by C. B. Stagg
Walking back, the lights from the newly arriving car illuminated the landing of the stairs, drawing my attention to the figure of a man slumped down against a brick column. The devil on one shoulder said, This is not your problem. Get in your car and go!... the angel on the other said, You’re better than that, go offer assistance. As I walked closer, the details once obstructed by the ice-filled air became more clear. And by the time the man was in arm's reach, I had to fight to catch my breath. That jacket.
“Bennett?” The man didn’t stir. Moving in closer, I nudged him a few times and heard something, a mumble maybe. Okay, so he wasn’t dead. The man’s face was covered by a sweatshirt hood and pushing it back revealed a nightmare.
“Bennett!” I jumped up and waved my arms to the other guy returning books. “Hey, my friend collapsed! I need help.” The scrawny guy came running over and together, we lifted Bennett to his feet. It took every muscle in my body, but we slowly walked him down the stairs. I think Bennett was helping a little, but I couldn’t be sure. When it was time to get him in the car, I opened the back door and, with what I know had to be at least some help from Bennett, the stranger and I were able to get him in the car. His partial lucidity gave me great hope for when I would have to unload him all by myself.
Beutel, the university’s on-site clinic (referred to as the Quack Shack by many) was less than a mile away, but like the rest of campus, it too was deserted. I sighed and rested my head on the steering wheel, trying to conjure up options and failing miserably.
Bennett was sick. And there was no one around to take care of him, which really left me with only one option. “Hang on, Bennett. I’m about to get you dry.” I punched the gas and, by the grace of God, we made it home within five minutes and in one piece.
“Hey, help me out here. Sling your arm around my shoulder… ” He grunted, I grunted, it was all very uncivilized. “Yes, like that. Now, can you stand?” His legs stiffened and, with a big pull from me, we were vertical. “It’s that door right there, just a few more steps.” It was slow going, but we made it, both crumpling into a pile on the couch as soon as it was in reach.
Chapter 23
Bennett
The roar of Apaches overhead sliced through the silence, placing me back at the base camp outside of Doha. When I couldn’t sleep, I used to try and count each one that flew over, usually giving up after I hit triple digits. Those things were everywhere, fading in and out, like a radio station just out of reach, mingling with the sound of a voice that brought me so much peace.
“No, I owe you nothing, much less an explanation … with this sham of a relationship, with this entire preplanned perfect life I’m supposed to lead. All of it. I’m done being your … don’t control me anymore, no one does, so you can go to Aspen or you can go… “
I tried to hold on to the voice, but like the desert wind, it faded away without warning.
It was hot, so hot. God, I hated Kuwait. The mighty desert wind carried with it sand and debris, and grit between our teeth and in our eyes was as common as feathers on a bird. In the distance, the rumble of a convoy grew louder. I had about five minutes before we’d be unloading whatever supplies we’d just picked up from Camp Doha. In search of my squad, I turned, only to trip and fall to the ground.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m going to ruin … If you mean by not marrying … you’ve got that backward. If you mean I’m ruining your … political aspirations, I literally could not care less.”
The voice was angry, irate even, and I felt it like a poison.
“What the hell?” Hot, sticky blood coated my hands and the cause of my fall, a body, lay lifeless in a large puddle of the stuff. Removing the helmet, my heart stopped as I stared into Jillian’s lifeless eyes. The cry that escaped my throat was that of a feral animal being eaten alive.
“Hey, sorry I’m … a sick friend. Anyway, I’m not coming to Aspen and I … Gareth. You can have … was always your goal. Good luck with … be very happy together. Talk … Bye.”
Night had fallen, and the choppers were gone, along with the threat. “Shhhh… ” I closed my mouth and warmth engulfed my soul, creating a peace I’d never known before. It wrapped around my body, chasing away the tortured shadows that had been my constant companions. It tamed the darkness with its presence and I relished in the absence of the torment and despair that had been branded on my heart.
Chapter 24
Jill
SOMETHING CAUSED ME to jump and the book I’d been reading flopped to the ground. My eyes flew to Bennett, asleep in my bed, but he didn’t even flinch. Reaching down, I grabbed the paperback and placed it where I’d been sitting. I’d lost my place, but that hardly mattered. In the thirty minutes I’d been reading, I hadn’t comprehended a word.
Once I got him inside and out of his sodden jacket, he was dry enough to put into bed, relieving me of the awkward task of wrestling him out of his jeans. I did, however, remove his lace-up Ropers. They’d done a good job of protecting his feet from the elements, so I was able to leave his thick, wool socks in place.
He had been burning up, so I forced some Tylenol down his throat after several unsuccessful tries that resulted in his maroon Texas A&M sweatshirt being soaked. There was nothing remarkable about it, so I cut it off, revealing a thin white tank underneath. I threw the remnants of the shirt on the floor, with the promise of buying him another one at the university bookstore if he’d just get better.
The phone rang and I wondered if that was the noise that caused me to startle a few minutes before. “Hello?” I held my breath. It was several hours past the time I should have been in Austin. My first instinct was to ignore it, but that wouldn’t have been fair. All I needed was a search party combing the highway for my dead body, which led me to wonder if there was someone expecting Bennett tonight.
“Jillian, where in God’s name are you?” he growled. It was Gareth. Real Gareth, not masked, suave, confident, public persona Gareth.
“You called me at home, so… ” Probably not the best time for sarcasm. I was in the hallway and I quietly closed the door to my room before heading into the living room.
“Why aren’t you here? We fly out in five hours, Jillian. We’re having to fly commercial and Continental Airlines won’t hold the plane, even for me.” Wow. That may have been the first time Gareth admitted there were limits to his family’s political influence.
“I’m not going.” I spoke before I could stop myself, and it wasn’t saying those words that caused me to freeze in fear. It was what would inevitably follow when Gareth realized I’d defied him again… and this time, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
“Excuse me?” His tone was cool, controlled. Masked Gareth was taking over. He was equally, if not more, terrifying than the real one because he was harder to read.
“I said I’m not going. My friend is sick and needs to be taken care of.” I’d known for a while I’d have to choose. Not between Gareth and Bennett, but between the woman my parents expected me to be and the woman I now knew I was. And I was choosing me.
“You little bitch.” Gareth’s voice was low and controlled, more terrifying than ever. “Do you have any idea what this trip meant for us? The Kennedys will be there, for God’s sake. The press is expecting a headline, Jillian. This vacation was strategically planned, and if you think I’m going to let a spoiled, rotten, damaged whore ruin my political career to play nursemaid to some insignificant nobody, you’re dead wrong.”
I flinched, his assessment of me was a slap in the face. He was right, of course. That was a pretty accurate description of the Jillian I used to be, but that girl had been annihilated by the tender heart of the soldier currently asleep in my bedroom.
I sighed, exhausted and preoccupied with worry. “I don’t know what to say.” I almost apologized, but swallowed it down. I wasn’t sorry, not even a little bit, and I was finished with false pretenses.
“How about starting with a damn explanation. You at least owe me t
hat.”
“No, I owe you nothing, much less an explanation. I’m done—with you, with this sham of a relationship, with this entire preplanned perfect life I’m supposed to lead. All of it. I’m done being your show pony. You don’t control me anymore, no one does, so you can go to Aspen or you can go to Hell for all I care!” Wow, go Jill, go!
The silence stretched as I pictured Gareth flipping through his rolodex of masks, looking for one that would get him the desired outcome. I took the lull as an opportunity to sneak back in to check on Bennett.
“Jillian… I could have given you the world.” Ooh, contrition. Smart move, but not good enough.
“Gareth,” I sighed, sitting down where Bennett slept peacefully. The growth on his face, only a few days old I’d guess, was soft under my fingers as I stroked the side of his face. It was time to pull the plug. “The world you’re offering is not the one I want.” With nothing left to say, I hung up the phone, on my former future husband, on my future life, and on the only world I’d ever known.
Every fifteen minutes, like clockwork, I wiped Bennett’s face, neck, and arms down with a cool, damp rag. Caring for him gave me the opportunity to learn the topography of his body. Maybe I should’ve felt guilt or shame in my exploration, like I was taking advantage without his knowledge. But as I ran my hands along the dips and planes carved into this man by years of hard work, his reaction to my touch was wondrous. His face relaxed, his heartbeat slowed, his breaths became deeper, more substantial.
It’s amazing, the way a body can tell a story and the ink on Bennett’s arms spoke volumes. On his right arm, an American flag hung vertically, stars to the left, with gentle ripples running through it. Above the flag, in script, was written No Man Left Behind. On the bottom half of the flag, negative space created the silhouette of a soldier dressed for battle. It was magnificent.
His other tattoo was simpler, more discreet. Located on the tricep of his left arm were simple lines of text, written in the same scripted font as the opposite arm. It read,
I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade.
It was my new credo. My mission was to help Bennett heal and I wouldn’t accept defeat, I wouldn’t quit, because there was no way I could leave him behind. Not again. Not ever.
So I continued allowing my fingers to roam, tracing the stars and stripes of the flag, and the words as I read them to myself over and over again. My hands were nomadic, unable to stay in one place for too long. It was all in the name of medicine, I tried telling myself… but ‘myself’ wasn’t buying it for a minute.
When the phone rang again, I was rinsing out the cloth I’d been using on Bennett, so I wiped my hands on my jeans and grabbed the cordless receiver.
“Hello, Mother.” I answered, because I knew it. I don’t know how, but I knew it.
“Jillian.” Ice queen. It was almost too easy to picture her face: pinched and angular, looking down her nose, dissatisfied resting look etched upon her overly made-up face. And to think, she’d spent the last twenty years raising me in her image. The thought made me gag.
“Save your breath. I’m not going.”
‘Yes, I have been made aware. I’m not going to ask you who or what prompted you to make this decision, nor will I ask why you’ve decided to go rogue and embarrass this family, again. But… I will say this: If you are not in Aspen within eighteen hours, you are going to ruin everything.” Wow, that was a lot of power to give one person. Everything? Really?
“What do you mean, ‘I’m going to ruin everything,’ Mother? If you mean by not marrying Gareth, I’m ruining my life, you’ve got that backward. If you mean I’m ruining your life or dad’s political aspirations, I literally could not care less.” I laughed, feeling euphoric at giving her a piece of my mind.
“Jillian. I can make things very difficult for you, my dear.” It wasn’t a warning. It was a threat. She was cutting the strings tied to my hands, feet, mouth. Because she was no longer the puppet master to my life. Jillian was becoming a real girl, just like Pinocchio, and I couldn’t be controlled by anything.
I walked back into my room. Ben had kicked off the sheet, so I tucked it back around him, smoothing it across his body, then sat at the foot of the bed.
“You do not want to do this, young lady.”
What was her game? I laughed again, quietly so as not to disrupt my charge. She was threatening to cut me off. Well, joke’s on her. My grandmother, her mother, predicted this years ago and made arrangements for this exact situation, seeing my mother for who she truly was. I didn’t need her or my father.
“That’s where you’re wrong. I do… ” I slid my hands down his muscular thighs and he stirred in his sleep. “I do want this. More than anything else in the world.”
A nurse, I was not. I was an extremely healthy kid, never really getting even so much as a cold. I’d never felt a forehead to check for fever and I had no thermometer, so I had to get creative. I found by resting my cheek on Bennett’s chest, just over his heart, I could answer two vital questions: Was he still alive? And did he still have fever? Checking for the hundredth time since bringing him home, I listened to his beautiful breaths through his shirt, letting the rise and fall of his chest sync with my heart. The situation was status quo. Yes, he was still alive and yes, he still had fever.
Tylenol. It was time for more Tylenol. Though it wasn’t doing much good, I grabbed the bottle from the kitchen counter and spotted the phone.
Lori.
I dialed her number, knowing she was about to board a plane, but praying she’d check her messages at some point.
“Hey, sorry I’m whispering. I’m taking care of a sick friend. Anyway, I’m not coming to Aspen and I broke up with Gareth. You can have him now. I know that was always your goal. Good luck with that. I’m sure you’ll both be very happy together. Talk later, or maybe not. Bye.”
My world had become very small, just a one bedroom apartment, population two—with no ghosts, no pasts, no expectations, no judgment, and no denial. It was freeing.
The second I placed the phone back in the cradle, the screaming began.
Chapter 25
Bennett
MY SENSES RETURNED one by one, creating a series of snapshots, each one revealing more about where I was.
Sound.
I thought I detected voices, but try as I might, I could never catch hold of anything substantial. A ventilation unit kicked on somewhere and there was breathing. The steady rhythm of breathing. Maybe it was my own, but I didn’t think so.
Smell.
It was easy to recall the foul stench of war; unwashed bodies, revolting steam rising from MREs, the latrine. But what I smelled was the exact opposite: fresh laundry, clean soap, lavender, vanilla, coffee. It was what I’d expect Heaven to smell like.
Taste.
My mouth was dry, unclean, and a faint bitter taste lingered on my tongue.
Touch.
The thing under me was soft, a warm cloudlike material that molded to my body, taking my shape and cradling me like giant hands. I’d never been picky about where I slept, so long as I was relatively safe. But even if I wasn’t, I still slept, just not as well. Extending my hands, the cool fabric under my fingertips was smooth like silk, but there was an unexplainable pressure I didn’t recognize. Not uncomfortable though, just foreign.
Sight.
The room was dim, dawn only recently breaking as a silvery diffused light crept through the slats between the blinds. An empty chair sat by the bed I was on and a half-full glass of water sat on the side table beside it. The pressure I’d been confused about was a thin, delicate arm, and while I probably should have flipped out at that point, I didn’t, because I knew.
Jillian.
Turning my head, I found myself eye level with Jill’s neck. She was halfway sitting up on the edge of the mattress, like she’d started sitting stra
ight up, then slipped during the night. One of her arms was lazily draped over my chest, while the other was behind my neck cradling my shoulder. She was beautiful as she slept, serene, with the face of an angel.
An angel who’d spent the entire night with her arms around me.
I stared at her, committing the image to memory, when her eyes fluttered open. Immediately she smiled, but like a switch had been flipped, her smile dropped away and with wide eyes she jumped up, extracting her arm from underneath me.
“I’m sorry, but… “ Her voice was too loud. She looked up at the ceiling fan, then down at the comforter, anywhere but at me. She took a calming breath. “You were screaming. I tried waking you, but you tugged me down beside you and it made you stop, so I stayed.” Night terrors. Damn it.
Using my wobbly arms to push myself up, I sat and reached for the water, only then realizing I’d been stripped down to just my undershirt. I looked at my chest and bare arms, trying to see the emblems of my military life through her eyes, the ink on my skin just another reason I would never be enough for her. When I looked back up, she was staring and a wrinkle had formed between her brows.
“You had fever. I think you still do.” She took a step toward me, then hesitated. “I had to cut your sweatshirt off so I could cool you down.” My heart slammed against my ribcage. What else was gone? I took a peek under the sheet covering me, grateful my jeans were still in place.
“I need the bathroom,” I croaked. And I did. Bad.
“Oh, right through there.” She pointed. “Do you need help?”
Then she stepped back and covered her mouth. Her face turned twenty shades of red, realizing what she’d said. “I meant from here to there, just getting down the hall, not… “ I shook my head, willing myself not to laugh. I secretly loved the perma blush she often had around me. I wonder if he also held that honor?
