Chapter Fourteen
Kelli
“Kell? Kell, wake up. You’re going to be late again!”
“Mmmm?” For a single disorienting moment, I wasn’t sure where I was. I had just come out of a pleasant and somewhat embarrassing dream where I was back in the Congo, trekking through the forest with Zack who was wearing an Indiana Jones-style fedora and looking rather dashing. But then we heard the ominous sound of a rattle and I turned to see an enormous snake slithering toward us. In the second before it destroyed my mind, I screamed, as I realized I was staring into Bernie’s face on a snake’s body…
“Kelli, it’s okay,” Renee was saying. “You’re here now. You’re home.”
I sat up straight in my bed and gripped my head with my hands. “Was I yelling again?”
Renee reached under the table and produced a coffee, seemingly from thin air. “Here, drink this. It’s an organic vanilla soy latte. It’s all-natural, and there’s chocolate in it, of a sort. It will make you feel better.”
“Unless there’s actual chocolate in it,” I replied, “I doubt it will make me feel better.” But I took it and drank a few sips, after which I began to feel surprisingly calm. I took a few more, and within a few minutes had drunk the whole cup.
Renee leaned back, looking pleased with herself. “Hey, where did you learn to make these, anyway?” I asked.
“Perks of being a yoga instructor,” said Renee. “You remember my boyfriend, the one I was telling you about? He works at the coffee shop next door to the studio, and he’s been teaching me how to make his best drinks.”
“I have to meet this guy,” I said, staring longingly into the bottom of my empty cup. A few months ago, I would have dreaded that meeting—had been dreading it, in fact—but now I was finally ready.
“Anyway,” said Renee, “you still haven’t told me about your trip.”
“That’s because I’ve been so out of it ever since I got back.” I must have slept for three days after my return to the states. Evan had expected me back at the end of last week, but Renee had had to call and tell him I needed a few days to recover. He hadn’t exactly been happy about it, not that he had much choice. “Anyway, there’s not much to tell. I went over there, did my job, and came back.”
But Renee could tell, with that weird instinct that sisters have, that I was holding something back. “ Something must have happened during the month you were over there,” she said. “Were you rescued from a stampeding herd of elephants by the crown prince of an obscure European monarchy? Did you have to rescue a gangly orphan boy from the clutches of a singing orangutan?”
“No, none of that happened.” I rose from the table and pulled a box of sausage patties out of the freezer. I took them out and placed them in the microwave. “I’d have been very surprised if it had.”
“Did you meet a guy?” My shoulders flinched at the question, which gave me away immediately. “You did! He was handsome.”
I shrugged and sighed in a resigned way. “Yes, he was very handsome. Yes, we did it in my hotel room, and no, I’m probably never going to see him again. Any other questions?”
I had hoped that by answering all potential questions up front, I might end the discussion early. This proved to be a vain hope, as Renee wanted to know everything about him. Pulling my sausage patties out of the oven, I came over and slumped down in a chair across from her.
“Is he a SEAL?” she asked, a mad flicker of excitement in her eyes.
“He is a SEAL,” I said, nodding slowly and reluctantly. “Not that it matters, because he’ll probably move home in a few months and forget about me.”
Renee lowered her eyes, and when she spoke again, there was a note of concern in her voice. “That’s for the best, though, really. You don’t want to go getting mixed up with a SEAL who’ll cheat on you the moment he has a chance.”
This was a bewildering thing to hear from a woman who was dating a former Marine. “Did you and Marty have a falling out?”
“His name is Max, and that’s different . He’s a former soldier. He sowed his wild oats in the military and got them all out years ago. I just think you should be wary of dating anyone who doesn’t even live in this country and, for all we know, could be hooking up with every reporter who passes through the Congo.”
That was certainly a perspective I hadn’t considered. What if I was just the latest in a long line of journalists Zack had slept with? Hell, at this point I might not even be the latest.
I continued to reflect on our conversation all the way through yoga. Renee could tell that I wasn’t paying attention because more than once she paused in the middle of talking and glared at me pointedly. I was too tired to care, though. It was late morning, and I was feeling irritable and the brilliantly gleaming sunlight pouring in through the studio windows annoyed me. I wasn’t looking forward to returning to work, and I didn’t want to have to field a lot of questions from my boss and co-workers about the trip, when the best part of it, and the most interesting, and the most personal to me, was the one part I couldn’t talk about.
It was slightly disappointing returning to work and finding everything much the same as when I had left. Dennis was still eating off-brand Cheese Puffs at his desk and getting orange powder on the office stapler. The birthday balloon I had given to Rachel back in January was still floating in a corner, slowly leaking air. When I walked into the back office to hand my report in to Evan, I found him standing grimly in front of the TV watching a CNN report on the still-worsening oil spill disaster.
“Thought you might like to have this,” I said as I handed him the essay, which I had placed in a glossy transparent folder. I had spent the morning trying to get it printed out, and it had cost a small fortune.
Evan took it and leafed through it for approximately three seconds before setting it down on the table. “Close the door and sit down for a minute, Kelli,” he said.
Instinctively, as I always did when he summoned me to private meetings, I began combing through all the things I had done since my trip that he might be upset about. Maybe he had learned about my fling with Zack? But somehow I couldn’t see Zack ever talking about it, not knowing the trouble it could get him into. Maybe the other guys had complained about the questions I had asked and the perspective they felt I was bringing to the piece. Not that any of them could know that for sure, and anyway, Evan would have had my back.
At least I hoped he would.
With a sense of hesitation and an irreducible knot of worry in my stomach, I sat down in the chair beside him.
“You don’t have to worry,” he said, apparently seeing the tenseness in my face. “I just wanted to check in with you. It’s been a while since we’ve really talked.”
“Sorry, the Wi-Fi in the Congo was so spotty,” I said. “I would have Skyped you every night if I was able.”
“It’s fine. I just hope the guys over there treated you well and that you didn’t run into any problems.”
This was the point where I either admitted that they had largely stonewalled my attempts to gather information or smile and pretend my visit had been thoroughly pleasant. I decided to tread carefully. “I had problems from a couple guys, but for the most part, they were perfect gentlemen. Whenever there was trouble, Sergeant Armstrong gave me his full support. And there was one guy in particular who was really helpful.”
I regretted saying this almost instantly. You just couldn’t resist mentioning that one guy, could you? I scolded myself. Now he was going to know I had had a fling with one of the SEALS. Perhaps he could already see it in my face.
But Evan seemed mostly oblivious to my inner struggle. “That’s great. I haven’t read your report yet, but I’ve skimmed through it, and I think it’s really going to reclaim the narrative from the media. These guys are constantly having to dodge scandals and controversies from folks who have no idea what they go through, and you’re playing a huge role in getting their side of the story out there.”
I nodded weakly, clutching my belly, not knowing what to say. Truth was, I wasn’t sure I wanted to correct the damaging narrative that was clouding the reputation of the Armed Forces. Yes, there were moments when they amazed me with their bravery, stamina, and heroism. I could never in a hundred years have done what they did every morning.
But there were also problems, problems I hadn’t had the courage to address in my article. And they weren’t the problems of a few bad apples, but went to the very core of SEAL culture, tainting the whole institution. I had experienced firsthand their appalling mistreatment of women, the way they expected us to be sexy or shut up and get out of the way. And I had brushed shoulders with their culture of loyalty toward one another and to the organization: the way they closed ranks in the face of outside opposition, refusing to answer questions, shunning anyone they viewed as disloyal. If there were abuses or injustices being committed, it would be all but impossible to expose them and root them out because no one would want to talk about it, and no one would be able to investigate it.
But I didn’t say any of this. Knowing Evan’s deference to his old friend, I knew it wouldn’t have gone well. Instead, I smiled a weak smile and said, “I hope it will change a few minds, at least.”
Evan rose from the table to signal that the meeting was over. “I’ll send it off to our lead editor,” he said, “and it should make the features page within two to three weeks.”
He escorted me from the office, and I returned to my desk, feeling conflicted and unhappy.