Colt #2
“You like this stuff, huh?” I ask when I notice her staring up at the garland.
“I do.” She nods energetically. “You remember when we’d pick out a pumpkin from the patch?”
I huff a laugh, shaking my head. “Your mom wanted this nice family moment, but Grant always made a mockery of it.”
“He’d measure every pumpkin,” Alice continues. “Smell them, roll them, knock on them and pretend to listen. Mom would get so mad.”
“But Grant would be like, ‘Mom! Mom, this is serious. Why don’t you care about finding the perfect pumpkin? Do you know what’s riding on this?’”
Alice and I laugh together and then—in an instant—I’m flat on my stomach in the sand, heat radiating through my fatigues, my hands gripping the rifle. And then I’m right back here, holding Alice in my arms, and the difference between the two worlds is bone-rattling.
Alice seems to notice the change in my mood because she quiets. “Do you remember that little plastic toy I gave you when I was, like, eleven or twelve? It was this tiny guy from my school project. He had a red and white shirt? You probably don’t—”
“I still have him.”
Her eyes widen. “You do not.”
When the music turns to a slow song, we adjust our pace and remain on the dance floor. “I do. You told me to keep it with me.”
“You know I got a C on that project? I was destroyed. I thought my teacher would be, like, blown away. But the light I’d put in there went out before I could show it, and I’d spent so much time building a scene from the book that I neglected the written portion.
I mean, I did the paper, but it wasn’t great.
My teacher was like, ‘Alice, this is nice, but it wasn’t the assignment. ’”
Embarrassment colors Alice’s face, and I want to brush it away with my thumbs.
“I always do that,” she admits as our boots scuff against the floor. “I always get too deep into something that catches my interest and miss the forest for the trees.”
Alice looks up at me, like she’s waiting for me to concur. The vulnerability on her face wrecks me, especially because it feels like we’re talking about something deeper than her fifth-grade English project.
I stop our dancing, holding her still. “Alice, that teacher was a moron. I would have given you a hundred on that thing. A hundred and fifteen.”
Alice laughs and her head drops to her chest. I reach out and lift her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes the same way she did me yesterday.
“You attempted something big while everyone else thought small. They did just enough, and you swung for the fence.”
Alice’s eyes get glassy and she smiles so widely I crack right open.
“I missed you,” she says suddenly.
I open my mouth to ask why Alice ran from me the other night, but a voice rings out—
“Hey! Ya’ll want another round?” I glance over and see June wiggling an empty bottle in the air.
Alice gives a thumbs up and looks at me. “I’ll be right there. I’m going to use the restroom.” She starts to walk away and then turns back. “Thank you, Colt.”
I nod, wondering what I did. Not much. Not nearly as much as she did for me.
“Is she going to the bathroom?” June yells. “I need to go too. Alice!”
She runs off, and I turn around to meet Maggie’s raised eyebrow.
“So,” she says, tapping her fingers on the worn, graffitied table. “Couldn’t respond to her letters, huh?”
I lower my head and a soft smile tugs at my lips, because I realize two things: one, Alice was talking about me, which I like more than I should, and two, Maggie is protective of Alice, which makes me like her instantly.
“Something funny about that?” Now Maggie is leaning in, her expression growing even more wary.
I shake my head, sobering. “No. I just appreciate that you care about her.” When Maggie stares blankly at me, that eyebrow rising once again, I sigh and attempt to explain myself.
“I did respond at first. Not as often as I should’ve, but I did.
And then she went to college, and I was deployed.
” I grip my beer bottle, thumbnail peeling the edge of the damp label.
“Alice was happy. She was…always happy. And the things I saw there… They weren’t good things.
” I take a sip of beer and tap the bottle back down decisively.
“Alice had a perfect life and I wasn’t going to be the one to darken it. ”
“Are you kidding?” Maggie scoffs, furrowing her brow. “Alice wasn’t happy. She was abandoned by her family and classmates. She was alone. It’s not just you I’m angry with. I also want to throttle—”
A chill rushes across my skin, and I start shaking my head adamantly, hardly able to comprehend what she’s saying. “What? No. Alice was—”
“Depressed. She was depressed, Colt. And for good reason.” Maggie cranes her neck to ensure Alice isn’t coming. “Her parents basically left her in favor of Grant’s football schedule in Louisiana. And then there were these guys in high school who singled her out.”
“The fuck?” My entire body tenses.
“I don’t know exactly what happened, but it sounds like she was kind of ostracized after that.”
I can barely remain seated. My muscles strain with the need to do something.
To correct some egregious oversight. I think about the letters Alice sent.
Letters bursting with cheerfulness, brimming with excitement over all the wonderful things she’d done and was looking forward to. Was she lying? Why would she do that?
“I wish I’d been there,” Maggie continues. “But I only knew her as Grant’s sister then and—” Maggie cuts herself off when June joins the table.
“What are y’all talking about?” June bounds over. “Where’s Alice?”
“Wasn’t she in the bathroom?” Alarm bells go off in my brain.
“There she is,” Maggie states. And then, under the breath, she mutters, “Oh, crap.”
I spin around and see a man crowding Alice.
“That’s Travis,” Maggie clarifies. “He’s been giving her problems ever since—”
I’m already on my feet, pushing my way through the crowd.
The dude is standing too close to Alice, one arm blocking her retreat.
She’s smiling, but it’s clearly to placate him.
Alice gently pushes at his arm, but he keeps it firmly in place.
I grab that same arm and yank it from the wall with more force than necessary.
Alice immediately moves away, and I step in front of her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I snap.
Travis holds his hands up. “I was just saying hello.”
I step closer, keeping my voice measured. “Looked to me like you were blocking her in. You want to try doing that to me?”
Alice takes hold of my hand. “Colt, let’s just go.”
Travis’s eyes dart to the place where she touches me, and his eyes narrow. Then he glances at Alice.
“Don’t look at her,” I say evenly.
“Think about what I said,” Travis says to Alice, and then he looks back at me. He smirks, raises a stiff hand to his forehead, and salutes me. “Soldier,” he says, with as much sarcasm as he can muster.
I watch him walk away, my free hand flexing into a fist.
I spin around and raise my hands, nearly touching Alice’s face, but catch myself at the last second. “Are you okay? What did he say to you?”
Alice waves it off. “It was nothing. Really.” She drops her head to one side, an imploring look in her eyes. But I can tell from the forced cheerfulness in her voice that it’s far from nothing. “Can we just go back to the table?”
“Alice—”
“Please.”
I study her a moment longer and then find myself nodding, willing to do just about anything to erase the worried look off her face. “Alright,” I manage. “But Alice, if you need help with something, you tell me, yeah? You’re not…” I hesitate, not wanting to say too much. “I’m here now. Okay?”
She smiles, and this time it’s the one I’m accustomed to. It spreads from ear to ear and radiates joy. It fills my chest with possibility and colors the world a shade brighter. But as she strides back to the table, I can’t help questioning everything I thought I knew about Alice’s life.