Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

Another day goes by and Cole still doesn't call. I could overthink everything for hours on end, but instead I text Anisha, and we decide to treat ourselves and go out to dinner for the night. I patently refuse to discuss anything about Cole and Anisha doesn't push me on it. By the end of the night, I decide I'm fine.

Then I dream about him finding me in a crowded bar, pulling me against him, and pressing his lips to my collarbone. I wake up missing him even more. I've never missed someone like this.

When I first went to college, I missed the familiarity of home and Dad and Julio. I would call Dad on the way to class and try to catch him on his lunch break at the mechanic's garage, but over time those calls became less and less frequent. Every so often, I would think of home with fondness and love. But I wouldn't miss it in the way that made my breath catch or my heart squeeze, the way I miss Cole. It's strange to feel how someone could have a hold on me like this. He's just a person, but it's also like half of me is missing and I don't know if it's a feeling I can shake.

I try focusing on my own plan, figuring out my next steps. I sit down at the mini desk in my art studio and start apartment hunting, something both accessible and overwhelming in the modern age. I flip through multiple browser tabs trying to figure out if I'm looking at the same listing but with different photos. It's a cute little one-bedroom place with a decent-sized living room. I think it could accommodate a studio set-up in one corner.

I'll need to pick up some more shifts at the coffee shop, or sell a bunch of paintings. It's going to make a dent in my savings to cover the deposit, first month's rent, and whatever furniture I need.

It's time, though. I've had a breakthrough with my art while being here at Aunt Mari's. Her home has been a start-up incubator for me, but now I need to make my dreams of being on my own happen. I need my own place.

But moving off the island would mean I can't walk to work anymore. I'd have to find a car too. Or I could look at a downtown apartment. Then I could take the ferry across the bay to the island and ride a bike to work or something. I need to think this through.

Maybe I should stay here for longer.

No, bravery means making more than one gutsy decision. I didn't leave D.C. and come all the way here only to become complacent and a bit cowardly again. I came here to build a life for myself, which requires a repeated response of bravery each time I make a decision. I snap my laptop closed and rest my face in my hand with a sigh. I pick up my phone and head to my room, draping myself across the bed with the intent of browsing Instagram. Instead, the Goal Diggers group chat has a notification from Frank.

Frank

Team pictures finally got figured out, take a look.

My hands leap to immediately zoom in on the picture and see our faces closer. Cole and I are standing next to each other, and we secretly decided to smile when Frank specifically told us not to. The rest of the team have stoic, serious expressions verging on frowns, and then Cole and I are standing together with our arms at our sides with big toothy grins. I smile and want to cry at the same time.

As if he knows, Cole's name suddenly fills my screen with an incoming phone call.

"Hi!" I shout as soon as it connects. "Hi! How are you?"

"Hey, Queenie, how are you?" he says, his voice strained and tired.

"I'm good. How are you? You don't sound good."

"I think I'm getting sick. Ironic for the corpsman to get sick, right?"

"Oh, no, I'm sorry. Can I FaceTime you?" I need to see his face. Something feels off and I know if I saw his face, I could see how serious it is.

"I would if I had the strength to hold the phone up. Right now, I'm lying down on my bed, and the phone's resting on my chest, on speaker."

"That doesn't sound good. You should rest, then."

"I will." He goes quiet, and I stay on the line with him, listening for anything and everything. "I woke up this morning promising I was going to call you and we could finally talk about that kiss, but then something happened." He sighs. "I still just wanted to talk to you."

"What's wrong, osito ?" I ask. I am flooded with an overwhelming need to comfort him. I know he's a strong, powerful, grown man with responsibilities and capabilities, but that's exactly the kind of man who needs someone to hold him in a hug after a long day.

"What did you say?"

" Osito ?"

"Yeah, what is that?"

"It just came out," I say with a light laugh. "It's a term of endearment in Spanish, it means ‘little bear.'"

"Is that your nickname for me now? It's cute, I like hearing you say it. Say it again?"

" Osito, what's going on?"

"This job really sucks sometimes," he says finally.

"What makes you say that?"

"Just…I have to be in a million places at once, doing ten things at a time. Some of my leadership…they're demanding, but like irrationally demanding. I'm trying to balance a lot, and sometimes it's too much." He exhales, and it's loud, like wind in my ear. "And I just want to be with you. I'm stressed and tired and…I had a close call today."

Oh, no. Alarm bells go off in my head. "You had a close call? Cole, what happened? Are you okay?"

"No, not me, one of my Marines. She started out today rough, came into sick call at the aid station, and I had a gut instinct something was really bad with her. But my senior doc thought she should push through it and kept her with the unit to go on a ruck. It's like a long marching hike. Anyways, I argued for a bit with him and he cussed me out for thinking I knew better than him. We were on the ruck when she started getting dizzy, then she passed out. I was taking her back to the aid station when she started getting incoherent and I realized she was actually in really, really bad shape. I made the call to rush her to the ER. She has rhabdomyolysis, ended up in the early stages of renal failure. They said if she had come in later, she might have died."

"Oh my gosh, Cole," I exhale.

"I've never really had that before, held someone's life in my hands like that. When the hospital corpsman called and started giving me the report, my heart stopped. You know I've never been in combat, haven't had to deal with any serious injuries. This was the first time it felt real. Life and death, you know."

"Cole…you did all you could."

"Yeah," he says, his voice a rough whisper.

"How are you feeling about it?"

"I don't know. Kind of scared. Relieved, in a way, but also scared that it was so close to going the other way."

"You did the right thing, you did nothing but the right thing."

"No, I should have done the right thing sooner. I should have just taken her without arguing with my senior doc. I'm supposed to be committed to the health of my Marines, not being afraid of my leadership."

"She's going to be okay, right?"

"Yeah, she's tough, a real badass, and the recovery prognosis is solid. I'm sure she'll be kicking and screaming to get back to the unit. It's all…I don't know. Now I'm doubting myself. I'm sure I'm going to get reamed anyway."

"I'm sure there are lots of other first responders who have gone through similar experiences."

"Mmhmm."

If I was there, I would want to crawl into his bed next to him and hold his hand and softly run my fingers over his hair and do my best to soothe him. But right now all I can offer is words of affirmation. "I'm really proud of you, Cole."

"Don't be, there's nothing to be proud of today."

"Yes, there is. You were in a tough situation, but you saved someone's life in the end. You have a caring heart, you want to help others, and you're only human. No one expects you to be flawless."

"I expect myself to be."

"Let it go, osito . It's over and done, there's no use imagining a different outcome or beating yourself up. Get some rest and know that tomorrow is a new day. A Marine is going to be okay because you took care of her, and you need to be proud of yourself for doing the right thing."

The line goes quiet, and I hear a sniffle from somewhere far away. Now I'm tearing up and sniffling, wanting so badly to comfort him. "I wish I could hug you. How come you live in the barracks and not out in town like Denny and Luko?"

He clears his throat, "I'm enlisted and they're officers. They get different privileges and more pay, more basic allowance for housing. If I'm married, or make E-5 here soon, I'll be able to get my own place if I want to."

"Oh…gotcha."

He goes quiet again. "My body is exhausted but my brain is awake."

I try to think of something light to distract him with. "By the way, my great aunt wants you to come to dinner. I took her to see the painting. She said either you come or she's going to kick me out of the house."

He laughs. "What'd she say, about the painting?"

"All the best things. She loved it, said I have a gift."

"Oh, I'm so happy. I'm so proud of you, you do have a gift. I'll definitely come to dinner, just have to check the calendar and I'll text you to pick a date."

"You really don't mind?"

"I want to."

He yawns, the deep exhale of air across the phone sounding like a wind storm. "I need to sleep, but I can't get my brain to chill."

I know what he needs. I pull up "The Day is Done" by my dear Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and start in the middle.

…Come, read to me some poem,

some simple and heartfelt lay,

that shall soothe this restless feeling,

and banish the thoughts of day.

"What is that?" Cole asks.

"It's a poem, by my favorite poet. Close your eyes and listen."

Not from the grand old masters,

not from the bards sublime,

whose distant footsteps echo

through the corridors of Time.

For, like strains of martial music,

their mighty thoughts suggest

life's endless toil and endeavor;

and tonight I long for rest.

At each break in the stanzas, I pause to hear if he's still listening. I hear rustling through the phone, like a pillow or blanket being moved.

Read from some humbler poet,

whose songs gushed from his heart,

as showers from the clouds of summer,

or tears from the eyelids start;

Who, through long days of labor,

and nights devoid of ease,

still heard in his soul

the music of wonderful melodies.

It's a very short poem and there's still three stanzas to go, but Cole's breathing drops heavier and deeper with each word. Mission accomplished. I whisper one more bit of the poem.

Such songs have power to quiet

the restless pulse of care,

and come like the benediction

that follows after prayer…

"Goodnight, Cole."

The next morning I wake up late to see a text from Cole from the wee hours of the morning.

Cole

Got called to augment to a unit in the field, so I'll be out of cell reception until I text again. Thank you for last night, I love the sound of your voice. I miss you.

I miss him. Desperately. There's another text from Denny inviting the team to come over for another Mario party and it reminds me of when Cole saw my sketchbook for the first time. I try to escape any further reminders of Cole and decide to head to the beach for a walk and some brainstorming. Which reminds me of all the times Cole and I have talked about life and love on the beach. There's no escaping him.

As I head towards the tide, my phone vibrates in my back pocket and I pull it out and answer.

"This is Tia."

"It's Lorraine, dear. Congratulations are in order, I've just sold your painting. Full asking price."

My heart stops, and I go numb. "Wh-what? It sold? To whom?"

"An anonymous buyer, through the website."

That's not what I wanted to hear. I rub my chest, trying to mitigate the aching behind my ribs.

"Okay, wow. Thanks for letting me know."

"You should be proud of yourself, Tia."

"Thanks, Lorraine. See you soon," I barely manage to choke out.

I hang up and slide my phone back in my hoodie, drag my sleeves over my hands, and burst into tears, dropping to a ball above the damp edge of the tide. My beautiful Cole painting, all my hard work, immortalized in painting form, gone. No longer ours.

I knew the painting would sell—I would have to be a fool to hope it wouldn't. But it doesn't mean as much to anyone in the world as it does to me. And it was just taken from me, by some impersonal art collector. Maybe Lorraine can give me their contact info and I can talk them out of it. Or I can take out a small loan and buy it back from them. Why was I ever dumb enough to let Lorraine hang it for sale in the gallery?

No, it's gone. And I can't get it back. My heart feels torn in two, and I know it's only a painting, but it's one of the most beautiful memories I have. From slow dancing with Cole in the kitchen, to the kiss we shared when it was done, to the gorgeous finished product—it's all changed my life.

I want to call Cole immediately, but he doesn't have cell reception. Of course. This is Murphy's Law, right? When I need his comfort the most, he's gone. I sob into my sleeves.

Eventually, the tide comes up and licks at my feet, like a nudge from the ocean telling me it'll be okay. I know it will, worse things have happened. My painting sold and that's a major accomplishment, one worth celebrating.

I wipe my face, go grab a burrito from Mexican Take Out and a Squirt from the liquor store, and take a seat on the dune where Cole and I talked about true love. My painting may be gone, but the small seed of hope I've been nurturing is not. There is always tomorrow, another day, another painting, another promise of love and beauty.