Beyond the Point(93)

At that moment and without warning, Bosco halted in the middle of the trail. Stumbling over his body, an eighty-pound obstacle, Avery caught herself, her hands planted in a puddle of fresh mud.

“Bosco!” she cried. “What the . . .”

Standing up, Avery brushed her soiled hands across her pants, leaving trails of dirt behind. The dog crept into the woods next to the trail, sniffing at something in earnest. Stepping closer, Avery caught her breath and peered into the pile of leaves. A small rabbit lay on its side, its brown pelt punctured in two places at the neck. A small trickle of red blood seeped from its mouth. Bosco pushed it with one careless paw.

“Hey, leave it,” she ordered. Bosco whined, then stepped away.

The rabbit’s mouth opened and closed once.

Avery crouched closer. It was still alive—barely. Its eyes were open wide, as though it was experiencing terror in its last moments. The woods were very quiet now, her loud thoughts halted by death. And for a moment, Avery felt scared and alone.

“Leave it, Bosco,” she said. “Let’s go.”

The dog bolted up the trail. Then, with a sigh, she started running again.

LATER THAT NIGHT, a pot of water boiled on her kitchen stove, jumping in eager anticipation for the box of fettuccine sitting on her counter. She’d recorded Thursday’s Grey’s Anatomy, and the episode opened with Derek and Meredith making out in a bathtub, which, Avery knew, was one of the most uncomfortable things a couple could do. She and Noah had tried once, with some success, but at times, she wished television shows would include the actual awkward moments in a relationship: the moment you realize you can’t step out of the tub without his seeing you from all the wrong angles; the strange, uncomfortable clean-up that happens after the main event. Sex wasn’t nearly as seamless as television led everyone to believe. But with Noah, it came close.

Whenever he arrived at her house, he could barely drop his bags by the door before filling his hands with her breasts, her hips. He looked at her like he wanted to devour her—and his hunger made Avery feel sexy and powerful and in control, even as the voice in the recesses of her spirit warned that he was taking rather than giving. Whenever he prepared to leave again, he’d grow agitated and uncomfortable, like he was sitting on pins. He blamed his anxiety on the impending deployment—and Avery would try to rub his shoulders, but eventually he’d push her off. After his last trip, Avery had found a pile of Pakistani rupees on the nightstand next to a receipt for two foot-long Subway sandwiches that he’d purchased at Fort Bragg. Looking at the date on the receipt, Avery’s eyes had narrowed. October 12. How could he have purchased two turkey club sandwiches at the Fort Bragg post exchange if he was supposedly in Pakistan? And why did he need two? Avery had willed her eyes away from the receipt, refusing to follow those questions to the root. Surely there was an explanation.

But now, as the pasta water began to boil over, Avery reached to turn down the heat and began wondering again about that little piece of paper. Perhaps there was an error in the computer system that had misprinted the date. Or maybe she was forgetting what dates he’d been gone in the first place. Maybe she was going crazy. Or maybe she was just too paranoid for her own good, always looking for evidence that he was like every other guy she’d ever dated. She didn’t want to be distrusting. But then again, some quiet voice in the back of her head that sounded a lot like Hannah wouldn’t shut up about that stupid receipt.

Avery took a seat on her couch, placing her cell phone on the coffee table and holding the bowl of pasta in her hands. For a moment, her body looked at the noodles, covered in butter, and craved meat—it had been nearly a year since she’d eaten beef, simply because Noah had convinced her to be a vegetarian. Now she remembered the look on Dani’s face when Avery had passed on the turkey last Thanksgiving. It wasn’t a look of disapproval. It was a look of confusion.

“Is he treating you well?” Hannah had asked.

In a flash of certainty, Avery set her dinner down and grabbed her cell phone. The phone would likely go straight to Noah’s voicemail like it always did when he was gone. But she couldn’t stand it. She had to ask him. About the receipt. About those fucking foot-long sub sandwiches. Turning the television on mute, she waited, listening to the sound of three distinct rings.

“Hello?”

Avery pulled the phone away from her ear. The voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Noah. It was a woman. Something in the woman’s voice had trembled. Or maybe the cell service had cut out. Avery wasn’t sure. She stared at the phone, verifying that it was Noah’s name on her screen, then placed it back to her ear. Her hands began to sweat.

“Hello?” the woman repeated. “Avery? I know you’re there.”

So this woman knew her name. A long pause passed, while on the silent television screen in the living room, a doctor lifted her bloodied gloves in the air.

“I’m sorry, who is this?” Avery said, her voice angry and defiant.

The woman on the other end of the line sighed. “This is Noah’s fiancée.”





24


November 12, 2006 // Tarin Kot, Afghanistan

Hannah’s platoon swung their arms up and down like they were playing timpani in slow motion, hammering raw wood boards together to create a platform for the GP medium tent that would house the TOC, or tactical operations center. The crevice between Hannah’s thumb and forefinger was red and bleeding. She sucked it, then shook her hand. Sweat spilled over Hannah’s eyebrows and into her eyes. She breathed, tilting her head toward the sky, letting the salt water roll into the hair above her ears.