Marrying Daisy Bellamy

by Susan Wiggs

  “Look,” he said, “you’re doing this for your country and your family. If that’s not worth taking a risk for, I don’t know what is. You might even earn a special commendation after this.”

  “Not if I get discharged.”

  “For that?” Julian indicated the arm, hoping the bleeding had stopped. “A scratch. You’ll heal.”

  “But perhaps not from this.” Reaching down with his good hand, Ramos indicated his leg, above where the trouser was tucked into his boot. The angle was all wrong. “Shit.” Julian’s stomach curdled at the sight of bone pressing against fabric. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “There is nothing to be done.” Ramos was apologetic. “You’re not equipped to dress a compound fracture. I cannot move or be moved.”

  “What the hell are we going to do then?” Julian demanded.

  “I am considering my options.”

  Julian didn’t like the tone of that. He radioed the base, and a medic explained what had to be done.

  “Give him plenty of morphine,” the medic advised, the digital message flowing across the tiny screen.

  “Right, like I have that,” Julian muttered in English. He looked at Ramos. “I’m going to immobilize the leg.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. I’ll scream like a coyote, and they’ll shoot us both.”

  “You’re not going to make a sound.” Julian grabbed a thick length of webbing from the pack and handed it over. “Think of Rosalinda. Think of your two little kids. You’ve said it a thousand times, you would do anything for them. Anything.”

  With a shaking hand, Ramos took the webbing and clamped it between his teeth. Julian had nothing to use for disinfectant, so he emptied the canteen on the wound. Ramos made a hissing sound but held still.

  “I’ll be quick,” Julian said. “Aguanta.” As he applied a makeshift splint of wood, Ramos breathed fast and hard, and tears streamed down his face. Julian forced himself to keep going, wrapping the climbing rope to secure the splint. His friend Sayers would approve of his field dressing. “Maybe you’ll pass out,” he said. “Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

  Ramos didn’t pass out. He didn’t make a sound. To Julian, it felt as if he was taking an eternity, but at last, he had a crude splint roped around the leg.

  “I cannot walk,” Ramos said.

  “I’ll carry you.”

  “Now you’re really being an idiot.”

  “You’d do the same for me.”

  “Then we’re both idiots. That is why we were chosen for this mission, eh?” With his good arm, Ramos swiped his brow. “Now there is nothing to do but wait until dark. Let me rest. I promise not to die.”

  Julian nodded. Falling asleep was probably not the best option for a guy in Ramos’s state of shock, but it was a way to escape the pain. Julian tended to escape inside his head to cope with things. So much of an operation demanded nothing more than patience. In fact, mental techniques for times like this had been part of his training. As always, his mind went to Daisy. One day, when they were old and sitting on their rocking chairs on a porch somewhere, he would tell her everything. Until then, however, he was sworn to secrecy.

  Email, online chatting and Skype calls were forbidden. In his letters home, he wrote about the weather and the landscape and life at the air base. Like the rest of the world, she believed it was a routine cooperative training venture with the Colombian Air Force.

  Ramos awakened with a soft moan. Julian could only imagine the pain the guy was in. “How you doing?” he asked.

  “Just peachy,” Ramos said in English; he liked using the occasional phrase he heard from his training buddies. He waved a hand toward the fence. “It’s nearly dark. Get over there and cut through the fence.” His voice sounded weary and slurred by pain. Someone—a guard, probably—patrolled with a flashlight. They could see the light moving inexorably toward them. Spurred by a sense of urgency, Julian went to work.

  The wire cutters were barely adequate against the stout fence. Every cut was a battle. He managed to pry an opening wide enough to crawl through. With Ramos’s bad arm and useless leg, it was going to be a challenge. He’d need more space to get through. The flashlight beam swung across the area. Cussing under his breath, Julian went back to work. After another eternity, he returned to Ramos.

  “Okay, amigo. Time to—” He broke off. Ramos was gone. The progress of the guard with a flashlight had stopped. Beneath the damp, secret rustling of the jungle, Julian could hear crackling radios and guys talking. He crept forward to see Ramos lying in the glare of the flashlight.

  Four armed men pointed their AK-47s at Ramos.

  “No dispare,” Ramos yelled, his voice hoarse with pain and desperation. “Por favor, no dispare.” Don’t shoot. “Me rendo.” He said this several times in succession. “Me rendo.” I surrender. He started to babble, asking for mercy and offering his cooperation.

  Julian knew Ramos would never put the team in jeopardy. Moreover, he surely knew there was no way the two of them could make it safely away. Francisco had sacrificed himself, stalling for time, no doubt hoping Julian would disappear before the armed patrol went looking for him. He weighed his incredibly shitty options. He could surrender alongside Ramos and hope they wouldn’t both be executed. He could come out shooting, one guy against four submachine guns. Or he could make a run for it. He had about three seconds to decide.

  He grabbed his gear and dove through the hole in the fence. Darkness closed around him, and he had to rely on his GPS. Judging by the length of time he’d been running uphill, he was a mile away from the compound. Still running, he radioed the base.

  “Just get to the chopper,” de Soto ordered. “Just get there.”

  He headed west, knowing the team waited near the beach. Though it was too dark to see, he could hear the chopper. His beacon indicated he was only a couple hundred meters away.

  His relief was short-lived. Someone else had found the bird, too. Thanks to the bridge, four Humvees and a couple of Blazers with guns mounted on the back were speeding along the beach. The chopper’s blades whirled, gathering momentum. Julian raced ahead of the armed trucks. He kept his head down as he darted in and out of the vehicles’ headlamps. A hail of small arms fire chased him, plowing up the grainy sand. He felt the wind of the chopper blades, flinging more sand against his goggles and stinging his face.

  He piled into the chopper.

  “Ramos?” asked Sergio.

  “Not coming,” Julian yelled.

  The chopper lifted as the last boot left the ground. The firing continued, riddling the hull, but they were away, the bird sweeping up and out over the water. Except for Ramos, the team was intact—Rusty and Doc, Truesdale, Simon and José, and a few more guys he’d trained with from the Colombian militia. They’d have to come back undercover for Ramos.

  The airframe vibrated and shuddered, oil spurting from somewhere. Julian heard a larger noise, a hollow thump so deep it reverberated in the belly—a rocket?

  Then he saw it, a slender deadly rod crowned by a teardrop-shaped warhead, lying on the deck. “Grenade!” he yelled, grabbing the thing. His mind shut down, his conscious will receded. He simply acted. In a single swift movement, he scooped up the RPG and lunged for the hatch, hurling it out of the chopper.

  The thing detonated in midair. The explosion rocked the bird like a child’s toy. At the edge of the hatch, Julian lost his grip. He was flung like a stone from a sling. Beneath him, he felt nothing but sky.

  Ten

  Daisy gazed at herself in the mirror of the bridal salon. “This is it, then,” she said, looking at her mother and then at Sonnet. They had both accompanied her to the final dress fitting. “This is the dress I’m getting married in.”

  Sonnet’s eyes shone as she admired the gown. “You look amazing.”

  Daisy turned to study her reflection again. The dress she’d chosen was a froth of ivory tulle and antique lace, the sort she’d always secretly dreamed of wearing.

 
“It’s lovely,” said her mother. “Sweetheart, you’re the prettiest bride I’ve ever seen.”

  “Spoken like a true mom.” For a moment, she turned thoughtful, picturing her mother getting ready for her own wedding, long ago, to Daisy’s father, Greg Bellamy. Sophie had been even younger than Daisy was now. She’d worn a designer gown, which she still had in storage. A few months ago, she’d offered it to Daisy. The gown was still beautiful and it fit, but it hadn’t felt quite right. Daisy had not wanted to wear a dress from a marriage that hadn’t worked out. Her mother understood completely. Instead, she’d urged Daisy to find her own perfect dress.

  Yolanda Martinez, the shop owner, had done the alterations herself. The crystal beaded bodice hugged the torso, sweeping up to a glittering sweetheart neckline. Now Daisy turned to her. “The fit is perfect. I don’t know how you do it.”

  Yolanda stood back, fluffing the skirt. “You chose well. And you didn’t do that foolish bride thing of going on a crash diet at the last minute and getting too skinny. I’m glad you like the alterations.”

  A lot of the brides Daisy had photographed had bought their dresses here. Yolanda had a keen eye for fashion. She was a petite, industrious Latina woman who had opened the bridal shop in Avalon a couple of years before. She’d moved up from Texas so her son could be near his father, Bo Crutcher, who pitched for the Yankees. A single mother like Daisy, Yolanda was hardworking and determined to make good choices for her son. Daisy recognized a deep loneliness in Yolanda, though, because she used to feel that way too, all the time. The late nights, working alone, the determined cheerfulness and putting on a brave face—these were all too familiar to Daisy. She was incredibly grateful her life was about to change.

  “Are you going to invite a doctor to the wedding?” Sonnet asked, eyeing her from head to toe.

  “My stepfather’s a vet. Why do you ask?”

  “Because Julian’s going to die when he sees you in this. He will absolutely die, so I figure he’ll need CPR.”

  “Yeah? You think he’ll like it?”

  “He’s so smitten with you that you could probably wear a gunnysack. But this dress…it’s going to knock him flat. Julian’s going to die when he sees you, completely die,” Sonnet repeated.

  Daisy smiled, closed her eyes and pictured Julian waiting at the altar, with his perfect military posture and that expression in his eyes…. There was nothing so handsome as an officer in full dress uniform on his wedding day. Sometimes when she thought of the upcoming day, she got dizzy. “He might not be the only one who’ll keel over from happiness.”

  “Nobody’s gonna die,” Yolanda said. “And speaking of Julian, I have something to give you from him.” She crowned Daisy with a veil held by silver combs. The gossamer lace fluttered with ghostly lightness over her shoulders. “Your novio paid me a visit before he left. He wanted to surprise you.”

  Daisy’s heart melted. “I can’t believe he did this.”

  “He is becoming one of my favorite grooms. You must be proud that he is so fluent in Spanish.”

  “That’s so sweet of him,” said Daisy’s mom.

  Daisy touched the edges of the veil. “I never thought about wearing one of these.”

  “Do you like it?” her mother asked.

  “Most brides wear a veil, don’t they?” Daisy mused.

  “Is this how you want to look on your wedding day?” Sonnet asked.

  “What do you think, Mom?” asked Daisy. She noticed her mother’s stricken face in the mirror. “Mom. Not again.”

  “Sorry,” said Sophie, dabbing at her eyes. “I’m having a moment.” She stood behind Daisy and smoothed down the veil. “You look so lovely, I can’t even stand it.”

  “Mom,” said Daisy. “Don’t start with the crying, or we’ll never get done with this fitting.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Sonnet said, her voice thick with emotion. “We’re so happy for you, Daisy.”

  In spite of herself, Daisy felt the thick heat of tears gathering in her throat. She was so lucky to have people in her life who wanted nothing more than to see her happy. “I never thought I’d get to be the bride, you know. I figured I’d missed the bride boat. But now here I am, and I can’t believe this is all happening to me. I’m so happy, sometimes I’m almost scared.”

  “It’s too late to change your mind now,” Sophie said. “The dress is picked out, and the alterations are done. Oh, and it’s paid for.”

  “Really? Mom—”

  “I want to, okay?”

  “Totally okay. Thank you.” Her heart sped up; as the wedding day approached, things seemed more and more real. The plans were well underway. There would be a ceremony and reception at Camp Kioga, the place where their love had begun. All in all, it was a relentlessly traditional plan, but for some reason, Daisy found herself clinging to convention. She wanted to honor the occasion in every possible way—a lakeside ceremony, the solemn gathering of family and friends, the cake from Sky River Bakery, the toasts—all of them. For some reason, sticking to the tried and true seemed to add weight to the occasion.

  “I’ll be right back,” Yolanda said. “I need to find the right garment bag for that dress.” She headed through a curtained doorway.

  Daisy raised herself up on tiptoe to gauge the heel height of her shoes. She lifted the hair off the back of her neck to simulate an updo. She looked at Sonnet and then her mother, and she was filled with a feeling of buoyant possibility.

  I cannot wait, Julian, she silently exulted. I cannot wait to be your wife.

  Through the shop window, she could see the occasional passerby pause to peek inside. People—even perfect strangers—always wanted to catch a glimpse of a bride. In the course of her work, she’d observed this over the years. It was rare, like seeing a shooting star or a four leaf clover. It made people feel lucky, privileged.

  She spotted a familiar face outside and waved. “There’s Olivia,” she said, motioning her cousin to come inside. “And Connor.”

  The two of them entered the shop and hurried toward Daisy.

  “Hey there, future brother-in-law,” she said to Connor. “I assume you know you’re sworn to secrecy. This is the most top-secret dress ever made, get it?”

  “Daisy, listen.” Olivia’s voice wavered with a curious intensity Daisy didn’t recognize. “We thought we’d find you here. I called Logan.”

  “Did something happen to Charlie?” Daisy asked.

  “No,” Olivia said quickly, “nothing like that.” She looked so solemn, her eyes red and damp. This dress must really be something.

  “Logan said we’d find you here.” Olivia’s knuckles were white as she gripped her handbag.

  So far, Logan was being pretty great about everything, keeping Charlie when Daisy had things like dress fittings and cake tastings. Now, seeing her cousin’s face, she said, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you for the final fitting. I thought you’d be busy.”

  “Daisy.” Connor cleared his throat. He was emotional, too, which touched her heart. She was going to love being his sister-in-law.

  “You like?” she asked, twirling on tiptoe. “You think Julian will like it?”

  “Daisy.” Her mother’s voice, low and taut, brought her up short. And then her mom stepped up beside her on the dais in front of the multifaceted mirror and put her arms around Daisy. The physical sensation of her mother’s embrace enveloped her.

  No. Daisy’s mind seized on the thought. She didn’t have any idea what she was saying no to, but the denial blasted through her, as powerful and irrational as a sudden storm. No.

  “What is going on?” her mom asked Connor, still holding on.

  More tears welled in his eyes. “You should sit, Daisy.”

  And that was when she knew. There was a strange, detached moment when she observed herself as if from a distance, as though this were happening to someone else. Stepping back from her mom’s arms, she stood apart on the dais, still in view of the mirror.

  She saw her mother wi
th a look in her eyes Daisy had never seen before. And Sonnet, sinking to the floor and drawing her knees up to her chest, shaking her head in vigorous, futile denial.

  Daisy saw herself, resplendent in the gorgeous gown, at least six of her in the multi-paneled mirror. The bride, who had looked so flushed and pretty a moment ago, was now a complete stranger, white-faced, eyes haunted by a horror she could not escape. Which Daisy was the real one? They were all doing the same thing—hand to heart, mouth open in a silent cry of anguish so deep it didn’t even have a voice.

  Eleven

  Numbness enveloped Daisy like the gauzy layers of a cocoon. She could feel her family and friends swirling around her, treating her like the victim of a terrible accident. Her mother took her home, and Daisy asked for some time alone. She sobbed until she was sick, her stomach sore as if she’d done a thousand sit-ups. She placed a cold washcloth over her swollen eyes and cheeks, not wanting to worry Charlie by looking like a wreck.

  When Logan brought Charlie home, he touched her arm lightly, as if she might break. “You going to be okay?” he asked in a low voice.

  No, she thought. Never. Then she focused on Charlie, taking his hand and managing to nod to Logan.

  “Let me know if you need anything.”

  She tried not to squeeze Charlie’s hand too hard. “I have what I need.”

  After Logan took off, she sat down with her little boy, gathering him into her lap.

  “Why are you sad?” he asked. Her son had grown so much these past months. No longer a baby, he was a talkative little boy. In a way, it made things even harder, because he was going to understand the horror and the hurt.

  “I need to tell you something. It’s about Julian.”

  “Daddy-boy’s on a mission. It’s a secret.”

  “That’s right,” she said.

  “He’ll be back when the leaves change.”

  “Yes.” She fumbled through an explanation, trying to speak to Charlie in terms he could understand. “It’s what he promised. But…something happened, Charlie, honey. His team was in a helicopter over the ocean, and it crashed.” The details were sparse but chilling. Julian had gone down with a disabled transport helicopter, and the site of the crash, offshore, was deemed inaccessible and the aircraft unrecoverable. A ten-kilometer exclusion zone had been demarcated around the spot where the downed chopper was last recorded. Underwater robots, sent by a French oil company, had emerged from the depths with blurred photos that might be the wreckage of the helicopter fifty meters down, in a trench.