though the teenage years were unbearable at times, she’d gotten past them. But seeing her only child leave for the service—that was more than a mother should have to bear after all she’d already endured.
She parked her van in the driveway of her small three-bedroom house—the place where she’d raised her daughter for most of the child’s life, and the house that she called home. When she got out of the vehicle, she could hear the high school band practicing its fight song. The fact that the house was close to the school had been a plus when she and Gerald had looked at it the first time. The music brought back the memory of Rebecca when she was in the fifth grade and learning to play the flute. At the time, Diana had kept earplugs in the kitchen drawer to be used for that hour every afternoon; now she wished she could go back in time to those days.
With Carmen and Joanie following her—the daughters had teased them all about starting a singing group like Pistol Annies—Diana crossed the yard and unlocked the door, leaving it open for them to come on in. She tossed her purse and sweater onto the sofa and kept going right through the small dining room into the kitchen, where she opened the cabinet door to the liquor supply.
“I’m having a double shot of Jack Daniel’s to start with. Y’all can mix your own.” Diana poured up her drink and carried it to the living room. She kicked off her shoes, sat down on the end of the sofa, and drew her feet up. “Rebecca’s going to have a tough time. Her room looks like a dumping ground. Bed’s unmade. Clothes are scattered on the floor, and there’s a quarter inch of dusting powder covering the top of her dresser. She may get kicked out and sent home the first week. Of course, as much as I already miss her, I don’t want her to fail.”
Carmen moved Diana’s sweater and purse to a rocking chair and sat down on the other end of the sofa. “My Natalie will be fine on that part of it, but I worry about her temper. If something doesn’t make sense to her—like algebra—she fights against it. But she’ll be okay with keeping things straight. She could go into her room at midnight with no lights on at all and put her hands on anything she wanted. She got her looks and her OCD from her father. I guess that’ll do her well in whatever part of the intelligence field they train her for. Don’t they have to be super organized?”
“Yes.” Joanie sank into a spot between the two women and sipped a glass of coconut rum. “And Rebecca will be all right, too.” She patted Diana’s knee. “Basic training for her will be like she told us once about history tests. You memorize it. Pass the test. Then you forget it and go on. She’s strong, and she’s independent. She may end up being one of the elite few that get sniper training.”
Diana threw a hand over her eyes. “Dear God, I don’t want to hear that.”
“We have to be strong for them.” Joanie’s chin quivered. “But I’ve watched too many television shows about medical stuff. Zoe’s had technical-school training to be a nurse, but she’s never seen a field hospital with bloody towels on the floor, and she’s never lost a patient. I worry about her the first time one of her patients doesn’t make it.”
“Zoe’s tough. They all are.” Diana tried to convince herself as well as her friends. “When we start to miss them, we need to remember that they’ve driven us batshit crazy the past year with their senioritis and their too-big-for-their-britches attitudes. God, this house is going to be like a tomb without her.” Diana finished off her whiskey. “Besides, y’all do realize we’re worrying for nothing. They’ve got to get through basic training and then Advanced Individual Training before they go into their actual fieldwork. We’ll have to take it one day at a time for the next couple of months. Right now, I’ll just be glad when the first part of basic is over and they can call us.”
“That’ll be at Halloween,” Carmen groaned. “For the first time ever, Natalie and I won’t decorate the house for Halloween together.” She got up and went for another drink and returned with half a wineglass of coconut rum. “Nine months of carrying them,