Page 30 of The Infinite Light of Dust

“He’s all right,” Kael said. “Did anyone show up here?” He glanced around the room, doing his usual survey of the place, probably noting that we’d moved the pillows on the couch to the floor and Elodie had brought a glass of water to the coffee table. He noticed everything.

“Non. My husband hasn’t, and he didn’t call,” Elodie told him.

Last night felt like a different lifetime, like it hadn’t actually happened to me, to us. It was strange and fascinating, the way my brain was processing the anxiety and intrusive thoughts as they came in. Today, even with the chaos of my brother getting arrested and released, it felt like I was split into two versions of myself. One of them was hiding in a corner with a spinning mind and shaking hands, full-on fight-or-flight mode, and the other was standing in my living room, half smiling, thinking about how Kael’s eyes looked like honey under my lights. I kept waiting for a massive, soul-splitting breakdown, but even when I thought about the way the string lights in Mendoza’s backyard had reflected off the metal gun in Phillips’s hand, the memory was both fuzzy and clear, like a film I had seen but didn’t remember clearly.

“Karina?” Kael’s voice sounded like it was underwater as I blinked my eyes to focus.

“Huh?”

“Did you hear me?” he asked.

No, I did not. “Um, no. Sorry. What was it?”

“I said I’m going to go to Mendoza’s. Do you wanna come with me or stay with Elodie and your brother?”

“I want to go with you.” I didn’t want to be away from him, not even for a second.

We waited for my brother to come out of the bathroom before we left. Kael gave the two of them a brief lecture on not opening my door and calling him immediately if Phillips showed up. My brother agreed calmly, but I could practically read his mind, and I knew that if Elodie’s husband arrived unexpectedly at my house, all rational thought would fly out the window and one of them wouldn’t survive. The casual bleakness of my thought surprised me. No, it wasn’t the thought exactly. It was that it was true. This was what I had always feared when it came to being too embedded in military life and culture: life and death becoming passive thoughts, a part of the way things were. Would I reach a point where I wouldn’t even cry at a funeral, like my father?

“Do you cry at funerals?” I asked Kael as soon as he closed the driver’s-side door of his truck.

“No,” he said, checking the rearview mirror before pulling out of my driveway.

“Hmph. Did you used to?” I wondered.

He shook his head. “Not since I was a kid and my mom’s brother died.”

He had mentioned his uncle a few times, in the quiet of the night as I poked and prodded for every detail about his life before I knew him. He had died when Kael was a child, and was the only sibling his mother had.

“Do you cry over other things? Just not death?” I asked.

He glanced over at me before he responded, probably wondering where the hell I was going with this.

His voice was low as he told me, “I cried the first time I killed someone.”

My breath caught in my throat at his raw response.

“Oh.” I kept my eyes on him. The idea that he might think I couldn’t look at him because of what he’d said made me sick. His eyes met mine as he slowed to a stop at the end of my street. In them I saw regret, pain, a man who had lived a hundred lives before his twenty-first birthday.

“And the second, and the third.” A lifelong sadness filled his words.

“Did it get easier?”

He shook his head. “I was told that it would, that the first time was the worst. But even though I only eliminated people who were actively trying to kill me or my platoon, it only got harder. Watching my boys—Phillips for one—becoming too comfortable taking lives was something I wasn’t trained for. I was trained to survive, to only kill if I absolutely had to, but I had, and still have, a constant fear of slipping, of not valuing human life. It’s a thin line when you’re told that you’re doing the right thing, that you’re a hero fighting for the safety of your country. The more I questioned, the more I lost my sanity.”

“People who are insane don’t think they’re insane.” I had no clue how to comfort him and knew deep down that I couldn’t, but I needed him to know that he wasn’t bad, that he was the most thoughtful, the most levelheaded person I had ever known. He wasn’t like Phillips, or my father.

“Right.” He smiled a little, raising his brow. “Any other questions about my emotional capabilities, or can I get on the highway?”

I laughed, knowing sarcasm and self-deprecation were how we both handled heavy emotions. Sometimes there was no morally perfect way to navigate things as big and traumatic as war and death and invading countries and taking lives.

“Highway, but I do have more questions.” I reached for his hand. It was so warm in mine, and the ointment slathered over his busted knuckles was still wet and shining under the fall sun. “Who was the worst teacher you’ve ever had?” I asked him as he sped up. The engine roared, and he began to tell me about the awful math teacher he had in the tenth grade.

Gloria greeted us as we pulled up to the house. She was barefoot and wearing a T-shirt that went to her knees. Her hair was down, more wavy than usual, half of it in a bun on top of her head. She looked like an LA girl leaving one of those overpriced organic grocery stores, so effortlessly cool. I realized that Kael never told me why we were going to the Mendozas’ house or if it was to hang out with them, but I hoped it was just because. It felt surprisingly nice to have a friend’s house to go to.

“Hey, babe.” Gloria hugged me with both arms, arealhug. A hug that felt like friendship and trust and comfort. I didn’t think I would ever get used to that feeling. “How are you?” She gently pushed my shoulders to have direct eye contact with me. “You look like hell.” She frowned, brushing my hair away from my face. “Beautiful hell, but hell nonetheless.”

“I don’t know . . . how I am, I mean.” I decided to not edit my response. I almost said,I’m totally fine! You?but Gloria had such a comforting vibe that I didn’t feel the need to pretend around her, which was also a strange feeling. One I wished I would be used to by now, but which was slightly uncomfortable still.

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