-1-
“Fuck,” I huff under my breath when Ketiel elbows me in the jaw. I can feel a little bit of blood seeping into my mouth as he continues to act the part of a drowning victim.
The violent waves around me stop and the once pitch black pool lights up as Chief Holmstead turns the rough water simulator off.
“That’s a strike Clark!,” Chief Holmstead barks at me. “I don’t ever want to hear you use that kind of language around a victim. You are supposed to be a god damn professional and if you can’t control your mouth you can’t control your victim and if you can’t control your victim people will die--”
“Yes, sir,”
“Get over to the other side and give me 30 laps.”
I resist the urge to punch Keitel for elbowing me in the first place, but I know the only person I can really blame for my fuckup is myself. We were practicing for out noncompliant survivors test. We were supposed to be rough with each other and I still had trouble keeping my damn mouth in check.
I get out of the pool and strap the weights to my wrist and ankles before diving back into the lap pool and starting my laps
I’d been treading a thin line in A-School. I got my first strike last week because I’d lost 57 seconds on my mile. Chief had hinted that maybe my head was in Louisiana with my new family, but I knew it wasn’t that. I had gotten good at compartmentalizing and not thinking about them here. I knew they were good; Mason was healthy, Juliana had everything she needed and Mama and Deacon promised to be there for her.
I couldn’t really blame them the creeping doubt I was getting. Each week our training intensified I got the sneaking feeling that maybe I wasn’t actually good enough to be a rescue swimmer.
As I start my punishment laps
Whitlow comes up behind me and quickly passes me, she had an impressively quick
breast stroke. The girl was like a fucking dolphin. She’d gotten 50 laps
for letting her “victim” drown her during the rescue exercise. I’m sure if
she’d been anyone else they would have been dismissed on the spot, but rumor
had it the Commandant’s Office was anxious to graduate more women from A-School.
We all had a holiday weekend coming up and as it neared 6 PM we were all anxious to go, but it was becoming clear Holmstead was putting us in overtime. He pushed us until 7PM and I felt ready to collapse when we were finally released.
“Clark, you’re meeting with the Board on Monday,” Holmstead tells me as we walk out.
“Yes, sir,” I say and try not to sound pissed off.
A-School was governed by a board of senior level officers. They reviewed every candidate and made the ultimate decision on who was asked to leave. Going to the Board usually ended in being dismissed from the program.
If I’d given up 5 months of my life in this hell just to be sent back to my desk at the New Orleans Base I’d slit my own wrists.
In the locker room no one says anything but I feel their stares. We don’t talk about the people who get dismissed. It was a fact of life and a safety precaution. The Coast Guard needed the best.
“Getting up for that parade is going to be a bitch,” Keitel says as we head outside the training facility.
“It’ll be hot as balls,” Whitlow adds.
She’d come from the public bathroom that she used as a changing room. “Full dress uniform. It’s already going to be 80 fucking degrees.”
“Awww, 80 whole degrees ?,” I say. “That’s cute.”
“Don’t joke about the heat. You need to hydrate.” Suh said. “I heard a damn marine passed out last year.”
“Jarhead probably forgot how to breath,” someone laughs.
“I’m skipping out the parade,” I tell them.
“Fancy cruise vacation to Cancun with wifey ?,” Whitlow teases.
“In-law visit,” I say and unsuccessfully try not to grimace.
“Bad?,” Keitel asked.
“Let’s just say I’d rather be risking heat stroke with you guys at the 4th of July Parade.”
“We train 12 hour days so we can jump out of helicopters for living,” Whitlow says. “How much worse can your in-laws be than than that?”
I shrug
“I’ll let you know,” I tell her.
I say my goodbyes and don’t even bother going back to the dorms. I just go right to the parking lot and into the rental car I’d picked up that morning. I put on the loudest, most obnoxious music I could, buy a big ass cup of coffee and drive the 6 hours to Baton Rouge Metropolitan Airport.
“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the girl behind the return counter says when I try and return the rental car keys. “Your card has insufficient funds,”
“What ?,” I ask. The rental had only
been $60 dollars and I’d only bought $40 in gas to get here from North Carolina.
“I’m sorry. You’re card is coming up declined,” she repeats
“Fuck,” I curse looking at the time on my phone.
The woman at the counter scowls at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “Look, my flight boards in 30 minutes,”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “You can hold on to the keys and pay a $25 day fee until you can come back and pay.”
“I’m not coming back here…it’s complicated” I say quickly. “Can I just go find my wife and come right back ?.”
She reluctantly nods and I jog quickly to the gate our plane was leaving from.
I’d gotten calls about overdrafts from our landlord, Mr. McAllister, or from my bank almost every month. Sometimes Juliana would pay the bills twice or use the wrong account or sometimes she just completely liquidate my accounts. Mama had called it pregnancy brain, but it happened even more after Mason was born.
When I arrive at the gate I spot them immediately.
All Juliana’s hair is pulled away from her face in a ponytail and it makes her look so tired. She’s wearing one of my Coast Guard t-shirts with a pink hoodie and jeans. It kills me how much bigger Mason looks then when I last saw him 3 months ago.
He’s crying on the lobby floor, leaning against a stuffed lamb and she's awkwardly kneeling on the floor with the stroller turned over in her lap.
“Juliana, you over drafted my bank account,” I tell her coming up behind her. I resist the urge to add again.
“I think something’s wrong,” she responds standing up to face me. “He won’t stop crying,--he’s never like this. Rhett, it’s a 4 hour flight the people on the plane are going to hate us if he doesn’t stop--”
“Well,we’re going to miss the whole damn flight if you don’t come with me and pay for this rental car,” I tell her picking Mason up of the ground. He’s a lot more active than I remember and arches his back and wiggles in my arms.
I rock him and try to put the pacifier clipped to his shirt in his mouth but he spits it out and gets even more angry.
“Did you feed him ?,” I ask to her
back because she's back to bending over the stroller.
“I can’t.” she says, wiping at tears in her eyes. “This stupid new stroller won't go together and I needed someone to watch my bags so I could go feed him and you weren’t here--”
“You didn’t bring a bottle ?”
“No, I--”
“Juliana, what the hell--”
“I know. I couldn’t find them and your Mom came early and had to drop us off--”
“Jesus Christ,” I say. “We’re going to miss our flight--”
“I’m sorry--,” she says, folding a blanket and stuffing it into her suitcase.
“Stop apologizing,” I tell her.
She gives me a hurt look and I feel like a jerk.
Once we’d popped out argument cherry that night at the club it was like we couldn’t stop finding flaws and picking fights. Our nightly phones calls were usually pleasantries and then strained silence as we accused each other of little things. She got on me about not calling and not knowing everything about the baby and and I got on her about being flighty about fucking everything.
I move her out the way and fix the carseat into the stroller--she'd had to buy a new one that would fit in the overhead compartment of the plane-- put Mason back in the stroller,
gather her bags and we walk back to the rental car counter where she
pays for my rental car.
We have to run back to the terminal and just barely make it on to our flight.
“Do you want to hold him?,” she asks
“I’m exhausted,” I tell her.
“We’re all tired,” she says, putting the empty car seat in my lap.
“No we’re not. I’m the one who drove six fucking hours to be on this plane.”
“Thank you,” she says quietly and I feel like an asshole again.
Even after Mason is full he doesn’t seem happy. He tries to wiggle out of Juliana’s grasp to grab at the bright can of soda on her tray table and he makes a screaming noise when she won’t give it to him.
“Maybe he isn’t ready to fly?,” she says.
“Well, hurry and let’s get off while we still can,” I half joke. Because if I was given the chance I’d be off this plane in a heartbeat.
There wasn’t really a plan for how this trip would go. She’d told her Dad we were all coming, but we weren’t sure if I was still banned from the house. I’d sent out some feelers to friends who’d been stationed at the Academy in case I needed to crash somewhere.
I want to watch Mason’s face as the
plane takes off, but I don’t make it that far. I fall asleep during the
announcements and wake up a few hours later to the sound of Mason cooing calmly as Juliana makes a stuffed animal puppet kiss his cheeks.
I watch her playing with him and it suddenly occurs to me I haven’t kissed her today. Normally, I’d reach over the seat but I don’t want to disrupt them and I let myself fall back asleep.
***
-2-
I get us another rental car in Hartford and when we pull up to Mr. Reese’s townhouse I decide to myself that I wasn’t going inside. I was already stressed about possibly being kicked out of school and I knew I would snap if her dad gave me shit.
“Go inside without me,” I tell Juliana. “I can’t deal with your Dad right now--”
She turns to me and frowns.
“Rhett, that was ages ago,” she says like it wasn't just six months ago. “He’s over it--”
“Don’t be so naive-”
“I’m not--”
“Does he even say anything about me on the phone ?,”
“You…don’t really come up.”
“You mean you know better than to mention me ?,”
She sighs loudly.
“Fine. Can you at least help me get everything inside?”
I still don’t know how to say no to her when she asks me for help so I dutifully unload everything out of the trunk.
Juliana and Mason were going to be staying in Connecticut for a week and then I’d drive up on Saturday day off to fly with her back to Baton Rouge before flying myself back to North Carolina. It was an absolutely insane thing for me to do, but I was afraid if I wasn’t with them, she’d have a mental breakdown or something.
I follow cautiously behind Juliana to the door and when she knocks Tess excitedly opens the door. Tess’ hands go to her mouth and she immediately fawns over Mason. Mr. Reese peers behind Tess and only looks at his grandson with a nervous smile.
“How precious !,” Tess squeals. “Oh, Daniel look at him....oh, his itty bitty socks.”
Mr. Reese gathers Juliana in a big hug and opens the door wider so we can come inside. Tess gives me a brief hug, but Mr. Reese looks right through me as I walk inside his door.
We walk towards the living room and I can smell something baking in the kitchen. Hallie is sprawled out on the floor in her pajamas watching the Hartford 4th of July Parade on TV.
“Do you want to play with you Aunt Hallie ?,” Juliana says to Mason as she lays a blanket on the floor next to Hallie and rests Mason on his stomach. He squirms around excitedly.
“I’m the babysitter ?,” Hallie asks brightly, sitting up.
“Just be gentle and make sure he doesn’t put anything in his mouth,” Juliana tells her.
Tess brings out a tray of coffee and juice in mismatched cups and sets it on the coffee table. Mason starts fussing and Juliana kneels down to show Hallie how to rub his back and soothe him.
“How was your flight with the baby ?,” Mr. Reese asks Juliana.
“It was stressful, but we made it,” Juliana said holding my arm and rubbing it. “Rhett drove all the way from North Carolina to fly with us so we could come see you, Dad.”
“Yeah, if only there were planes
from Hartford to New Orleans,” I say under my breath and she pinches me.
“Excuse me ?,” Mr. Reese says
I shake my head as we sit down in the living room. Juliana ends up on the couch between Tess and Mr. Reese, while I take the armchair
I watch like a ghost in the wallpaper as they drink coffee and catch up. Mr. Reese leans down to play with Mason and when he makes Mason laugh I almost see some of the harsh asshole exterior start to melt.
“So, Rhett you’re off at training or something ?,” Tess asks
“Yes, ma’am. It’s an intensive 9 month program so I have to live on base in Elizabeth City,” I explain.
“They save lives,” Juliana adds. “It’s really tough and prestigious. Most of the students don’t make it as far as Rhett--”
“And they don’t do background checks ?,” Mr. Reese interrupts.
“Actually, they do,” I say.
Tess playfully hits Mr. Reese on the shoulder, but I suspect it’s a little more than playful.
“I’m going to slice up the quiche,” she says. “Play nicely,”
We sit in silence watching the parade. Juliana keeps pointing out floats that she likes to her Dad. I’d never seen her try so hard to be social and happy. She keeps trying to make encouraging eye contact with me but I ignore her.
When Tess brings out her quiche
Mason quickly goes from aggravated fussing and into a full on scream crying. Juliana
picks him up and he only starts crying harder, pulling on her shirt.
“It’s like he always knows when I’m about to eat and then he wants to eat,” Juliana sighs.
She stands up to leave the room, but I stand up before she can.
“I’ll get your nursing blanket,” I
say quickly and she thankfully doesn't argue.
I have to go through two different suitcases of her crap to find it, but I’m not letting her leave me sitting out there alone. I walk back into the living room to Tess explaining to Mr. Reese all the benefits of breast milk.
“It looks like you are doing a great job raising him,” Mr. Reese tells her. “I know you’re in a tough position raising him on your own sweetheart and I wish we could do more to help.”
“It’s fine,” Juliana says, kissing Mason’s head through the blanket.
I roll my eyes.
Daniel Reese never wanted to help her, he just wanted credit for offering. He’d brushed her under the table to focus on his new family when she was in jail and he was doing it again now that she was with me. He didn’t give a fuck about her unless she was right in front of him.
I’d given up one of my few long weekends because of his bullshit excuses for never coming to Freeport.
“If you have something to say Mr. Clark you can just say it,” Mr. Reese says sharply to me and realize I must have groaned or something.
I fix my gaze on him, but think better of calling him a fucking liar.
“Rhett’s tired, Dad,” Juliana says quickly, but her eyes narrow on me like she knew exactly what I was thinking.
“He is not tired, don’t make excuses for him.” Mr. Reese continues in a pompous tone. “You need to grow up, Mr. Clark and cut the sullen teenager act. I let you in my house and you don’t even have the common decency to speak to me.”
“I’m just treating you like you treat me,” I say cooly.
“I’m not one of your army buddies, Mr. Clark,” Mr. Reese spits. “We are not equals. I’ll treat you however I please in my own house. You inserted yourself into the life of my only child and completely disrupted it. You are the one who need to impress me. You need to show me you can grow up and be a good father--”
“Stop acting like you know anything about me or our life together,” I say louder than I mean to.
“Lower your tone,” he warns me. “I know enough. I know you’re controlling of my daughter and disrespectful of authority. Juliana told me you carry a gun and that you drink--,”
“I don’t drink anymore,” I snap at him. “And that gun is my Dad’s--”
“I’m not finished,” he interrupts. “Worst of all you’re not even in the picture and left her to raise a child on her own--”
“I’m in the military, I have to leave sometimes--”
“Of course,” Mr. Reese scoffs. “The military. More opportunities to be violent. You did like killing people didn’t you--”
“I never killed anyone,” I yell at him.
“Rhett, please.” Juliana says and I see her motioning to where Hallie was looking at the floor with her hands over her ears.
“I’m sorry,” I say through gritted teeth to Mr. Reese. “I didn’t mean to yell but you are way out of line--”
“Am I ? It seems to me like you have a short fuse and frankly I’m sick of you upsetting my family every time you step foot in this house--”
I can tell he’s about to kick me out, but I refuse to give him the pleasure. I stand and tap Juliana’s shoulder.
“Come on,” I say to her. “We’re leaving,”
“Rhett, no.” she says. “If you apologize we can both stay here.”
“No, we can’t--”
“You’re just overreacting--”
“Juliana, we’re leaving--,”
“Rhett, you can’t just tell me--”
“Look, I clearly can’t stay here and I’d like to spend some of my leave with my son.” I tell her. “I need you to come with me. Just for tonight,”
I take her hand to pull her up, but she jerks it away like I burned it.
“Get the hell away from her!” Mr.
Reese barks, suddenly standing between Juliana and I. He points his finger
sharply to the door.
“Out.”
I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me.
Something completely inhuman by the way he treats me.
I walk out and slam the door hard
behind me for good measure. As I get to the car I hear the front door open and
I tense because I’m pretty sure Mr. Reese is going to come up behind me and break my legs at with his stack of crossword puzzles or something.
Instead, I turn to see Juliana walking out the door slowly, she’s still nursing and her face has turned a blotchy pink and her eyes are wet. I stop and turn towards her.
“Want me to put him in the car seat ?,” I ask her in an even tone
Her silence tells me she’s staying. I start walking towards the driver’s side and sit in the car.
“Can you just stay ?,” she asks quietly standing in front of me. “Please--,\”
“No,” I tell her.
Her emotion changes almost instantly. Her face scrunches up and she starts ugly crying out of nowhere like I’d just shot her Dad or something. I take Mason from her and he starts crying too, but I had a feeling she was going to drop him if I didn’t.
I swing him around gently in my arms until he starts giggling. God, I could do this all day.
“You can’t take him,” she sniffles holding her arms out.
“I’m not--,” I reassure her, but she takes him from me anyway.
“I’m sorry. Rhett, please don’t go, I need you,” she sobs. “I need you and I’m afraid if you leave something bad is going to happen--.”
“You don’t need me,” I tell her. “You need a god damn Xanax.”
“I’m serious,” she cries. “I get these…feelings. If you leave us here he’s going to die--”
“I’m serious too,” I tell her. “You keep worrying about nonexistent shit. You’ve been so different since you stopped taking your pills and I feel like I don’t know you like this--”
“I’m not any different than I was a year ago--”
“You are. You’re so fucking dependent and crazy and anxious--”
She steps closer to me and drops into my lap. She buries her head in my shoulder.
“Rhett, I don’t want to fight anymore,” she says into my shirt. “I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
I put my hand on her back and kiss the top of her head.
I tell her we aren’t fighting and that I’m not mad even though it’s a lie.
Maybe Mr. Reese was right about me. Maybe I was a controlling asshole because the fact that she wanted to stay with her Dad instead of with me broke me.
Juliana’s one week trip turns into a three week trip. We have one conversation where I ended up yelling at her when Mason gets two ear infections because she never visits the doctors office while she was in Connecticut. We don’t talk again after that.
Despite it all I still fly into Hartford when she is ready and drive her the 15 hours back to Louisiana. She sits in the backseat the entire time and when I make a comment about it she gets so upset I have to pull over so she can throw up. I get a cold panic that she’s pregnant again, but then I soberly remember we hadn’t had actual intercourse in the almost 5 months since Mason was born.
Once I drop them off at home I get on
another flight and make it back to Elizabeth City just in time for morning session.
-3-
“Chug, chug, chug !,” Whitlow
chants.
“Fuck, this tastes like shit,” I grimace, talking a long drink of water.
“Pussy,” she laughs taking the protein smoothie she’d made for away from me and drinking some. “You just have to close your eyes and swallow,”
I decide to ignore the crude joke she just walked into but she elbows me anyway.
Our original cohort of 21 was now
down to 17. Statistically speaking at least three more of us would either quit
or get kicked out of the program.
Whitlow and I had decided that instead of competing for last place, we’d
help each other compete for first. We’d started meeting to do extra workouts
before the official morning session and she always brought some protein concoction she was working on.
“You know I can do a keg stand ?,” I tell her.
“Of course you can, college boy,” she said.
"That shit doesn't fly at the Academy," I tell her. The keg stand had been at one of Wil and Aubrey's parties. I was probably only 14 the first time I tried it and that suddenly makes me grimace.
She lies down in the bench press and I spot her while she starts her reps. She didn’t really need a spotter, she could deadlift 200 pounds on a good day.
“I miss drinking,” she says through clinched teeth. “I miss other people.”
"Sick of my pretty face already ?," I joke
"Yours most of all," she shoots back.
Her arms start to shake and I take the weight from her. She sits up and runs a hand through her light brown hair.
“When we graduate and done with training I’m going to buy you a shot of whatever you want,” I tell her.
“Assuming you graduate,” she teases me.
“Even if I don’t I’ll come back up
here just to buy you a shot--"
“That’s stupid,” she laughs. “I heard Bourbon Street has some crazy bars. I’m coming to you, Clark and you’re going to take me to Bourbon Street and to some fancy bar and buy me a shot that’s on fire and shit.”
“I don’t live in New Orleans,” I remind her. “And if you come visit me in Freeport the only thing you’re getting is a keg stand.”
“Deal,” she says, punching my shoulder.
“Think you can handle a Louisiana backyard keg stand ?,”
She smirks.
Whitlow stands up and does a half run to the center of the gym and then jumps into a handstand. She holds herself upside down perfectly still like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
I walk over to her and put my hand on the soles of her sneakers like I’m going to tip her over. She kicks me away, but doesn’t lose her balance.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warns me.
I have to get on my knees in front of her to inelegantly push my body into a handstand too.
“Are we really having a handstand contest ?,” she asks raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,”
“I gave you a handicap,” she complains
“Yeah, of like 20 seconds,”
She bites her lip and with a dangerous look in here eyes starts to move her elbows at 90 degrees into perfectly balanced push up handstands. I try to copy her movements, but I end up toppling over and accidentally kicking her, which bring us both down.
“Fuck,” she curses as we untangle
ourselves. "Ow."
“Sorry. Damn, you’re something else,” I tell her. “What the fuck were you doing before you got here ?"
“Crossfit, You should try it.” she shrugs, standing up. “Look, Clark we are both going to graduate. I have to believe that. Our job right now is to get each other through these next few months. And when we graduate we’re probably going to get assignments apart from each other, but I want you to promise me I get to spend one weekend with you and wifey and whoever else in New Orleans.”
“You don’t want to spend a weekend with my wife,” I warn her. “She's so fucking crazy and not in the fun way. Hell, she’d probably try and bring the baby into a bar.”
I’m joking, but Whitlow goes silent as we start the half mile walk from the gym to the Training Facility.
“I’m kidding,” I tell her.
“I know,” she says. “It’s just…you sometimes say those kind of things around the other guys and you should probably stop.”
“What kinds of things ?,”
“Things about your wife,” she explains. “I mean we’re friends so I know it’s just venting but some people take it the wrong way. Most of us have loved ones all the way across the country and a lot of guys never get to see their girls.”
I thought I’d done a good job of never talking about my family, but I felt caught.
“Just between you and me. What if it’s not just venting ?,” I say quietly.
She stops walking.
“Clark, you can’t let the program get to your marriage--”
“It’s not the program,” I tell her. “If anything it’s made it better because I don’t have to spend so much time with her…sometimes I think we work better when we just visit each other.”
“Do you still love her ?,”
I shrug
“I don’t know…I really thought I did. J and I went through some shit together when we were younger and it always kept us connected, but I don’t know if I can see myself with her forever. I feel like I settled and I kinda miss being single. There was less... expectation”
Whitlow pauses and then punches me hard in the shoulder.
“Don’t leave your wife for me,” she says as her fist makes an impact.
“What the fuck ?,” I say in shock. “I don’t think of you that way--”
“Liar,” she says punching me again but I dodge her. “But seriously don’t get divorced for me…or the idea of me or any other bitch. You’ve got a good life, Clark.”
I nod so she'll stop lecturing me and we go our separate ways to change into our swim gear.
Whitlow and I are the first ones changed and ready for the morning session. When the clock hits 0800 hours the rest of our cohort is assembled except for Chief Holmstead. He worshiped this place and was usually there before the sun came up.
“Anyone hear from Chief ?,” Whitlow asks.
“I ran past his house this morning,” Keitel says. “It looked fine. Maybe we should check with admin ?,”
“Admin doesn’t open until 9,” Suh adds.
“I’ll lead the drills until he gets back,” Kietel volunteers since he’s highest ranking of us.
We fall into line and start the swim drills. Halfway into the workout Holmstead comes in and he's wearing a wet suit which is odd--he doesn't usually get in the water. He stands at the edge of the water and looks down at us. He makes strong eye contact with me before addressing the group.
“Fall in,” he shouts
We fall into line and his face is set in a straight line.
“Communications had been tracking a tropical depression
twelve off the coast of the Atlantic. It was expected to dissipate at the
Florida Panhandle but has touched down as a category five hurricane in the Gulf Region," He tells us.
I feel a lump in my throat, I knew vaguely a hurricane was coming through the Gulf Coast but I’d blocked out the news and everything during the last week. I needed to call Juliana to make sure she knew what to do. I knew Mama would tell her, but I also knew Juliana could be hard to get to.
I try not to let the worry show on my face.
“Reports say the city of New Orleans is being flooded as we speak,” he continues. “The Coast Guard has been called in and that means you all as well.”
“We’re doing rescues ?,” Suh asks and there is an edge of excitement in his voice.
We’d only been through the simulation rescues.
“No,” Holmstead quickly says. “You’ll be working assists with the other rescue divers and doing whatever the hell else you’re told. Training is suspended until further notices. We’ve got choppers and cutters from up North that will be here in five minutes and you will be on them. Get changed and get to the docks.”
We head out and I stop in front of Holmstead.
“Sir, do you know which parishes will be hit—“
“I don’t know Clark,” he looks at his watch. “You got two minutes to waste. Go to the office and tell Shay to call your family.”
I nod and run to the admin office where the office assistant, Shay, is
frantically answering calls. She pauses when she sees me because she knew I lived near the Gulf Coast.
I give her my apartment phone number and she quickly dials it. I hold my hand out for the phone, but she doesn’t give it to me.
“The line is dead, sir,” she says.
------
A/N
Yes, it's 2005, you guys can stop asking me the year now.
You: But wait that means UL happened in--
SH: Just don't think too much about it. Don't let my Coast Guard / Hurricane Katrina research go to waste !
CPShawna: There are so many anarchism in here. Juliana uses Facebook in the first chapter. It's 2004 there is no Facebook !
SH: I know, I know. Also, in my head Rhett and Juliana go to some magic pre-9/11 airport where you can just walk in and out of your gate.