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“Where’s Seth?” Betsy yelled, opening the passenger door.

Jolene climbed into the driver’s seat. “He and Carl are meeting us there. They went fishing this morning. Be nice to him.”

Betsy already wasn’t listening. She put on her seat belt and started fiddling with her iPod.

“Music?” Jolene asked Tami.

“The queen today, I think. In your honor.”

“Madonna it is.” Jolene popped a CD into the player and drove off to the familiar beat of “Material Girl.”

She and Tami alternately talked and sang; Lulu talked nonstop; Betsy didn’t say a word.

In no time, they were pulling into the Gig Harbor subdivision called Ravenwood, which was about forty minutes from the post. The Guard crew came from all over this part of the state—some of the people would have driven hours to get here.

The captain lived in a pretty Wedgwood-blue tract house with white trim and a wraparound porch. Kids ran around the yard, their voices raised into a single, echoing squeal. The house and yard were a reflection of the family—of the man—who lived here. Everything was trimmed and well cared for. Fifty-year-old Captain Benjamin Lomand was one of the best men Jolene had ever met.

Most of the flight crew and their families were already here; Jolene could tell by the multicolored snake of cars parked in the cul-de-sac. Though she couldn’t see the backyard from here, she knew that the men—and the female soldiers—would be gathered around the barbecue, holding bottles of domestic beer or cans of Coke, while the wives stood in groups, talking to one another and herding children. Everyone would be smiling.

Jolene pulled up to the side of the driveway and parked. Tami’s husband, Carl, and her son, Seth, were standing outside the garage. Waving, they strode down the driveway toward the car. Dressed in baggy jeans and a Seahawks jersey, with a baseball cap down low to conceal his thinning hair, Carl looked like one of those slightly heavy, solidly built men who’d been a high school football star and gone on to work on the line at Boeing. That image was surprisingly accurate, except that he was a mechanic who owned his own garage.

Seth looked nothing like his dad. At twelve, he was a strange and gawky kid, with a pronounced case of acne, eyes that seemed just a little too big for his narrow face, and jet-black hair that fell almost to the middle of his back. Today he was wearing tight Levi’s (everyone knew that baggy pants were “in”) and a huge Nine Inch Nails tee shirt that accentuated the thinness of his arms.

Tami got out of the car at her husband’s approach, taking a foil-covered casserole dish with her.

“And here’s the love of my life,” Carl said, opening his arms. Tami grinned and handed him the dish. No doubt it was her famous seven-layer dip.

“Happy belated birthday,” Carl said to Jolene when she got out of the car.

“Thanks, Carl.” She opened the back door and unhooked Lulu’s car seat. It was like loosing the Kraken. Lulu skipped off, squealing in delight, looking for someone to play with.

Betsy stepped out of the car slowly, her earbuds still in place. When she saw Seth, her eyes widened in shock at what he was wearing; her mouth compressed. Jolene knew her daughter was terrified to be seen talking to her childhood best friend. So she gave her a little push.

Betsy stumbled forward, almost fell into Seth. He reached out, steadied her, saying, “Whoa…” The single word cracked, came in two volumes.

“I hope no one saw that,” Betsy said, pulling away from him, walking off. Seth stared after her for a long moment, then shrugged and headed over to a place in the grass. There, he sat down cross-legged and played some electronic game.

Jolene made a mental note to talk to Betsy again about being nice to Seth. Honestly, she didn’t understand how her daughter could be so mean.

Carrying the foil-covered glass bowl full of coleslaw she’d made, Jolene followed Carl and Tami into the backyard. They stepped around the corner of the house, and there they were: the flight crew—her friends. They gathered together often, this group that had trained together for so many years. In the “outside” world, they were from all different walks of life—dentists and loggers and teachers and mechanics. But for one weekend a month and two weeks a summer, they were soldiers, training side by side, serving their country with pride. Although Michael would roll his eyes at it, the truth was that Jolene loved these people. They were like her; they’d joined the military because they believed in serving their country, in being patriots, in keeping America safe. They
believed.
There wasn’t a member of this crew who wouldn’t give his life for Jolene’s, and vice versa.

At her arrival, everyone started singing “Happy Birthday.”

Jolene laughed, feeling a rush of pure, sweet joy. There was only the smallest of nicks in her happiness; she wished Michael were here with her. She would have loved to turn to him right now and tell him how much these friendships meant to her. How much this moment meant to her. God knew, her birthdays had never mattered to her parents.

When the song ended, she made the rounds, thanking everyone, talking. As she put her coleslaw down on a table already groaning under the weight of salads, casseroles, desserts, and condiments, Owen “Smitty” Smith offered her a glass of lemonade. He was the newest member of their crew—a freckle-faced twenty-year-old kid who had joined the Guard to pay for college.

“Thanks, Smitty,” she said.

He grinned, showing off a full set of braces. “Happy birthday, Chief,” he said. “You’re the same age as my mom.”

“Thanks,” she said, laughing, and then he was gone, hurrying off to catch up with his latest girlfriend.

“Warrant Officer Zarkades,” Jamie Hix said, sidling up to her at the table, tilting a Corona at her. He was the other gunner on her crew. Twenty-nine and newly divorced, Jamie was trying to get joint custody of his eight-year-old son from his ex-wife, Gina. Their recent divorce was becoming increasingly contentious. “Forty-one, huh?”

She plucked a raw carrot from the vegetable tray in front of her, swiping it in ranch dressing. “Hard to believe.”

“Too bad Michael couldn’t make it today.”

She wasn’t surprised by the sentiment; she knew that most of her friends here wondered why Michael rarely made an appearance at their functions. They were protective of her. They’d all drilled together so long there weren’t many secrets between them. “He works hard, and his job is important.”

“Yeah. Gina didn’t come around much either.”

She didn’t like the comparison between their spouses, however subtle. She was going to say so, but the compassion in Jamie’s eyes made her feel suddenly lonely. Saying something—she wasn’t quite sure what—she moved away, made her way past the barbecue, where everyone seemed to be laughing, and came to the captain’s rose garden. She looked down at the bright, tightly coiled pink buds. Pink. Her favorite was red. Michael used to know that.

“Are you okay?” Tami said, sidling up to her, bumping her hip to hip.

“Of course,” she answered too quickly.

“I’m here for you,” Tami said softly, as if she knew everything that was turning through Jolene’s mind. “We all are.”

“I know,” Jolene said, looking around at the people who mattered so much to her. Everyone she looked at smiled and waved. They loved her, cared about her; these people were as much her family as Michael and the girls. She had so many blessings in her life.

It was okay that Michael wasn’t here; they were married people, not conjoined twins. They didn’t have to share every aspect of their lives.

Three

On Wednesday morning, Jolene returned from her run to find Betsy standing on the porch, wearing a robe she’d outgrown over flannel pajamas and a pair of pink Ugg boots. Her face was scrunched in irritation—a familiar expression these days.

Jolene ran up the driveway, breathing hard, her breath clouding in front of her. “What’s wrong?”

“Today’s Wednesday,” Betsy said in the same tone of voice you’d use to whisper the words
you have cancer
.

Oh. That. “Shoo.” Jolene herded Betsy back into the house, where it was warm.

“You can’t go, Mom. I’ll say you are sick.”

“I’m going to career day, Betsy,” Jolene said, turning on the coffeepot.

Betsy practically shrieked with displeasure. “Fine. Ruin my life.” She stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She slammed her bedroom door shut.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Jolene muttered, following her daughter’s route up the stairs. At the closed bedroom door on the second floor, she knocked hard.

“Go away.”

Jolene knocked again.

“Fine. Come in. You will anyway. There’s no privacy in this stupid house.”

Jolene accepted the lovely invitation and opened the door.

Betsy’s bedroom was a reflection both of the twelve-year-old who currently inhabited it and the tomboy who’d lived here only a few months ago. The walls were still the pale wheat-yellow color that Jolene had chosen nearly a decade ago. Long gone were the white crib and dressing table and framed Winnie the Pooh prints. In their place were a four-postered bed covered in denim bedding, an antique yellow dresser with blue knobs, and posters of mop-headed boys from teenybopper bands. The war between childhood and adolescence showed everywhere: on the nightstand lay a tangle of makeup (which she wasn’t allowed to wear outside the house), a mason jar full of beach glass and agates, and a once-favorite bug catcher that Seth had given her for her eighth birthday. Piles of clothes—tried on and discarded before school yesterday—lay in heaps on the floor.

Betsy sat on her bed, looking pissed off, with her knees drawn up to her chest.

Jolene sat down on the edge of the bed. Her heart went out to her daughter, who had been so undone by middle school. This once-buoyant, confident tomboy had become lost in a sea of mean girls and impossible social choices; lately she was so unsure of herself that nothing came easily and no decision could stand without peer approval. Nothing mattered more than fitting in, and clearly that was not going well.

“Why don’t you want me to go to career day?”

“It’s embarrassing. I told you: no one cool has a mom who’s a soldier.”

Jolene didn’t want to let it hurt her, and she was mostly successful. It was just a tiny sting, like the prick from a needle. “You don’t know embarrassing,” she said softly, remembering her own mother, stumbling drunkenly into a parent-teacher conference, saying
whad she do
in a slurry voice.

“Sierra will make fun of me.”

“Then she’s not much of a friend, is she? Why don’t you tell me what’s happening, Bets. You and Sierra and Zoe used to do everything together.”

“You don’t let me do anything. They get to wear makeup and go to the mall on the weekends.”

This old argument. “You’re too young to wear makeup. Thirteen is our deal for makeup and pierced ears. You know that.”

“Like I agreed,” Betsy said bitterly.

“If they don’t like you because you don’t wear mascara—”

“You don’t understand
anything
.”

“Bets,” Jolene said in her gentlest voice. “What happened?”

That did it, the gentleness. Betsy burst into tears. Jolene scooted over on the bed and took Betsy in her arms, holding her while she cried. This had been a long time coming. Betsy cried as if her heart were breaking, as if someone she loved were dying. Jolene held her tightly, stroking her curly hair.

“Si-Si-erra brought cigarettes to school last week,” Betsy said between sobs. “Wh-when I told her it was against the rules, she ca-ca-lled me a loser and dared me to smoke one.”

Jolene took a calming breath. “And did you?”

“No, but now they won’t talk to me. They call me Goody Two-shoes.”

She wanted to hold her daughter until these dangers passed, until Betsy was old enough to handle them with grace and ease. Jolene needed to say the right thing now, the perfect motherly thing, but she was out of her element. Until the army—with its rigid rules of behavior—she had never fit in anywhere. The kids in her school had known she was different—probably it had been the out-of-date clothes or the events she could never go to, or maybe it had been because she couldn’t invite anyone home. Who knew? Kids were like Jedi in that way; they could sense the slightest disturbance in the Force. Jolene had found a way even then, as a girl, to compartmentalize her feelings and bury them.

So she didn’t know about wanting to fit in so desperately you felt sick at the smallest slight. Ordinarily, she would talk to Betsy about inner strength now, about believing in herself, maybe even about cutting her friends some slack.

But smoking on the school grounds changed all that. If Betsy’s friends, ex-friends, were smoking, Jolene needed to be more firm.

“I’ll call Sierra’s mother—”

“Oh, my GOD, you will not. Promise me you won’t. If you do, I’ll never tell you anything again.”

The fear in Betsy’s eyes was alarming.

“Promise, me, Mom. Please—”

“Okay,” Jolene said. “I won’t say anything for now. But, honey, if Sierra and Zoe are smoking cigarettes at school, you don’t want to follow their lead. Maybe you need to make new friends. Like the girls on your track team. They seem nice.”

“You think everyone seems nice.”

“How about Seth?”

Betsy rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease. Yesterday he brought his guitar to school and played it at lunchtime. It was superlame.”

“You used to love listening to him play his guitar.”

“So what? I don’t now. People were laughing at him.”

Jolene stared at Betsy; her daughter looked utterly miserable. “Ah, Betsy. How can you be mean to Seth? You know how much it hurts when Sierra and Zoe are mean to you.”

“If I’m his friend no one will like me.”

“You have to learn not to be a lemming, Bets.”

“What’s that, a rodent? Are you saying I’m a rodent?”

Jolene sighed. “I wish I could make all this easier on you. But only you can do that. You need to be your best self, Betsy. Be a good friend and you’ll have good friends.”