Swear, Ms. Hudson, I’m not a creep. I just really like her.
She’s smart and witty and funny and a complete pain in the ass—which, I guess, just adds to her charm. And she’s pretty. Real pretty. And she’s so strong. The fact that she hasn’t had anything to drink the past few days (not sure if you knew that or not) just shows how strong she is. I’m sure you know all those things about her, though you may not have witnessed it since the accident, I just thought I’d remind you.
Riley told me about her dad (jerk, right?) and it kind of made me angry—that there was some guy out there who’d had a hand in creating such a perfect girl and he didn’t even know her. I felt bad for him—that he was missing out on all things Riley. Then I thought about Riley and how she missed out on having a father in her life. But then I realized, she didn’t miss out.
She had you.
To be completely honest, Ms. Hudson—and please don’t take offense to what I say next—I didn’t like you. Not at all. I didn’t understand why a mother would let her daughter drink her days away and do nothing to stop it. It wasn’t until you practically kicked my ass and called me out while I stood on your doorstep desperate to see Riley that it finally registered—you’re just like my dad: You do what’s best for your kids, and you love them something fierce.
So I guess what I’m trying to say is that no, Riley isn’t now, nor will she ever be… how did you phrase it? “Another notch on my belt.”
Riley gives me a reason to wake up in the mornings.
She gives me hope.
She gives me answers.
She gives me the calm I can’t seem to find anywhere else, not even in my own head.
Yes, I will be going back to Afghanistan to serve my country.
Yes, I will be leaving her at some point.
Yes, I will miss her when I do.
But here’s the thing you may have misjudged about me: The reason for me joining the Marines wasn’t for the money or because it was some sort of family legacy. The reason I didn’t think twice about my answer when you asked if I’d be redeploying is simple:
One day I’d like to get married and have children. Lots of them. (Children, not marriages.) I’d like for my wife and my children to not be afraid to leave their homes or turn on the news at night after dinner and see warzone after warzone and wonder when it is that it’ll all end. I want to wake up in the mornings, our minds clear of hate and racism and injustice and terrorism. I want to kiss my wife, play with my kids, and know that I did everything I could so that we can be together without fear of what will happen when we turn ours backs.
Sure, I wanted all those things pre-Riley, but it wasn’t until I met her that all my reasons—my purpose—had a face.
I’m not saying that I’ll be the one to marry Riley one day (I could be so lucky). I’m just saying that the person Riley is—past, present and future—is the kind of person I’m fighting for. The reason I chose a career that puts my life on the line every day to serve my country.
I just want more, Ms. Hudson.
I want more for your family, and I want more for mine.
Don’t you?
Yours sincerely,
Lance Corporal Dylan Banks.
Thirty-Two
Riley
There are certain things a person does that you don’t actually realize are things until you start missing them. For example: Reach over you to silence your alarm every morning, and then become your personal snooze button. Or switch on the coffee pot while you’re in the shower so it’s ready by the time you got out. Or remember all the occurrences from the night before so you can find where the hell you misplaced your keys. These are all things Dylan did. All things I’d learned in the first half hour of the next day. All things I’d taken for granted now that he was gone.
I even walked to his truck, too preoccupied on my phone, and stood by the passenger door for him to drive me to work. I stood there for a good minute before realizing he wasn’t behind me. I hadn’t even closed the back door.
The days are okay.
The nights are hard.
We’d spent every night for the past five months together so it was difficult getting used to being alone. His friends, or ours, I should say—they message me often to check in on me and make sure that I’m doing fine but my work schedule doesn’t give us a lot of time to catch up. Besides, it’s only been three days. Three days. I finally get what Dylan meant when he said the time is identical for everyone, but at the same time it’s not. Because my version of three days feels like an eternity.
Eric: You bringing home The Bacon tonight?
Riley: Um. What?
Eric: Your dog…
Riley: Oh! Yes, he’s coming home with me.
Eric: Can we visit? Dad and Sydney are here. We’d love to meet him. It’s cool if you’re busy though. Or just want him to get settled. We understand.
Riley: No! Come by! I’d love some company!
Eric: Okay. Should we bring frozen dinners or…
Riley: Lol! Um…
Eric: Jokes. Pizza or Chinese?
Riley: Chinese, please.
Eric: Same order?
Riley: Yes, please.
Eric: Have you heard from him?
Riley: No. :(
Eric: We’ll be over at 6:30.
Riley: See you then!
I get through the rest of the work day, excited to bring home Bacon and hang out with Dylan’s family. I’m only home ten minutes when they knock on my door.
We sit at the table and talk about anything Non-Dylan-Deployment related while Bacon charms the pants off everyone. “We should get a dog,” Mal says.
“We had a dog once, didn’t we?” Eric responds.
Mal shakes his head, his eyes narrowed at his son. “We’ve never had a dog.”
“I’m sure we did. When I was younger. It used to cry and piss and shit everywhere. Oh wait. That was Dylan.”
I choke on a laugh just as there’s another knock on the door. I get up to answer it, but Eric stops me. “I don’t know that I like you on your own answering doors late at night.”
I look at the time. It’s only seven. I tell him that, but he just shakes his head and motions for me to sit. Then he gets up and answers the door for me, speaking over his shoulder when he says, “I’m going to set up a security system in here. Cameras and everything on the outside. Just in case.”
“You’re being a little dramatic, no?” I ask, but he’s already out of the kitchen.
“It’s not a bad idea,” Mal chimes in.
“Besides,” Sydney says, shrugging, “Once Eric has an idea in his head, you can’t change it. Just give him that peace of mind.”
“I don’t know that I can afford that,” I tell them.
“Don’t you worry, Riley,” Mal says. “Dylan would’ve wanted it.”
I look down at my plate, knowing full well they’re right.
“We didn’t know you had company,” a deep, familiar, accented voice sounds from the kitchen door. Jake stands in front of the rest of the gang, pizza boxes in hand.
My smile is instant. So is the swelling of my heart, because even though it can get lonely, I know I’ll never be alone.
* * *
Weeks pass and I try not to think about it too much. Bacon helps. The dog. Not the food.
Dylan had warned me the night before he left that communication would be limited. Especially if he’s remote, and he won’t really know what he’ll be doing at any given time. He told me he’d most likely get to the base, be given orders, and be shipped out as soon as possible. His unit was a man down, which is why he was rushed off. It’s also why I worry so much. I asked a lot of questions that night and he did the best to answer them. Then he came up with the best response possible: “It’s the life of a military wife, Ry.” It’s not to say that I hadn’t thought about a future with him, but the word “wife” had never been spoken before. And that single word set off the butterflies.
Bacon cries at
night so he sleeps in bed with me, which I know is something Dylan may not be happy about when he gets home, especially the first few days, or weeks in our case, but I can’t help it. I hate hearing those cries. Besides, it’s nice to have someone in bed with me. It helps take away from the heartache of his absence.
Dylan
“I thought you’d be too busy with your girl,” Dave says, leading me toward the USO office. Apparently he’d been R&R for a couple weeks while I was home and never bothered to tell me.
Now we’re united again at a base a few miles north of Ghazni. I’d left the night I got to Camp Lejeune and was temporarily set up with another unit until mine found their way back here.
“I would’ve come to Pittsburgh to see you.”
“And do what?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Meet your mom. Your brothers.”
“And Riley. She would’ve come, too?”
I shrug, opening the door of the tent and stepping inside. “Probably.”
“Yeah,” he says, following behind me as I sit down at one of the free computers. “I don’t think I could’ve handled you all loved up and settled when I had to come back to this shithole.”
I face him quickly. “She would’ve fucking loved you.”
“Oh yeah?” He licks his finger, then rubs his nipple over his combat uniform. “I would have made her love me.”
“You’re fucking delusional.” I point to the laptop. “What do I do?”
Shaking his head, he leans over me and opens a program on the screen, then begins to type faster than I thought humanly possible. A second later, a picture of Riley pops up on the screen.
“Why the fuck do you have a picture of my girl?”
He laughs loudly, his head throwing back with the force of it. “It’s her profile picture, dumbass.”
I wait for his laughter to die down before asking, “Now what?”
“Now press the video camera icon.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I wait for him to leave and when I can tell he has absolutely no plans to, I hover over the damn icon, trying to hide my excitement, because fuck I’m excited. I haven’t spoken to her since I left and dammit I miss her. I miss everything about her. I miss the way she smells. The way she moans when her alarm goes off. The way she falls back asleep right away while I watch her, occasionally attempting to wake her so she’s not late for work. I miss the way she looks when I tell her she has to get up, and I miss her cursing at me when I forcefully pull her out of bed. I miss the way she’d smile when she got out of the shower, all fresh and clean and perfect when she’d lean up on her toes to kiss me good morning. I miss the way she’d always choose to sit in the middle of the seat and place my hand on her leg, half distracted by her phone when I’d drive her to work. I miss touching her. I miss kissing her. I miss—
“Are you actually going to call her or what?” Dave says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I don’t know,” I mumble, my excitement turning to worry.
“Why not?”
“I feel like this will do more bad than good. Like having a little piece of her is worse than not having her, period.”
“Have you spoken to her at all?”
“Nope.”
“How long have you been back?”
“Three weeks and two days,” I tell him.
“She’d be wonderin’, man. I’d want to hear from you. Even when you were home I was thinking about you. And she may not love you as much as I do—”
“Shut up.” I chuckle.
“Just call her, dude.”
Inhaling deeply, I square my shoulders, preparing myself. Then I click the icon.
It rings once.
Twice.
And by the third time I’ve almost given up.
Then it connects and all I can see is black. But her voice… I can hear her voice. “Hello?” she croaks. “Dylan?”
There’s a dog barking in the background and I can make out shapes but nothing else. “Babe? Can you see me?”
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Hi baby.”
The dog’s barks turn to whimpers. “Can you see me?”
“Yes.”
I lean closer, trying to make out her features. “I can’t see anything, baby. It’s dark.”
“You’re cutting out. Hang on, I’m going to turn the light on.”
Dave taps my shoulder. “It’s 3 a.m. there.”
A moment later, the screen lights up and all I can see is the flannel of our bed sheets. Then it moves to a dog, and then finally, familiar bare legs I’ve dreamed about more times than not since I got here.
“Nice legs,” Dave says.
“You can fuck off now,” I retort.
I can see the side of her face, her hand as it wipes her eyes, either from sleep or from tears. Then she lifts her phone in front of her and I release a shaky breath. She’s staring at the screen, her lips parted—curved slightly—her beautiful gray eyes wide and her hair a complete mess. My heart, my world, my breath—all of it stops.
“Hi baby,” she whispers again, and I drop my gaze, just for a moment so I can gather my thoughts. I struggle to swallow and wipe my eyes on my collar.
Dave settles his hand on my shoulder and squeezes once. “Everyone’s cleared out,” he tells me. “I’ll be out front and try to give you some privacy.”
I nod, thankful for his actions and wait until I hear the door close before finally looking up at the flickering image of the girl I love, the girl I’ve missed more than words could ever convey.
“Dylan?” she asks, her once wide and hopeful eyes now narrowed in confusion.
“God, Riley. You are a sight for sore eyes.”
She laughs through her tears. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Me too, baby.”
“I love you so much.”
I smile. “Me too, baby.”
“What are you—I mean, are you allowed to say where you are?”
I shake my head.
“But you’re safe?”
“I’m safe.”
The dog barks again. “Is that Bacon?”
She nods. “He’s biting my feet.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been jealous of a dog before.”
She smiles, her eyes clear again. “You want to see him?”
“Yeah.”
She moves off screen for a moment, then returns with the puppy in her arms, his face next to hers. “There’s Daddy, Bacon. Say hi.” She grabs his paw and makes him wave.
“You better be taking care of Mamma,” I say.
He jumps out of her hold and she frowns. “I think he needs to go on a potty break.”
“You need to take him out?”
“No. Cameron installed a doggy door and he’s trained to go out on his own.”
My smile widens. “Cameron’s been around?”
“They all have. And your dad and Eric, too. Eric set up a security system—”
“He did? Why didn’t I think of that?”
She nods. “He didn’t like me answering the door when I was home alone.”
“He’s a good man,” I tell her. “What else has been going on?”
She shrugs. “Not much. Just missing you.”
“But they’re all taking care of you?”
“Yes, baby.”
“And you—you’re okay?”
She nods.
“And the drinking?”
“No. I’m not drinking.”
“No urge?”
A second’s pause. A moment’s hesitation. “No.”
“Riley. Don’t lie to me.”
She inhales deeply and lets it out in a whoosh. “I’ve thought about it. But I wouldn’t do it, Dylan. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
“Good.”
“Don’t worry about me, babe. Not with everything else you have going on. I’m okay. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Hey, is there so
mewhere I can send you stuff? Do you guys need anything?”
“Probably. Dave will know—” and right on cue, I hear him say, “We gotta go. Meeting.”
“Fuck,” I spit.
“Already?” Riley whines. “That was so fast.”
“I know, Ry, but I have to. I think we’re still here tomorrow so I’ll try to call again.”
Dave walks over and bends so his face appears on camera. “Hey Boo,” he says.
Riley laughs and waves at the screen. “Hi Dave.”
I cover Dave’s eyes. “Ry, flash me your tits real quick.”
“Dylan!”
Dave tries to pry my fingers off his face. I don’t budge. “Come on!” I plead. “I’m a desperate, deployed man and I’m missing my girl.”
She bites down on her lip, her gaze lowered.
Dave’s trying to shrug out of my hold now. I keep him in place. “Quick, baby,” I say through a chuckle. “If you love me you would.”
“You just love my boobs,” she retorts. “Bye boys!”
“Did I miss it?” Dave yells, his view still covered by my hands.
Riley adds, “You’re lucky I love you so much.” Then she reaches up, quickly unbuttons my shirt she’s wearing, grips the sides and spreads her arms wide, smirking as she does.
Swear, I’m the luckiest asshole in the world.
Thirty-Three
Riley
I pace the kitchen, checking the time for the millionth time. It’s 6:00 a.m. On the dot. I haven’t slept. He said he’d call. Last night he called at 3. He should’ve called already. I check my phone again. 100% charge. Full volume on the ringer. I open the Skype app to quadruple check there are no missed calls. There aren’t.
Panic sets in.
Tears fill my eyes.
He wouldn’t have said he’d call if he couldn’t.
Something’s wrong. I can feel it.
I look at Bacon, fast asleep on his bed. I check the time again. 6:01.
I pace faster, my hands balling and straightening at my sides.
They’d tell me, right? If something were wrong, they’d call? No. They just show up at the door. I’ve seen it in movies. Read it in books. They don’t call.