The sunlight streamed through the window into the beige carpet as Brittany set out the blue and white striped bowls amongst the clutter of nursing textbooks and half-full water bottles. One for her. One for him.
This morning ritual soothed her as she dolloped vanilla yogurt into her bowl and sprinkled it with Cocoa Pebbles. She left his bowl empty and instead propped her phone up inside of it, swiping the screen as she spooned the yogurt into her mouth. She tapped the Skype app and waited, watching the wheel spin. Her heart beat in her chest. A hint of panic as the application looped and looped. She picked up her phone from the bowl and peered at it, fighting the urge to press her finger on the smudged screen over and over again until his face manifested.
Just as she was about to give up, his face materialized in front of her. His freckled skin flaked with sunburn above his flak jacket. His lips full and soft, he smiled at her.
"Hey there," he said in his gentle way.
"Hey yourself, Brandon. You fucking scared me."
"Oh yeah? You thought I was laying out in the desert with holes in me?" His blue-green eyes reflected the screen of his phone.
"Not funny, Marine."
"I'm sorry, baby doll," he said. "How's nursing school going?"
"It's actually extremely easy. I have a one-hundred percent average."
"Really?"
"No. Not really. It's actually pretty hard," she grinned back at him. "We haven't taken any tests yet, so I am still sticking by my one hundred percent average."
"I've got something else that's pretty hard."
Brittany felt the warm of arousal spread from her belly to her clitoris. She reached down her flower-printed pajama bottoms, cutting her eyes to open window. Only sparrows hopped and fluttered on the sun-warmed sidewalk, the rest of the base neighborhood still quiet. She slipped a finger inside and stroked upward, feeling her own wetness. Her nipples hardened against the soft fabric of her LSU t-shirt.
"Oh yeah? Let me see it." She grabbed the phone and tilted it down so he could see her hand working under the fabric.
"Oh beautiful lady, only two weeks until I come home and take care of you myself," he whispered into the phone. The dark ceiling of the tent swirled above his head for a moment and then the camera refocused. His cock stood rigid above the crease of his pants. She pressed her fingertips onto her clitoris and stroked downward, feeling her hips tense as she neared a throbbing release. He stroked himself in front of her, his fist slipping down over his thick shaft.
"Oh shit, I'm coming," he whispered, his voice thick and deep with desire.
Their orgasms came fast and together, but still separated by miles and miles of oceans and desert. Brittany felt a hitch in her chest as the camera refocused on his grinning face. She felt hot tears gathering in her eyes for moment, then pushed the feeling down and smiled back.
"Well, I miss you," she said.
"I miss you too."
Faint shouting and the sounds of trucks echoed in her phone's speaker.
"Listen babe, I have to go. I love you," he said, shrugging his flak jacket higher on his shoulders and reaching for his rifle.
"I love you too."
The screen showed the picture of him nuzzling their blonde Pomeranian mix, Spuds, before it went black. Spuds' pink tongue a blurry flash on the side of his face. The sky clear blue behind him. They had spent the morning at the farmer's market, holding hands and picking up jars of lavender honey and stamped leather bags while Spuds sniffed the crisp fall air.
She set the phone down and finished her yogurt, stirring the soggy Cocoa Pebbles into a muddy swirl before downing it with a slug of lukewarm coffee. Her neighbor walked by the window, pushing a stroller with one hand, and holding the fat wrist of her toddler son with her other. Spuds trotted into the dining room and stared at her close-mouthed. His round black eyes glinting in the bright room.
"Ok Spuds. Let's go out."
The words made her feel better. Spuds twirled around, very nearly prancing at the word "out."
Just two more weeks. Two more weeks and she would be nestled in his arms.
#
The official who called her told her that Brandon had been injured, but didn't know how badly. The old pall of fear fell over her. A dullness tracked over her vision and her throat tightened. The disembodied voice on the other end asked if she was still there. She tucked her feelings inside and asked about logistics first. How bad is it? When will he be home? Can I see him now? Where is he? Why couldn't she join him in Germany?
She called everyone. She begged bureaucrats and wrote senators. She went next door and wept on her neighbor's shoulder, while the toddler patted her knee and handed her goldfish crackers.
Soon she called Brandon's best friend Jason who had been medically separated after he developed an abscess in his lung from the burn pits during deployment. When he picked up the phone, he sounded excited to hear from her. They had always gotten along well. He brought her an intricately carved camel bone box from Qatar and regularly stopped by to help her get a box down from the attic or to clean the gutters when Brandon was deployed. Little things. Kind things. Things that eased the sounds of an empty house. His brown muscular arms lifting and straining against his shirt sleeves. His curls now unconstrained by regulations fell softly around his shoulders.
"Hi Brit, what's going on?" His deep voice resonated on the other line.
"Brandon is injured and no one will tell me anything," she blurted all at once, feeling her throat knot up again.
"Oh Jesus. Ok. Where was he stationed again?"
She told him and waited for his response.
"Ok, I'll see what I can dig up."
She sat on the floor, stroking Spuds as she waited for him to call her back. A surge of guilt wracked her as she thought about the times when she had imagined Jason drawing her into his arms and kissing her, his hands sliding over her body. Her loneliness drove the fantasy.
He called her back after thirty minutes, his voice strained.
"Brittany. I need you to listen to me. It's pretty bad."
"Ok. Ok. Tell me."
"He took some shrapnel to the spine. They don't think he's going to be able to walk again. He's paralyzed from the waist down." Jason's voice cracked.
"Oh God. Oh God."
The ceiling spun above her.
#
When Brandon was wheeled off the plane, she rushed to him and fell to her knees in front of his wheelchair. She hardly recognized him. His tall, muscular frame was crunched into the wheelchair. Deep pink scars ticked over his cheekbones from the minute flecks of shrapnel that drove into his face when the bomb exploded. His white scalp showed through his shorn red hair. People milled around them under the bright white fluorescent lights that cut hard rectangles into the shiny floor, sending long stretched reflections of his wheelchair into a wavering imitation of their new shared reality. She pressed her cheek against his knee and looked up at him.
His blue-green eyes lighted on hers and he raised his hands to the sides of her face, rubbing his thumbs over her tears.
"Oh damn. I'm smearing your mascara everywhere. It's too bad that you're such a pretty crier, otherwise my master plan of making you ugly so I can keep you all to myself might have worked," he said, grinning down at her. Faint shadows of sadness clung to the corners of his lips.
"Shut up. Please just shut up," she said, smiling back at him and rubbing her hands over his cool motionless thighs.
"You just left Jason standing over there watching like a pervert," he said loudly enough for his best friend to hear.
Jason peeled himself off of the wall next to the women's restroom and hurried over to wedge his arms under Brandon's back in a strong hug. The two men held one another for a moment before Brandon motioned for Brittany to stand up and join them in this embrace. She kissed his cheeks and temples as Jason wrapped his arms around them both, trying to hide his own tears.
"You guys are embarrassing me," Brandon joked. "As charming as the airport is, what I would really like is some homemade food and a nap in my own bed."
"We were really fucking scared," Jason said.
"Not as scared as me. Now let's go. You guys are depressing everyone."
#
Jason came over every day to help. He and Brittany tore out the old non-accessible bathtub together, glancing at one another over their dust masks as he cut the old fiberglass siding with a jigsaw. She cut her finger on a piece of tile as they worked. Blood sprang bright and red and blossomed like camellias as the drops pattered into the sink. She yelped as the pain throbbed through her finger and hand. Jason rushed over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight at the wrist and snatched a hand towel from the ring and applied pressure. His large hands covered hers and she could smell the clean brine of his sweat mixed with laundry detergent and deodorant. She looked into his deep brown eyes as he held her hand in his. He swallowed and rubbed her wrist gently with his thumb.
Just then, Brandon wheeled into the bathroom and saw them clutching hands.
"What's happening in here?" He asked evenly.
