“We’ll die,” Jolene said softly. She knew Tami was right; she’d thought the same thing several times. No doubt it was what occupied Jamie’s thoughts now, too. The point of war games was, ultimately, war. Jolene needed to put her feelings for her family in a compartment and hide it away. “I don’t know how to stop missing them. I feel guilty all the time. I keep thinking that if I can say just the right thing on the phone, we’ll all be okay.”
“Carl and I talked about this before I left. He told me I had to stop being a part of him and start being a part of this. He said he knew I loved him and that my job was to think about me and the men and women around me.” Tami looked at her. “Two weeks from now we’ll be in-country, Jo. You’ve got to cut yourself loose from Poulsbo. Trust Michael to keep everything together.”
“Trust Michael,” she said dully.
“You have no choice.”
Jolene knew Tami was right, but letting go was easier said than done. She knew how it felt to be abandoned in childhood, and although this was different, profoundly different, she wasn’t certain her children would really understand why she had left them. “How have men done it all these years, gone off to war and left their kids behind?”
“They had wives,” Tami said simply.
*
Late that night, after Tami had fallen asleep, Jolene opened her laptop. She was so tired, she had trouble keeping her eyes open, but she had to write to her daughter.
Dear Betsy:
I’m so sorry I can’t help you with your detention. You won’t want to hear what I have to say about it, either. The bottom line is that you broke the rules. There’s always a consequence for our actions. You might as well learn that early. Of course Sierra and Zoe are wrong to have goaded you and mean to have made fun of you. But how you respond is what will make you who you are.
I have so many things to say about that, and it kills me that we aren’t together. Mothers and daughters are supposed to curl up on the couch and talk about anything and everything. And we will soon. You’ll see. Until then, I wish I knew how to tell you how to get through the tough times in middle school. I know so much about mean girls.
When I was your age, no one liked me. I was always the girl with the ratty clothes and no lunch money. I was too ashamed to invite anyone home, so I didn’t make friends. It was terrible. Lonely. I don’t want that for you.
I know how it feels to be ignored and teased. So I ignored those girls right back, and it just made me feel bad about myself.
You know what helped? Joining the Army, and not because they taught me to fly （or not only because of that）， but because that’s where I met Tami.
I was afraid to talk to her in the beginning. She was so confident. She didn’t seem to care that we were the only women in flight school. For the whole first week, I ignored her because I figured she wouldn’t like me. And you know what?
She was WAITING for me to talk to her.
That’s when I learned how much one smile can matter. Let people know you’re ready to be their friend, and if they give you a chance, take it—don’t be afraid. With Tami, all I had to do was find the courage to say hi, to sit by her in the mess hall. You never know when a sentence, a hello, can change your life.
I wish I were there to tell you how beautiful and smart and talented you are, but for now, these words on a blue screen will have to do it. Be strong, Betsy. Believe in yourself and you’ll be okay.
I love you to the moon and back.
It wasn’t enough. Not nearly. But it was all there was, all she could say from here.
Tomorrow, she’d write to Lulu.
She yawned and hit Send.
*
On the last Thursday in May, Michael woke early and got breakfast ready. He thought that if he could just get ahead of the curve, get a smooth schedule going with the girls, he would be okay. Ever since Jolene’s departure, he’d been running behind—late to meetings, late for the ferry, late for dinner. Something was always going wrong. Today, he was determined to have a nice, peaceful morning.
He knew he’d wasted his time when Betsy came into the kitchen wearing more makeup than a Vegas showgirl.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he said, putting down his paper.
Betsy turned her back on him. “What?” she said, opening the fridge.
“You are not wearing that makeup to school.”
She faced him. “What makeup?”
“I wear reading glasses, Bets. I’m not blind. Go wash your face.”
“Or what?”