6. On the Radio There is no radio

CHAPTER 6

ON THE RADIO: THERE IS NO RADIO

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not as pretty as the day I first met you.”

Damien looks up into the smirking face of his buddy Jarvis, who’s perched on the edge of the next cot. “Oh fuck off. You’re no looker either.”

Jarvis lets out a low, infectious laugh. “I think I’m too tired to shower. I’m just going to sit here and solidify in my stench.”

Damien understands. Another brutal day on patrol has left both of them as heavy as concrete blocks, every muscle weary.

“Mail!” yells Staff Sergeant Thompson.

Damien doesn’t turn around because that would require too much energy. Besides, he got a letter from his mother only two days ago, so he’s not expecting anything.

He leans over and unlaces his boots, dirtying his hands. The dust here coats everything—every piece of gear, every stitch of clothing. The inside of his nose. Even after a shower, he knows he’ll still be able to taste it.

"Rossi! You got a package here. Christ, it’s heavy.” Thompson’s voice carries a hint of humor.

For him? Really? Damien rises, his quads complaining. He turns around to see Thompson holding a big, square box. He ambles over to take it. And it is heavy. That’s weird.

“Whatever you got, don’t forget to share,” Thompson says .

“Yessir.”

Damien carries the box back to his cot and sets it down.

“Whatcha got there?” Jarvis asks. “Can I have some?”

“Hold your horses.” It’s definitely his name on this box, but the handwriting is unfamiliar. Then he notes the return address is Old Route 16.

No way . It can’t be.

He pulls his knife out of his pocket and slits open the heavy layers of packing tape. Mindful of all the nosy faces turning in his direction, he opens the flaps carefully and peers inside, finding a fat plastic bag secured with a fancy gold cord.

He tugs off the cord, and a bark of exhausted laughter scrapes out of his chest. Inside the bag are an outrageous number of individually wrapped chocolate bars and Oreo snack packs. He plunges a hand down into the goodies, feeling like that cartoon of Scrooge McDuck diving into a pile of money.

“Guys?” he says, because there’s no way they’d let him keep all this bounty to himself. Not that he’d even want to. “Snack time!”

Jarvis lets out a whoop, and half a dozen soldiers surround Damien immediately. He spends a pleasant few minutes handing out cookies and miniature chocolate bars.

“Who’d you blow to get all that?” someone demands.

“It’s from a friend,” he says.

“Nice friend .” Jarvis snickers.

Damien just shakes his head. He opens a baby Snickers for himself and bites down into the rich, sticky, nutty goodness. A candy bar in the desert is life affirming. It really is.

Only one thing could make it better. He gathers the edges of the candy-filled plastic bag and carefully lifts it out of the box, looking for a letter. And sure enough—he finds an entire second layer beneath. There’s another plastic bag. But first, there’s a white envelope with DAMIEN printed carefully on its face. He snatches it out of the box and hastily slits it open. It’s a letter, dated January ninth, which means the box took more than a month to reach him. That’s not surprising.

For a second, he just holds it in his hands, stunned that a piece of paper touched by Nicolette made it all the way across the world to find him in this hellhole.

He reads.

Hi Damien?—

Happy holidays from Vermont! I live near Boston now, though. I graduated from Duke in May. Seems like a minute ago you were dropping off my freaked-out teenage self at the airport.

Anyway, after all this time I’m sure you weren’t expecting to hear from me. Rose gave me your letter two years ago, but there was no return address.

Then, right before Christmas this year, a friend and I went out to a bar near Tuxbury called The Mountain Goat. There was a young woman waiting tables, and her name tag said “Zara.”

And I thought—Damien has a sister named Zara! And she looked like you, only prettier. So of course, I asked her if you two were family.

She said: “I don’t always admit being related to Damien. But I miss his grumpy ass, so what do you want to know?” And then, in between serving beers to the entire bar, she told me that you’re doing okay, and that you already signed up for a second tour.

I guess that’s a good sign? You wouldn’t do that if it was horrible and dangerous, right? I have to say that I’m a little obsessed with reading about Afghanistan now that I know you’re there. I realize they only write articles about the worst stuff that happens. So could you do me a favor and stay out of the New York Times? I’d really appreciate it.

You’re getting this box because I talked Zara into giving me your mailing address. She said you can receive packages, and that she sent you a chocolate bar for Christmas. So I hope this box finds you. Bear in mind that I have never been to an Afghan army base. So if you find this stuff weird or unhelpful, please blame the internet. I googled “what to put in an army care package” and this is what Google suggested.

Oh—the one weird item is my lucky marble. It’s a marble from Rutland. I got it on a summer camp trip when I was eleven. But I decided you needed luck more than I do right now.

With love from Vermont,

Nicolette

P.S. I know I pushed you to apply for art school, and I feel weird about that now.

P.P.S. Forgot to tell you—this year I applied to five top law schools and got rejected by all of them, including my father’s. He’s barely speaking to me right now. So that’s extra fun.

In other words, don’t take advice from me. I clearly don’t know what I’m doing. :-)

With his heart bubbling over with joy, Damien reads the note two more times in a row.

“Damien?” Jarvis says.

When he looks up, Jarvis snatches the letter out of his hands. “Who’s Nicolette ?” He whistles. “Nice name. Got a picture?”

“She’s a client. And a friend,” Damien says. The way he snatches the letter back makes Jarvis grin.

“Buddy, friends don’t mail friends a pile of chocolate all the way to the sandbox. What else you got in there?”

He tucks the letter under his pillow and looks into the box again. The second plastic bag is from the Onion River Co-op in Montpelier. Even the familiar logo on the bag gives him a homesick lump in his throat.

It’s a damn plastic bag. He needs to get a grip.

He unknots the top, and inside there’s a lip balm, a tube of toothpaste, a travel-sized shampoo, some dental floss and a bar of goat's milk soap from a Vermont farm.

“Fancy soap?” Jarvis asks, tickled. “Please tell me this chick is hot. You’re getting very laid when you go home for leave this summer.”

If only. Although Jarvis has a point. Who takes this much trouble to send a present to her taxi driver if she doesn’t also have feelings for him?

It’s fun to wonder.

In the corner of the bag, as advertised, he finds a single round marble, made from white Vermont marble. It’s beautiful, and he tucks it into his pocket immediately.

Then there’s a pair of Darn Tough wool socks, which every Vermonter is programmed to appreciate, even in Afghanistan. No— especially in Afghanistan.

And last, but certainly not least, there’s a folded-up thing made of finely knitted wool. He pulls it out and unfurls it, revealing a small blanket—the size you’d throw over your sofa to keep warm while you’re watching a movie. Except it’s the nicest blanket ever made, in charcoal gray, and soft as butter. He fumbles for the little tag sewn into a corner. 100% Cashmere , it reads.

Shit, really?

“What did I tell you?” Jarvis says, running a hand over the blanket. “This Nicolette thinks of you, and her mind goes straight to bedding . My wife would pee herself to have a blanket this nice.”

Damien rolls his eyes, even though Jarvis has a point. It’s quite a spread of presents covering his cot. An embarrassment of riches.

As he sets the cardboard box onto the packed-earth floor, something heavy slides around inside it. Two somethings. The book-shaped objects are heavy and wrapped in brown paper, which is why he hadn’t noticed them before.

More? Seriously?

He carefully tears the paper off the first one and finds a beautiful hardcover book. It's a graphic novel called The Arrival , and when he opens to a page in the center, the art is outrageously intricate and intimidatingly beautiful.

Then he rests the next wrapped object on his knee and contemplates it. This is already the best gift box he's ever seen on an army base. He runs his thumb under the seam of brown paper and peels it back to reveal a cloth-bound sketchbook. It’s navy blue, with paper so thick and creamy that ink would never bleed through.

Stuck between its pages is an envelope addressed to Nicolette in Durham, North Carolina. And two sheets of notebook paper, with a single post-it attached. Would love to hear from you, if only to know if you received this!

“Aw,” Jarvis says, cutting the crap for once. “Do you believe me now? The lady wants to hear from you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. But the truth is that two sheets of paper will hardly be enough for the thank-you note he needs to write. He flips through the blank sketchbook pages and imagines himself filling them with new art. Something to take his mind off the stress of endless patrols. Honestly, the paper is almost too fancy to draw on.

But that's what it's for , says Nicolette's voice in his head.

He grins, as if she were right here with him. He hopes this gift is more than just a gift. He hopes it means something. You don’t send your lucky marble halfway across the world just on a whim, right?

“Look, I know I like to bust your balls,” Jarvis says. “But if you like this girl, let her know, okay? You gotta stick your neck out if you want to get the goods.”

Damien rubs a hand over his scruffy face. “Is that what you did?”

“Absolutely. Told my Katie that she was the one . Women like a guy who isn’t afraid to say how he feels.”

"Supper!" yells the Staff Sergeant.

Damien hastily tidies up his treasures, storing everything carefully in his footlocker for later, except a couple candies he pockets for the Staff Sergeant as he heads for the mess tent.

He’ll write that thank-you letter after dinner.

Who knew that a thank-you note could be so freaking hard to write ?

His first efforts are too bloodless. I really enjoyed your gift .

But then he swings too far in the other direction. You can't have any idea how much this meant to me .

Too dramatic.

“You finish that thing yet?” Jarvis asks him every night for a week. “It better be epic after all that scribbling you’re doing over there.”

Finally, after a lot of spinning his wheels, he ends up trading his last packet of Oreos for more paper. And then he sits down to just write the damn thing.

Nicolette,

Your box arrived at the end of a long, exhausting day when I was feeling homesick. If I’m being honest, that's every day. But your gifts were a bright beam of sunshine. And Google did us both a solid, because everything was perfect. And I'm very popular now because I have chocolate.

I miss chocolate. I miss Vermont, and I miss my family. And maybe it’s dumb, but I miss driving the taxi. It's a job where you're always helping someone in the moment of need.

Also, I miss you. Maybe I'm not supposed to say that. Maybe that's too much, but it's true. The book you sent me is special. Not only because it's a nice book, but because only someone who knows me well could have picked it out.

I mean that. I'm not a big talker, but you know as much about me as anyone. And when I come home again, I want to take you out for pizza. Or drinks or dinner. Whatever I'm allowed to ask for, that’s what I want.

Meanwhile, I’ve been thinking about your law school disappointments. I don’t quite know what you’re going through, because people never had the same kind of expectations for me like they have for you. But honestly, it’s hard to understand. Who wouldn’t want you on their team? I just don’t get it. Unless—hear me out—in your heart of hearts you didn’t really want to go to those schools and somehow they could tell.

If I’m wrong, I’m sorry. And if I am wrong, then you should absolutely try again. You are infinitely smart and capable. If you want it badly enough, I bet you can get it.

I should go now. It’s almost time to eat (a pretty bad) dinner. But thanks for making me the happiest (and warmest) soldier in the barracks this week.

Thinking of you,

Damien

By the time he’s satisfied with this letter, an entire week has gone by. He folds it carefully and tucks it inside the envelope. When the mail call comes the next day, he’s ready.

The Staff Sergeant brings in the bag, and Damien hears his name again. “Rossi! Got something for you. But nobody get excited, it’s just an envelope. Not another metric ton of chocolate bars.”

There are grumbles around the barracks.

Damien takes his letter and finds that it’s from his sister. Addressed to Demon Rossi , in the way of bratty siblings everywhere.

The first part is some teasing and gentle whining about his siblings, and it makes him homesick as hell. But then he reads this:

Hey, I hope it's okay that I gave that girl at the bar your address. Nanette or something. Super pretty in a posh way. Hope you know who she is? Ex-girlfriend, maybe? She asked a lot of questions about you! I’m not the only one who noticed, either. Her boyfriend—some douchey guy in a polo shirt—didn’t like it at all .

Anyway—hope it’s okay! Love you! —Z

His heart stops. Her boyfriend .

It’s so upsetting, and not just because she’s taken. That is a tragedy, but what’s worse is that he feels like an absolute fool. He misread all the signs, possibly from the first day they ever met. She made him feel special. But clearly, she makes everyone feel that way.

God damn it.

God damn everything.

He picks up the letter he’d written—thankfully still sealed up in its envelope—and he rips it right in half.