Lulu made a sound and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Was that the wind?” Jolene went to the window, opened it. “Lulu, are you out there?”
Lulu took off her headband and burst into tears. “I want to stay inbisible ’til you come home.”
“Aw, Lulu,” she said, climbing into Lulu’s narrow bed, taking her baby into her arms.
“Who will find me if you’re gone?”
Jolene tightened her hold, thinking of all the things she’d miss.
Lulu would start kindergarten and ride the bus and make new friends, all without Jolene beside her. “I love you, Lucy Louida. You remember that, okay?”
“Okay.” Lulu snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes. In minutes, she was asleep.
Jolene kissed her cheek and left the bedroom. On her way out, she snagged one of Lulu’s yellow plastic barrettes from the dresser and slipped it into her pocket.
As she went downstairs, she was struck by the quiet in her house.
“Michael?”
She got no answer. Moving from room to room, she didn’t find him anywhere, but his car was in the garage. Finally, she caught a glimpse of something out front.
She stopped at the kitchen window and looked out. Moonlight glanced off a figure seated on their dock.
She slipped into the pair of boots that were always at the mudroom door. Zipping up her hoodie, she left the house and walked along the fence line down to the main road.
On the other side, she followed the wooden steps down to their dock. The full moon lit her way. She stepped on something that made a loud, cracking sound.
“I guess you found me,” Michael said, lifting a bottle to his lips.
Jolene sat down in the chair beside him. He’d built a fire in the metal pit off to the side, and some heat wafted her way.
“I’m sure you’ll tell me getting drunk is a bad idea.”
Jolene sighed. How had they come to this place, and how would they ever find their way back?
They wouldn’t.
She reached out, said, “May I?” and took the bottle from him, taking a sip of the bitter scotch. It burned all the way down.
“You must be upset,” he said.
She nodded. Normally she stayed away from alcohol, both because of her family history and because of her career. A DUI would ground her, and she would never do anything to risk her ability to fly. “I’m human, Michael. In fact, getting drunk sounds good right now.”
“I’m scared, Jo,” he said quietly. “I don’t know if I can handle it.”
She waited for him to say something more, maybe reach for her. When he didn’t, she turned to look at him.
In profile, his features sharpened by moonlight, he looked remote and cold. She saw the way he held his lips pursed in disapproval, as if the slightest relaxing would undo him, and she hated that she was leaving him now when their marriage was in trouble. She needed to believe he still loved her, or that he could love her again.
“Look at me,” Jolene said.
He took another long drink from the scotch bottle and then turned to her.
They were close enough to kiss; all it would have taken was the slightest movement by either one of them, but neither leaned toward the other.
“Don’t get hurt over there, Jo,” he said, his gaze steady.
She heard a caring in the words she’d thought was gone, and it filled her with a sweet and tender hope. Maybe they
could
fix it, maybe one perfect moment could put them back on track. She needed him so much right now she couldn’t stand it; she needed to be able to take his love with her.
Slowly, she put a hand around his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him, but even as her heartbeat sped up and passion flared inside her, she felt him holding back. It was like kissing a stranger.
She drew back, humiliated. “Take care of my babies,” she whispered.
But he was drinking again, staring out at the rolling waves.
“It’s too bad you think you have to say that,” he said.
She got up and returned to the house, alone.
Nine
Michael woke up alone. At some point, long before dawn, he’d heard Jolene awaken and climb out of bed. Without turning on the lights, she had dressed in her camo fatigues—ACUs—grabbed her duffle bag, and left the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind her. He had pretended to be asleep. Later, he’d heard a horn honk outside; Tami had come to pick Jolene up.
Afterward, Michael lay alone. He thought he’d never fall asleep again, but somehow he had, and he’d been wakened hours later by the alarm bleating beside his bed.
Now, it was The Day. He woke the girls up and then took a long, scaldingly hot shower.
He had no idea what to wear for a deployment ceremony, so he went for the ever-popular charcoal slacks and matching V-neck cashmere sweater, but when he looked in the mirror, he saw a stranger. His dark eyes had a haunted look, and the shadows beneath attested to the fact that he hadn’t slept well in weeks.
“Dad?” Betsy walked into the room, wearing white knee-length leggings, a long pink sweater cinched tight at the waist by a wide silver belt, and Ugg boots. Her long blond hair hung in frizzy ringlets to the middle of her back.
She looked like she was trying out for some Disney kid show where people burst into song at the drop of a hat.
“Is that what you think you’re wearing?” he asked.
“You can’t tell me what to wear.”
“Why not? I’m your father.”
Betsy rolled her eyes. “I came to tell you that Lulu isn’t coming with us.”
“What do you mean? She’s four years old.”
“I
know
her age, Dad. I just said she won’t come. And she’s wearing the headband.”
Michael had no idea what difference a headband could make. “Fine.” He sighed—he was exhausted already and it was barely past eleven. “Come on,” he said to Betsy and headed down the hallway.
Lulu’s room appeared to have been ransacked. There were toys and clothes everywhere; all of the bedding had been pulled off the bed and lay heaped on the floor.
She sat in the corner, wearing her ragged gray kitten Halloween costume, with her skinny legs drawn up to her chest. Her eyes were red and watery from crying and her cheeks were blotchy.
He looked at his watch. They were late. “Get up, Lulu. We don’t have time for this. We have to say good-bye to your mom.”
When he reached down for her, she screamed, “You can’t see me!”
Michael frowned.
Betsy grabbed his wrist. “Lulu’s invisible when she has the headband on.”
“Oh, for God’s—”
“Lulu,” Betsy said in a singsong voice. “Where are you? We need to go.”
Lulu didn’t answer.
Michael felt acutely out of his depth already and Jolene hadn’t even left yet.
“I know how afraid Lulu must be to say good-bye, but Mommy needs our kisses to keep her safe,” Betsy said.
Lulu burst into tears. Taking off the headband, she stood up. “I don’t want her to go. Will she be back for dinner?”
Betsy took her sister’s hand. “No.”
“My birthday?” Lulu said hopefully, clutching the ratty cat-eared headband. It was at least the fiftieth time she’d asked this question.
“Come on,” Michael said tiredly. “We need to change your clothes, Lulu.”
“No!” she screamed, scrambling away from him. “I want my kitty costume!”
“You should give in, Dad. Trust me,” Betsy said.
“Fine,” Michael said, sighing. He picked Lulu up, and the three of them went out to the car.
They drove away in a heavy, awkward silence.
When they picked up his mother, she tried to fill the silence with chatter, but her buoyant pretense at optimism soon faded. Michael turned on the radio, let Clint Black be their voice.
At the guard tower, he eased to a stop and handed his and his mother’s IDs over to a very serious-looking young man in uniform.
“Go ahead, sir,” the guard said finally, handing him back the two licenses.
The post was a hive of activity. Cars and trucks and uniformed soldiers were everywhere. Betsy read the instructions and guided them to a parking area, where they found a sign about the deployment ceremony to be held in the hangar.
The four of them were silent as they walked out to the hangar, which was a huge, open-sided building full of helicopters and cargo jets and smaller airplanes. One section had been cleared of aircraft, and rows of metal chairs had been placed in their space. Along the back wall, they’d set up a wooden dais. There was a giant TV screen to its left. A large banner hung from the rafters. It read:
BE SAFE RAPTORS
.
A pair of Black Hawk helicopters were in the center of the hangar; they were crawling with kids and parents. In front of them, a long, low table offered pamphlets on everything from PTSD to suicide prevention to summer camps for kids.
They took seats in the front row. Lulu sat curled on Michael’s lap, sucking her thumb—she no longer even pretended she’d given it up. In the next thirty minutes, the place filled up with people—mostly women and children and older men—who held posters and flowers. Over by the helicopters, a news crew gathered; a pretty woman in a blue suit talked into a microphone.
Then the side door opened and the crowd went still. Music started; five soldiers marched out single file, wearing camouflage fatigues tucked into lace-up sand-colored boots and jauntily slanted berets, playing instruments. At the end of the song, the band formed a line along the wall. They stood straight and tall, their shoulders broad, their chins high, at attention in front of a row of flags.
On the dais, a man in uniform approached the mic and welcomed everyone to this important day. Then he turned and gave an order, and the giant hangar doors began slowly, slowly to open. The rollers made a grinding, pinging sound that filled the room. The doors parted to reveal the uniformed soldiers, all seventy-six of them, who made up the Raptors flight unit.
They stood outside, stone-faced, looking ready to go. There was his wife, in the front row, so tall, so strong-looking amid her other family. Chief Warrant Officer 3 Zarkades. He hardly knew her. She was the officer in charge of a forty-million-dollar aircraft and countless lives.
A soldier stood in front of the troops, said something that ended in “present arms!” and the Raptors saluted and marched into the hangar.
“Ladies and gentlemen, will you please rise for the national anthem?”
Michael watched it all as if from some great distance. At the close of the national anthem, the unit members who were being deployed assembled and stood with their legs apart and their hands behind their backs as the base commander introduced the speaker. A couple of uniformed men conducted a ceremony with a flag—they rolled it into a case and put it away. It would not be brought out again until the troops returned from war.
The governor of Washington State stepped up to the podium. The hangar was quiet, except for the crying of babies in their mothers’ arms.
“The brave men and women standing in front of me are known to all of you,” he began. “They are our brothers, our sisters, our neighbors, our parents, our children, and our friends. They are our heroes. To the soldiers, and to the families, and to all of those who are supporting our troops, no words can adequately express the depth and breadth of our gratitude. We left at home, the protected, are acutely aware of and thankful for your courage and your sacrifice.” The governor looked up from his notes and leaned closer to the microphone. “Standing before me are the members of Charlie Company that are being deployed today. We can all be proud of their willingness to serve this great country of ours and take comfort from the certainty that each soldier is ready, is trained, is prepared to succeed in this endeavor. But we in this room know that there is more than courage being asked of these soldiers and of you, their families. I have been privileged to speak privately with many of our state’s brave soldiers, and the question I always ask them is, ‘What is your greatest concern with this deployment?’ You will not be surprised to hear that none has expressed concern for their personal safety. They worry about
you
. Saying good-bye to loved ones is the most difficult act for any soldier.” The governor paused. “There are no words that we, a grateful nation, can offer to Charlie Company except thank you.” He looked at the troops. “Your willingness to put yourselves in harm’s way to protect us here at home is humbling. We say thank you, and pray that you will be safe. God bless this unit and God bless America.”
A soldier called out: “First Sergeant. Release the warriors to their families.”
Whatever was said next was lost in the rush of applause. The audience was on their feet, clapping and crying, rushing in a herd toward the troops.
Michael couldn’t make himself move. He looked at the soldiers walking past him, going in search of their families; none looked afraid. They looked proud. Strong. Certain.
Up ahead, he saw Jolene and Tami come together. A news crew was talking to them. As he approached, he heard the reporter say, “Two best friends who are female and just happen to fly Black Hawks. That’s quite a story…”
Jolene said, “It’s not as unusual as you would think. Excuse me, ma’am.” She ducked out of camera range and headed toward Mila, who was pushing through the crowd.
Everywhere he looked, he saw heartbreak and courage. He saw a man in uniform, holding an infant who couldn’t be more than a month old. The soldier stared at his baby intently, his eyes moist, as if trying to imagine all the changes that would be made in that small face while he was gone. Beside him, a pregnant woman hugged her husband, sobbing, promising that she would be okay without him.
And there was Jolene, hugging his mother so tightly it looked like they’d fused together.
Lulu tightened her hold around Michael’s neck. “Hurry, Daddy. She might go.”
Michael walked toward his wife. He hadn’t expected any of this. How was that? He prided himself on his intelligence, but he’d been wrong, blinded by selfishness or politics or intellectualism. For years, he’d watched news reports about the global war on terrorism and followed images of soldiers in the desert and he’d thought about the politics of it all, about weapons of mass destruction and George W.’s declaration of war and the wisdom of arming and sending out troops. He’d argued with colleagues about it—while he sat safe and warm and protected in his country. He’d argued about the true cost of war.