It exhausted him, just thinking of the scene that was coming. He would use his charm to make her smile, beg for her forgiveness, and she would grant it with a grace and ease that would make short work of the whole thing, but he would see the hurt in her green eyes, in the way her smile wouldn’t quite bloom, and he would know that he’d disappointed her again. He was the bad guy here; there was no doubt about that, and she would remind him of it in a million tiny ways until he could hardly look at her, until he rolled away from her in bed and stared at the wall and imagined a different life.

He got out of the car and went into the house. In the shadowy kitchen, he found a vase and put the roses in it, then carried them up the stairs.

The master bedroom lights were off except for a small, decorative lamp on the desk by the window. He set the flowers on the antique dresser and went into the bathroom, where he undressed and got ready for bed. Climbing in, he pulled the heavy down comforter up to his chest and lay there in the dark.

It used to soothe him, listening to his wife’s breathing, but now every sound she made kept him awake.

He closed his eyes and hoped for the best, knowing before he even tried that it would be hours before he fell asleep and that, once found, his slumber would be haphazard at best, plagued by dreams of a life unlived, a path unchosen.

When he woke, hours later, he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. Watery light came through the windowpanes, making the sage-colored walls look gray as driftwood. The dark wood floors swallowed whatever sunlight came their way.

He pushed up to his elbows, felt the coverlet fall away from his chest.

Jolene lay awake beside him, her blond hair tangled to one side, her pale face turned slightly toward him.

The hurt was already in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jo.” He leaned down and kissed her quickly, then drew back. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“I know. It’s just a birthday. Maybe I made too much of it.”

He got out of bed and got the Tiffany’s box off the dresser and brought it back to her.

It occurred to him that she’d asked for something for her birthday, something special. Not a gift, either; that wasn’t Jolene’s way. She wanted … something. He couldn’t remember what it was, but he saw the slight frown dart across her face as she saw the box; then it was gone, and she smiled up at him.

“Tiffany, huh?” She sat up in bed, positioned her pillows behind her, and then opened the box. Inside, a sparkling platinum and gold watch was curled around a white leather bed. A single small diamond took the place of the number twelve.

“It’s beautiful.” She turned it over, to the back, on which Jolene, happy 41st was engraved. “Forty-one,” she said. “Wow. Time is going fast. Betsy will be in high school in no time.”

He wished she hadn’t said that. Time wasn’t his friend lately. He was forty-five—middle-aged by any standard. Soon he’d be fifty, and whatever chance he’d had to become another version of himself would be gone. And he still had no idea what that other version would look like; he just knew that the color had gone out of who he was.

He sat down on the bed beside Jolene. He looked at her, needing her suddenly, wanting to feel about her the way he used to. “How did you get through … their deaths? I mean, really get through it? You had to change your life in an instant.”

He saw her flinch, turn slightly away. The question was like a blow that glanced off her shoulder, bruised her. When she looked at him again, she was smiling. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I chose happiness, I guess.”

He sighed. More platitudes. Suddenly he was tired again. “I’ll make you breakfast in bed, and then maybe we can all go for a bike ride.”

She set the watch, still in its box, on the nightstand. “Tonight’s my birthday party at Captain Lomand’s house. You said you might come.”

And there it was: the thing she’d asked for. No wonder he’d forgotten. “I have nothing in common with those people. You know that.” He stood up and walked over to the dresser, opening his top drawer.

“I am those people,” she said, and just like that they stumbled onto the familiar and rocky terrain. “It’s a party for me. You could come just this once.”

He turned to face her. “We’ll go out to dinner tomorrow night. How’s that? All four of us. We’ll go to that Italian place you like.”

Jolene sighed. He knew she was considering another volley across the net of this old argument. She wanted him to be a part of her military life—she’d always wanted it, but he couldn’t do it, couldn’t stand that rigid world of one for all and all for one. “Okay,” she finally said. “Thanks for the watch. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re welcome.”

They stared at each other. Silence gathered in the air, as bitter and rich as the scent of coffee. There were things to be said, he knew, words that had been withheld too long, hoarded in the dark and spoiled. Once he gave them voice, said what he really felt, there would be no going back.

* * *

Later that afternoon, carrying a foil-covered casserole dish, Tami walked into Jolene’s kitchen. “Well?” she asked, kicking the door shut behind her.

Jolene glanced back into the family room, making sure her kids weren’t around. “He’s really sorry,” she said. “He brought me roses and a beautiful watch.”

“He’s the one that needs the watch,” Tami said. At Jolene’s look, she shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

“Yeah,” Jolene said. “I asked him to come to the party. He doesn’t want to.”

“I’m sorry,” Tami said.

Jolene managed a smile. She couldn’t help thinking how different life was for Tami. Although Carl wasn’t in the military, he supported Tami fully, came to every event, and often told her how proud he was of her service. Tami’s military pictures decorated the walls of their house, were hung alongside Seth’s school pictures and shots from their family gatherings. All the pictures of Jolene in uniform were hidden away in drawers somewhere.

She turned away from the disappointed look in Tami’s eyes and walked to the bottom of the stairs. “Girls!” she yelled up. “Come on down. It’s time for the party.”

Lulu came down the stairs, grinning, dragging her blanket. She was dressed for the party in a pink princess dress, complete with a tiara. Betsy appeared at the top of the stairs with her arms crossed.

“Pleeease don’t make me go,” Betsy pleaded.

“Ticktock, ticktock.”

“Dad doesn’t have to go.”

“He’s working,” Jolene said. “You’re not.”

Betsy stomped her foot and spun around. “Fine,” she said, marching back to her room.

“I remember how much I wanted a daughter,” Tami said, coming up beside Jolene. “Lately I’m not so sure.”

“Nothing I do or say is right. Honestly, she breaks a little piece of my heart every day. She swears she’ll skip school if I go to career day. Apparently a mother in the military is only slightly less humiliating than one in prison.”

Tami leaned against her. “You were raised by wolves, so you don’t know this: it’s normal. My mom swore she tried to sell me to gypsies at twelve. No takers.”

“Is Seth coming today?”

“Of course. He’s a boy. They’re like puppies; girls are like cats. He just wants to make me happy and play video games. Drama has not yet made an appearance at our house. Although, he does miss Betsy.”

Jolene glanced up the stairs. “I hope she’s nicer to him.”

Tami nodded. “My son is a fashion disaster. He’s a geek boy who gets excited to answer a question in biology. Betsy wants to hang with the popular girls. I get it. I do. He’s social suicide, and the fact that they used to be best friends does not help her any. Still, he doesn’t get it. He wonders why she quit skateboarding and doesn’t like to look for sand crabs anymore. He still has the birthday poster she made him tacked up on his wall.”

Jolene didn’t know what to say to that. Before she’d thought of anything, Lulu came to the last step and hurled herself forward. Jolene scooped up her youngest daughter and settled her on her hip, carrying her out to the SUV. After Jolene strapped Lulu into her car seat, she went back into the house. “Come on, Betsy!”

Betsy stomped down the stairs, looking mutinous, with her iPod’s earbuds firmly in place. The message was clear: I’m coming, but I won’t like it. Jolene let the little defiance pass, and followed her daughter to the SUV.

“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.