Page 1 of Absolute Valor
“To be a good con man, you must first fool yourself.
—Marlon Brando
Hazel eyes brimming with fear and confusion, search my face for answers. A quivering bottom lip, which refused to curl into a frown, forms a dam about to break. A single stream of blood flowed from the left side of her nose and smeared across her cheek as she tried to brush it away.
“I’m so sorry.”
A lone tear escapes, joining the blood, diluting the dark red into a swirl of crimson and clear, leaving the pain in her eyes unwavering. I’d seen this look before, years ago when I’d first become a Marine, full of delusions of saving the world from evil. Boots on the ground, fresh out of basic, I was assigned to Kandahar, Afghanistan. My company was to assist a team of SEALs as they carried out a recon mission. We would be the overwatch, keeping eyes on the surrounding areas as the team kept watch on their target.
Sweat had poured down my neck and back, as the sun of the desert seemed to be setting on top of my helmet instead of miles above in the cloudless sky. We walked with our heads on a constant swivel, ignoring the mass of local children shouting for us to give them candy, lighters and pens. During briefings, we were told to avoid the children, as the enemy possessed no boundaries and would use anything and everything to destroy us, even the innocence of youth.
Passing through the village, securing the building the locals called home; mud huts we called them, built from the sand which surrounded us in abundance. The locals went about their work, as if having a team of Marines in full gear was as common as the mail delivery. Men and women carried out their daily tasks, ignoring the thumping of boots and the dust each step stirred.
At the end of the first row of mud huts, our commander gave the order for three of us to check out a tent attached to the side of one of the huts. Insurgents used any measures they could to hide themselves in order to kill us when our backs were turned. A few months back, a group of them had dug tunnels under tents like this, and then waited under the rugs the women used as seating, springing up with guns blazing, killing anything that got in their way.
As I scanned the tent, the first thing I noticed were the three large rugs women and small children sat on. Every eye was on me and my group as we lifted the edges of the rugs, shoving knives into the sand as a second measure of security. As we were approaching the last rug, positioned in the far corner, sitting still as a statue was a single female with her head down and eyes on her lap. As I got closer, her blue eyes flashed to mine. Though it was brief, my gut screamed something wasn’t right. I ordered her to stand while we radioed for backup, I couldn’t get over the fear and desperation in those eyes.
Our Lieutenant came in, took one look at the girl and agreed this wasn’t something we could ignore. Once we got her beyond the razor wire of the camp, she began sobbing, dropped to her knees, and cried that she was an American. After a trip to medical, she told us everything; how she had been on a mission trip in Syria when a bunch of men came into the tents and took what they wanted, including her. For the past three months, she had been beaten, raped, and sold…three times.
I’ll never forget the look in those blue eyes or the way my gut clenched and nearly revolted. Even though the eyes were now hazel instead of blue and the girl was sitting on a concrete driveway and not the desert floor, I knew she had been hurt and I had to save her. Just as I had the blue eyed girl before her.
“I’m fine, thank you.” Where her eyes held all the pain, her voice resonated the terror she felt. She’d tried several times to get to her feet, frustration with the failed attempts making her efforts more difficult. Without consideration, I offered her my hand, being careful to avoid grabbing her. Hesitantly, she placed her tiny fingers in mine. A warm, chill like sensation flows up my arm and finds a resting place in my chest. Audrey feels it too, her shallow gasp and widening eyes giving her away.
“Here, let me help you.” She’s shaking and I’m not certain how far away from shock she is. Momma is there like a guard dog, wrapping her arms around this beautiful creature, stealing the tremor from me as she takes Audrey into the shop. My body is still running on adrenaline as I stomp past the uniformed officers who are handcuffing a screaming Keena.
“You can’t arrest me for faking a pregnancy!” Her voice is high pitched and annoying, irritating my hearing and hindering my ability to process my thoughts. She had wronged my brother and, even though I have no desire to be social with him, granddaddy would roll over in his grave if I didn’t stand up for him.
“Actually, we can. It became a case of fraud the moment you took a single dollar from him—food and shelter included. Have a nice time in federal prison.” Dylan stole my thunder as he managed to shut the shrieking voice up.
The female officer tugged Kenna’s arm, guiding her to the waiting squad car and for the first time since I arrived, the girl’s mouth is closed. Dylan followed the officers to the front of the car, but I have to get into the shop, find out for myself what ties Audrey has with this motherfucker who hit her.
Momma has Audrey and Claire seated around the table, iced teas in hand, telling a story about one of her society friends who had an unfortunate accident involving an overheated curling iron. I swear to God, that woman is a miracle worker, taking the blood and tears and turning them into a picture perfect scene from a Hallmark movie.
“Chase, honey, have you had supper yet?” Momma spoke as she raised her glass to her lips, a twinkle in her eye I wasn’t certain I wanted to know about.
“No, Ma’am, I have not.” Can’t say hunger was even registering on my radar, as my concern for Audrey was overriding everything else.
“Oh mercy, where are my manners?” Audrey jumped from her seat, crossing the room toward the buffet style table someone had assembled. After picking up a plate, she sampled each dish, placing a helping around the foam plate she held in her hand. “Mr. Morgan asked me to make sure I included fried sweet corn, he said it’s your favorite.” Audrey’s face was free of any trace of blood; the only evidence remaining was the slight discoloration forming along her cheekbone.
“I hope you enjoy.” She stood before me, a smile glued to her face and a plate heaping with food in her hands, presented like a state fair hopeful in a pie contest.
“Thank you, Miss Audrey.” Just as her voice betrayed her earlier, mine sounded like a prepubescent schoolboy instead of a grown man. I watched her, memorized her face as she returned my ogling. Being around her seemed magical, making the bad disappear, leaving only her kind smile; the one, which owned me and made me forget.
“Chase, come sit with your momma.” It’s was a statement and not a request, I’ve heard it both ways and know the difference. I do as I’m told, no need to send the rain of hell pouring on the room again. Momma had a way of defusing any situation, taking the sting out of the biggest hornet and making him a lap dog. Dylan and Daddy come in as I pulled out my chair, Claire smiling big as she pats the seat next to her. Dylan takes the bait and I know by the look on his face, it is all over for him. After all this time, he has finally found the girl who broke the lock he had around that big ass heart of his. I like Miss Claire, she has a good heart with a kind nature, and with the way my big brother is looking at her, it won’t be long before she is my sister.
“Where are Lainie and Austin?”
“Having a long overdue conversation.” Daddy answered, his words sounded final as he took a bite of his supper, eating as if all hell hadn’t just erupted. He gives me the opening I need to find out the answers to the questions eating at me.
“Speaking of conversations,” I let my words hang out there, testing the waters where Audrey is concerned. “Who was the fella I was punching on, anyway?” Shoving a fork full of fried corn in my mouth, my eyes locked on an anxious, yet smiling Audrey.
“Chase, perhaps—” Momma starts, but Daddy places his hand over hers.
“Priscilla, the boy has a right to know.” A silent conversation passed between them. They’ve been together longer than I’ve been alive and over the years they’ve developed a secret language between them. Sometimes a simple touch or a kiss to the cheek, or like now, a look full of meaning. “After all, it’s his hand that will hurt come morning.”
It’s clear he hasn’t had a fight with anything in a long time. My buddy Zach, and I had sparred bare fisted a number of times. Hitting this fucker tonight was nothing compared to the brick facade of a seasoned fighter.
“He’s never hit me before. Pushed and shoved, yes, but never laid a hand on me.” If Audrey is trying to justify this motherfucker’s actions, she’s sitting at the wrong table.
