Joy and Tiers Page 11

  “I’m not angry at you. I’m angry with myself for not being able to control my reaction to you. I’ve been trying to get my head in the right space for a relationship for a while. To be honest, I wasn’t looking to find anybody. Yet, there you were looking all hot and gorgeous everywhere I turned. I was still prepared to ignore you, and I was doing a pretty good job of it. But you turned out to be as sweet as apple pie and you began wearing down my defenses.”

  “That’s just weird,” I mutter. “You can’t control your body’s reactions.”

  Ty sighs and scrubs his hand down his face in frustration as he says, “Let me try to explain. At first, it made me angry. I thought maybe Jeff and Kiera had told you my story, and you were trying to be the perfect girl to get past my walls and then just hurt me like all the others. But, then Jeff set me straight and told me they hadn’t said anything to you and that you were just being yourself. Then, I saw how you came through for Gwendolyn and Donda in their crisis. You truly impressed me. It took a lot for me to look past my preconceptions of you, but when I did I liked what I saw, and I wanted to give us a fighting chance. So, I started trying to get your attention. Though, by then it was too late because you were confused and pissed.”

  I shrug as I say, “I guess I’m still confused. I don’t know why you would think being attracted to me is a bad thing unless you don’t want to be in public with me. I would understand that point of view, I guess. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard something like that.”

  “Just shut up with talk like that,” Tyler growls at me through clenched teeth. “Remember what I said about being mean to yourself? How many times do I have to tell you? You are drop-dead gorgeous. I would be honored to have you on my arm. If I am that lucky, I won’t stop showing you off, so don’t you worry about that. I don’t know who put those ideas in your head, but you need a different frame of reference because yours is a little skewed, Gidget.”

  “So why all the resentment?” I probe.

  “It has precious little to do with you—except the fact that you are female. Someone of your persuasion worked me over really good, and it’s not an experience I want to do again. So, you’ll pardon me if I’m a little gun-shy.”

  “Well, not all women are like your ex,” I argue defensively.

  “I sure as hell hope not,” Ty responds bitterly. “She practically ruined my life.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I comment gently. “You seem to have succeeded beautifully in spite of her. I, for one, thank her for screwing up royally—because of her stupidity I have a shot at a relationship with you.”

  The corner of Ty’s mouth quirks up as he replies, “Wow, Gidget! You do have a talent for finding the positive side of virtually everything. I didn’t think there was a positive side to be found in that situation, but you seem to have found the barest of the silver linings in the tornado that was Stacia.”

  “How long ago was this?” I ask, hoping it wasn’t so recent that he’d still be on the rebound.

  Interestingly, it’s Tyler who flushes a dusky red this time. “Umm, I was 19,” he mumbles under his breath.

  “What?” I say much more loudly than I intend to. “You mean to tell me that you almost didn’t ask me out over something that happened almost a decade ago?” I ask as I dissolve into giggles. “...and they say women hold grudges? We’ve got nothing on guys like you.”

  “Hey! It was a big deal!” Tyler argues defensively. “She left me for my best friend while I was stationed overseas serving my country just because he was a jock, and I was a soldier. She went after him because he had a paycheck with more zeros than mine.”

  “That was a terribly scummy thing to do, and I hope karma bites her in the ass one day, but it doesn’t reflect on you,” I agree emphatically. “You honorably served your country while going above and beyond the call of duty by serving multiple tours. Obviously you are a man of great character, and she has no character to speak of otherwise she would have pursued you for the right reasons and stuck with you when times were difficult. It sounds like you’re better off without her.”

  “On my more mature days, that’s how I view it. On the days that I’m really angry, all I can think about is that I didn’t deserve it. I was doing the right thing by enlisting, and she shouldn’t have dumped me for making the decision. I mean I was going to ask the woman to marry me, for Pete’s sake. I truly thought we were going to have the white picket fence like my parents had, so her betrayal completely blindsided me. Then, to have her leave me for my best friend made it cut even worse. Did I tell you that they’re still together with the proverbial 2.5 kids in the middle of suburbia?” he asks with a grimace on his face. “After he recovered from cancer, he turned out to be some hotshot orthopedic doctor somewhere. So, I guess she got what she wanted.”

  “Well, I’m here to tell you that life in upper-crust suburbia is not all it’s cracked up to be. You might not know what’s going on behind closed doors. It might be all sorts of screwed up in their house. If there are problems there, it may be a very well-kept secret.”

  “I suppose so. But, it’s just so infuriating watching him have the future I was supposed to have with her,” Ty admits.

  “I don’t know if you’ve hung out with Kiera’s friend Tara much, but Tara is a big fan of God or destiny or fate directing our lives. She believes that there is an omniscient power that directs who we are and what we do. It is our responsibility to coexist with that energy force and try not to disrupt it. Her one maxim is to not stand in the way of the workings of destiny-fate-God’s-blessings. It’s an interesting fly by the seat of your pants approach to life which I find completely foreign since I was raised in an overly regimented family and told what to wear and when to wear it and even what schedule to use.”

  “I’ve only met her a couple of times, but she reminds me of some sort of Buddhist monk. She has a very calming energy about her,” Tyler replies with a roll of his shoulder.

  I smile at Tyler’s apt description of Tara. “I know, right? It’s almost as if she was someone else in a different life. Her spirit certainly doesn’t match someone who looks like she could step off of the pages of Vogue. I’m not saying that this is true because I just don’t know yet. But hypothetically speaking, what if God or fate meant for us to be together after all the crazy circumstances both of us have overcome. I mean come on, you’re not the only person with a crazy ex or two in your background. So, maybe all that pain was meant to teach us lessons so we could find each other in the end.”

  Tyler reaches up to brush a big tangle of hair out of my face. He smiles at me tenderly as he says, “You know the more I think about it, the more I like your interpretation of things far better than mine.”

  If I have to go on one more domestic violence call where the victim bails the perpetrator out of jail, I think I might pull my hair out entirely. This is the third time this month I’ve been out to this particular property. The woman hasn’t even gotten her cast removed from the last time her boyfriend beat the snot out of her. As I’m processing the evidence in the car, after his arrest, I come across paperwork from this morning indicating that she signed to spring him from the county jail where he was being locked up for assault and battery from their last dispute. I suspect one of these days I’m going to be doing a death notification to this young woman’s parents and delivering these children to protective services. It is so frustrating to be entirely helpless to stop the cycle.

  Some days I feel like a glorified taxi service to all the various stops within the system. It never seems to change; I just shuffle people from one place to another and then I shuffle paper from one pile to another justifying how I shuffled the people from one place to another. It’s a monotonous cycle day in and day out. As I check my email, there’s an urgent email from my commanding officer with the National Guard. My heart sinks to my feet. These are never good. Lately, the subjects of these emails have been related to the death of many of the men in my unit. Men have died on the bat
tlefield and others on the home front from alcoholism, drug abuse, and suicide. I dread opening the email. It’s been a hell of a day, and I’m not looking forward to whatever’s inside. Yet, it’s my duty to deal with whatever news is coming my way.

  Just then, my commanding officer with the Sheriff’s Department pokes his head into the little shoebox I’m using as an office. “Hey, Colton, you got a call from some muckity-muck at the Guard. You’re supposed to call back. When I asked for a name, they said just to tell you that you’re supposed to check in with your unit and you would know what he meant. He said he sent you an email and you should check that as soon as possible. I hope this message makes more sense to you. Anyway, consider yourself told,” He says with a smirk as he walks off. I’ve never liked that guy much. He’s got himself a fancy degree from some Ivy League university, and he thinks he knows all about police work. I bet he wouldn’t last two days on the streets.

  Now, I’m even more worried than before. For my CO to both call and email. It must be something pretty serious. I fish my thermos out of my backpack and take a big swig of lukewarm coffee to fortify myself.

  As I read the email, it isn’t what I expected at all. Members of our unit are being asked to volunteer for a special task force to train Iraqi security forces. I have to work hard to tamp down my rage. Train my ass. It was one of theirs who practically wiped out my unit. They were supposed to be working with us the last time. Unfortunately the bozo who tried to blow us up apparently didn’t get the memo. Now they want us to go back and try again. The problem is when Uncle Sam asks you to go on a "volunteer" mission, it isn’t really a polite request. It’s more like a prettied up order. So, I know that I don’t have much choice but to go whether I agree with the mission or not. This basically just burns my butt. The higher-ups who move little pushpins around a map have never had to hold dead soldiers in their arms and explain to their parents how little Johnny’s arms and legs got blown to pieces by some terrorist that was supposed to be on our side.

  Oh God, speaking of parents—mine are going to be devastated when they find out I have to go back over and serve again. I think they thought I was done when I dropped back down to the Guard. They had good reason to think so since I’ve done so many tours. It’s going to suck to tell them one more time. My mom worries about me so much when I’m gone. I feel like I break her heart every time I write or call. On the other hand, if I don’t call her she worries even more. It’s the ultimate no-win situation. Or, at least it was until I met Heather. This situation might be even tougher now. Things look like they might be going somewhere between us finally, and now that’s going to come to a screeching halt. I tried the “relationship in the military” thing once before, and I already know the ending to that story and it doesn’t end well, so there’s no point in even starting down that road. It’s too damn bad. I really believe things could have been great with Gidget too. Stupid fucking war.

  I have to get my head on straight because I have to call my commanding officer, and he doesn’t care about my personal problems, my philosophical problems with the plan or anything else. I try to think about how Heather would approach this situation as the eternal optimist. First, she would probably point out to me that this is an opportunity for me to see my friends I haven’t seen in years. Then, she would point out to me that it will be a great way for me to get even with the bastards who blew up all my men. Lastly, it’s a way for me to stack on some rank before I decide to retire completely. I’d like to go back to school and finish up the degree before I get too old to have a career that makes sense.

  So, I guess there are some positives to going back over to the hellhole if you can look at it like that. Trying to leave my brain in that frame of mind, I call my commanding officer.

  “Captain Smith,— this is Lieutenant Colton. I understand you called today, sir.”

  I listen as he commences the perfunctory small talk. I always find this part extremely nerve-racking. I’m never really quite sure when to schmooze and when to get down to brass tacks

  “Very good sir. Yes, sir, the weather has been wonderful. Yes, sir, the wedding was very nice. No sir, it was not my wedding. My best friend got married. My mother is fine sir, and my father is looking forward to retiring from the hardware store soon,” I answer, trying not to let my impatience show. In all honesty, I wish he would get to the important topic. I know from experience he’ll share the details only when he’s ready. I just have to be patient. I think this little exercise is a holdover from the days when he used to be a drill sergeant.

  “How is your family, sir?” I ask just to be polite.

  “It’s all good, Lieutenant. It’s good to be home. Although I will say I’m not thrilled Andrew is failing PE. It’s a little embarrassing since people know I’m his dad. I think he does it so there’s no danger that he’ll ever have to join the military,” Captain Smith jokes.

  I chuckle as I reply, “Could very well be, sir. What do you know about this upcoming mission?” I transition as smoothly as I can into the topic that’s burning a hole in my brain.

  Captain Smith snickers as he says, “Well, Colton, I’ve got to hand it to you. You lasted longer than I thought you would. I thought you’d be tearing me apart limb by limb for answers the second you got on the phone. Anyway, the email was just a heads up. This isn’t even an official mission yet. The policy wonks in Washington still have to fund it, and then they have to get final mission approval from the Pentagon. They’re worried about it conflicting with the draw-down directive. So, those of us on the ground are trying to get our ducks in a row in case we’re called up at the last minute. So, just be forewarned, if this comes down the pike you could get three hours, three days or three months’ worth of notice before we need to deploy,”

  “Don’t worry, I keep my ruck pack ready to go at all times,” I reply.

  “Well, damn son, we need more like you,” he quips.

  “Please keep me informed about what’s going on and I’ll talk to you later. Have a good night.”

  Today, Heather has her food truck parked down in Corvallis because there’s a football game at Oregon State University. I love the way her friends rally around her to help her in her business. She has gotten permission from a closed business park to take over a large portion of his parking lot. She’s got her little sideshow running. Tara has a booth where she’s painting faces with an airbrush. Gabriel, Jeff’s nephew, is drawing cartoon characters of people while his mom is a doing a little makeover booth. It still blows me away that Jeff’s claim to fame is braiding hair. But, hey whatever works for him and given the state of his seemingly blissful marriage, something is clearly working for him. Kiera is holding court in a homemade puppet theater of sorts with tons of Mindy’s dress-up clothes in a big steamer chest. She’s helping kids change in and out of clothes and reading them Pirate and Princess stories while their parents scarf down food. Even Javier is in on the fun. He set up a bunch of big-screen TVs in the parking lot and is projecting the game from his tablet so nobody misses any football. Heather is selling food faster than she can make it. She has a line all the way around the truck. I wash my hands and step into the truck to help her.

  “Wow, I’ve forgotten how small this thing is with two of us in here,” I comment as I almost smack my head on the ceiling.

  “Piper and I work in here just fine,” she argues. “I think it’s because you’re approximately the size of the Jolly Green Giant that’s the problem. Do you need something?” she asks pointedly.

  “Yes, actually,” I answer. “You look extremely stressed. I came to see what I could do to help.”

  “How much experience do you have on a flat top?” she asks eyeing me skeptically.

  “A fair amount actually,” I answer.

  “Enough not to burn bread?” Heather asks raising her eyebrow.

  “I think I can manage without too much difficulty,” I reply. “Just because I eat microwave pizza it doesn’t mean it’s the only thing I know how to cook. If I
screw it up, I give you permission to take me off the line, Chef.”

  “Wow, I’m impressed! You use the right vernacular and everything,” she teases.

  “It’s amazing what working two months at Denny’s will do for you,” I confess with a sly grin.

  “What did you do? Get fired for your lack of taste in food?” Heather parries.

  After a beat of awkward silence I answer, “Nope, I enlisted in the Army. After that, my taste in food went from bad to worse out of necessity.”

  I hear Heather mumble under her breath. I step closer so that I can hear what she’s saying as she is muttering to herself, “Great job, Heather—Land mines. Stupid emotional land mines. Please… try a little harder H. Maybe next time, you should just step on each and every one of them.”

  “What are you being hard on yourself about this time? Didn’t we talk about this? You were going to be nicer to yourself, remember? I think you forgot about our little deal. Heather, you had no way of knowing the reason I left my job at Denny’s was because I went to basic training. So why would you criticize yourself for not guessing that?” I gently ask as I tuck a piece of her hair back under her hair net.

  Heather looks up at me with wide cornflower blue eyes. “Well, I was trying not to make things awkward; but when you say it like that, it does sound stupid.”

  “Gidget, I appreciate you trying to be sensitive. But, I can talk about my military service. It just hurts me to talk about the day of the incident. If I didn’t talk about the time I spent in the military I have to disregard nearly a decade of my life between the time I spent in active service and the time I’ve spent in the reserves. My mom would be bummed if she couldn’t show off all those pictures of me in my uniform.”

  The corners of Heather’s mouth tilt up in a sexy grin and her eyes sparkle as she remarks, “Ooh, I bet you look sexy in your dress uniform. Heck, I bet you look sexy in any uniform. But, especially in your dress greens.”