Pieces of Me Page 7

  Nigel’s BlackBerry beeped.

  “It’s my KBR buddy,” he said, looking down at the device. His thumb moved quickly as he scrolled through the email, then he looked up. “Sampath, you said? I’m sorry… Not official yet, so don’t spread it around.”

  Back in my room later that day, I sat at my desk. Nigel told us to take some personal time if we needed it, but we all said we were fine. No one got any work done. I spent the next two hours staring blankly at my computer screen. Mohammed knocked over a mug in the kitchen and we all jumped. Someone swore. Eventually Anna left and I followed her.

  “I just want to switch my brain off for a while,” she said. “Watch some mindless TV or something.”

  I didn’t fully understand how I felt. It was not grief exactly, because Sampath was not a real friend. Not in the normal sense anyway. I did not know his surname, or much about his family. But he was a friend in the way that strangers could be in the IZ. He was part of life on the compound, part of the routine. He was the closest I had come to experiencing loss from the conflict first-hand.

  I wanted to talk to someone but I didn’t actually want to talk. I wanted someone who would not ask questions or try to understand or fill the silence. I wanted Adam.

  I would email him, just to tell him about Sampath. He had met him. He should know. I opened up my laptop slowly, composing the email in my head.

  As I logged on I noticed how slow the internet was. There must have been a lot of people in their rooms, Skyping home to remind families they loved them or streaming movies to block off their brains.

  When the page finally loaded, there was already an email waiting for me.

  Subject: You okay?

  Emma. Apologies for getting in touch again, but we got a report in – sounds like you’ve had a bit of action down in the IZ. Just wanted to check that you and Anna are okay? Adam

  Of course Adam knew about the attack already. His team must get situational updates all the time. I read the email twice, three times. The exhilaration, the disbelief, the numbness of the day were all ebbing away and I was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to cry. I wiped tears from my face with the back of my sleeve as I typed a reply.

  Subject: Re: You okay?

  Hi Adam. Anna and I are okay thanks, just a bit shaken. Sampath was killed. He was the man working at Green Beans when we met there. I think he’s the only fatality. Emma

  I hit send and moments later my laptop made the distinctive ping noise of Instant Messenger. Adam’s name appeared. My stomach tightened with nervous excitement.

  [Adam.M 16:04]

  Hey Emma

  [Adam.M 16:04]

  Really sorry to hear about Sampath. He seemed like a good guy.

  [Ems82 16:05]

  Hi.

  [Ems82 16:05]

  Thanks. Yeah, he was.

  [Adam.M 16:05]

  Are you sure you’re all right? Must have been pretty rough down there.

  [Ems82 16:06]

  Yeah. I think I’m okay, but I don’t really know what I feel.

  [Ems82 16:06]

  It’s weird.

  [Adam.M 16:06]

  Understandable.

  [Adam.M 16:06]

  From a medic’s perspective, you’re probably still in shock.

  [Ems82 16:07]

  Maybe. I guess.

  [Adam.M 16:10]

  I’m glad you’re okay.

  [Adam.M 16:10]

  They said it hit near the gym. Remembered you mentioning you went there in the morning sometimes.

  [Adam.M 16:10]

  Just wanted to check in.

  [Ems82 16:11]

  Yeah. We were there this morning. Sampath was in the class too.

  [Adam.M 16:12]

  Shit. I’m sorry.

  [Adam.M 16:12]

  Might sound weird, but I’m here if you need to talk about anything. Training and all that. We’re probably a bit more prepped than civilians.

  [Ems82 16:12]

  Thanks. I appreciate it.

  [Ems82 16:14]

  And thanks for emailing too. I was…

  [Ems82 16:14]

  I was actually going to email you myself. You know, to tell you about Sampath.

  [Adam.M 16:15]

  No need to thank me. And I’m glad you were going to tell me.

  [Adam.M 16:19]

  Emma?

  [Ems82 16:20]

  Yes?

  [Adam.M 16:21]

  I’d really like to come down and see you.

  I inhaled deeply and quickly. The knot of excitement and nerves wound tighter in the pit of my stomach. I finally let myself acknowledge that this was what I wanted, but I knew that once I replied there was no going back. I realised I had been holding my breath and let it out slowly as I typed.

  [Ems82 16:25]

  Yes, Adam. I’d like that too.

  10

  This evening, we go to a Mexican restaurant. It is my favourite place to eat out here. Colourful paper bunting flutters as we come through the door. People talk and laugh over Latin pop music. I breathe in the familiar smell and I smile.

  Adam brought me here the first time I visited Colorado Springs, after I told him I loved Mexican food. Adam didn’t tell me at the time that he didn’t usually eat anything spicy and that he’d called up a friend for the recommendation. He sweated through the first meal with mild salsa and three cold beers. Now we come here every Thursday and he has upgraded to the medium salsa.

  A waiter comes over to us.

  “Hey. Usual table, guys?” he asks.

  “Yes please,” says Adam, and we follow him to a table near the window.

  Adam sits with his back to the wall, the way they all do. I face him. Our knees rest gently against each other. The waiter puts the menus down on the table and leaves. Adam reaches across and picks up my hand. His thumb massages circles into my palm.

  “I’m going to miss this,” he says.

  “Me too,” I reply, although I do not know if he is talking about the restaurant or the feel of his hand against mine or all of the life that we have created here, together.

  “I’m sorry about this week, babe.”

  I look up from watching the way our hands fit together.

  “It’s fine,” I say. “This is different for us. We’ll figure it out.”

  He reaches across the table and pushes a loose bit of hair back behind my ear.

  “I love you,” he says.

  “I love you too.”

  The waiter comes over and we order. Tacos for me and enchiladas for Adam. The beers arrive first. I take a sip of mine and then press the lime down into the top of the bottle, squeezing it as I do so. Adam removes the lime from his beer, reaches across the table and puts the wedge into my bottle.

  “Remember the first time we ate together?” Adam asks.

  “In the chow hall?”

  “Yeah, after you came over from your sunbed all sulky.”

  “It was pool time!”

  This is a favourite conversation of ours. How we met, how we fell in love. We tell our story over and over to each other. Sometimes the details change. We disagree about whether he was eating chicken nuggets or fishcakes. How long he waited to come over to my car the first day the Rhino dropped him off. Whether I lifted my lips to his or he lowered his mouth to mine. “You knew what you were doing all along,” he teases. In the retelling of our story we strengthen our foundations. This is how our love began.

  The food arrives.

  “I was so glad when Anna and Ryan sat on a different table,” he says, as I pinch together the tortilla of my taco and lift it to my mouth.

  “You didn’t look it,” I say, before taking a bite.

  “I was terrified.”

  “You were aloof.”

  He laughs.

  “Do you know how many times I had lunch with a hot British chick on deployment? I had no idea what to say.”

  “So that’s why it was so awkward,” I laugh. “You’re lucky I gav
e you a second chance.”

  “Yeah. Thank goodness for Ali giving me an excuse.”

  “I mean, I don’t think the situation was ideal, but yeah… It worked out.”

  We continue eating, lost in memories of the story.

  “Have you heard from him yet?” I ask.

  “Ali?” Adam says.

  I nod.

  “Not yet, but he was never good with emails. I’ll look him up once I get there.”

  When Adam first left Baghdad, Ali sent him the occasional email, especially while Ameena’s application was being processed. The contact trailed off eventually, but that was normal.

  “Give him a hug from me,” I say.

  “Maybe I can get him on Skype for you. He’ll ask why you’re not back out there with me.”

  I smile but it is forced. I am trying not to ask the same question myself.

  Adam sees it. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Emma. What is it?”

  “I’m just… nervous, that’s all.”

  “About me being deployed?”

  “Yes, and about being here with you gone. You’re off on an adventure and I’m just in Colorado with no real purpose. I’m wondering if I should start looking into the conflict consultancy stuff again.”

  “I know it’s rough, Em. But the conflict stuff… We agreed you’d take some time out of it. Focus on settling in here. Have you not heard from any of those emails you sent off yet?”

  “Nothing. Not a single response… What if nothing ever comes up?”

  “It will, Em, I’m sure of it. And there’s other stuff you can do here while you figure it out, like enjoy the mountains. Didn’t you say you wanted to work on some projects too? Do something with all those bits of stone you collected?”

  “Yes.” I did, but I have not told him it is more complicated than that. It is not just opening the jar, but opening up everything else that goes with it. The memories. The feelings. The guilt.

  “Maybe I’ll stop by the art shop to see Penny this week,” I say.

  “The lady from the Incline? That’s a great idea, babe. Maybe she can help you with some ideas.”

  He is trying to help. He wants me to find something. I know that for him to be okay he needs me to be okay too.

  I take his hand and hold his palm against my face.

  “You’ve got this, babe,” he tells me. I nod and feel the toughened skin against my cheek.

  I am a different person with him. Love has softened me. I have let my edges merge and fuse with someone else’s. Our stories and selves have intertwined. When he leaves, it will not be a neat separation, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that cling together temporarily then return to their full self. I will be torn from him like a ripped piece of cloth, my fibres still reaching out to his as we are forced to become two.

  11

  To take:

  CAT/SOF-T tourniquet

  Combat Gauze

  HALO chest seal

  Kerlix/Ace Wrap

  Israeli dressing

  NPA

  ET Tube

  Epi

  OTFC

  Morphine auto-injectors

  Narcan

  Naproxen

  Phenergan

  Invanz

  Alcohol pads

  Betadine pads

  10cc syringe

  18g cath

  18g hard stick

  The deployment date sits between us like a giant hourglass, our moments slipping through its sweeping glass curves. We navigate our way around it to reach each other. I press my back against the wall, sucking in my breath and taking tiny steps.

  We do not count the time aloud in case our words cause the grains to fall through faster. Instead I pretend that I am fine and that I do not dream of abacuses and measuring cups and scales and an alarm.

  We go to Garden of the Gods. These huge rock formations are my favourite place to go in the evening. The rocks formations glow a deep red in the lowering sun, jutting into the sky. Layers of sediment lend deep grooves to the rocks that run vertically up the structures, as if the world has been turned on its side. Beyond the rocks, the sky is clear. The only thing to break the vast expanse of blue is the dark silhouette of the mountain range in the distance.

  We walk with our fingers interlaced. There is a chill in the air so our sleeves are pulled low over our hands. The thick band of Adam’s wedding ring rubs against the inside of my finger.

  It is a quiet time of day in the park. The coachloads of visitors have all left and the area has been returned to the people who live there. Dog walkers, runners, climbers and the occasional cyclist, all giving a nod as they pass. But for most of the walk it is just us, wandering between the prehistoric rocks.

  In our bedroom we have a huge canvas of the Garden of the Gods on the opposite wall to the bed, so it is the first thing we see in the morning. The photo is a panorama, the same contrast of red rocks and blue sky and green trees we see now. In the bottom right corner of the picture, you can just about make out Adam and I, walking hand in hand, the train of my wedding dress dragging behind me. In my jar is a smooth red stone. It will always be a special place for us.

  “I need to talk to you about a deployment thing,” Adam says as we walk. “You know, logistics.”

  I work through a mental checklist of bills, medical records, power of attorney, contacts details and all the other conversations we’ve had since finding out the date, trying to work out what “logistics” were left. When Adam suggested the walk this evening I thought it was just to spend time relaxing together, but I realise now that there is something else.

  “Haven’t we covered it all?” I ask.

  “Not quite,” he replies. “We need to talk about what happens if I get hurt, or if I don’t make it back at all.”

  What comes next isn’t a discussion exactly, more a transfer of information. He tries to be practical. Emotionless. I can tell that this is something he has rehearsed. If there is an incident I will only be contacted by the military if Adam is physically unable to contact me himself. He doesn’t want me to hear the news from a stranger on the end of the line. If he is mentally unresponsive, he does not want prolonged life support. If he dies or is in a critical condition, I will be informed in person by a member of the military.

  “This is all written down,” he adds at this point. “But I wanted to tell you myself.”

  The order of service for his funeral is in his will. His father knows all the details. He doesn’t want flowers at the service but he wants a good chunk of money to be left behind the bar at the wake. We should also start my application for citizenship, he says, because a spousal visa won’t keep me in the country if he is dead. I can’t imagine staying in America without him.

  We walk and he talks and I don’t interrupt him. The words spill from his mouth as if they are secrets held long inside. Perhaps it is a relief to share the things he’s had to think about. I have thought about them too.

  The sun has almost disappeared now and the rocks no longer glow but look an ominous dark red, as if soaked in blood.

  12

  I’d like that too.

  That’s what I wrote on messenger. And it was true. But now he was coming to the IZ on the Rhino and we both knew that once he arrived there wasn’t any way for him to leave until the morning.

  I pushed my chair back from my desk. Stood up. Every millimetre of my body tingled. I moved restlessly around my room, avoiding the laundry basket containing my gym kit from this morning. I forced my mind away from thoughts of the aerobics class and Sampath and what would have happened if the attack were hours earlier.

  My phone vibrated.

  We load up in ten. All good?

  My thumbs hesitated briefly over the keypad. I could feel the heat of my blood as it moved through my body and pulsated through my stomach. He was giving me the chance to change my mind, but I was decided.

  I sat down on my bed, took in a breath and willed my hands to be steady. I typed
slowly.

  All good. See you down here.

  I pressed send and put the phone down on the bed, then exhaled.

  There are some decisions that you make instantly, even though they terrify you. You know that after the decision is made you can process it, work your way through the pros and cons, panic for a while, eventually settle. But you know from the beginning what the answer will be. I’d really like to come down and see you. I knew as soon as he said it.

  I stood again and went into the bathroom. I stared at my face in the mirror under the harsh white glare of the light. My body felt heavy from grief.

  I stared at my skin, pale and blotchy from the earlier tears. You are fine. My eyes were wide, tired, red. You are in Baghdad and there was an attack, but you are fine. I stand and breathe and stare. Sampath is dead, but you are okay. You are fine. I lifted a hand and touched my bottom lip, feeling the dry skin tighten as I drew my finger down. I had not remembered to eat or drink since the cup of tea on the office steps with Anna. Sampath is dead, but you are okay, and now Adam is coming. I moved my hand to my cheek and felt the warmth of the flesh beneath my palm. Adam is coming. You will be fine.

  I drifted around my room more, smoothing out my bedspread and piling up the books that were scattered on my bedside table. I gathered up a couple of pens, a packet of tissues, my phone charger and a Cliff bar and stashed them into the drawer of my desk. But then I looked around and my room seemed too tidy, so I took them all out again and spread them about as they had been before.

  What was Adam thinking, sat in the Rhino, rocking back and forth as they rumbled down the potholed road?

  I checked the time. It was forty minutes since his message. I grabbed the keys for the SUV. It was time to pick him up.