Читать книгу Marrying Daisy Bellamy - Сьюзен Виггс - Страница 11

The officer in the mirror stared back at Julian with a sense of grave purpose. Who was this intensely serious guy? He didn’t even recognize himself. Was that him?

Like so much of officer training, this was a deliberate strategy on the part of the air force. Through all the drills and preparation, the individual was taken apart and remade, perhaps reborn in a way. This suited him fine, dumping a past he couldn’t change for one he could control. He was learning to look the part—an officer. A leader. A warrior.

“My, my,” said Davenport, letting loose with a wolf whistle. “Aren’t you as sweet as honey?”

“Screw you.” The man in the mirror grinned, appearing a little more familiar now. Then he checked the time. “I’m ready to get the show on the road.”

“Have a seat. We’ve still got a half hour.”

“Can’t,” said Julian.

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t sit down. Do you know how long it took me to get these creases right?”

“Hours and hours,” Davenport said with a laugh; then he sobered. “Dude, you look like a million bucks. Or at least like you’ve earned the commission you’re getting today.”

Julian had no idea if his suite-mate was right. He’d worked his ass off, but given the nature of his first assignment, whether or not he was prepared could be anybody’s guess. The most frustrating thing about the news was its top secret classification. He couldn’t tell anybody the details. He didn’t even know most of the details himself. For the past year, he’d been groomed to be part of a special team, a highly unlikely designation for someone at his level. Although he knew his base assignment, he could tell people only that he’d been commissioned for active duty.

He shook hands with his friend, and Davenport resumed his jocular air. “I might advise you to go for a short walk to clear your head, but that would be a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“You are way too pretty in full dress uniform. You’ll end up going through the whole ceremony dragging along an entourage of drooling women.”

“Right. And how many women do you know who get turned on by the sight of brass buttons and epaulettes?”

“I guess you’re about to find out.”

Julian checked out his service dress uniform again, making sure every detail was right. Ribbons, devices, badges, insignia—all present and accounted for. Stuck in the side of the mirror was a five-year-old photo of him and Daisy, standing side by side, laughing at the camera. He remembered the exact instant it had been taken, with the shutter on timer. She’d made him laugh by saying, “Okay, pretend you like me,” knowing full well they were totally into each other.

He was glad he remembered because otherwise he might not even believe the kid in the picture had ever existed. That tall, skinny kid with waist-length dreadlocks, assorted tattoos and piercings and a bad attitude was a stranger to the clean-cut officer in the mirror. Julian had been a punk—an adrenaline junkie with not much going for him except an unexpectedly stellar academic record and test performances. And of course, his status as a minority. He didn’t want people to assume race was the reason he’d been admitted to an Ivy League school and an elite training program, so he made sure he outperformed everyone else.

Taking pains not to mess up his uniform, he slipped his hand into his inner breast pocket and touched the ring for luck.

His phone buzzed, and he picked up. “Gastineaux.”

“Hey Mister Almost-second Lieutenant,” said his brother, Connor. “We’re outside. Come on down.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Connor and Olivia had driven from Avalon with Daisy. His nerves jangled with excitement. He turned to Davenport and was startled to see all five of his suitemates gathered at the exit. They had shared quarters all year long. They’d fought and laughed and partied and competed and helped one another. Now the five of them formed a gauntlet at the door.

“Good luck, Jughead,” said Williams. “We wish you the best.”

The solemnity of the moment was broken by Del Rio, who played the air force hymn on a kazoo.

Julian saluted them with all the smartness and respect he would afford a superior officer. “Thanks, guys.”

He made one last check of everything. Tie, perfectly knotted. Shoes, gleaming. Hat, well-placed on his shorn head.

He was ready. He was so damn ready. He took the elevator because the stairwells tended to be dusty. He emerged into the small lobby of the residence hall and headed for the door, which opened onto a shady courtyard. In search of his visitors, he strode outside, his heart beating a mile a minute.

When he saw Daisy, he could feel himself smile out of every pore of his body, if such a thing were possible. She was wearing a yellow dress with white dots, white sandals with heels. Toenails painted pink. And a smile he saw every night in his dreams.

“Julian!” She ran over to him but brought herself up short. A shadow of something—uncertainty, bashfulness?—flickered in her face. “Is it okay to hug you?” she asked. “I don’t want to muss your uniform.”

He laughed and held his arms wide. He didn’t care if she smeared lipstick all over his formal blue shirt, truth be told. She looked like a fantasy to him; staring at her was like staring at the sun too long. So bright, she hurt his eyes.

“Girl, you can mess me up anytime you want,” he whispered into her silky blond hair.

“I might take you up on that,” she said, but then she stepped back, smoothing her hands down his jacket sleeves. “You look incredible. Just so you know.”

His heart hammered against the ring stashed in his pocket. He almost did the deed right then and there, but forced himself to wait, take a breath, try to think a coherent thought.

He greeted Connor and Olivia, and Zoe in her stroller. Julian’s half brother, Connor, was also his best friend. If Connor hadn’t stepped in when Julian was an exploding teenager en route to juvey, things would have turned out very differently for him.

Olivia and Daisy were cousins, though they looked enough alike to be mistaken for sisters. There was definitely a Bellamy family resemblance—blond, classy, but not too full of themselves. More than that, they both seemed to be the type of women who inspired thoughts of forever.

“We have a surprise for you,” Daisy said, leading the way to the paved footpath, crowded with families headed toward Statler Auditorium.

“What kind of surprise?” He wasn’t expecting anything “This kind!” She brought him around a corner of the walkway. In the shade of a budding chestnut tree stood a slender woman in a blue dress and high-heeled sandals.

“Mom!” Julian couldn’t believe his eyes. His mother? Here?

She had sent her regrets several weeks ago, saying she couldn’t get away from work this weekend. These days, she had a job on a cable series filmed in L.A., and was in the middle of taping a new season of episodes.

But here she was, beaming at him. “Well, look at you,” she said. “My lord, but you make me proud.”

“Me, too,” said a deep, sonorous voice Julian hadn’t heard in years. Three others arrived from the direction of the parking lot.

“Uncle Claude! And Tante Mimi. Remy!” Julian laughed aloud. “I feel like I’m seeing things.”

Uncle Claude was the brother of Julian’s late father. When he died, Claude and Mimi had offered to take Julian in, but there was no room and no money in their tiny, southern Louisiana house. Remy was their youngest of four and developmentally disabled.

He and Julian were the same age. As kids, they used to be fast friends. “Hey, Remy,” he said, completely elated. “Remember me?”

“‘Course,” said Remy, “I got me a book full of pictures of us.” He still sounded like the cousin Julian had known, speaking slowly and hesitantly, as always. The speech impediment was muted now, and his voice rang with a deep resonance, like his dad’s.

When the two of them were young, Julian had gotten into many a fight, defending his cousin from the teasing of other kids. Fully grown, Remy looked like an NFL linebacker, and it was doubtful he suffered from teasing anymore.

“I’m real glad you’re here,” Julian said. He turned to his brother. “Is this your doing?”

“You can thank my lovely wife. She made it happen. I think she might have been a genie in a past life.”

Julian gave Olivia a hug. “You’re the best.”

He glanced at Daisy and caught her eye. Other than Connor, she’d never met any of his family. She didn’t know the world he’d come from, how different his upbringing had been from hers. She seemed at ease with them, however, walking alongside Remy as they made their way to the auditorium for the ceremony.

“You’ll have to tell me stories about you and Julian, growing up,” she said to his cousin.

“I got stories.” Remy offered a bashful grin. “I can tell you stories ‘bout me and Julian, for sure.”

“We’re going to dinner after the ceremony,” said Connor. “He can fill you in then.”

Even with the extra family members, they were one of the smaller groups to attend the commissioning. He spotted Tanesha Sayers with her mother and a whole entourage of aunties and cousins, a colorful garden of black ladies wearing fancy hats. A beaming Sayers waved at him from across the yard. “Good luck, Jughead,” she called.

“Same to you.” Where she was going, she’d need it. To her disappointment, her plan to attend med school had been deferred because the air force needed her elsewhere. The good news was, she was headed to a posting in the Pentagon to work in protocol. With that sharp tongue of hers, it would be a challenge.

“Friend of yours?” Daisy asked.

“Sayers is in my detachment.” He was dying to figure out if Daisy was jealous. He kind of wanted her to be, because of what that would mean.

“She calls you Jughead.” She laughed. “I like it.”

“Hey, how about some family pictures before we go in,” Connor suggested.

“I’m on it,” Daisy said.

Julian’s family didn’t resemble anything people pictured when they thought of “family,” but they were all connected, and it meant the world to him that they had come. Daisy took photos of him and the others in every possible combination. They were definitely a picture of diversity. Connor, whose father was white, looked like Paul Bunyan in a new suit. Their mother, who these days called herself Starr, was as blond as Olivia and Daisy, while his aunt, uncle and cousin had the same fine ebony coloring as Julian’s late father. Julian himself was a mixture of dark and light, and was sometimes mistaken for Latino. Which, where he was headed, was not necessarily a bad thing.

He was dying to tell Daisy what he could of his news, to really have a chance to talk to her, but now was not the time. Likely the same thought had occurred to her; she was doing that thing she sometimes did, lifting her camera up, like a shield between her and the world.

“She’s a famous photographer,” Connor told Uncle Claude as she crouched down for a shot of a manicured campus garden with Remy and Mimi in the background.

“Get out,” said Daisy, her face flushed. “I’m not famous.”

“She’s a professional,” Julian explained, happy to contradict her. “She’s one of the youngest photographers ever to be published in the New York Times.”

“Your work was in the New York Times?“ Julian’s mom perked up. Anything having to do with fame and image generally intrigued her.

“It was one assignment,” she said. “I had a lucky break involving a local baseball player.”

“Everybody starts somewhere,” his mom said. “I’d love to see the pictures.”

“You’re going to love this even more.” Daisy positioned Julian and his mom side by side, with Cornell’s clock tower behind them. “The light’s really pretty here.”

Starr glanced back at the tower. “Looks like the set of a sniper movie I was in a few years ago. The shooter was up on the ledge surrounding the clock, and we had to figure out a way to escape.”

“And did you?” Julian asked.

“Yep. As I recall, I set something on fire and created a smoke screen. Who knows, now that you’re going to be a hotshot in the air force, you’ll be doing things like that for real.” She turned her gaze up to Julian, and he recognized a rare flash of pride in her regard. His mom knew so little about his life. In a way, that saddened him, but in another way, it was very liberating. She never had any expectations for him to live up to, so he had no trouble exceeding them.

“Has anyone ever mentioned you look like Heidi Klum?” Daisy asked.

Julian could feel his mom’s gratification in her posture. “You think?”

“Sure.” Daisy took several shots.

“I like this girl,” said Julian’s mom. “Where’d you find her?”

His eyes met Daisy’s, and he read the question there. No, he’d never explained Daisy to his mother. In the first place, Starr was too self-absorbed to actually care. And in the second place, his relationship with Daisy often seemed to defy explanation.

Since Starr had asked him a direct question, he went with the digest version. “We met the summer before our senior year of high school. Remember, the summer I spent at Willow Lake.”

Looking back, Julian now realized he’d been saved in more ways than one that summer. Camp Kioga and the Bellamys had been a revelation to Julian. He met not just Daisy, but a whole group of people who were nothing like the cholos he hung out with in his industrial town east of L.A. The people he’d met that summer saw life as filled with promise, not a dead end, even for a kid like him. He simply had to pick his path and do what he needed to do in order to get where he wanted to be. Despite its simplicity, this was a concept that had not occurred to him before.

“You’ve been together since high school and you never told me? “ his mother chided him.

“Um …” Daisy looked uncomfortable and lifted up her camera again.

“Mom, check it out.” With perfect timing, Connor interrupted, pushing the baby stroller into her path. “Zoe just woke up, and she’s ready to see her grandma.”

The little two-year-old eyed her glamorous grandmother with cautious interest. Absorbed with her life in L.A., Starr had only seen the tot one other time, soon after Zoe was born.

“Of course she wants to.” Starr clasped her hands, beaming at the pretty, yellow-haired child. “But ‘grandma’ sounds so … so old. We’ll have to come up with some alternative, won’t we, Zoe?”

The awkward moment passed, and Julian’s mood was buoyant by the time they reached the imposing, concrete-and-glass auditorium.

He took his place with the other cadets and midshipmen; all service branches were represented. A brass band played a couple of standards, and the glee club sang “America the Beautiful.”

The school president’s address was a balance of idealism and realism. “Today we honor you. Your numbers are few but your commitment is great. The call to serve one’s country is heard and heeded only by a select cadre of individuals, and our nation is fortunate indeed that the likes of you will join the ranks of our greatest heroes. And to the families—we honor you as well, because you are about to let them go now.”

At that, Daisy pushed a wad of Kleenex against her face. Julian winced, feeling her pain echo through him. He wished he could tell her it wasn’t going to be that way, that nobody had to let anything go. But he’d be wrong. The price for this career was steep, in terms of relationships. Damn. He hoped she understood. He needed this. He needed the purpose and the pride of being an officer in the air force. And God knew, he needed the money. His education had not cost him a cent. Now he would repay the debt with a chunk of his life. Back when he’d signed up for ROTC, it had seemed a fair enough exchange.

One by one, the candidates crossed the stage, raised a right hand and spoke the oath that would seal admittance into the military’s most elite class of commissioned officers. Each man or woman stood proudly as family members pinned the rank or bars onto each shoulder. Julian’s mother played her role with gusto, managing to project intense emotion as she stood on one side of Julian, while his father’s brother stood on the other.

Julian earned a citation for physical performance and engineering. It was the engineering prize that nearly did him in, right there in front of everyone.

His father had been a rocket scientist. It had always been a family joke that Louis Gastineaux’s passion for work surpassed his passion for life itself. He’d led an unconventional life, but Julian had always felt safe and protected. Sure, he’d wished for a mom, but his father had explained her absence without bitterness or recrimination. “It’s something she’s called to do,” Louis had told his small son, whenever Julian had asked about her. “Just like me and physics.”

“But you’re with me,” Julian would argue.

“How could I not be?” his dad would gently ask. “Tell me that, honey. How could I not be with you?” That had been before tragedy had struck, before the car accident that had paralyzed Julian’s father and eventually caused his death.

At the podium, Julian held the plaque of commendation. Thanks, Dad, he thought. I love you.

He didn’t know what kind of life his father had dreamed of for him. But today, he thought maybe this might be it.

Afterward, there was a dinner at Cornell’s hotel school restaurant. Julian was still dying for some time alone with Daisy, but it wasn’t to be. The mixed blessing of a family demanded that he attend to all of them. He told himself he’d waited a long time, and another few hours wouldn’t matter.

Everyone wanted to know about his orders. Where would the future take him? What would he be doing? How many in his command? The questions buzzed around him, as they had these last few weeks. People in his detachment had been swapping their news and speculation for several weeks. Plenty were going on to be pilots or navigators, but the chain of command had a different plan for Julian.

Due to the nature of the mission, he wasn’t able to say much. “It’s an active-duty assignment,” he said. “A cooperative international venture. I’ll be doing tactical and operations training.”

“What’s that?” asked Remy.

“Just … doing my duty.”

“Duty. You’re good at that stuff, Jules,” said Remy.

“Where will you be stationed?” asked Connor.

Julian paused. His gaze flicked to Daisy, who sat beside him. He could feel her holding her breath. There was only so much he was authorized to share.

“Colombia,” he said. “There’s a newly upgraded base there called Palanquero.”

His uncle let out a low whistle. “Man. Colombia.” Julian could practically feel Daisy wilt with disappointment, but she kept her smile in place. “That’s exciting, Julian,” she said. “You’ll get to use your Spanish.”

He couldn’t tell her, but he’d been groomed specifically for this one-of-a-kind assignment. His training had been multifaceted, including attendance at the Inter-American Air Forces Academy in Texas and undergoing rigorous security evaluations to make sure he was fit for covert ops.

He had first encountered Colonel Sanchez, the head of the operation, during a field training exercise two summers ago. He hadn’t known it then, but Sanchez had been combing the rosters, identifying personnel for the team. Julian fit the bill. He had the physical qualifications, the language skills, the technical and tactical skills. At first he hadn’t realized he was actually being scrutinized for high-risk operations. He later learned his reputation for being an adrenaline junkie had made him an early favorite.

These days, the troubles in Colombia didn’t tend to make headlines. The rebel FARC and other anti-government paramilitary organizations had diminished, and news from the Middle East and even Mexico tended to overshadow Colombia, although the mountainous nation still produced eighty percent of the world’s cocaine. What the press generally failed to mention was that in the wake of the paramilitary demobilization, criminal groups had arisen and filled the niche, like opportunistic infections. The drugs kept coming. And in recent times, something sinister had developed—ties between the drug cartels and terrorist organizations. That, combined with a base closing in Ecuador, had spurred the U.S. to action. The idea behind the action coalition was to disrupt the activities of the drug and weapon operations, and cause their organizations to fall apart.

“All I know about Colombia is the coffee,” his mother admitted. “And stories about scary drug lords.”

Julian didn’t say any more. He couldn’t; it was strictly classified. Those scary drug lords were the reason he was being sent to South America.