I can’t blame the cold for keeping me awake. I’m guessing I couldn’t sleep even if I was warm, it’s just how I live these days. What I wouldn’t give for a real bed in areal house. One with four walls and a lock on the door. A real mattress, one that gives me space to roll over in the night if I want.
What I wouldn’t give to be lying in bed with you right now.
Soon we’re headed to one of the bigger cities that houses a British airbase. We need to stock up on supplies, shower, take a breather somewhere that’s somewhat protected. Maybe I’ll catch a little sleep since we won’t have to be constantly on guard. They should have phone banks, so I’ll be able to call you and won’t have to keep it so short.
I’m sorry for the attitude I had last time we talked. I’m always tense, too tense, but it’s not right to take it out on you. I know I need to be a better man, a man you deserve. I’m still trying to figure out how to live these two lives, how to be a soldier and also a good boyfriend.
Iscribble out the last few sentences, tossing my pen to the side so I can shred the paper in two. I tuck the shreds into the smaller pocket of my bag, keeping it with all of the other half-written letters I’ll never send to her. She doesn’t need to hear how miserable I’ve been. She doesn’t need a half-hearted apology through a letter when I should just treat her right to begin with. I wish I had something positive to say. I wish I couldwrite a letter telling her all the happy shit I could think of, if only there was any.
Our last quick phone call was strained, just like they all seem to be. I tried to fit a month’s worth of talking into the ten minutes I got on the satellite phone. The call kept cutting in and out, she was standing outside the rehearsal studio. Both of us were half occupied, which meant nerves were shot.
Letters seem to be better, in a way. I can hide behind my words and she can read them when she has time.
Footsteps sound from the other side of the humvee. My heart pounds, hair standing tall on the back of my neck, and I reach for my pistol, twisting my body around just in time to see Collins slide through two of the vehicles.
He puts his hands up in mock surrender, smiling at me as he moves toward his sleeping sack. “Just had to take a piss, man. Don’t shoot.”
I force out a chuckle, lowering my gun to the ground next to my feet. I bring my knees up, resting my arms along them, and let my head hang down, trying to stretch out a kink in my neck.
“You alright, Hart?” Collins asks, inching his way back into his bag. He stretches out, bringing his hands up to rest behind his head.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Just tired.” Not a lie.
“I think we’re all beat to shit,” he says through a yawn. “Couple weeks, we’ll be at a real base with a shower. A bathroom that doesn’t involve a plastic bag behind a rock. A phone call to the wife.”
I nod along at that. Funny how such simple things now seem like luxuries. An indoor shower. A toilet with a seat. A phone.
“How are things with your little Botticelli ballerina?”
Collins coined that nickname for Mags when I showed him some of the photos I carry around in my pocket. I wouldn’t show them to the majority of the guys here. Not that they’re bad guys,but the pictures are special to me.She’sspecial to me. But she is the walking definition of a Botticelli ballerina—long, graceful limbs, soft blonde hair. She’s stunning, both inside and out.
“She’s good, I think. Been a while, you know?”
He nods at that. “Same. The last few calls with the missus have been rough.”
My ears perk at the tone of his voice, and I raise my head to look at him. “What’s going on?”
He shrugs. “Nothing I can prove, you know? Just weird lately.”
I ask the dreaded question that no Marine wants to hear when they’re thousands of miles away from their loved ones. “You think she’s cheating?”
He shrugs again. “No. Maybe. Sometimes. The distance is hard, you know? People get lonely. Women get lonely. It happens.”
“Women can’t be trusted,” Brutus calls out, rolling over so his back faces us.
I roll my eyes and shake my head in his direction, but Collins just shrugs.
“You really think she’d step out on you, man?”
“I question it. Don’t you worry about the same thing?”
When I don’t answer, he laughs, a little too loudly, and he quickly covers his mouth to stifle the sound. “Of course, you don’t worry about that,” he whispers. “Anytime you talk about Magnolia you get these glittery stars in your eyes like an adorable little puppy dog.”
I smile at that, a genuine smile, because he’s right. “I’ve known her almost my whole life, man. I know the type of person she is. It’s just … that’s not her.” Is it foolish to think like that? I try to let my mind wander, to imagine Mags sneaking around behind my back, lying to me, and I can’t imagine it. I cannot fathom her betraying me like that.
Same goes for me. I can acknowledge when a woman is good-looking, but it doesn’t go any further than that. When I played ball, there were fans, women, who wanted to wrap their arms around my waist for a hug, and it always made me feel tense. Women would try to slip me their number, to kiss me on the cheek, and I’d always push them away. There has never been a woman who could pull my interest like Magnolia Banks.
“Well,” he sighs, rolling to his side and crossing his arms over his chest, trying to get comfortable on the bumpy, cold ground. “When the hard times come, when we’re delirious from the war, fighting, lack of sleep, and we’re bitter that they didn’t answer the phone, just remember the good woman you have waiting for you when this is all over.”
