Unmanned

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

With the return of sobriety, Cole had begun dreaming every night — vivid replays of the world he’d inhabited before the crack-up. Carol and the kids were there. So were Zach and Sturdy. The reenactments seemed to last for hours, and were so uncannily accurate that he was exhausted upon awakening, as if he had begun living two lives at once.

The dreams’ only variance from archival accuracy was the regular appearance of the girl with one arm, although for whatever reason, the sleeping Cole was never the least bit surprised to see her. The dream version of the girl wore Western clothes and a placid demeanor, unbloody and very much alive in her various poses — watching from the corner of the ground control station while Zach and he piloted a Predator, peeking over the shoulders of Danny and Karen as they hammered away at PlayStation consoles, sitting at the kitchen table while Carol chatted on the phone.

Once she nodded to him from the doorway of a convenience store while Cole pumped gas into his truck before driving out to Creech. She was drinking from a can of Coke. He nodded back. It all felt comfortably routine, almost conspiratorial, as if they were cooking up some plan together. She always turned up in places where she wasn’t supposed to be, and each time it made him wonder later, after he woke up, why she had been in that house at Sandar Khosh. It, too, was the wrong place for her, although he still didn’t know how he knew this.

That night in the pool house his dreams revisited a moment from the aftermath of the missile attack which had occurred about eight hours after he’d arrived home in Summerlin. The dream began with Cole seated in a vinyl lawn chair, his mind a blank. A voice called out to him urgently.

“Darwin! Darwin! Did you see it?”

Cole clenched his fist to throw a punch, then realized the voice was Carol’s, not Wade Castle’s.

“What?” he croaked. “See what?”

“You missed it? Oh, Darwin. Karen scored. Her first goal ever!”

Cole stood slowly. Looking around he found himself at the edge of a soccer field, surrounded by other parents in similar poses. Everything smelled of mown grass, sprinkler water, and sweating children. A sunny day in a green schoolyard. He felt like an old grump trying to awaken from a twelve-hour snooze, knees creaky, butt sore. To get into the spirit of the moment, he clapped. His hands tingled as if they’d gone numb, and something foreign and unwelcome rose up in the back of his throat. He coughed and spat, landing the gob between his feet. Looking down, he was mildly surprised to see he no longer wore military boots or a green flight suit. Nikes and blue jeans. Now when had that happened?

He looked up just in time to see Carol shaking her head, then he turned back toward the field, where Karen was being mobbed by her teammates near the mouth of the goal, a squirming bundle of nine-year-old girls in white shorts and bright red jerseys, all smiles and screams and ponytails.

“Atta girl, Karen!”

His voice felt tender, barely used, the tone of command gone now that he was out in the open, standing in his own bright afternoon beneath a watchful sky. Then his glance snagged on a kid standing in profile on the opposite sideline. She wore the colors of the opposing team, but then he saw that she had only one arm, and he knew.

“Why bother?” Carol said.

“What?” Cole looked away from the girl.

“If you can’t even watch, why not just stay home and get the burgers going?”

He glanced back across the field, but the girl was now dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, heading for the concession stand. On the field, Karen’s team was back in action, the speckled ball pinging as someone kicked it toward the opposite end. He clapped again.

“Let’s go, Karen!”

“Darwin, she’s out of the game. Score and you sub out, remember?”

“Right. League rule.”

Danny, his youngest, banged into his right thigh and tugged at his trousers.

“Can I get a Coke, Dad?”

“Sure, Dan-O.” Cole fumbled for his wallet.

“No, Danny,” Carol said. “You know better, not before dinner.”

“Sorry, sport. Your mom’s right.”

He caught the last of Carol’s frown — an expression of worry, not disapproval. He knew the look well. She’d be on the phone tonight for at least an hour with Deirdre in Michigan, the key words leaking from the bedroom as he watched a ballgame down the hall. Distant. Remote. Preoccupied.

The dream stuttered forward in time to later that night, three in the morning. He was sitting up in bed, suddenly awake in the dark. Carol was also up, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chin.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“It’s Deirdre. They’re broke. The bank’s after them and Mark lost his job.”

Pretty much the life of half their neighbors. The signs of economic calamity were everywhere: lawns going brown for lack of watering, empty windows without curtains, auction placards on signposts.

“What about you?” she asked. “What’s keeping you up?”

“We killed some children today. With a missile.”

She looked up abruptly, rustling the sheets.

“Oh, Darwin. That’s horrible.” She eased closer and stroked his face with her hand. Over her shoulder, Cole saw the one-armed girl in pajamas, standing in the deep shadows by the window. “And here I am talking about money.”

“We didn’t see them until it was too late. The girl was not much older than Karen. She lost an arm.” He looked over at the girl, but she didn’t move a muscle.

“You can see all that? Oh my God.”

Cole had said too much. Carol’s eyes glittered in the dark. Maybe she’d already been crying.

“You can’t tell anyone. Not even Deirdre.”

“Okay,” in a small voice. “I won’t.”

They held their positions on the bed, as if each was waiting for the other to speak, and after a few seconds he sensed she was making an effort not to sigh. She slid her knees down and rolled onto her side, and soon afterward he knew from her breathing that she was asleep. The girl sat between them now, her back turned to Cole as she appeared to make some sort of comforting gesture toward Carol. He looked away, staring toward the window.

Then he jolted awake, sitting up in bed in the pool house after hearing what had sounded like the cry of a child. Now, only silence. He blinked, sweating heavily. The darkness was so overwhelming that he sought refuge in the bathroom beneath the buzzing fluorescent tube above the sink, his feet icy on the linoleum. He heard the cry again. Not a child, though. A cat.

Returning to the bedroom he heard the brush of a branch against the window, followed by another cry, weaker this time. He pulled back the blinds and saw Cheryl, slumped against the panes, balanced precariously on the sill, her fur matted and bleeding.

Cole opened the door and called her name. Nothing. He walked barefoot around the corner on the frosted grass and found her still huddled on the sill, too broken and weary even to drop to the ground. He gently picked her up, worried she’d lash out, but she was docile and quivering, a mess.

“Easy, girl. Easy. What’ve you been tangling with, a fox? A possum? Did an owl come after you?”

There were plenty of critters who would overmatch her out here, and as he carried her inside he thought of the tale of the city mouse and the country mouse. Poor Cheryl, not ready for all the challenges out here. An owl hooted twice as he shut the door.

In the light he saw that her blood was already smeared on his T-shirt. He cleaned her off in the bathroom as best he could, but it was soon clear he needed more supplies than the pool house offered, so he slipped on his pants, shoes, and a jacket and carried her toward the main house by the light of the moon and stars, hearing the wind hiss in the pines.

Halfway there he stopped, something chilly touching his spine. It wasn’t a noise, exactly. More of a presence, a sense of movement off in the deeper shadows of the trees to his left. The cat stiffened in his arms, sensing it as well, or maybe just reacting to him. Cole turned slowly and scanned the line of trees, half expecting to see a pair of luminous eyes, some animal preparing to pounce. Cheryl fidgeted and nearly squirmed free, so he held on tight and set out for the front door. The house was dark and locked, but he had his key. He locked the door behind him, still holding the cat, unable to shake the strong sense that something was still out there, observing in silence, lying in wait.

Cheryl gave an aggrieved yowl. He stroked her neck and whispered back.

“You and me both, girl. Let’s get you fixed up and get me a drink.”

There was a medicine chest in the powder room off the kitchen hallway. He put a folded towel on the lid of the toilet and laid the cat on top. Then he got a tube of antiseptic cream and a roll of gauze. He had never been a cat lover, but the animal’s vulnerability reminded him of long ago nights when he’d tended to his children after they awoke with a fever or a cough. He sighed. He was homesick, lonely.

“Easy now.” He squeezed out some ointment. “This might sting.”

The cat took it in stride, eyeing him with what looked like trust.

There was a footfall on the stairs. Barb, probably, their resident prowler. But the voice from the hallway was Keira’s.

“Oh, no,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“Got in a fight, by the look of it.”

She wore a flannel robe, emanating warmth and slumber.

“Can I do something?”

“Maybe hold her? I was going to wrap this gauze on her leg. Otherwise she’ll probably just lick all the goop off.”

Cheryl purred at Keira’s touch. No doubt about who she belonged to, no matter who’d taken her in.

“There’s a vet on the Oxford Road,” Keira said. “I could take her there tomorrow.”

“This’ll do for now.”

“You’re sweet to take care of her.”

He let the remark hang in the air, liking its judgment, and he felt himself relax. He realized that he’d been on edge all week, still in a mode of audition, of proving his worth, as exhausting as his first days back at the Air Force Academy, or in flight school.

“I’ll make some tea. Herbal, so it won’t keep you up.”

So much for that drink he wanted, but tea was probably a smarter idea.

He laid the cat on the counter while Keira put the water on to boil. She lifted the kettle just as it began to whistle, then poured steaming water into a pair of mugs.

“Let’s take these to the pool house, so we can talk without waking everybody up. I’ll bring the cat.”

Cole picked up the mugs and followed, wondering if he should say anything about the eerie sense of an intruder he’d picked up a few minutes ago. But now the idea seemed alarmist, especially with steam rising from the mugs with a hint of cinnamon. He watched the shadows all the same, and listened closely. No movement. No noise out of the ordinary. Yet he was palpably relieved when they shut the pool house door behind them.

“Did you hear that owl?” Keira said. “Sounded kind of upset. Wonder if that’s what went after Cheryl.”

“I doubt she would have survived if it was. Those talons can crack a cat’s skull like an eggshell.”

“Ouch.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so graphic.”

Keira laughed. “I don’t mind. That’s something I’ve always loved about this place. It’s so elemental. Just you and nature and whatever boat happens to be drifting by. It makes matters of life and death seem like things that don’t have to be forced, or even endured. They just happen, the way they’re meant to.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure Cheryl feels that way right now.”

“No. Maybe not.”

The cat curled up on the foot of the bed. Keira took a seat by the pillows, leaning against the headboard as the mug steamed into her face. Cole remained standing, transfixed as she tucked her bare legs beneath her, a gesture of coziness that also happened to clear a space for him on the bed, if he wanted it.

Under other circumstances he would have happily seized the opportunity, and probably would have then pursued the customary male ritual of touch and advance, testing his way toward an embrace, ready to keep going as far as she’d let him. But that was exactly what Steve and Barb would expect from him — the randy, uncultured pilot, forever on the prowl — so he sat down in the armchair catty-corner to the bed.

Keira sipped her tea, and he couldn’t help but watch her. Her skin was ambered by the glow of the bedside lamp, an attractive woman on his bed wearing a flannel robe and God knows what underneath. Maybe nothing. And now she was talking, and not a word of it had registered.

“I’m sorry. I zoned out. What was that?”

“I said, why don’t you come over here? You look so forlorn, like a lost boy who got left at school.”

He did as she asked. And she was the one who began touching. Her hand on his ankle, then his thigh. Touch and advance. A brush of her fingers across his cheek, a caress. He moved closer and she leaned forward, the bed creaking, the heat of her skin warm on his own. She was kissing him almost before he knew it.

“Is this all right with you?” she said.

“I was about to ask the same thing.”

“Don’t ask anything. Just act.” Her voice went straight down his throat. He again did as she asked, and it was better than in any dream. They moved softly, slowly, and then gave way to urgency. Cole couldn’t stop looking at her face, his eyes open until the very end, when he finally vanished from the world into the briefest oblivion. When he emerged on the other side he was gasping and alive. Keira smiled, then buried her face against his neck, her heartbeat fluttering on his breastbone.

A minute or so later she stirred.

“The cat,” she said, with a note of worry. But Cheryl was still curled on the spread at the foot of the bed, sleeping off her ordeal, ignoring them. Keira sank back into his arms. He was speechless. Happy, yes, but uncertain what to say next, about her or anything. A few more moments passed in silence, and she spoke first.

“So tell me about your wife, your family.”

Cole was so taken aback that he didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry. I’m not being judgmental. You needed this. I did, too. And now is probably the time when you’d be the most open-minded about your thoughts, and about your wife.”

“Or the guiltiest.”

“No. Really, that wasn’t what I intended.”

He studied her, the sincerity plain on her face.

“You’re very different.”

“Maybe so. But don’t take that to mean that I’ve got everything figured out. My life’s probably as fucked up as yours.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Oh, c’mon. That place you were living? The state you were in? You can’t leave all that behind in a matter of days.”

“No. That’s true.”

“So your wife, then. Now that you’re back in civilization, don’t you find yourself thinking of her more?”

“I’ve been dreaming about her. Nothing that’s, well, erotic or anything.” He couldn’t believe he was telling her this. Keira’s powers in full force, he supposed. “Just daily life, stuff we used to do around the house, or with the kids. The good and the bad.”

“That’s a start.”

“Towards what?”

“Getting back to them?”

He shook his head. “That’s over. My fault, but over.”

“You’d be surprised how forgiving people can be. Especially when something matters to them.”

“That sounds like the voice of experience.”

She shrugged, lowered her eyes. “Sometimes the people who could forgive you are no longer around to do it.”

“Barb said something about a guy you were with, a photographer.”

“He was married. I’m sure she mentioned that part, too.”

“Yeah, she did.”

Keira sighed, then eased away from him just enough that he wished he hadn’t mentioned it.

“That’s the problem with the three of us living together,” she said. “We’ve become too interested in identifying each other’s weak spots. Sometimes I think Barb’s building a dossier on all of us, you included.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s all right. I’m nosy enough myself. He was killed in a plane crash. He was on his way to Paris to see me. I talked him into it. A weekend getaway. Guilted him into it, really. And helped him cook up a story idea he could tell his wife for cover. Then he was gone, like a big gust of karma had come along and blown his plane right into the Channel. And when his wife found out I was the one who ID’d his remains …”

She looked away, staring at the window.

“I can go back to the house, if you’d like,” she said. “I probably should anyway, before the others wake up.”

“Not yet.”

She nodded, then reached across him to switch off the lamp. Darkness. Outside he could hear the trees in motion, windblown, the night forest still full of presences that Cole could only imagine. But now, with this strangely frank woman folded in his arms — warm and alive, yet alone with her regrets — he felt that they were both shielded, protected. He sank into sleep.