CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I was late. Not a five-minute, “Oh, there was traffic” late. This was big late, the kind of late that would end with my dad’s dramatic sighs and a lecture about how Estelle had to keep the oven on to warm the food, but now the chicken was all dried up, and did I ever think of anyone but myself? I was already supposed to be at my dad’s house and I was still sitting in my driveway. As I said,late.
I wasn’t sure why I was prolonging my lateness by sitting in my car and staring out the windshield in silence. Sometimes I wished my car wouldn’t start, so I wouldn’t have to go, though my dad would complain even more and come pick me up. I hated any and all obligations that I had no control over. I didn’t like to be told what to do and where to be, and yet I let my dad put that burden on me. He’d applied that kind of pressure my whole life—and I did nothing to stop it.
I checked my phone again: a missed call from a random number. When I called back, an automated robot voice said it was a collect call for my mother. I bet the bill collector would have more success finding her than I would. My mom was the last person I needed to think about right now, and I started to feel that sinking pit in my stomach that I didn’t have the energy for tonight.
I went on Instagram out of habit and scrolled through pictures of girls I had known in high school who were now starting their adult lives or in the military themselves. Not a ton of people I went to high school with ended up going to college. For money or whatever reason, it just wasn’t the norm like it was in movies. I stopped scrolling when I saw a picture of a coast, bright blue water, and white sands. This was the backdrop to a couple of lounge chairs shaded by beach umbrellas, and in the corner of the photo, two hands clinking glasses of what I guessed were piña coladas. The caption read “OMG if you think this view is nice, wait till we post pics tonight!!! The sky here is sooooo beautiful!” with a bunch of heart-eye emojis. The account belonged to Josie Spooner, a onetime friend and a complete social narcissist who posted every time she left the house. Her daily coffee cup with a quote about how she’s “ready to kick Monday’s ass!” or “Ugh, people suck. So bad. Don’t feel like talking about it!” filled my feed often. What was the purpose of telling the world that she didn’t want to talk about it—why post it? I didn’t know why I didn’t just delete her, or my whole account. I hadn’t spoken to her since we moved from Texas. Then again, if I deleted everyone who annoyed me on social media, I would have zero friends.
I was mid–eye roll when I caught something out of the corner of my peripheral vision. It was Kael, dressed in his tan camouflage ACUs, striding down the grass and onto the sidewalk.
I rolled my window down and called to him. “Hey!”
He walked toward my car and leaned into the open passenger-side window. He had to duck down a little so he could see me. His eyes were bright in the setting sun. They were more than bright, they were striking. They were distracting; the unnerving cocktail of vulnerability and certainty in them seemed to sway me, to make me want to be kind to him.
“Where are you going? Was something wrong with the shower? I know it can be a pain in the ass. The water goes from boiling to freezing in like one second and—”
“Shower was fine.” He had one of his hands hidden in the pocket of his uniform pants and the other was resting on the window lining. The black ink tattoo on his forearm was in full view. I couldn’t tell what it was without staring, and he was way too close to not notice.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“To my company,” he answered softly.
“Right now?” I looked at the street to see who was there to pick him up, but there were no cars. “You’re walking?” I asked, again engaging in way too much conversation with him. Every few seconds I forgot I was already late to dinner.
He shrugged. “Yeah. My truck’s there.” He looked down at his uniform. “And all of my clothes.”
“But it’s so far from here to walk. Why don’t you call an Uber?”
He shrugged again.
Was he really going to walk three miles?
I looked at the digital clock on my dash: 7:06. I should be knocking on my dad’s door right now, but here I was, sitting in my driveway, debating with myself whether or not to offer him a ride to his company. We were both going to the same place, after all . . . well, depending where his company was—Fort Benning wasn’t as big as, say, Fort Hood, but it was spread out and took a while to get from one side to the other.
Without saying a word, Kael stood up straight, his upper body disappearing from view as he walked away. I called out for him again and leaned toward the passenger side, almost by instinct.
“Do you want a ride? I’m going through the West Gate—where’s your company?”
He leaned down again. “It’s near Patton, same gate, but I’m good. Thank you, though.”
I was a bit annoyed and surprised by his blunt response, so it took me a second to say anything.
“I’ll literally pass it on my way. I’m already late anyway, it won’t kill me to be a tiny bit later.” I said that, but I knew every second would count with my dad.
I could only see Kael’s hands, because they were no longer in his pockets. He was fiddling with his fingers, picking at the skin around his fingernails. An anxious tick? I could have watched him stand there for an hour, taking in the tiny bits of character he was giving me. My mouth was physically dry, desperately drinking in the smallest details, the freckle on the tip of his thumb.
The way he dug at his skin reminded me of my brother. He had skin peeling around every visible finger. Austin used to get so antsy during car rides, especially those to visit our mom in her apartment right after she’d moved out. She bounced from place to place and my brother’s hands bore the evidence of his pain and her instability. The first place on Clear Creek Road was right outside of Fort Hood . . . we ate frozen pizza off paper plates while my dad stood over us. The second one, only a block away from the first, was a little smaller and a little messier, and she said she lived alone but the soldier’s boots by the door said otherwise. By the time she was in the third and final apartment, with a handful of roommates she didn’t even try to hide, Austin had such thick scabs around every finger. One of Mom’s roommates walked in smoking a cigarette and offered it to my brother, who was sixteen at the time. Our mom and dad screamed at each other for so long that night that I fell asleep on Austin’s shoulder, and I woke up to my dad yanking open the car door and shouting that we were never, under any circumstance, to be around her without his supervision.
As I sat in the driveway, I shook my head, trying to jumble up the memories enough to lose them and stay present in this moment with Kael.
“Do you want a ride or not? I really have to get going,” I repeated my offer, annoyed at myself for persisting.
“Aren’t you already late? Elodie seemed pretty worried about you being late.” He leaned down to look at me and I noticed his eyes on my cell phone screen. “More worried than you, at least.”
I smiled sarcastically and plugged my phone into the cord connected to my car. “Are you going to get in or not? Last chance.”
He made eye contact with me and held it just a second too long. I looked at myself in the rearview mirror while I thought of something witty yet sarcastic that I might say as I drove off, leaving him in the driveway.