Chapter 40 Blame
forty
Blame
It’s too early. I’m sitting in my car feeling like an idiot. I debated this for a long time last night. I’m pretty sure Stephens left for whatever party he was talking about. This is my chance to talk to Jess alone.
Before I decide what to do, she comes out, dressed for running. Her hair in a ponytail, with a headband covering her ears. She starts off without noticing my car. I open the door and get out in front of her. She sees me, jumps back, and screams.
I reach my hand to steady her. “Are you okay?”
She laughs. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” I grin at her. Her surprise is the closest thing to a normal reaction I’ve seen from her yet. “What are you doing up so early?”
She raises her eyebrows like that’s a stupid question considering what she’s wearing. “Going for a run.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
She surveys my outfit—a jacket, t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. At least I’m wearing tennis shoes. “In that?”
“Why not?” I’ve run in worse than this—combat boots, body armor, carrying a gun.
“I don’t want you to slow me down.” It almost sounds like she’s teasing me. She’s a lot more like herself without him around.
“I think I can keep up.”
“Your choice.” She adjusts her music. I’m not sure if she’s turning it down so we can talk, or up so we can’t.
It was worth coming, even if she’s still wearing her earbuds and won’t talk to me.
Jess running is a beautiful thing. I stay to the side and a step behind her so I can watch her.
Her running pants hit her about mid-calf.
The striations in her long legs relax and tighten from her ankles to her butt.
Her hair is caught up in a long ponytail that bobs up and down when she runs.
It’s a crisp day, but she takes her jacket off less than a mile in, so her arms are bare.
The muscles in her back ripple as she runs.
I’m dying to reach out and touch her, but I don’t dare.
I must look like an idiot, running beside her in jeans. Somebody going by might think I’m chasing her. Actually, I am. She’s pretty fast, and I can tell she’s pushing herself. I’m having a hard time keeping up.
I’m not sure how far we go, how long we run in silence. She barely looks at me. We get all the way back to the house without talking. I’m not sure how to start a conversation, but I follow her to the door.
Finally, she takes her earbuds out. She looks surprised to see me. Like she didn’t realize I followed her the whole way. “You can stay for breakfast. I’m going to take a shower.”
I sit in a puddle of sweat on the couch, wishing I had something to change into, listening to the water run upstairs, trying not to think about Jess standing in the shower.
Tyler comes down the stairs. I’m grateful for the distraction. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing up this early?” I counter. I’m not sure how to explain why I’m here. “I thought you were a teenager.”
He shrugs and sits down on one of the chairs. “I don’t sleep so well anymore. I have nightmares a lot.”
“Me too,” I admit.
“Iraq?”
I nod.
He rubs his eyes, looks around him, and then he leans forward. “Tell me about it.”
“About what, Iraq?”
"Yeah."
I take a deep breath. I'm not sure if I should say anything. Will I make things worse or better for him? I start talking. Basic stuff at first—the weather, the people. He keeps pushing for more. I get into this and tell him a couple of funny stories. He keeps asking for more. I’m telling him about a tense day on patrol when his expression changes.
At first I think I’ve gone too far, that I said too much. Then, I follow his gaze.
Jess is standing behind me. I’m not sure how to read the look on her face. “Are they paying you to recruit for the Army now?” Her voice is deadly cold.
Tyler stands up. “I asked him to tell me, Jess.”
“Don’t listen, Tyler. It’s not all the glory he makes it out to be.” She turns and heads for the door.
I follow her out. “Where are you going?”
“I need to buy a present for Jasmine.” She’s walking fast, like she wants to get away from me.
This time I won’t let her. “We need to talk.”
She doesn’t stop, and she doesn’t answer. She’s almost at her car. I grab her arm and turn her around to face me, harder than I mean to. Fear flashes in her eyes. I drop my hand, immediately ashamed. I saw Brad, her old boyfriend, grab her like that once. It made my blood boil. This time it’s me.
Her voice is cold and measured. “What do you want to talk about, Jacob?”
I take a deep breath and try not to sound angry. “There are some things I need you to explain to me.”
Her voice and expression don’t change. “Actually, I have some things I want you to explain to me.”
That catches me off guard. “Like what?”
“You were there; explain it to me.”
“Explain what? Iraq?”
She nods. There's something in her eyes that makes me think that question is some kind of trap. She doesn’t give me time to think.
“Explain to me why my brother had to go to some God-forsaken desert and die for people who hated him. People who were happy to see him die. People who fired the grenade at him and cheered when they saw his mangled body and watched the Humvee burn. Why couldn’t he just stay home?
Why couldn’t he be married now, happy, with Kendra?
Why was he there? Why was Gage there? Why were you there? ”
Her questions hang in the air—painful, angry, accusing. I don’t have any answers that will satisfy her.
She pushes forward again. “I’ve done a lot of reading in the last few months.
I’ve learned some things. I used to think it was all black and white.
People who opposed the war were unpatriotic or selfish.
Now I think maybe they’re right. We shouldn’t be there.
We shouldn’t be fighting for people who don’t want us there.
We shouldn’t be trying to help people who don’t want to be helped.
We shouldn’t be saving people who want us dead. ”
I lean against her car, wishing I knew what to say.
I understand what she’s feeling more than she realizes.
I’ve felt that frustration, that anger. But as insane as the whole thing was, when I was there, it made sense.
We had a job to do, and we did the best we could.
Boots on the ground have a different perspective than a talking-head armchair quarterback ever could.
She’s pacing back and forth. Working herself up again. I wish I could take her in my arms and give her some comfort. Physical comfort, something I know how to do. Talking is harder. What can I say that will make it better?
Nothing.
I’m the enemy. I represent everything she hates right now—the people that took her brother away.
I chose my words carefully. “When I was in Mosul, I met an Iraqi translator. I asked him whether things were better there before or after Saddam. He said, ‘Better before and better after. What is the most better, is that now we can talk. Now we can complain. Now we have a voice.’ That was what I was fighting for, so they would have a voice. If they decide to destroy themselves after we’re gone, then there isn’t much we can do about it.
But at least we gave them the chance. At least we gave them a voice. ”
She turns to me. “I wish I could believe my brother’s life was worth that.”
I step forward. Put my hands on her shoulder. I want to hold her, but she pulls away. “Don’t.” She won't look at me.
“Is this about me, Iraq, or Lieutenant Stephens? Maybe you can explain that situation to me. You at least owe me that much.”
Her brown-gold eyes snap. “I don't owe you anything. You’re the one who talked Matt into joining the Army. If it wasn’t for you he’d be home right now.”
“You’re blaming Matt’s death on me? That’s not fair.”
“Who am I supposed to blame then? The Iraqis. The government. God?”
I’m fighting to control my temper, but I’ve built up too much hurt and anger to keep quiet.
“Get over yourself, Jess. You aren’t the only one who’s hurting.
You aren’t the only one who lost a brother.
You’re so caught up in your own self-righteous grief that there’s no room for anyone else.
I waited weeks to hear from you, but you couldn’t even take the time to tell me you’d found someone else.
Maybe it was because he was there the whole time.
Maybe it’s because every phone call, every email I got from you was a lie. ”
I regret my words immediately. I might as well have hit her. I see it in her eyes. A blow to her face would have caused less damage.
She looks away. I touch her arm and try to apologize. “Jess, I’m sorry...”
When she finally faces me, the dull mask I saw yesterday replaces the pain and anger in her eyes. “I didn’t lie to you, Jacob. Michael wasn't around until…" She looks at the ground. "I wish everything could have stayed the way it was before Matt died. But everything has changed. We can’t go back.”