They handed over their IDs, nodded to the soldier, and drove onto the post.
In the hallway outside the Black Hawk classroom, they found several members of the unit seated in chairs along the wall. No one was saying much of anything, except for the younger men, who seemed amped up and eager. Smitty—young, young Smitty, with his braces and pimples and puppy-dog buoyancy—was grinning, going from man to man, asking what combat was like, saying they were going to kick some ass over there. Jolene wondered how his mother felt right now …
Jolene and Tami leaned back against the concrete-block wall, waiting their turns.
The classroom door opened. Jamie Hix strode out. His army-issue hair—short and dirty blond—stood up from his tanned, broad forehead. Lines fanned out from the corners of his gray eyes—they were new, those lines, etched in the days since their deployment had been announced. No doubt he was thinking about his young son. Would his ex-wife use this deployment to take his son away from him? “Your turn, Jo,” he said.
With a nod, Jolene walked into the classroom, where she found a man in dress uniform seated at a long desk with papers spread out in front of him.
“Chief Zarkades?” he said, looking up at her. “At ease. Have a seat. I’m Captain Reynolds. Jeff.”
She sat down in a chair facing him, her back ramrod straight, her hands in her lap.
He pushed a stack of papers toward her. “Your family plan is in place. Your daughters, Elizabeth Andrea Zarkades and Lucy Louida Zarkades, will be cared for by your husband, Michael Andreas Zarkades. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Your mother-in-law is also available, I see.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lawyer looked down at the paper, tapped his pen. “Deployment can be difficult on a marriage, Chief. Is there any cause to worry about this plan?”
“No, sir,” Jolene said.
The captain looked up. “Do you have a will?”
“Yes, sir. I’m married to an attorney, sir.”
“Good.” He pushed a stack of papers toward her. “Sign and date your family plan. And the funeral arrangement addendum. I assume you want Michael notified in the case of your death. Anyone else?”
“No, sir.”
“Okay, then, Chief. That’s all. Dismissed.”
She stood. “Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, Chief? We recommend you write letters … to your loved ones.”
Jolene nodded. Letters. Good-byes. They recommended she write letters in which she said good-bye to the people she loved most in this world. She tried to imagine that … Betsy opening a letter one day in the blurry future, seeing her mother’s handwriting, reading her last words—and what would they be, those last words, written now, before she knew all that she had to say, before they’d had this lifetime together? Lulu would be crying, wailing, yelling, What? She’s gone where? her small heart-shaped face scrunching up, tears forming in her dark eyes as she tried to understand what that even meant.
“Be safe, Chief. God bless.”
*
The next two weeks passed so quickly Jolene half expected to hear a sonic boom echoing along behind. She wrote and edited and rewrote at least a dozen to-do lists, filled a three-ring binder with every bit of information she could think of. She canceled the magazines she wouldn’t receive, hired a neighbor’s son to mow the grass in the summer and check the generator next winter, and she paid as many bills in advance as possible. All of this she did at night; during the day she was at the post, preparing to go off to war. She and her unit flew so many hours they had begun to breathe as one. By the first of May, she—and the rest of the unit—were actually getting itchy to leave. If they were going to do this thing, they wanted to go. It was the only way they’d start marking off the time until their return.
At home, life was an endless series of poignant moments and elongated good-byes. Every look, every hug, every kiss took on the weight of sorrow. Jolene didn’t know how much longer she could stand it. Every time she looked at her babies, her throat tightened.
And then there was Michael.
In this short time they had left together, he had pulled away even further, spent even more time at the office. She rarely caught him looking at her, and when she did she saw resentment in his eyes and he looked away quickly. She had tried to talk to him about all of it, the deployment, her feelings, his feelings, her fear, but every volley had been met with retreat until finally, exhausted, she’d given up.
It seemed he’d told her the truth: he didn’t love her anymore.