Home Front(52)

“You are ruining my life.”

“I know. You’ve said so before. Give me Sierra’s number and I’ll call her mom. If you dress like a human, I’ll drive you girls there.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Really? Well, I feel the same way about a trip to the mall. It’s up to you, kiddo.” He shrugged and turned the TV back on, changing the channel. An ad for the new Spielberg movie, War of the Worlds, filled the screen.

War. It was everywhere.

Betsy stomped her foot.

Michael ignored her. In the past weeks, he might not have learned everything he needed to know about parenting a preteen, but he’d learned a few valuable lessons: don’t back down. And use peer pressure. Oh, and try to be calm. Two crazies did not make for a good day.

“Fine. I’ll go take off the makeup I’m not wearing.”

“And change your clothes.”

“Aaagh!” she yelled, running up the stairs. He could hear her stomping around up there.

Michael shook his head. So much drama.

He walked into the kitchen, where Lulu sat at the kitchen table, kneeling on a pillow she’d placed on one of the chairs. Her My Mommy Fights for Freedom coloring book was open in front of her, along with a pick-up-sticks tangle of crayons. She was furiously adding red streaks to an American flag.

“How come we don’t have a flag up, Daddy?” Lulu said. “Mommy’s gone.”

Michael stopped. How was it possible that he’d never considered this before? All the things he’d learned from Cornflower and Keller slipped into his mind again.

They were a military family.

He heard that all the time; people said it to him and he shrugged it off, thinking, no, not really; my wife is just in the Guard. Because HE wasn’t in the military, it hadn’t felt real to him, and God knew he’d never liked her commitment or supported it.

Still, they were a military family, and his wife was at war. And a four-year-old had seen the truth of that before he had.

He tousled Lulu’s hair, watching her color a scene of a girl waving good-bye to a woman in uniform. “We’ll put one up,” he said quietly.

Betsy stomped back into the room, coming up behind him. “I look sufficiently gross now. Can I go?”

He turned.

Betsy was dressed in cutoffs that were too short in his opinion, but not enough to fight about, a tee shirt that read Oops! I Did It Again, and flip-flops. She’d taken off most of the makeup, but was still wearing blue mascara and blush.

Did she think he couldn’t see it?

“Well?” she demanded, and at that her voice broke. He saw how much this meant to her, and he was lost. The games these preteen girls played with each other seemed ridiculous to him. Betsy could go from smiling to ballistic in a second, all based on some under-the-breath comment from a former friend. God forbid someone laughed at her hair. “Come on, Dad, it’s Sierra. I’ve waited so looong for her to call. I need to go. Pleaaaase.”

Call him a coward, but he couldn’t deny her. She looked so damned desperate and lonely, and he knew now how much this turnaround with Sierra meant to Betsy. “You look fine, Betsy. And you can go to the mall. Just let me call Sierra’s mom.”

“I already called. It was so embarrassing to say that my dad wouldn’t let me ride with Tod.”

“Horrifying,” he agreed.

“Anyway, Mrs. Phillips is picking us up in ten minutes. So can I have money?”

“How much do you want?”

“Fifty.”

“Dollars?”

“Okay.” She sighed dramatically. “Twenty-five.”

Michael dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. While he was counting his bills, Betsy shrieked.

“They’re here! Give me the money, Dad. Now! Hurry! They might leave.”

“I’m walking you out to the car.”

“No!”

He smiled.

She grimaced. “Fine.”

He walked her out of the house and down the driveway, where a blue minivan waited.

Sure enough, a woman was driving.

“Here, Betsy,” he said, handing her thirty dollars. She swiped it like a raptor taking prey and mumbled something that might have been good-bye.

The driver rolled down her window. “Hi,” she said to him. “I’m Stephanie. I understand Betsy thought Tod would be driving.” She smiled. “Hardly.”

Michael smiled back. “That’s good to hear. I remember being eighteen. Focus behind the wheel was not my strength.”

“My husband says the same thing.” Stephanie glanced in the backseat, then leaned closer. “It’s good to see the girls together again. How’s Jolene?”

People asked him that all the time. He never really knew what to say. “Fine.”

“Tell her I said hi.”

“Will do.” He backed away, watching the car back down the driveway and then drive away.

He walked back up to his house. On the porch, he stopped, looked around. Sunlight spilled across the white slats, brightening the faded chair cushions. The grass out front was still a deep, rich green—summer’s heat hadn’t found its way here yet. Down below, across the road, he could see a family gathering, building a fire and setting up chairs for a day at the beach. In a normal year, Jolene would be down there already, setting up coolers and chairs.