're coming back?" Reed gets this incredulous look.

"I've got nothing else," I say.

≈ ≈

The ten-mile hike back to camp is treacherous. We keep low to the barren landscape and hide behind the outcropping of rocks and disparate pine trees and shrubs cascaded about. A forgotten land. God-forsaken. We uphold radio silence per the team's instructions, but Reed keeps glancing over at me. His continual scrutiny is laced with the usual are-you-sure-you're-okay rhetoric. It's getting old fast. At the six mile mark, I've had enough. I suddenly stop and face him.

"What the fuck do you want from me? Stop asking me if I'm okay. This is as good as it gets. If you don't like the way I call out the targets, then find somebody else."

"Do you
know
who I am?" Reed asks through clenched teeth.

I roll my eyes, knowing I've pissed him off for some reason. "I really don't give a shit. Like I said, I have seventy-five days left on this tour. I'm here to finish it."

"I know about Holloway," he says arrogantly.

"Oh, really? What do you think you know?"