1 Chapter 1

I have his initials tattooed in a heart on my right arm.When I drink,I roll up the sleeves of my white T-shirt and I know people want to ask about those three little letters.RJP.They want to know if it’s my girl back home,or some chick I fucked in Saigon.

But they never ask.

There’s something in the way I sit at the bar,hunched into myself,that warns them back.Or maybe it’s the glazed look in my eyes.I’ve looked in the mirror,stared into those once blue eyes,and wondered who the hell replaced them with glass beads,lifeless and dead like a doll’s.I look deeper,through those closed windows of my soul,and in the hollowed remains I see my hands,covered in his blood.

I remember the evening as if it were yesterday—his body cold in my arms,heavy.His skin pale,his eyes sparkling like a sea of pain,his blood…

His blood covering me.

RJP.Three little letters carved forever upon my heart of stone.

****

The moment I met him,I fell in love.He was a few years younger than me,and his face still held an innocence about it I knew the war would destroy,but I loved the way he clung to his childhood fiercely.He slept with an old teddy bear at night,and he carried a rabbit’s foot dyed a vivid shade of green that sometimes seemed to match his mercurial eyes.When he was assigned to my company,I knew I wanted to be his friend.

No,I wanted to be more than that—I wanted to be the world to him.But I wouldbe satisfied with friendship,if that was all I could get.I just knew I needed that boy in my life.He had a smile like quicksilver and hair like coils of copper wire.I wanted to plunge my hands into those curls;I wanted to capture that smile for myself alone.

I remember the first time I spoke to him.It was shortly after he had arrived with the latest wave of soldiers,the hope bright in his eyes that we might still win this damn war.He stood in the line at the mess tent,humming to himself,and I bumped my tray into his back gently to get his attention.

The humming stopped and he turned around.“Patterson,”I said,reading the name on his fatigues.“You just get here?”

He nodded.“Willis?”he asked,nodding at my chest,where my last name was stitched in bold,black letters.“Or should I call you sir?”

I outranked him,true.But I shook my head and shifted my tray so I could offerhim a hand to shake.“Willis works for me.Stuart Willis,from Cape May,New Jersey.Do you have a first name to go with Patterson?”

His grip was sure and warm.“Richmond,”he replied.

With a laugh,I teased,“Why’d your parents give you two last names?”

He sort of grinned and ducked his head,embarrassed.Too cute,I thought.I liked this one.

Nudging him playfully with my elbow,I joked,“What a mouthful.”

“Open wide,”he said.His sunshine smile turned seductive,dispelling any illusions I might have had about his innocence.In that moment I fell for him—hard.

Behind him someone told him to keep moving.He inched forward,tray out as themess cook dumped out a ladleful of greasy gravy and beans for him.I hovered nearby,not yet willing to let him slip away.I didn’t want to lose him in thenew recruits.

Glancing over his shoulder at me,he asked,“So,Willis,where’d you do your boot camp?”

“Fort Dix,”I replied quickly,eager to get his attention back on me again.“You?”

He grimaced.“Fort Bragg.They had mosquitoes the size of some of our Hueys,let me tell you.Not a fun place to be in the summertime.”

I laughed.“And Vietnam is?”

“Maybe,”he said,shrugging.“How long have you been here?”

“Too long.”My tour was up in five months,but I thought I might be dead by then.Why not?Half the boys I came over with were already home in caskets.I knew it was just a matter of time before I joined them.

As he reached the end of the serving line,he stepped back and stood beside me.He was a head shorter than me,but just being near him made me feel invincible.His corkscrew curls flattened out around the crown of his scalp,and I could see darker hair growing in at the roots,deep russet,an almost autumnal shade.

It took me a moment to remember how to speak.When I did,I had to clear my throat and swallow around the lump in it to ask what I wanted—needed—to know.With his open widereply still ringing in my ears,I whispered,“Do youhave a girl back home?”

He glanced up at me,a furtive look,then dropped his gaze.Suddenly the lukewarm rations on his tray appeared to be so much more interesting than me.I barely heard his reply.“I’m…no.Not really.”

My heart stopped.“Me either.”When he looked up,I held his gaze,staring intently,hoping he could read in my eyes all I didn’t dare say.

I didn’t breathe again until a slow grin spread across his face.“Sometimesit gets lonely out here,I imagine.”

“Sometimes it does,”I agreed.“If you don’t have anyone,it can drive you insane.”

His grin widened,and he dared to wink at me.My blood soared at the gesture—so casual,yet so full of meaning.“Well,”he drawled,the South coming out in his voice,“I’m glad we met,Stuart.I don’t want to go home crazy.”

I didn’t want him to go home at all,not without me.“Call me Stu.”

****

We had to be careful.It may have been the days of free love and open minds,but the world still didn’t accept two men who found comfort in each others’arms.When we weren’t on duty,we’d sneak off into the brush of the countryside,careful of the mines and the enemy snipers.Mostly we managed toget together at night,slipping away from the camp to lay in the tall grasses and cuddle beneath the stars.

I remember the first night I ever kissed him.If I close my eyes,I can still see the way the starlight played off his curls and sparkled in his eyes.I can hear his breathless voice,speaking softly as we sat side by side on a hill overlooking the camp.I can remember the musky scent of his cologne,the feel of his hand in mine,his skin so tender and pliant beneath my fingers.He’d been talking about the food in the mess hall—a favorite complaint among the men—but I wanted his attention where it belonged.On me.“Rich,”I whispered.

“Hmm?”he asked as he turned toward me.It’d been a week since we met,and Iknew I was falling for him.Hard.

In the ambient starlight I looked at his boyish face,his careless curls,his piercing eyes.For a long moment I stared,feeling my need grow inside me.I wanted this,here,now.I wanted him.Then I leaned forward,just a little,and heard the slight intake of his breath.My eyes slipped shut as my lips brushed his with the gentlest of touches.

I had never kissed a boy before.I had never imagined his chapped lips would feel so soft or taste so sweet.Back home,a man didn’t call himself queer.He didn’t mention he liked other guys.When I had joined the army,I kept my secret hidden from those around me.I had to,if I wanted the respect of my soldiers.If I wanted to survive.