She’s right. But when I close my eyes at night, all I see is that market the suicide bomber blew up. And those kids three days later. Dying. From our bullets. It doesn’t matter that the insurgents were using them as shields. Or that we got the guys responsible for the bombs that killed more than a hundred Kuwaiti women and children.
I’ll always know…I was one of the pieces of shit who killed them.
“Thank God,” Jessup says as the transpo slows to a stop and he jumps out. “Lawton can finally send a fucking message to his girl.”
“Shut up,” I snap. “You didn’t see her face that night, asshole.”
“Didn’t need to. You’ve described it in perfect detail a hundred times.” He ducks out of the way as I throw a punch at his shoulder. “You were in a shitty mood the whole mission. Five and a half weeks of watching you fold and unfold that note. How the hell she’s willing to marry a sappy fuck like you, I have no idea.”
Neither do I. Following Jessup into the barracks, I dump my rucksack on my bunks and start unpacking. The mail room across the yard looms, despite not being able to see it through the walls of the tent.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” Jessup asks.
“If I call her, she’ll want to know what happened.” I snag one of my spare boots and start polishing it. I can already see my face in the damn thing. But it’s been covered in blood more times than not in the past year, and every time I put them on, I see it. Smell it. “Once she finds out, she’ll never look at me the same way again.”
“What does she think happens in war, man?” Brasher asks as he lays a towel out on the floor and starts to break down his weapon. “People die.”
“She’s twenty-two,” I say. “She still looks at the world like it’s all shiny and new. Fuck, she’s in med school to make a difference. And she will. That girl’s going to save lives—over and over again. I can’t ask her to come home to a killer.”
I run a hand over the fuzz on my head. When we’re in-country, we all get a little lazy with the razor. Jessup stoops so he’s right in my face. “I don’t like pulling rank, Lawton. But if you don’t get your head out of your ass, I’m telling the Staff Sergeant that you need to be put on leave. We’re headed back out there in five days, and if you’re not 100%, then you don’t deserve to stand at my side. Call the girl or consider yourself unfit to serve.”
An hour later, I hold an ice pack to my jaw and hover at the door to the mail room. “Got anything for Lawton?”
The letter’s thin, and the handwriting on the outside…it’s not Joey’s, and there’s no return address.
Tearing into the envelope before I even move away from the counter, I pull out the single sheet of paper.
Dear Ford,
I don’t know how to tell you this. I can’t say the words. I tried to call, but I couldn’t. But writing them isn’t any easier. When I left your apartment…I never made it home.
He…they had me for a week. So many bad things happened. Things I don’t want to think about. Fifteen of us. Trapped in a railcar. We were supposed to be sold. But the FBI found us.
I’m alive. In the hospital. My sister says this isn’t a dream, but I don’t believe her. I’m sorry you had to find out like this. But I didn’t want you to call and wonder why I didn’t answer.
Joey
Stumbling out into the hot desert night, I barely make it to the phones before I see red. Someone hurt her. Someone violated her. Was going to sell her. The date on the letter…it’s a month ago. She sent this a month ago and didn’t hear anything back from me.
Static crackles over the line as it rings, and I don’t understand why she’s not answering. As I’m about to disconnect, there’s a click, and a tentative “Hello?”
“Who’s this?” I demand.
”Who’s this?” Now the woman’s pissed.
Get it together, asshole. It’s probably her roommate. “Ford. I’m Joey’s fiancé. Is she there?”
The woman sighs. “This is Lisa. She said you’d call. Thought it would have been at least three weeks ago, though. You’re a jerk, you know that?”
Anger stiffens my spine, and my knuckles crack as my fingers tighten on the receiver. “Listen, I already feel like shit. But I just got back from a long deployment—no communications in or out. Are you going to let me talk to her?”
“Really? You didn’t know…?”
“Of course not! You think I would have abandoned her? Never. I love her.”
Another sigh, and Lisa curses under her breath. “Ford, she left. I came home a few days ago, her stuff was gone, and there was a note on the counter. All it said was ‘I have to go away for a while. Here’s the rent for last three months of the lease.’ No forwarding address, no nothing.”
“What? I don’t understand. She had to say more than that.”
