Broken Soldier: A Novel

by Clara Frost

  “You can’t even imagine how Catholic,” Emily muttered. So Catholic he wanted to be a martyr, apparently.

  “It’s really a beautiful place,” Christa said “Have you ever been inside?”

  Emily stopped beside her coupe, opening the door for her mother. “The only one I’ve been in was in Madrid.”

  “Well, it’s nice.” Christa climbed into the passenger seat and took out her phone. “I’ll call and see if we can get in. If they ask if you’re a member, we’ll tell them that your husband is, and it should be fine.”

  “Alright.” Em headed toward the parking lot’s exit. She didn’t remember exactly where the cathedral was, but she knew it was down by the business district off Colfax.

  “Turn left, hon,” her mother suggested.

  Christa talked to the secretary at the church and confirmed that they could stop in, then looked up the address on her phone to confirm the location.

  “I’m surprised they can take us,” Emily said.

  “Why?” Christa said. “They’re a church, they want people to come visit.”

  “I guess.”

  Something about it being a Catholic church bothered her. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but Madrid had left a bad taste in her mouth. Bernardo and Lorena had been more than enough for her, and a fear lingered in the back of her mind that if she and Rafa did have a Catholic wedding, that it would only encourage them to attend and make a scene.

  Parking downtown was tighter than it had been in the suburbs, and Emily ended up driving an extra half dozen blocks to find a spot. She put on her blinker, planning to pull in at an angle, but someone in a full-sized SUV cut across from the other lane, nearly taking out her front bumper, and took the spot.

  “What the hell?” Christa said, flipping the woman the bird. Which was beyond unusual for something she would do.

  Emily stared at the SUV in shock. A middle-aged woman clambered out and started unloading kids.

  “Whatever you and Paul do with your kids, don’t be that mom,” Emily said.

  “I won’t, but if we don’t stop soon I’m going to pee in your seat. I swear, my bladder has shrunk since I got pregnant.”

  “There’s a lot up there, dear,” Emily’s mom said, pointing with a smile.

  Emily went on down the block and found the indicated lot, though she had to pay the attendant five bucks. They left the Lexus after Em made sure it was locked and the keys were in her pocket. If she handed the car over to a thief again, Rafa would never let her live it down.

  Christa groaned as she climbed out of the car. “I feel like I’ve gained forty pounds already.”

  “You look great, Chrissy.”

  “I’m all bloated and look fat, not pregnant. This in between showing stage sucks. I think this is the worst part of pregnancy.”

  Emily looked her over. She was hardly showing a bump. Emily ran her hands over her own hips. “You don’t look fat. I know what fat is, trust me.”

  “You’re both beautiful,” her mother said. “So you can both stop complaining about your size. Now let’s go, children.”

  The church itself reminded Emily of Madrid. There must be something in the Catholic building code that they had to build big, Gothic cathedrals. Two tall towers and enough spires to hide a squadron of gargoyles. They approached from down Colfax, and Christa stopped on the corner outside the church. A statue stood on a red pedestal, one hand extended toward the world.

  “The pope,” Christa said.

  A kindly lady in a periwinkle dress met them at the front doors, and Emily introduced herself, explaining that they were trying to find a venue for the wedding.

  Christa asked where the restroom was and speed walked toward it, leaving Emily with her mom.

  “When do you have in mind, dear?” the lady asked, taking them in through the vestibule.

  “Thanksgiving,” Emily said.

  “Oh, hmm we usually ask for at least eight months and that’s a minimum.”

  The lady stopped, letting Emily and her mother take in the view. Denver didn’t have anything to be ashamed of compared to Madrid, not when it came to cathedrals. Sweeping white marble walls and tall, fluted pillars rose majestically to a ceiling inlaid with stained glass saints. The ceiling didn’t have the same blue sky and stars pattern that Madrid had, but the saints were just as beautiful in their own way.

  Christa returned, sliding smoothly into the conversation as the secretary told them the history of the church and explained that the pope had once given a mass in the cathedral, something only rarely done in America. She also explained how packed their schedule was, and how it would be difficult to fit them into the calendar.

  “Rafa’s family is a very old Madrid family,” Christa said. “Extremely Catholic. I’m sure it would mean so much to his grandmother if she could see her grandson married in a good Catholic church.”

  The lady’s eyes sparkled at that. Emily wondered if “old family” was code for “rich family.” Probably, she decided.

  “Well, we’ll just have to look at the schedule again and see what we have available,” the lady said. “Shall we?”

  “That would be great,” Emily said.

  It took another quarter hour to go over the schedule and discuss how the payments worked, but by the time they left, Emily had an extra bounce in her step that she hadn’t felt all day. The church was big and beautiful and the next best thing to the cathedral in Madrid. It might even be enough to appease Maria.

  #

  RAFA sat cross-legged in the spare bedroom of Paul and Christa’s new house, a page of instructions unfolded in his lap and an open beer by his left hand. The place still had a scent of mildew, evidence of the previous tenants’ disregard for basic things like unclogging drains or fixing broken windows or paying the mortgage. The floorboards creaked as Paul slid the pieces of a baby crib from a box.

  “You need pieces one and two, section A and some half inch screws,” Rafa said, studying the instructions.

  Paul arranged the various parts of the crib, slats and runners and little yellow wheels, until he found two long pieces of varnished wood and a wide slatted section. “This look right?”

  Rafa compared it to the instructions. “It does.”

  Paul slotted the pieces together, pausing to look for tools while still holding the half-assembled bed.

  “Is there a Philips screwdriver in that box?” Paul asked.

  Rafa scooted over to the toolbox near the door, taking care not to disturb his beer, and dug up a rusty screwdriver. “You really should take better care of your tools.”

  “I’m a lawyer, not a builder,” Paul said.

  Rafa studied the instructions, pulling the next sets of pieces together while Paul worked on attaching the legs to the crib.

  Paul fumbled the screwdriver, jabbing himself in the hand and swearing.

  “Nicely done,” Rafa said.

  “You want to take over?” Paul wiped his hand on his jeans.

  “Even one-handed I could do a better job than you.”

  “That what your girlfriend tells you?”

  “Ouch. My pride.” Rafa grinned at his friend. “But seriously, if you need help...”

  “I’m good, bro.” Paul shifted the crib around and collected the next set of pieces. “So what’s going on with you and Uncle Sam?”

  Rafa hesitated, trying to recalibrate from getting his chops busted to being asked a serious question. “I have an opportunity to do some contract work.”

  “Christa says it’s overseas.”

  “That’s true. I can’t go into the real details, but it would be some diplomatic types of things.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t think you’re getting too old for that shit?”

  “It is not what I was doing before, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Rafa said. “I wouldn’t be leading raids in the back alleys of Baghdad or Kabul.”

  “So you’d be leading a ‘d
iplomatic’ mission in the hills of what, Pakistan? Do you watch the news, Rafael? Do you know what the rest of the world thinks of American diplomacy right now?”

  Rafa took a sip of his beer and looked at the instructions, not wanting to meet Paul’s eyes. “I know, Paul. But they could use me. Do you know what it’s like to have something you’re really good at and have it just jerked away from you?”

  “No, I can’t honestly say I do, but how do you think Em feels? If you run off to Afghanistan for three months, you think that’s going to be easy on her? She didn’t sign up to be an Army wife, Rafa.”

  “Did Christa ask you to talk to me about this?”

  Paul’s voice softened. “No. Emily has talked to her about it some, but I know how to read between the lines.” He collected two shorter pieces and some more screws. “I’m not saying you should just turn it down, but you should talk to her about it.”

  “I have.”

  “About the risks? If the State Department wanted you for a diplomatic mission, don’t you think they would have called, and not some general from the green berets?”

  “He was a colonel.”

  “Yeah, whatever. My point stands.”

  “The Army is a giant bureaucracy, no one will ever dispute that with a straight face, but the specials ops guys are tight. We’re a community. This colonel I talked to, he wouldn’t jerk me around. I’ve worked with him in the past and he’s always been a straight shooter.”

  Paul put the half-assembled crib aside and settled onto the floor across the room, splaying his legs out over the bare wood. “Look Rafa, I know I didn’t serve like you did, but I grew up in it just the same, and saw some of the stuff they pulled on my old man, and some of the stuff he had to pull because of pressure from higher up. Be real careful, okay? I thought I’d lost you last year, and when you got together with Emily, it was a pretty happy day in my house, right? Christa and I care about you and Em an awful lot, and we’d hate to see either of you get hurt.”

  “I’m not planning to leave her, Paul. On my honor, I’m not.” He knew what he had in Emily, and he didn’t want to lose it.

  Paul took a long drink of his beer, eyes closed and head tipped back. He started talking without opening his eyes. “You and me, we know the whims of the service. You more than me, obviously, but Christa? Emily? They have no idea. If you tell Em that you’re going to be gone for three weeks and it turns into three months, she’s going to be gutted. If you tell her three months and it turns into six months or a year, and all she gets is a week or two in there... How’s she going to handle that, Rafa?’

  “Spouses handle it all the time. It’s part of the job.”

  “But she didn’t sign up for that. All I’m saying is, don’t sign her up for something without her understanding what she’s getting into.”

  Rafa rolled that around in his head a while. Em had a pretty typical American life: insulated and safe. He didn’t want to take that away from her, but he wasn’t sure he really had to, either. Madre de dios, but it wasn’t an easy decision.

  “Alright,” Rafa said. “We going to finish this crib or what?”

  “Absolutely.” Paul met his eyes. “I’m sorry for being the adult voice here. It’s against my nature.”

  “You’re going to be a great dad, I think.”

  Paul smiled. “If I’m not, it won’t be because I didn’t try.”

  Rafa helped find the parts and double-check the work, and it didn’t take too long to fix the front of the crib when they accidentally put it on backwards the first time. Paul chatted about work, about the baby, about the things he still had to do in the house to get it ready before the baby arrived.

  It was weird to see his friend acting like such a grown-up. Paul had always been the first one to crack a joke or open a beer or just generally make an ass of himself. It was a good change, though. He really was going to make a good dad.

  In the end, Rafa helped Paul straighten up the place, then headed out to his truck. He knew Paul had a point about the colonel’s offer. He knew it wouldn’t be easy for Emily if he went back to the Army, but she had to understand what it meant to him. Didn’t she?

  Chapter 37

  RAFA'S truck bounced over a pothole, nearly sending Emily into the ceiling. She tightened her belt and looked over at him. Sweat soaked his gray t-shirt, his hair was slicked back over his head and his sunglasses reflected darkening skies.

  “You plan to hit every pothole on the mountain, or just the big ones?” Em asked.

  “Just the big ones,” Rafa said. “I’d flip you the bird, but...” He held up his right arm.

  “You talk an awful lot for a guy with one leg.”

  “The guy with one leg just smoked you over the last two miles of that trail.”

  “Show off.” Emily stuck her tongue out at him.

  “I do my best.” He laughed as he swung the truck over another pothole, rattling her teeth with the impact.

  Emily was opening her mouth to give him more crap, but his phone started ringing.

  “Can you get that?” Rafa said.

  Emily checked the caller ID. “It’s your mother. You want me to answer?”

  “Let it go to voicemail.”

  She swiped the faceplate, canceling the call. Outside the truck, long shadows stretched from the mountains down into the valley where Boulder nestled snug and bright. “It’s kind of late for her to be calling, don’t you think? It’s what, two or three in the morning in Spain?”

  Rafa frowned. “She could be with dad in DC.”

  He didn’t sound convinced. Just then, the phone started ringing again. “It’s her,” Emily said. She swiped the phone again, but this time to answer it.

  His mother said something in Spanish, though all Emily could understand was Rafa’s name.

  “Hi, Mrs. Carpenter, this is Emily.”

  “Emily? I called Rafa’s number, no?”

  “He’s driving. I answered for him.”

  “Then put him on.”

  Emily pulled the phone from her ear. “She wants to talk to you.”

  “I’m driving,” Rafa said.

  “I know. I just told her that.”

  “So see what she wants. I can’t steer and hold the phone at the same time.”

  Emily held the phone back up. “Mrs. Carpenter, he can’t talk right now without driving us both off the side of a mountain.”

  Em thought she detected a hiss of frustration from the other end of the line. Or maybe it was just static.

  “Very well. I just landed in Denver and I need to know your address.”

  “Uh...” Emily looked over at Rafa, staring in shock. “Your mother is in town.”

  “What?” He drove the truck over another pothole, sending the phone flying from Emily’s hand. It bounced off the dash and slid to a stop almost under Rafa’s feet.

  “Crap,” Emily said, diving for the phone. She clawed it out from under Rafa’s foot and held it back to her ear, still bent sideways. “Sorry, the phone fell.”

  “Your. Address.”

  Em took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm, and gave Rafa’s mother the address to her apartment. Rafa pulled off the road and parked at an overlook.

  “I will be there soon,” Maria said.

  “Can I talk to her?” Rafa held out his hand.

  Em passed the phone over, nearly dropping it, her hands were shaking so much.

  “Mamá?” Rafa said. “You’re at the airport?”

  Em couldn’t hear his mother’s half of the conversation, but it was easy to guess what she was saying. “I’m here to see you, son, and that fiancé of yours was just so rude to me.”

  “Don’t take a cab.” He paused. “That would be ridiculous. We will come get you. Yes right now.”

  He dropped the phone into the seat and started the truck back down the mountain. “Do you want to go with me to pick her up?”

  Emily didn’t know what to say. Getting along with Maria in Spain had been nearly imposs
ible, but they’d ended on a positive note, and now she wanted to just come crash at her place out of the blue?

  “Your parents aren’t having marital problems or anything are they?” Emily asked.

  “Not that I’m aware. I’ll call Dad on the way to Denver.”

  “If she wants to stay with us, that’s fine.”

  Rafa’s eyes narrowed. “We will find her a hotel. How about I drop you off at the apartment? I do not think squeezing her into this cab would be a good idea.”

  “Alright.”

  That woman had to be out of her mind. There was no other way around it.

  #

  EMILY stood with Christa by the front bumper of her Lexus, waiting on Rafa’s mother to join them. Emily had picked Maria up at her hotel at noon to go dress shopping, and the day was already turning hot.

  Christa fanned herself, nearly panting. Her blouse had the top couple of buttons unbuttoned, revealing her undershirt and a wide expanse of bosom.

  “You alright?” Em asked.

  “I don’t know.” Christa wiped her breasts. “Is this sweat or milk? I swear, I think I’m lactating already.”

  “Just sweat, I think.” Em was wishing she’d worn something lighter, too.

  Maria slammed the door of the coupe and stalked toward them. “Are we ready?”

  Emily smiled, trying to make it look as natural as possible. “We are.”

  Shopping with her future mother-in-law hadn’t been on her list of things to do with her Saturday, but now that she was in town, it wasn’t like Em could turn her away.

  The first shop was one Christa had used before her wedding, a little bridal boutique in Boulder. A bell on the door jingled as Emily pulled it open. Christa and Maria preceded her inside, Maria’s mouth turning to a frown as soon as she cleared the threshold.

  An attendant came to meet them from the counter at the front. “What can I help you find today?” she asked, smilingly pleasantly.

  Emily took the lead, sliding around Maria. “A wedding dress, mostly. Maybe something for a matron of honor, too.”

  “You are the bride?” the attendant asked. She looked to be somewhere between 35 and 45, with makeup that had to have taken a half hour to get so perfectly applied.