Chapter Seventeen

Ethan

 

A few hours later, that same day. Albuquerque. Captain Gibson’s home.

 

Sloppy Joe’s and macaroni and cheese have just made it on my plate for dinner, along with a glass of cherry-flavored cola. When my phone rings I pick up, not bothering to look at the screen.

“Hello?” As I speak, I hold my phone in the other hand, while I grab utensils and a napkin.

“Hi, Ethan.” It’s Riley. From the slight distortion in her voice it sounds like rushing water. I can tell she’s calling from inside her car. She’s driving, which means she has me on Bluetooth headset or some other cool piece of gadgetry. “Not calling too late am I?”

“Nope,” I say, settling down into my seat, and whispering a little prayer over my food. Not as much of a “grace” as I would like to give, but it will have to do. I then tucka napkin into the neck on my shirt.

“What’s going on, Riley? If you’re calling me this late, it must be for something really good, or really bad.” The latter has unfortunately defined my reality as of late, and I’m in no hurry to add to it.

“You’re going to like this,” she says.

“Oh yeah?” I cut into my sloppy joes, scooping some of the mixture back onto the buns then press it down.

“Yeah.” Riley sounds confident. Happy.

“Frederick’s lawyer just called.” Mention of Frederick’s lawyer makes me stiffen and my fork motionless in my Sloppy Joes.

“Guess what she had to tell me?”

I let my silence be my enthusiasm.

“Frederick’s dropped all charges against you.”

I feel myself freeze up, almost dropping my fork. But this time, it’s for a different reason. I’m feeling panicked. Nauseous. Dropped the charges? Out loud I say, “What? When?” I let go of my fork, not caring that it falls right into the mushy, tomato and beef filling.

“This afternoon.” Riley sounds overjoyed about this, much more than I do.

“He apparently went into her office and told her he made everything up. Fabricated the charges.”

At these words, I almost throw up, adding more chunks to my already chunky dinner.

“Made them up? Fabricated them?” Shit. What is that idiot thinking? What is he fucking doing? Doesn’t he know what will happen to him now that he’s said he made them up? Falsified them? I push my dinner away, completely uninterested in it now. He’s going to go to court. To trial, and probably be found guilty on multiple counts of providing false statements. Falsifying the occurrence of a crime.

I groan, saying something I can’t believe is actually coming out of my mouth.

“So what does this mean for me?”

Riley laughs. Scoffs at me, as if I don’t know a good thing when I see it. A miracle that’s been sent from heaven.

“It means you are no longer under investigation. It means you’ve been cleared of any and all wrongdoing. Now you can retire next year with all honors and privileges afforded to you by 30+ years of exemplary, incident free service to the Navy and to this country.”

I hear the smile in her voice and know I should be feeling the same way. I should be jumping up and down celebrating the fact that I’m no longer under threat of being labeled and charged as a rapist— a sexual predator. But the news doesn’t make me happy.

In exchange for my peace of mind, my dignity and accomplishments, Frederick’s put himself in front of the firing squad. He’s put his record and reputation on the line. And he’s put his life at risk, I think, remembering what he warned me of earlier… he’s put a target out on his back. But there were others. Other men with similar charges to his, so what does that mean?

“What about the others. The men who tried to accuse me of similar crimes,” I ask, “what about them?”

“It seems they’ve recanted their statements too. Admitted to fabricating and falsifying them,” answers Riley, still sounding like she’s on cloud nine. Like she won the lottery and has plans to share her multi-millions with me.

“You’re home free, Ethan.” She takes a big, relieved sigh.

“Don’t you feel better?”

I don’t answer. I just hang up the phone, and key into my text app, a conversation with Frederick. I see the text I sent him earlier, one saying that I didn’t want him to do anything too stupid or risky for him.

“Looks like he didn’t read that one,” I growl, texting him. My fingers moving wildly. Almost too wildly to work properly. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Frederick, but you’ve just damned yourself to a courtroom! And for what? To save me? To save my reputation? I grab the phone so hard, I can hear cracks inside of it. I know I asked you to be loyal to me. To go out on a limb for me. To have some courage — to do something about what’s gone wrong — but this is crazy! Suicidal!

I send this text and immediately start on another.

You’d better send me some kind of text, or else I’m going to come and find you. And when I do, I’m going to slap some sense into you. Your ass cheeks, and then your face!

Sending that last one, I tear my house apart in search of the directory that was sent to all of the Captains. It has the civilian addresses of all of our underlings… all of our officers and cadets. Though I know Frederick should be on base — he’s on disciplinary lockdown because of the ongoing investigation and charges —  I know he’s been avoiding it like the plague.

Because of Captain Stern most likely.

I have to look for him elsewhere. I’ve got to find some alternate address for him, locate and give him a piece of my mind.

Storming through my house, I finally know how my father felt when I was a teenager and wore leather jackets and acting a fool in the neighborhood. He felt angry, helpless at my stupidity… my complete lack of common sense. I now understand why he was such a strict disciplinarian with me.

Without that discipline, I might be the one with the target on my back today.

***

After searching my entire house from dinnertime until dawn the next morning, I finally locate my address book. My “Captain’s Roster” and Frederick’s civilian information in it. Finally, I get the text I’ve been waiting for all night.

The one from Frederick. But it’s too cryptic to be satisfying, or satisfactory.

It reads simply: Crazier things have been done for love, and I’ve not been crazy enough in my life. Not for the right men, Captain. Whatever happens, know that I’m not afraid of my fate anymore. Not more than I am afraid of losing you.

I fall into my chair at the dining room table, clutching my phone at my heart. My dear boy, I think, what have you done?