All the air leaves my lungs. Every moment between Malena and I tainted by a singular, nonnegotiable lie. “Married? Are you sure?”
She sends another photo, and it’s the marriage and the divorce certificate in one PDF image. “I’m positive,” she says after giving me a second or two to review the photo. “I asked around after I pulled the information online, and I guess it was a huge scandal. They were high school sweethearts. The type of couple who everyone says was destined to be together. Word on the street is Dylan never got over Malena, and he’s been trying to woo her back into his graces. Maybe with you being gone,” Eva stutters. “It’s a lot. The separation. I’m sure it’s a lot for most people to deal with. Maybe it was a weak moment, Leif. It could be nothing.”
“Or it could be everything. Thank you, Eva. Even if you just ruined my fucking life.”
She scoffs. “I’m just as surprised as you are. You guys were it. I’m done. I’ll leave her alone now. Okay?”
Or do I have her follow her around like an insecure dog? That’s not me. It can’t be. It’s never been me. “I need a bit to sort things. I’ll talk to you later.”
We end the phone call, but I continue staring at the computer screen and the images that tell a story I’m not a part of. His face. It’s almost more than I can bear witness to. This was a private moment never meant to see the light of day. I’d feel guilty if this didn’t change everything for me. I thought I meant more to her than this. I could get over the omission of the marriage and divorce, I think. With a ton of time and soul searching, but I’ll never get over these photos and whatever the fuck they mean. I want to kill him.
It’s too late to call Malena, so I do what she does every day. I write her an email, and I tell her about the weather here in San Diego. My words convey the bland temperamentof someone who is distancing themselves from a situation or person. Maybe that’s what she’s been doing over the course of these two months. The emails formed as her easy way to get out of a relationship with me to be with him. A man who she used to call husband. Shared a bed with. Shared a life with. I close my eyes when the sting in my chest becomes unbearable.
In the last paragraph I ask her to explain herself and the photos. I also attach the marriage and divorce certificates and ask about those as well. I tell her what I think the photos mean in the most concise manner I can manage without hurling every single curse word in the English language. I tell her to confirm I’m right and to walk away if I am. What I don’t do is give her any indication about how these photos and her lie make me feel. I’m not giving her that power over me. The reason I feel like a gutter slum right now is because she had that power to begin with.
I’m blindsided.
“Time to go! Our leave request was approved, fucker. Let’s go eat tacos and drink beer!” Aidan roars from the other side of my bedroom door.
An off night. A rare pleasure. I pause for a moment or two wondering if I’m approaching this in the correct manner before hitting the send button. Fuck it. She wasn’t thinking about me when she was visiting this guy, didn’t have a thought of me in her mind. One time she said she’ll always be the one who needs me more. Such bullshit.
Closing my laptop, I call out, “Yep.” Then head to open my door.
“You okay?” Aidan says. The dude might be an asshole superb on most days, but I can’t deny he knows me well, and vice versa. That’s what’s best about our brotherhood. We can move from razzing each other to supporting each other in a way no other friendship can. Not until you’ve fought side by side, for your life, saving each other’s, can you understand how deep thebrotherhood goes. We’ve earned our right to be assholes to each other.
I think about showing Aidan the photos, but then I think better of it because of the emotion on their faces. It’s that embarrassing—that telling. “Yeah, man. Woman problems,” I say, hoping that will suffice. “I need this night out more than ever.”
“What happened? Malena realized what a tool you were and changed her cell number?”
“Ha-ha. I wish,” I say, sighing. Aidan picks up on the shift immediately. “Way worse.”
“Oh. Let’s get out of here, and you can tell me about it at the bar.” His eyes shift from mine and away just as quickly, also a telling sign.
I laugh a little. “You’re really going to drink beer? Just because they granted us leave for tonight doesn’t mean we’ll be alone. I bet they have people trailing us all night. We’re in deployment status, dude. I’m going to mind my manners like a good boy.” I try to change the subject, but the words left unsaid hang in the air.
“Well, I’m going to have to pretend no one is watching because they have us trapped on this base like a prison. It’s never been this bad before,” he remarks. “Remember the good ol’ days? There wasn’t war in the States, I suppose. It’s hard to get used to.”
“It hasn’t been this bad before,” I agree.
Before the attack that changed the world as we know it, we were just a part of the Navy. Yes, a special operations part of the Navy, but now they treat us like a nonrenewable resource. They aren’t allowing people into BUD/s like they used to. You can’t trust anyone these days. Moles are everywhere, and to prevent them from infiltrating the very heart of our military, they put a kibosh on accepting candidates until we have a more thoroughway to screen individuals. The technology is coming, I’ve seen it, but it’s not there yet. In the meantime, we wait, atop a golden throne of stay the fuck away from everyone during this mission, and pray no one gets hurt.
“It could be the end,” I say.
“That’s ominous. What exactly is that in regard to?” Aidan says, opening the door to a black pickup truck. They belong to the base, and we use them to get from one side to the other of the expansive compound. My stomach sinks as I conjure the different meanings of the end.
I get in the passenger side as he starts the engine. “Everything, man. Just fucking everything,” I reply. “I’m going to tell you the whole story, and without being a douchecanoe, I need you to tell me what your take is.”
“Without joking once?” he asks, pulling onto the road that will lead us to freedom.
“Not once,” I confirm.
We have to scan both of our ID cards to open the gates, and the guards make note of the time and license plate number. Aidan sighs as the process takes longer than it should. “Fine. Tell me everything. I’ll probably make jokes about it tomorrow, though.”
“That’s fine,” I say, grabbing my ID from his hand after the guard hands it to him. I nod my chin at the man in uniform, making sure to give him eye contact. Aidan does the same. It’s tense. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they’d started laughing while saying,“Gotcha. No night out for you! Get your asses back home.”
We pull into traffic—we’re free.
“Head down the Strand,” I tell Aidan. “I don’t feel like doing Gaslamp tonight.”
