Collateral

by Ellen Hopkins

  Mr. Clinger. My poetry teacher.”

  Awkward. But Darian smiles

  and Jonah grins and I guess that

  means it’s all good. Great to meet

  you, Darian. May I join you ladies?

  Poetry is better with excellent company.

  Darian shrugs. Okay by me. Ash?

  It’s your party. She looks at Jonah,

  and amends, Her birthday party.

  “Belated birthday, actually. And

  sure, please join us.” I consider

  playing coy, but I think at this point

  confession is the better path.

  “Jonah took me to my first slam.”

  That elicits a single eyebrow raise

  from Dar, and that might be as far

  as it goes, except Jonah adds, I also

  watched her ride her first big waves.

  I don’t know if she told you or not,

  but she was amazing. Twelve-foot

  breaks, and she totally rocked ’em.

  I can see Darian trying to process

  all this, and am infinitely relieved

  when the lights flash, signaling

  the start of the slam. I’ll have some

  explaining to do later. But right now,

  Darian is laughing at something

  Jonah said—I seem to have missed

  it—and all I want to do is immerse

  myself for a little while in the energy

  of my best friend and my . . . If I had

  to label him, my best male friend.

  Rewind

  I NEVER HASSLED COLE

  About Lara again. It wasn’t fear,

  although the way I covered the bruises

  reminded me of how abused women

  have hidden secrets beneath fabric

  ever since the invention of the loom.

  Before that, no one cared. Few enough

  cared after. I was warier of Cole’s

  moods. But I wasn’t afraid. Not really.

  No, the reason I quit worrying about

  Lara was because I had no choice.

  As my mom had once counseled, I

  could either believe him or leave him.

  I had invested too much time in us

  to throw it all away. I even stopped

  combing posts on his Facebook

  page, decided it was best to accept

  his word that she was only a whisper

  from his past, echoed. Echoed loudly.

  I never expected to actually meet

  her. But as bad luck would have it, I did.

  IT WAS A ROTTEN DAY

  All the way around. Funerals

  generally are, and Dale’s was

  a particularly sorrow-steeped affair.

  He passed on Good Friday. Something

  significant there, to someone of faith

  anyway. Mine continued to waver.

  God. Dude. Why did you bring

  Dale and Rochelle together, only

  to force them apart so quickly?

  That’s what I was thinking as I flew

  to Denver. Cole, who was granted

  emergency leave, joined me

  there and, rather than puddle jump

  into Cheyenne, we rented an SUV.

  Spring had officially started more than

  a month before, but Old Man Winter

  was stubborn, if fickle. One day it was

  sixty; the next topped out at forty.

  That’s life on the prairie, said Cole.

  Capricious, any time of the year.

  The funeral itself was at Rochelle’s

  church, officiated by Reverend Scott.

  He was nowhere near as jolly as when

  I met him the first time, at the Christmas

  nuptials. In fact, he looked almost as sad

  as Rochelle, though his sermon argued,

  We must celebrate Dale’s death

  as a beginning. Like opening a new

  journal with crisp, clean pages inside.

  I sat next to Cole, who sat beside

  his mom at the front of the church.

  On her far side was Dale’s brother,

  Donald, and beyond him his wife,

  Carlene, their four grown children

  and a passel of grandkids. I’d been

  introduced, but their names were

  lost somewhere in the swirling sadness.

  The pews filled in behind us—old

  friends and rows of family members

  I had yet to meet. And though Cole

  knew most of them very well, he became

  noticeably nervous, especially as

  the noise of voices built. He cocked

  himself sideways, and I could see

  him throw several anxious glances

  over his right shoulder. Always,

  his face rotated past mine, which

  seemed to ground him in the there

  and then. So did familiar music.

  Especially “Amazing Grace,” which

  allowed him to close his eyes,

  comfort in what could be trusted.

  THERE WERE NO TALIBAN

  At the funeral. No insurgents,

  sneaking through the sacristy

  or hiding in the pews. Every single

  person was a “honor the red, white,

  and blue American,” and as Anglo

  as they came. Still, Cole teetered

  on the edge of nerve-driven

  claustrophobia. I’d never seen him

  like that before and it was more than

  a little disquieting. There was only

  one bad guy—or girl, I guess—there,

  though I didn’t realize it until after

  the benediction, when we finally

  stood and walked to the rear

  of the sanctuary to form a reception

  line. Lara sat midrow, toward

  the back. Cole spotted her right

  away, and when his attention turned

  toward her, she drew mine as well.

  Her face was a little rounder than

  in her Facebook photo. She’d put

  on a few pounds. That satisfied

  me immensely. I knew it was not

  a good way to feel, so I did my best

  to retract my claws. I looked her

  straight in the eyes. Smiled. Her wistful

  expression didn’t change at all. Oh,

  she was good. But I belonged to Cole.

  And she was here all alone. Had

  she believed Cole would be, too?

  DECORUM

  Is my middle name, at least in public

  situations, sans alcohol and scaffolded

  with Xanax. I could hear my mother

  reminding me, “Always act like a lady

  in front of closed doors. Never show

  emotion if it means risking your power.”

  She had plenty of practice. I conjured

  her face, steeled my own in the same way.

  I was a lady. I only hoped that meant

  something to the man I plastered myself

  to. I couldn’t hold his hand because we

  were expected to shake hands with those

  who came by, offering condolences.

  Truthfully, I felt like an imposter. I liked

  Dale just fine, but I didn’t really know

  him that well. Lara could have accused

  me of stealing her commiseration, like

  some petty pickpocket, pretending

  to be a lady. She didn’t, though. In fact,

  she was gracious. She shook my hand

  gently. So happy to finally meet you.

  Cole has told me so much about you.

  Okay, she got me there. I couldn’t really

  offer an honest reciprocal greeting.

  So I relied on a detour. “You, too, Lara.

  I feel like I know
everything about you.”

  NO NEED TO ADMIT

  I was a snoop. She moved down

  the line, gave Cole a small kiss, mouth

  on mouth. Which, oh yeah, bothered

  me mightily. Not that I’d let it show.

  And not that I’d bring it up to him later.

  I was sleeping with him that night.

  She’d be on her own in a lonely hotel

  bed. Or back in Denver, if she decided

  to drive that far after the burial and wake.

  She attended both. Of course she did.

  The cemetery was like something out

  of a nightmare. Iced-over headstones.

  Once-lush grass crunching beneath

  our feet. It must have taken a bulldozer

  to dig Dale’s final resting place. Grave.

  That’s what it was. A three-by-eight-

  by-four-foot-deep trench in the frozen

  earth. It may sound strange, but it was

  the first time I’d ever seen a casket

  lowered. It was fascinating and awe-

  inspiring, at the same time. I hoped

  I’d never have to witness such a thing

  again, knowing, of course, I would

  some day. Cole’s mom. Or my own.

  That was the natural order of things.

  Reverend Scott seemed almost

  as uncomfortable as I was. He muttered

  some basic words, the usual . . . ashes

  to ashes, capped off with a simple, Amen.

  I CARRIED THE VISION

  Of that coffin all the way back out

  to the ranch. It faded once I went

  inside to help spread out all the

  food on the tables. It seemed like

  everyone brought something, most

  of it sugary or otherwise carb laden.

  As more and more people arrived,

  cloying the rooms with body heat

  and swelling noise, Cole began to

  get anxious again. I fixed him a plate,

  found him a beer. “Why don’t you

  eat outside? It’s not so bad in the sun.”

  Besides, by then, Lara was perched

  on a chair in the living room. I kept

  looking at her few extra pounds

  and this little voice inside my head

  insisted I should skip eating, go

  straight for the alcohol. Not brilliant.

  Two drinks on an empty stomach

  beelined to my brain. There’s a paragraph

  in the Book of Drunk that begins

  when your head fuzzes over and

  your tongue swells to twice its normal

  size. The first sentence starts, “You really

  don’t want to say this, but . . .”

  AND, YOU KNOW

  Had she respected me, my space,

  my relationship with her ex—who, by

  the way, she dumped, not vice versa—

  I might not have said a thing. Might

  have listened to my mom and maintained

  the loftier plane. Instead, after watching

  Lara buddy up to Cole’s mom, knowing

  they maintained a relationship—one I had

  yet to establish with Rochelle—I soft-core

  freaked. I waited until Cole took his plate

  outside and joined a few other men on

  the porch. Until Rochelle’s attention diverted

  to a kid spill. Then I sidled over to Lara,

  who was working on a plate of pasta—

  Hamburger Helper, was my best guess.

  “Can I ask you something?” I worked

  really hard not to slur in the slightest.

  Her mouth was full, so she nodded.

  What I wanted to ask was why the hell

  didn’t she leave my boyfriend alone?

  But caution kicked in. “How long did

  you and Cole go out?” I waited for her

  to swallow. She looked at me with

  curious eyes. Not quite two years.

  “He and I have been together more than

  four—the hardest years of my life.

  As I understand it, you broke up with

  him because he joined the Marines.”

  I wanted her acknowledgment.

  She gave it to me. Pretty much, yes.

  “Well, I fell in love with him despite that.

  I’ve stuck it out through three deployments.

  I’ve stressed. Cried. Celebrated every

  homecoming. Been destroyed when he

  couldn’t make it for some special occasion.

  I’ve done all those things for Cole, and you

  refused to . . .” Bolstered by what I’d already

  said, emboldened by alcohol, still I calculated

  my words carefully. “So why won’t you

  just go away? Leave him alone. Please.”

  She might have gotten angry. Maybe

  it was the “please.” Her shoulders dropped.

  It’s hard to let go of love. I tried. But once

  the anger faded, the love was still there.

  IT WAS THE ADMISSION

  I’d been looking for. So why didn’t I

  feel righteously vindicated? I felt sorry

  for her. Regardless, I wanted her out

  of Cole’s life. Not to mention my life.

  “Cole’s still a Marine. I support him

  in that. You can’t take it away from

  him. And I don’t believe you can

  take him away from me, if that’s what

  you have in mind. I don’t know if it is.

  But you have no right to interfere

  in our relationship.” It was a strong

  statement, and I thought it a good

  place to truncate the conversation.

  Rochelle had finished her cleanup

  and focused her attention our way.

  The smile I flashed her was more

  triumphant than friendly. Not that

  I knew for sure if I had triumphed.

  But, at the very least, I had said

  my peace. And all the suspicion

  and resentment I’d been harboring

  came pouring out. I turned my back

  on Lara. Went to the food table.

  Skipped the pasta. Gorged on salad.

  LATER, AFTER

  Most everyone had gone, Rochelle

  sank into an overstuffed leather chair.

  Dale’s favorite, where she could

  still smell him, she said. I could relate.

  The weight of the occasion seemed

  to settle down onto her shoulders.

  She shrunk. And so did my ego.

  I sat on the ottoman in front of her.

  “Will you be okay out here alone?”

  Cole was worried about it, I knew.

  But Rochelle was adamant. This

  is my home, even with Dale gone.

  Everything he loved is all right here.

  Horses. Cattle. Dogs. The land.

  I won’t be alone. He won’t go far.

  And he left me plenty to do, too.

  So, yes, I’ll be okay. He made sure

  of that. But what about you?

  “Me?” I had no clue what she was

  asking. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. Lara told me what

  you said to her. Cole loves you.

  But love is like water. You have to

  let it run its natural course. Dam

  it up, you’re asking for trouble. It’s

  gonna go looking for a way to escape.

  WATER NEVER DISAPPEARS

  It only reinvents itself,

  liquid, solid

  liquid

  gas, liquid,

  forever

  in random echo.

  Every drop

  encapsulates

  the beginning, its
/>   undulating

  glass a window,

  opening

  into Genesis.

  Wake to platinum

  beads of dew,

  the very first

  morning breaking

  within

  the clutch

  of dawn

  dampened grass,

  consider

  that we are essentially

  water and wonder

  how many eons

  we squander, every

  time

  we allow

  ourselves to cry.

  Cole Gleason

  Present

  FOR THE SECOND TIME

  In a month, I find myself hitting

  the highway to Lodi. Only this

  time, I have Darian for company.

  “You’re sure Spencer’s okay with this?”

  Yeah. They’re having a big to-do

  at the hospital. Pretty sure his

  physical therapist is dressing up

  as Santa. She won’t need a pillow.

  The plan is for Dar to stay a couple

  of days with me, while we scope

  out the wine country. Then she’ll

  spend Christmas with her parents.

  Mom says Dad cut a giant tree.

  Not sure why. Guess he’s trying

  to make up for the last four years.

  “What does he have to make up for?

  You’re the one who stayed away.”

  I know. She actually sounds contrite.

  Since the accident, Dad has been so

  supportive. He even offered to let us

  move home when Spence is released.

  “Really? Are you thinking about it?”

  I’d kind of hate for them to leave

  San Diego. Then again, who knows

  where I’ll be living after the wedding?

  I’m not sure. Coming home seems

  like backward motion, you know?

  Still, if we can find a good VA

  hospital not too far away, we’d

  probably have to consider it.

  She goes on to outline courses

  of treatment, physical therapy

  requirements, etc. Poor Spence.

  “How’s he doing, attitude-wise?”

  Depends on the day. It’s like he built

  a big wall around himself. Sometimes

  you can’t break through it at all.

  Other times you can peek through

  a crack and see the old Spencer inside.

  That brings up a lot of reminiscing.

  Swallowed up by yesterday, the drive

  passes quickly. Finally she asks if I’ve

  heard from Cole. “Not lately. But I don’t