Page 1 of I Would Die for You

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CALIFORNIA, 2011

“Have you called the police?” I ask, opening up my notepad and writing today’s date in bright-red pen.

“No, I didn’t know what to do,” says the caller at the other end of the line. “You hear of these things happening at night, but I had no idea I’d see it with my own two eyes in broad daylight.”

“Unfortunately, it’s going on all the time,” I say, already alert to the forthcoming opportunity. “Perhaps you’d be interested in signing our petition to put a stop to it.”

“I’d be happy to,” says the woman.

I allow myself a small smile, knowing thatonesignature has the power to make a difference. At least, that’s what I tell myself when I spend endless hours on street corners, only to come away with just a couple more names to add to the slow-growing list.

“Another imbecile?” asks Brad, coming into my office as I put the phone down.

I nod. “A couple of young girls have been harassing the seals up at La Jolla beach, frightening the pups and abusing the moms.”

“Jeez,” he says, scratching his head as if it’s the first time he’s heard the like. “The sooner we get this petition filed, the better.”

While I love the fact that my husband says “we,” it’s not as if he’s the one up to his neck in the bureaucracy and the task of taking the beach closure to a vote at the next city council meeting. Sure, he always volunteers to lend a hand when there’s trouble or when there’s something practical that needs doing; he’s spent many a weekend taking our eight-year-old daughter, Hannah, down to the beach at dusk to tidy up after inconsiderate day-trippers and nosey tourists have left the life-threatening remnants of their picnics for the seals to navigate. But on a Monday morning, he gets up and goes to work at the naval base, where his responsibilities start at nine and end at five. He clocks in and out—and he gets paid.

Not that money has ever been a factor in my decision-making, especially where the seal colony is concerned—but it would be worth all the money in the world to at least see my efforts rewarded. San Diego has more than enough beautiful beaches for the public to enjoy, so why can’t we allow the seals one tiny cove to rest, swim, and birth in safety?

“Do you want me to go up there?” Brad asks. “I’ve just about got time before work.”

As always, he seems to know when I need that little bit of underpinning—that extra beam in my support structure to stop me from lagging.

“It’s all good,” I say. “I’ll check in with Hank now—see if he can send someone.”

“You’re doing great,” says Brad, leaning in to kiss me. His beard tickles my lips and I smile—it’s a relatively new addition and despite my initial protestations, I must admit I rather like it. It frames his face, like the hair on his head used to.

“If you turn upside down, you’ll look like you did when you met Mommy,” Hannah likes to tease.

Brad always laughs, but I’m sure it’s not lost on him how thepassage of time has changed us. To me, he looks just the same now as he did when I first saw him walking into Danny’s Bar twenty years ago—and I hope he has the same warped perspective when he remembersmefrom back then.

Dressed head-to-toe in army uniform, he’d come in alone and asked for a bourbon on the rocks.

Having lived and worked in a military town for three years, I’d quickly learned not to ask questions I didn’t want to hear the answers to. But something in Brad’s eyes was begging me to say something.

“That’s a pretty heavy drink for a Tuesday night,” I’d said, putting the tumbler down in front of him on the counter.

He’d knocked it back in one, the ice cubes clinking against the side of the empty glass.

“I’ve had a pretty heavy day,” he said, holding it up for another.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, setting the bottle down beside him.

“We lost a good one today,” was all he said. His relief at actually being able to say it out loud was palpable.

“We’re losing good oneseveryday,” I said ruefully, turning to look at the wall of remembrance we’d set up when the Gulf War had started claiming casualties. “And until we all learn how to get along with each other, it’s going to keep happening.”

He’d smiled, his face metamorphosing into something I wouldn’t have thought possible just a few seconds earlier. And despite vowing never to entertain anyone in fatigues, my stomach did an involuntary flip.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked as I busied myself with wiping down the counter.

It was a question I was used to, but still it caught me off guard.

“I’m from England,” I said, hoping that it would be enough, while knowing that it rarely was.

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