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Eli rests the glass back down on the table, then rests his head in his hands.
“I can’t leave you like this, Eli. You need to promise me you’re going to follow through on what we talked about.” When he doesn’t answer, I raise my voice. “This isn’t fair to me. Shit, do you even care? You know I have to live with what I did to Cooper, so don’t let me get on a plane thinking that someday I’ll be carrying the weight of what you’re thinking of doing, too. Please don’t do this to me, brother.”
Normally I wouldn’t talk so openly in front of Eli’s father, but I don’t have time to be tactful right now. And I’d never bring up Cooper like that, but again, I’m not thinking one hundred percent clearly right now.
As a rule, I try not to think about Cooper. I just can’t bring myself to wade chest deep through the awful details of that night again. I’ve never told Grace the whole story. I told myself that I didn’t want to burden her with it, but maybe it’s just that I don’t want Grace to know. Don’t want her to know that I missed all the signs Cooper gave, that I flat-out ignored him in that critical moment when he needed me most. I shake it off, tell myself again that I’m not responsible for what Cooper did even though I don’t believe it.
Eli is looking at me in a way that feels like he can see right into my head. He wipes at his eyes and then stands up to bring the liquor back into the kitchen. I hear the contents swish down the drain and then hear the bottle clink against whatever else is in the recycle bin.
“There’s a meeting at St. Anne’s tomorrow at noon,” Mr. Oliveri tells him. “I’ll go with you.”
He nods once, looks to me and then to his father. “Sounds like a plan.”
* * *
I don my dress blues before Mr. Oliveri drops me off at her place a few hours later. I can show up to base in my service uniform, that’s what’s expected, but I go for formal instead. It’s what you’d wear to a black-tie event, a parade or a formal ceremony. Weddings, funerals—that sort of thing. It’s what I hope to wear when I marry Grace someday. Maybe that’s why I put it on.
“It’ll be all right, Damien. I don’t want you to worry about Eli. You take care of yourself and we’ll take care of him.”
I nod, hoping for the best where my friend is concerned. I feel so messed up right now, so powerless. I look to the back where I stashed my duffle, then grab my hat off the seat.
“I’ll see you at five-thirty?”
“We’ll be here.”
Grace looks surprised when she opens the door, and smiles as she takes me in from head to toe. I went all out, medals and ribbons and everything. I’m standing at attention and I don’t return her smile. I try, but just can’t do it.
“Hot damn,” Reese calls out from the kitchen.
“You clean up nice, Sergeant,” Frannie adds from her spot on the couch.
Grace’s expression changes as the moment drags on, and the girls, no doubt sensing the vibe, share a look and then retreat to one of the back bedrooms.
“You’re leaving.”
“I just got the call. I’m due to report tomorrow morning.” She looks around me to see if anyone else is outside. “Eli’s father just dropped me off. They’re coming back to get me at five-thirty. I just assumed that I’d—”
“Stay with me.”
“Yes.”
She stands up on her toes and places a soft kiss on my lips. “We’ll make it a night to remember.”
And it’s not all doom and gloom, not the sad farewell I was dreading. No, Grace makes a point of ordering fried chicken that’s a close second to the world-famous chicken we shared on our first date, in addition to mashed potatoes, macaroni dripping with cheese, and she even tacks on some sauteed green beans and corn fritters so that I eat some vegetables. And after the girls clear out to catch a movie in town, I hear a knock on the door twenty minutes later to discover a bag with two pieces of banana cream cheesecake inside—my favorite.
Grace uncorks a bottle of wine and sets the table for us. She’s keeping up a brave front, but I know she feels the same way I do. Taking a seat across from me, she raises her glass to mine. “Here’s to the future, Sergeant Erikson.”
“To the future,” I repeat, clinking my glass against hers.
I notice she takes a big gulp of her wine before saying, “I hope your first leave is stateside and that it’s soon.”
I smile at her, knowing that’s optimism and not the reality. I doubt I’ll be seeing Grace anytime before next summer at the very earliest, but I don’t need to tell her that now.
“Be right back,” I tell her as I go into her room. I have a pair of sweats I left here and a t-shirt , and I do change out of my dress blues into them, but first I tuck the letter I wrote to Grace in the top drawer of her nightstand.
I wrote it a few days ago, back in that basement cafeteria she took me to the first day we had lunch together. I sat down about an hour before I was scheduled to meet up with Grace, then proceeded to pour my heart out onto two pages, both back and front. I haven’t read it over since that afternoon, for fear that I’ll find it too sappy, too desperate, too something. I think I covered just about everything I’m feeling in that letter, and screw being embarrassed, it’s best if she knows exactly where I stand.
“I can’t show up with grease on my uniform, and the elastic waistband,” I snap at my sweats, “means that I can stuff myself full of fried chicken.”
