Beyond the Point(85)
March 15, 2006
Dear Ms. Adams,
Our records show that you were listed as a plaintiff in the Department of Defense Case #03–2754, Department of the Army vs. Jonathan T. Collins.
On behalf of the Department of Defense and the Criminal Investigation Command of West Point, it is our responsibility to inform you that the defendant in this case is to be released on parole on March 17, 2006. A restraining order remains in place and the defendant will be listed on the National Sex Offender Public Registry for the remainder of his probationary period, which ends on 05–13–2015.
We have included in this letter a one-page copy of the summary case record. We apologize for any disturbance this may cause and are available to address any concerns you may have about your case.
Respectfully,
Capt. Peter Irving
Judge Advocate General Corps
Criminal Investigation Command, West Point, New York
On Sunday, Avery pretended to sleep as Noah navigated south. He’d won over Avery’s parents and brothers far more quickly than she’d anticipated. He’d complimented her mother’s cooking, helped with the dishes, and even put the foldout couch back together before they’d left that morning.
“I think this one might be a keeper,” her mother had said before they’d hit the road that morning. Avery wanted to believe that was true. But something about receiving notice that John Collins was out in the world again, free to live and do as he pleased, had set Avery’s instincts on high alert. Suddenly, all of the old red flags she’d ignored were flapping wildly again.
“What?” Noah said. Avery had pulled her head off the pillow against the passenger window to look at him.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Shoot.”
“Why were you so weird about your phone the other day?”
He reached for his pack of cigarettes. “What are you talking about?”
Wrapping the pillow in her arms, Avery looked to the side mirror, where she saw her reflection. Her blond hair had grown long, past her shoulders. Eating like Noah, as a vegetarian, meant she’d resorted to eating a lot of pasta, which had made her face puffy and bloated. She didn’t feel like herself. But she couldn’t blame her irritability on her diet or the man sitting next to her.
“I feel like something has been up with you this whole weekend,” Noah said, deftly turning the conversation back to Avery. She didn’t force him to answer the question he’d avoided. Instead, she sighed.
“You know that letter I got from West Point?”
He nodded.
“It wasn’t about making a donation.”
“What was it?” he asked.
And then she told him everything. When she was finished, she held her breath, waiting for Noah to say something to soothe the gaping emotional wound she’d just undressed before his eyes. Vulnerability can bring two people closer together, or it can expose a distance that can’t be overcome. Avery closed her eyes and waited for him to speak.
“Well,” Noah said with a smirk. “Can I see the pictures?”
Avery felt herself shrink, like she was Alice in Wonderland. Falling down that rabbit hole. Swallowing that pill. Suddenly, she was three inches tall.
He reached for her hand. She pulled it away.
“Oh come on. I’m only kidding,” he said. “What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” Avery replied. “But not that.”
21
Summer 2006 // Jekyll Island, Georgia
In the middle of her war, Hannah flew home for two weeks of paid leave. It was strange really, the thought that she could fly out of the Middle East, while her men and her mission stayed put. Rest and recuperation, better known as R & R, was a benefit that every soldier and officer received when they were deployed. Two weeks to regroup and be with your family, followed by several more months overseas, finishing the deployment. It was an odd pause. A whiplash of change, from one part of the world to another. From fear to safety and back again.
It was the middle of August. And thankfully, this year, there were no hurricanes on the horizon. After picking Hannah up from the airport in Savannah, Georgia, Tim drove her to Jekyll Island, where he’d rented a place for them to pass the time.
The cottage smelled as though salt water had seeped into the clapboard siding, giving the entire place the odd feeling that it had been built by the tides themselves. Canopied by gnarled oak trees, the white bungalow was perched at the tip of a peninsula, where a creek ended and the ocean began. A dock jutted into the creek, outfitted with kayaks, fishing rods, and a hammock. There was another hammock on the front porch, and a third out by the wooden steps that led to the beach. Humidity wafted through the air and snuck through the cracks in the old windows, but they hadn’t let the heat defeat their plans. Summer in south Georgia had nothing on Afghanistan. Here, even 100 percent humidity felt like a reprieve to Hannah. They had two weeks alone together, with no plans, nowhere to be—just the two of them and the ocean.
It felt like a dream world. Every morning when they woke up, Hannah would hold his face in her hands and say, “Can you believe it? We don’t have to say goodbye!”
They’d start the day with coffee, watching the sun rise over the ocean, and end the day with wine, watching it set into the marsh.