Home Front(50)

“Thanks, Ma.”

As he said it, the phone rang.

Somewhere, Betsy screamed—actually screamed—“I’ll get it!”

He heard footsteps thundering down the stairs.

Michael smiled ruefully, walking his mother to the back door. “Thanks again, Ma.”

She kissed his cheek. “By the way, an e-mail came in from Jolene. Lulu is dying to read it, but I reminded her of the rules—no reading it until you got home—and she’s a bit … excited.”

Michael kissed his mom and watched her walk out to her car. He thought, not for the first time, that he couldn’t have handled this without her. When she’d left, he went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink.

Lulu marched into the kitchen. “We got an e-mail from Mommy. Can we read it now?”

“Can I have a drink and change my clothes first?”

“No, Daddy, I’ve been waiting FOREVER.”

Michael glanced at Jolene’s calendar, seeing that tonight dinner was supposed to be baked chicken and rice. He thought a can of mushroom soup was involved. “Okay. Go get your sister. I’ll meet you at my computer.”

Lulu ran upstairs. Mere seconds later, she was back, her little face scrunched up tightly, her cheeks red. “She’s on the phone.”

“Tell her to hang up.”

“She won’t.”

“Well, we can wait—”

“NONONONO!” Lulu wailed. Tears filled her eyes.

Michael knew he was the boss here, but frankly, the thought of a Lulu tantrum was more than he could handle right now. With a sigh, he went upstairs, found Betsy in her room, talking on the phone. “Can you call her back, sweetie? We’re going to read Mom’s letter before your sister levitates.”

Betsy turned her back on him and kept talking.

“Betsy,” he said in a warning tone.

“Get out, Dad, I’m on the PHONE.”

He took the phone from her, said, “She’ll call you back in ten minutes,” and hung up.

You would have thought he pushed the red button on a nuclear warhead. Betsy screamed, That was Sierra! so loud he went momentarily deaf.

“We’re reading the letter now. Come downstairs.” He left her standing there, so mad she was practically emitting smoke, and went down to his office.

There, he planted Lulu on the chair at his desk and went to the sofa to wait for Betsy. It didn’t take long. She stomped down the stairs and swept into the room like the Red Queen, muttering, Fine, where’s the stupid letter?

Betsy scooted Lulu sideways and sat down, then Lulu scrambled onto her sister’s lap, saying, “Read, Betsy.”

Betsy pulled up the e-mail, opened it.

A photo filled the computer screen. In it, Jolene and Tami were standing in front of some open-air market stall with their arms around each other. Everything was washed out, a little colorless, as if maybe it was raining or really windy. But you couldn’t miss how bright their smiles were.

“Mommy.” Lulu pointed at Jolene.

Betsy scrolled down and started to read the letter out loud. “It was a long flight over here…”



… and I have to admit that I’m tired.



Betsy, you wouldn’t believe how flat it is, and how everything is the same color, like dying wheat. And man is it hot. I think I was sweating before I even got off the plane.



Tami and I are roommates in a little trailer. It’s kind of how I imagine college would be. So we need photos and posters to make it homey. Can you help us out? I’ll send pics when I can.



We had dinner at the DFAC tonight—the dining facilities. Lulu, they had your favorite—peach pie. It wasn’t as good as Yia Yia Mila’s, but it made me think of home.



We are what’s called backfill (an army word for substitutes, kind of) for the 131st. Everyone we’ve met is great. I’m sure we’ll make lots of friends.



Well, guys, I better get some sleep.



I’m thinking of you all the time and loving you to the moon and back.





XXXOOO




Mom





P.S.: Good luck on your math test, Bets. I know you’ll rock it. I’m proud of you!



“Read it again,” Lulu said. “My part. Daddy, make her read it again,” she whined.

“There, I read it. Big deal. It’s hot,” Betsy said. She turned to look at Michael. “Can I go back upstairs and call Sierra now?”

“Fine,” Michael said, barely listening. As she ran past him, he got up from the chair and went to stand in front of the computer.

He stared at the picture of two women in uniforms smiling for the camera.

“She looks happy,” Lulu said.

Michael thought about what he’d learned today and he couldn’t reconcile it with this photograph. He thought about the descriptions of the war he’d heard, about finding your friends’ body parts and roadside bombs and raining shrapnel.

Two women, best friends, smiling for the camera.

He understood suddenly what Cornflower had meant. She’s a mother. Her instinct is to protect.

This photograph was a lie, as was everything she’d told him about her deployment. There’s no front line over there, Cornflower had said. So there was no safe place.