Patriots

PATRIOTS A novel

ALSO BY CHARLES DEEMER: Oregon Fever: An Anthology of Northwest Writing, 1965-1982 (Editor) Dress Rehearsals: The Education of a Marginal Writer The Seagull Hyperdrama Love At Ground Zero Three Oregon Plays Emmett’s Gift Midnight Cabaret: The Writings of Ger Moran (Editor) What Happens Next? An Introduction to Screenwriting The Deadly Doowop Selected Stories Five Screenplays Seven Plays Elderberry Wine (Editor) Seven Come Eleven: Stories and Plays, 1969-1999 Screenwright: the Craft of Screenwriting Ten Sonnets Christmas at the Juniper Tavern

PATRIOTS A novel

Charles Deemer

Sextant Books 2005

Copyright © 2005 by Charles Deemer All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, except for brief quotations within a review, without permission in writing from the author. Contact Charles Deemer at [email protected]. Published by Sextant Books http://www.sextantbooks.com By arrangement with: Three Moons Media 2300 Bill Owens Parkway #928 Longview, Texas 75604-3059 http://www.threemoonsmedia.com Printed in the United States of America ISBN 0-9747440-8-5 Cover photograph by Barbara Henry.

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In memory of my father Who joined the Navy to escape the paper mill Stayed in 22 years And discovered he was happiest At sea

What signify a few lives lost in a century or two? The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. It is its natural manure. Thomas Jefferson

War is an ugly thing, but not the ugliest of things. The decayed and degraded state of moral and patriotic feeling which thinks that nothing is worth war is much worse. John Stuart Mill

You will never have a quiet world until you knock the patriotism out of the human race. George Bernard Shaw

A patriot is one who wrestles for the soul of her country as she wrestles for her own being.

Adrienne Rich

Patriots

PATRIOTS

1 Archie Archie Bannock was pumped. He squeezed off three quick rounds ka-ch ka-ch ka-ch, and ducked back down into the foxhole, his blood racing with excitement. Beside him Hal immediately rose up, firing off his own quick rounds ka-ch kach ka-ch, then dropping low again as Archie rose back up, the best friends rising and falling to fire a steady barrage at the distant targets. On each side of them, in a long line of foxholes, their comrades in arms did the same, but Archie knew that no team of soldiers had fine-tuned the assault into such a steady, beautiful, relentless rhythm as theirs. They bobbed up and down like the arms of a maestro directing a steady symphony of war, making music to Archie’s ears. He hadn’t felt this pumped up since high school, fourth and goal in a tie game, waiting in his three-point stance for the hike, the handoff, and the leap over the goal line to victory. The constant gunfire up and down the line was like the roar of the crowd. Then the order came, Charge!, and Archie scrambled out of the foxhole just ahead of Hal and raced forward, his rifle pointing the way, its bayonet gleaming in the high desert afternoon sun, Archie yelling a monosyllabic yah! as he ran across the hard volcanic earth, soldiers similarly racing forward on each side of him. With Hal only a step behind, Archie ran forward toward the target, and he eagerly anticipated the

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confrontation ahead, when he would thrust the blade of his bayonet into the soft resistance of the straw figure, hoo-ah! and then he was there, hoo-ah! and again, hoo-ah! until he was thrusting the blade into the straw figure over and over again in a frenzy of murderous intent, and Archie didn’t stop until a shrill whistle announced that the afternoon military exercise in the sprawling desert between Ontario and Baker City was over. From the observation tower, Major Joe Baker of the 41st Infantry Brigade grinned. He liked watching the men use their bayonets even though this weaponry was virtually obsolete on the modern battlefield. Thrusting at the straw targets was a great morale booster, he knew, which is why he had added it to the men’s routine. It made war intimate, personal, the way war should be as far as Major Baker was concerned. It was May, 2004, and war had not been personal for a very long time. Major Baker couldn’t change the evolution of technology and its influence on warfare but for damn sure he could give the men a taste of their truest calling, war made personal, even if it was play-acting hand-to-hand combat with a straw dummy. “Damn, they looked good out there,” Major Baker said to his aide, who quickly agreed. He dismissed his aide and stayed behind to watch the men climb into the back of the trucks that would return them to main post. As the trucks pulled away, Major Baker finally climbed down from the observation tower. He walked to the firing range and on across the desert to the line of straw dummies. He wore a knife in a sheath but it was not government issue but a knife his father had taken from a North Korean soldier so many years ago. Major Baker drew the knife now and crouched in front of a straw dummy as if expecting the figure to come to life and charge him. “Hoo-ah!” Major Baker yelled, and in one quick motion he thrust forward with the knife, the blade of which effortlessly penetrated the straw heart. “Hoo-ah! Hoo-ah!”

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He pulled the knife out of the straw. He wiped the blade on his pants. He slipped the knife back into the sheath. Major Baker smiled. It felt good to be a warrior.

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2 Claire Claire Bannock loved this moment in the classroom. She loved seeing the light of understanding switch on behind the eyes of her students, not all of them to be sure, but enough to let her know they were beginning to appreciate what it meant to say that a geometric proof was elegant. And the proof she had just presented to them, writing on the chalkboard as she talked, was about as elegant as they come. She had proven the Pythagorean Theorem by taking the class step-by-step through a series of statements, beginning with things they already knew and leading to something they didn’t know, in the classic methodology of Euclidean geometry. At the end of each step she paused, inviting a question, inviting clarification, and she didn’t continue until she saw that the class was still with her. Finally she scribbled Q.E.D. on the board, quod est demonstratum. The new hypothesis, that the square of the hypotenuse of a right triangle was equal to the sum of the squares of the two sides, had been proven. She was still elated as she poured coffee in the faculty lounge after class. She had an hour break before her Algebra class. “Are you pouring?” It was Nicole, the school librarian, holding out her cup. Claire poured until Nicole told her to stop. Claire returned the pot, and they sat down together at a table.

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Claire liked Nicole. Nicole was a lesbian and didn’t hide the fact, a straightforward honesty that Claire admired, although now and again this got the librarian in trouble with the school administration. Nicole also was one of the few big women Claire knew who didn’t whine about her size and desperately flit from one diet to another. At this very moment, in fact, she selected a chocolate donut from a box on the table and slid it Claire’s way. “No thanks.” Nicole took a bite and with a full mouth said, “You and Archie coming to the picnic?” “Arch is off playing war games. I don’t know if I’ll go alone or not.” “Oh, come, it’ll keep you busy.” “I probably will.” “So with hubby gone, how about a girl’s night out?” “I was going to hear Kelly tonight. She opens at Jazz Central.” “Mind company?” “Company would be nice.” “We could have a drink and dinner first.” They met after work at Nobby’s Bar and Grill, which was near enough to school to have become a faculty hangout. The usual crowd was there – Joe from Sociology and Alice from History, Ethan from Physics and Duncan, the newest member of the faculty, from English. They pushed several tables together and drank beer mostly, everyone talking at once, laughing a lot, kidding one another about school matters and sometimes even flirting. Claire was quieter than usual, which was not missed on Nicole, who brought it up at dinner. They had chosen a Chinese restaurant in the neighborhood of the jazz club where Kelly, Claire’s sister, was singing. “You’ve been unusually quiet,” Nicole said, testing the waters.

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“Have I?” Hearing it, Claire realized what a stupid thing it was to say. “I worry about Arch,” she said. “I’m nervous about him getting called up.” “You could always run to Canada.” Claire took it as a joke and said, “Right.” “I’m serious. Guys and couples did it all the time during Vietnam.” “God, I hope Iraq isn’t another Vietnam.” “Of course it’s another Vietnam.” “The thing is, Arch actually likes this warrior stuff. He’s very gung-ho. He says it reminds him of when he played football in high school. Male bonding or something.” Nicole started to speak but stopped. “What?” “I was just going to make an observation. Men will be men.” “I don’t know what to do. I suck as an Army wife.” It was true. They’d been married five years, and each summer when Archie went off for two weeks of training in the National Guard, she felt sorry for herself. At first it was just missing him but after September 11th, when the country turned upside down and suddenly she was aware of how hated Americans were in the world, she realized that Archie’s training was no longer about male bonding and a substitute for football, it was serious business, it was training for war, a war that might call him overseas for months or years at a time. Her fear was fed by the fact that this year he’d been called to annual training in late Spring, months ahead of his usual time. Why if not to prepare troops for being sent to Iraq? Claire, in her own mind, had not married a soldier but an insurance salesman, a gentle and kind man who was bright and funny. She had a hard time picturing him playing football in high school, let alone being a soldier who carried a gun and did

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whatever it was that soldiers did out in the boonies (“in the field,” Archie called it) for days at a time. This was a side of Archie she had not known when they were dating, and before September 11th she could dismiss this as harmless male play. But no longer. The country was at war, and her husband was a soldier in this war, even if so far he only put on a uniform for a few weeks a year. Nicole said, “Do you want any more of this?” Her fork was pointing at what was left on Claire’s plate of cashew chicken. “I’m done.” “Claire,” Nicole said, scooping food onto her plate, “if you don’t like the war, you’re not alone. Several of us from school are marching now.” “You are?” “I told you, this is Vietnam all over again.” Archie had explained to her how this was not true but she couldn’t remember the argument now. In fact, Claire habitually paid little attention to politics. She preferred the world of mathematics, where right and wrong were more clearly defined and where proofs were irrefutable. “I’m not the activist type. Excuse me.” In the women’s room, Claire stared at herself in the mirror. She thought she looked older than twenty-seven. Over thirty, in fact. Her dark hair, which she wore shoulder length, looked as tired as her face, drooping limply from her head. Maybe she should wear it short. Make a change. Not as short as Nicole’s hair, which was almost a butch, but shorter than now, cuter, something different. Mainly she looked tired. She was getting enough sleep, so to Claire the observation meant that she was getting old and looking every day of it. Claire was refreshing her makeup when Nicole came through the door. “I thought you fell in. Are you all right?” “I’m fine.”

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“I’m really looking forward to hearing Kelly. You ready to boogie then?” Claire managed to smile. “Sure. Let’s boogie.”

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3 Archie In the evening the Guardsmen passed time in the billets by cleaning rifles, polishing boots, playing cards, reading or, if they were especially lonely, calling home. After getting his gear in order for the next day, Archie joined Hal and three others in a game of penny-ante poker. They were an hour into the game when Sgt. Malinowski came out of his cadre room to yell down the hallway, “I want to see all squad leaders!” Two were in the game, and when they left the game ended from its subsequent inertia. “Wonder what that’s about?” Hal asked when they were at their bunks, which were adjacent in the long line of beds down the narrow room. The five women in the outfit had their bunks together at room’s end, near their own latrine. “You worried about it?” “Yeah, Arch, I am. You got a problem with that?” “Listen to the sore loser.” When Hal flopped down on his bunk and turned away without responding, Archie felt bad for making the remark. Hal usually was the big loser in their poker games, a subject about which he was sensitive. “I think it’s probably something routine,” Archie said. “Touching bases on whatever it is we do tomorrow.” “Right.” “You worried about something?”

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“Of course I’m worried. If you say you aren’t, I don’t believe you.” So that was it. Iraq. Hal worried about the company being activated. Archie, on the other hand, while not volunteering to go, would do whatever his country asked of him without a complaint. This was his duty as an American. “I don’t think we’ll be activated. Not unless it gets much worse over there.” “It’s bad enough.” Archie crawled into bed and picked up a paperback he was reading, a detective story that had failed to grab him but which succeeded in putting him in the mood for sleep. After a moment, Hal said, “What time is it?” “Almost ten.” “Kelly said she’d sing Goodnight, Sweetheart at ten.” “Sweet.” “Yeah. She’s a sweetheart.” Yes, Kelly was a sweetheart, and there was a time years ago, early in his dating of Claire, when Archie wondered if the older sister, the jazz singer, might be the real catch in the family. He’d been dating Claire for almost six months, long enough to be getting serious, before he met Kelly. Claire finally had taken him to one of her gigs. He found it hard to believe they were sisters: Claire, dark, slender, quiet to the point of being shy, and not plain exactly but serious, studious, a young woman who always seemed to be deep in thought; and Kelly, two years older, a red head and a bit on the plump side but radiant and sparkling in her personality, a woman who clearly liked a good time – and for several weeks after meeting her, Archie wondered if he were dating the wrong sister. Once he realized that a flirt like Kelly would drive him crazy, he was glad to be with quiet and reliable Claire. Later he introduced Hal, his best friend, to Kelly, and to his surprise they hit it off quickly and seriously, becoming engaged even before his own

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proposal to Claire. Kelly hadn’t struck him as being the marrying kind. “Arch?” He caught himself on the edge of sleep and rolled toward the voice, which had been barely above a whisper. Archie felt his gut tighten, as if some serious shit were about to come down. “Yeah?” “May I ask you something personal?” “Shoot.” “Did you ever make it with Kelly?” Archie lifted himself up on one elbow. Hal was on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “How many goddamn times do I have to tell you no?” Hal turned to him. “I asked you this before?” “Shit, Hal. You ask it every few months. This is the first time sober.” “I don’t remember asking you before. What do you answer?” “I answer no. I never even took her out.” “I thought you took her out. You didn’t tell me you took her out?” “I told you I thought of taking her out. Right after Claire took me to one of her gigs. I stuck with Claire.” There was a silence. Hal said, “You and Claire seem really tight.” “That we are.” In the next silence, Archie had the uneasy feeling that Hal was trying to get at something else. “Is something the matter between you and Kelly?” “I think she’s seeing someone.” Hal’s voice had cracked. “That’s hard to believe.” It was a lie. Archie could imagine it very well.

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“Her drummer.” “You got evidence or what?” “Evidence,” Hal said, and Archie couldn’t tell if it was laughter or crying that punctuated the word. “Talk to me, bro.” “Shit. It’s just a feeling. Maybe I’m just …” When Hal didn’t fill in the blank, Archie said, “It’s hard, with her playing the clubs and all. She must get hit on a lot.” “Oh, yes.” “I don’t see her doing that.” “You really don’t?” “No way. I mean it.” But did he? Kelly had a wild streak in her, he’d seen that from the beginning, and a wild streak could break your heart even as it drove you to excitement. It was times like this when he was glad he was married to a math teacher.

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4 Claire At ten Kelly was not singing “Goodnight, Sweetheart” but “I’ve Got the World On a String,” after which she told the audience they were taking a break but would be back for another set in fifteen minutes. Then Kelly joined Claire and Nicole at a front table. Claire did not know about the song promise to Hal. Nor did Claire know that her sister had been sleeping with her drummer, a younger man named Eric, for several months now. As far as Claire was concerned, Kelly was as happily married as she was. No sooner had Kelly sat down then Nicole excused herself, saying she’d promised to see Ruth, her lover, before calling it a night. As soon as the sisters were alone, Claire sensed that something was wrong. Kelly stared at her, looking as if she were having trouble phrasing something that needed to be said. “What is it?” Claire asked. Kelly exhaled audibly. “The last song I did? Nothing could be farther from the truth.” She sang, “I’ve got the world on a string.” And added bitterly, “What bullshit.” “What are you saying?” Kelly shook her head, as if Claire had misunderstood the punch line.

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“You don’t have a clue, do you?” “Apparently not.” “You always manage to see the best in people.” “I hope so.” Kelly sighed and looked around, as if looking for someone. “He’s at the bar,” she said. “Who is?” Claire didn’t know who she meant. Lots of men were at the bar. “Eric.” “What about him?” “Guess.” Claire looked for a clue in her sister’s expression that revealed something other than what now became obvious. Kelly just looked at her, waiting for a response. “Kelly,” Claire finally said. Her wild, crazy sister. Even married, she couldn’t resist courting emotional danger and disaster. “How long?” “Not so long. Three months.” “Does Hal know?” “Not yet.” “So you plan to tell him?” “I’m thinking of leaving him.” “Oh, Kelly.” Claire didn’t want to hear this because she could not believe the problem in Kelly’s marriage was anything beyond her sister’s own inability to settle down. Surely Hal was a decent husband, devoted to her, faithful to her. Kelly’s problem was that she was never satisfied, no matter how much happiness was dropped into her lap. She was one of those people who always needed to try something different. Claire suddenly wanted to get away. It would be best to do so before the next set began, for which purpose she finished her drink and stood up.

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“I have an early morning,” she said as an excuse. “Don’t tell Archie.” “I hope you change your mind.” “Don’t draw conclusions, Claire. You don’t know anything about my life with Hal.” “I guess I don’t. I’ll talk to you later.” As Claire stepped away, Kelly said, “See you later, alligator.” The line was an invitation to play a word game they’d shared since they were teenagers. Claire said, “After while, crocodile.” “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “Tomorrow is another day.” “Takes one to know one.” “Every cloud has a silver lining,” said Claire. “What goes around, comes around.” “Let’s sleep on it. Goodnight, Kelly.” In the parking lot Claire looked up at a gibbous moon made hazy by high clouds. Elsewhere in the gray night sky, only a few bright stars were visible. She’d grown up east of the mountains, in high desert country, where the night sky was decorated with crowded star clusters and the luminous long ribbon of the Milky Way. She missed this frequent reminder of the vast, unexplainable beauty in the universe. Standing under such a brilliant night sky, Claire often experienced a spiritual reverence beyond anything she’d ever found indoors in church. But you did not find this feeling in a parking lot in the city. You found something considerably more claustrophobic and practical, a city-lit gray blandness of sky that at worst was spiritually depressing and at best inspired you to go elsewhere, inside, home. She unlocked her car door to do this very thing.

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5 Archie They got the news at reveille. Archie was surprised only by the urgency of their orders: training was being cut by two days so they could return home and get ready to ship out. A week from now they would be at Fort Bliss, Texas, training for their new assignment. Before the 4th of July, they would be in Iraq. After reveille, Archie stood in line at one of the pay phones outside the billets. He had wrestled with whether or not to call Claire with the news. She would still be in bed, he knew, but if he didn’t phone now, waking her, he might not get to a phone for the rest of the day. He knew this would be a difficult transition for her, and the longer she had to live with this sudden change in their lives, the better. He would be waking her about an hour before her usual rising time. If he waited to call tonight, there was no telling how late it would be. Their company commander had interpreted their orders to mean not that some training would be cut but that the rest of their training now would be accomplished in less time. When his turn at the phone came, Archie had to wait for half-a-dozen rings before Claire’s sleepy voice came on. “It’s me,” he said. “Arch?” “Sorry to wake you. I …”

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He had rehearsed his words carefully but suddenly his mind was a blank. His tone, however, was enough to alert her. “Arch, what is it?” She sounded awake for the first time. “We’ve been activated.” There was a long silence. Archie pictured her crying but gamely trying to hold back aural evidence of this, her hand over her mouth even as tears streamed down her face. “Claire?” She cleared her throat. “What does that mean exactly?” “It means next weekend we ship to Ft. Bliss, Texas for training. A month later we’ll be in Iraq.” “Iraq.” The word hovered on the line like a death sentence. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I need you to be strong now.” He waited through another long silence. He thought he could hear her sobbing. “Claire, you’re seeing mom soon, right? I don’t want you to mention anything to her. I’ll tell her myself when I get home. I’ll be home a couple days early by the way. So we can get ready to boogie.” “Get ready to boogie?” He could hear the disbelief in her voice. He might as well have said, “I can’t get over there fast enough, honey, so I can kill me some A-rabs.” Archie said, “It’s a figure of speech.” Now she wasn’t holding back the sounds of her crying. Archie pursed his lips, waiting for her to get control of herself. “Claire, please …” Behind him a long line waited for the phone. He could see the first rays of the sun streaking over the horizon. “I need you to be strong now,” he said again. Claire hiccupped.

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“Claire?” She managed to say, “I’m okay. I can be strong.” “I know you can, honey. We’re going to get through this just fine.” “You’ll be home early?” “Friday, I think.” “Okay.” “You going to be all right?” “I can be strong.” After hanging up, Archie passed Hal in line. Hal moved close enough to say something privately. “What if the drummer answers the phone?” Archie slapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t torture yourself. That’s not going to happen.” “But if it does?” “You cross that bridge when you get to it. If you get to it. If, buddy. Always think if.” Later Hal found him in the mess hall. He was grinning. “She was alone.” “See there.” Hal shook his head. “Sometimes I’m my own worst enemy.” “How’d she take it?” “She cried.” “Yeah. Claire, too.” “What a deal.” Archie decided not to say anything, not to get into it. They’d probably do that on the drive home. Hal would bitch about their ill fortune in being shipped to Iraq, and Archie would remind him that they shouldn’t be surprised, they were in the National Guard, for God’s sake, and the country was at war. Archie would remind him that they had a duty to serve their country. Archie would remind him that they were patriots now, patriots in the best sense of the word.

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6 Claire Claire spent the day in a daze. Her behavior in the classroom, in the faculty lounge, at her desk, came from habit as she wandered through the day like a vehicle set on automatic pilot. People talked to her, and she talked back but the tape recorder of her memory was turned off. With each hour, the hour that just passed was lost to her forever. She was like the alcoholic in the early stages of a drinking career, looking and behaving more or less normally to all she encountered, though in reality she was intoxicated and would remember little of what had happened. Claire was intoxicated with fear. When the day was over and the hallways filled with students and faculty alike, all moving in a quick flow toward the exits, Claire stepped out from her office to join the throng. Someone asked if she were stopping by Nobby’s, the usual after-school watering hole, but Claire didn’t hear the question and moved on, letting the crowd escort her outside. She found her car in the parking lot and wondered how long it had been there. How long had she been at school? Then she was stopped at a stoplight in traffic. At the corner, standing next to a shopping cart filled with plastic bags, was a man she had seen many times before on the drive to and from school, a disheveled and dirty man of indiscernible age, bearded, wearing filthy Army fatigues, who held up a cardboard sign announcing to the world that he was a veteran

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who was willing to work for food. Claire stared at him until he looked back, and then she glanced guiltily away. The next thing she knew, she was pulling into her driveway and a woman was rising from the porch steps to rush toward her. It was Kelly. Kelly was in her arms the moment Claire stepped out of the car. They held one another in silence. “Let’s take a walk,” Kelly said. “Here?” “No. Let’s go to Sunset.” “Would you mind driving?” Sunset Acres was a cemetery in the hills west of the city, where their parents were buried. Kelly took a back way to avoid rush hour traffic on the busier streets. Few cars were parked in the lot next to the sprawling grounds, where gravestones and pine trees marched across the rolling hills. Kelly turned off the engine. No one made a move to get out of the car. “If he’d called fifteen minutes earlier,” Kelly said, “Eric might have answered the phone. I was in the shower.” Claire was silent. She stared out the window, as if even looking at her sister took more effort, more sympathy, than she could muster. “I don’t know what the hell to do.” After another silence, Kelly added, “I’m open to suggestions.” Claire said, “I can’t picture myself as an Army wife.” “In other words, no comment.” Claire turned to her sister for the first time. “Forgive me if I can’t give your love life a high priority right now.” “I deserve that. I made the bed, now I can sleep in it. Right?” “Jesus, Kelly. Can’t you think of anyone but yourself?” Kelly turned the key, and the engine roared to life. Claire reached over and turned the engine off again.

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“We’re here. We might as well pay our respects.” Their parents were buried under two matching, modest plaques, which read: “Gary Nelson Johnson. April 3, 1947 - September 11, 2001.” “Beverly Anne Comstock Johnson. October 28, 1950 September 11, 2001.” Claire and Kelly, the surviving children, had argued about whether or not to include the date of their deaths. The date, of course, was “a day remembered in infamy” – but their parents had not played a part in the national tragedy as so many in New York had. They had been killed instantly three thousand miles away from the World Trade Center when the drunk driver of a pickup truck crossed a double-yellow line to hit their compact head-on as they drove to the beach in an effort to escape television, the news, and the horror of history. Claire didn't get the news until that evening, four hours after the accident. She was doing something she almost never did, which was to listen to music on Archie’s Walkman as she prepared dinner. She was doing this to drown out the television in the living room, where Archie sat mesmerized by the repetitive images of the day’s tragedy. Even the sound was more than Claire could stand. Archie had come home early, canceling his afternoon appointments and coming through the door with open arms, ready to embrace and comfort his wife. Of course, Claire had phoned his office as soon as she understood the seriousness of what was happening in New York but as usual had to leave a message with Archie’s secretary. When the phone rang shortly after noon, she thought it was her husband. It was her mother, telling her that they were escaping to the coast for a few days, renting their favorite cabin in Cannon Beach, which had neither a television nor a radio. Under the circumstances, her parents preferred to walk along

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the ocean’s roar at the beach than listen to the droning updates of the news, and Claire couldn’t blame them. Updates, however, were exactly what Archie had come home for. His embrace was immediate but also quick, and he rushed off to turn on the television, before which he sat for the rest of the day, hypnotized by the tragic march of history. Claire, the small radio’s earplugs her escape, her head bobbing to a Gerry Mulligan tune, turned from the cutting board to face Archie and flinched, her startled reaction jerky enough to knock an earplug out of her ear. “You scared me,” she said. “Claire …” She could tell by his expression that he had something terrible to tell her. “The police are here. There’s been a terrible accident.” So now she was in mourning twice-over, and the personal loss was more devastating than the national tragedy. What they shared was irrationality and bad fortune, neither expected, neither something you could make sense of, a truck crossing a double-yellow line, a jetliner crashing into a skyscraper, acts that no one could prepare for, no one could really understand at any level other than fate, the bad luck that could invade a life without reason, without warning, at any time. Her parents, who only wanted to escape the tragedy in New York, had become victims of it, on the road to the coast only because of what had happened that morning so far away, and in this sense they were victims of 9/11 as much as the thousands who perished in the towers. But not quite. Kelly didn’t want to put 9/11 on the plaque at the grave because it would imply to strangers who passed by that their parents had died during the attack on the World Trade Center. Claire disagreed. “They’re victims of 9/11 as much as anyone else,” she said.

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They were in the office at the mortuary, sitting across from a young bespectacled employee whose soft voice and obsequious attitude were giving Claire the creeps. The sisters leaned close as they spoke, trying to be private. Behind the lenses, the young man’s eyes smiled as if everything, after all, always turned out for the best. “Not really.” “Of course really. If it had been a normal morning in New York, they would have stayed home.” “All the same—” “And who cares what strangers think anyway? It’s the day they died. It’s perfectly appropriate.” The young man said, “I’m sure there are hundreds of people who died of all kinds of causes all across the country on 9/11.” Kelly gave in, and the date was included. Looking at it now, over two years later, she said, “I’ll never be able to look at the date and just think about them. All the rest comes up.” “It’s okay for that to happen.” “Is it? It makes it seem different somehow.” “It was different, Kelly. It was tragic and ironic and terrible, but it’s what it was, and we can’t make it any different.” They lingered a while, then started walking, taking the long way around the perimeter of the cemetery back to the parking lot. They walked on silently. At the car, Claire said, “Let’s go home.” Another silence lasted until they were waiting for the light to change at an intersection. “I’m breaking up with Eric,” Kelly said. Claire kept her gaze on the stoplight. “Actually I was close to doing that anyway. It’s just too stressful.” Claire turned to her sister. “You didn’t expect adultery to be stressful?”

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“You must really hate me.” “I can hate your decisions without making it personal.” “How’s the Woody Allen line go? Nothing personal, but I think you’re a shit.” “Kelly …” “What?” “Never mind.” “No, I want to hear.” The light changed, and Kelly drove forward. “If you’re in a bad marriage,” Claire said, “then get out of it. If not, then don’t fuck it up.” “Everything is always black or white with you.” “Or you happy or not?” Kelly laughed but there was audible pain in it. “I’m not sure what the hell I am. You know when I’m happy? When I’m singing. The rest of the time, it’s come and go.” Claire started to say something and stopped. Kelly said, “I know what you want to say. I’m playing the role of the overly sensitive artist. Blah blah blah.” There was a silence. “Claire, tell me what you really think.” Claire took her time, finding the right words. “I think you live in a romantic world of jazz and the nightlife and excitement and all that. You get bored easily. Hal probably bores you. Being married probably bores you. You mess around and feel good for a while, then something happens, in this case Hal going to Iraq, and all the chickens come home to roost and you feel guilty as hell.” Kelly didn’t respond. They were silent the rest of the drive. Kelly pulled to the curb in front of Claire’s house. “Want to come in?” Kelly laughed.

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“No, I think I’ve had enough of your insights for one day.” “You asked me to be honest. I was honest.” “I know, I know.” Claire opened the car door. “I feel like shit,” she said. “Good.” “Not about you. About them going to Iraq. About the war. About the world.” “So run for Congress.” “Screw you, Kelly.” Inside, Claire drank two glasses of white wine, giving Kelly time to get home. Then she phoned. “I don’t like us fighting.” “Me neither,” said Kelly. They hung up with a date to have lunch together soon.

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7 Archie Training changed for everyone after the orders to Iraq. Gone was any sense of game playing and adventure, war as sport, warriors as jocks who escaped the office for a few weeks to engage in physical activity and camaraderie, war as vacation. With the country at war, of course, there was always the possibility that they would be called up. Other National Guard units in other states had been called up. But most of the guardsmen in Oregon’s 41st Infantry Brigade embraced a common denial that this wasn’t going to happen to them. Archie was one of the few who couldn’t wait to get to Iraq. Part of it was a sense of duty to country and to family, an opportunity at last to follow in the footsteps of his father, even if the old man was not around to witness it. His mother would understand and would be proud of him. But a larger part of it was more selfish than this, coming not from a sense of patriotism or family but from the stifling boredom that had permeated his life in recent years. He hated his job selling insurance. His marriage, in ways he did not understand, had lost its fire and passion and had deteriorated into comfortable routine. Archie felt like his life was in a rut, one boring day after the next, and the energy he brought to training, this welcome break in the routine of his life, he now brought threefold to the opportunity to serve his country and perhaps even himself.

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More than during normal training, Archie became gungho, finding the same energy and leadership he displayed as captain of his high school football team. He constantly was yelling encouragement to his comrades, warriors in training, not least of all to Hal, whose reaction to the new seriousness of their training was to become despondent and fearful. For Archie, fear was like adrenaline, fuel for the body and something to overcome with sheer energy. As far as Archie was concerned, western civilization itself was under attack by these barbarian terrorists, and it was his charge, and the charge of everyone around him, to rise to meet the threat with decisive victory. Archie was impatient to begin. He was anxious to get home, where he could look Claire in the eye so she knew what an important time it was in their lives now, and how he needed her to be behind him, to support him because by doing this she was supporting her country. He was anxious to get to Texas and get through his specialized training. He was anxious to get to Iraq so he could take care of business.

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8 Claire Helen Bannock lived alone in a small studio apartment in an assisted living facility. After the death of her husband, it had taken Archie the better part of a year to convince his mother that moving into Sunnyside Heights was not the same thing as moving into a nursing home – that indeed he was not abandoning her by suggesting such a move. Although in good general health, Helen walked with difficulty since breaking her hip in a fall, and her husband while alive had been an important aide to her mobility. Now her companion was gone. Archie, busy in his own life, could not assist her with the full attention she was used to, which was exactly what the nurses and staff at Sunnyside were there for. The facility was an apartment complex with a mix of tenants between those wanting assistance during the day and night and those who lived independently. Consider this a safeguard, mother, Archie argued, and finally after many months he convinced her to move. Archie visited his mother almost daily. Now, with her husband in the field for military training, Claire did her best to keep in touch with her mother-in-law, phoning her not quite daily and trying to visit her once a week. They were not particularly close but got along politely enough. Claire had agreed to visit Helen for lunch on Saturday before getting the terrible news about Archie’s unit being

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activated. Moving in her daze through the days afterward, she almost forgot the date until seeing it circled in red ink on the calendar in the kitchen late in the morning. If she rushed, she would barely make it. Claire was late after all. Helen met her at the door with a smirk of reprimand, a look intensified by the upward tilt of her chin that was necessary to meet Claire eye-to-eye. In her youth, Helen liked to brag that the song “five foot two, eyes are blue” had been written just for her. But there was nothing demure about Helen’s manner. Her gaze could cut right through you. “I was expecting you earlier,” Helen said with a sly smile. Her blue-tinted white hair clung to her head like a battle helmet. Once Claire had remarked to Archie that his mother’s hair looked like it should have Christmas ornaments hanging from it, a remark in which her husband found no humor at all. Claire said, “I’m sorry. It’s been one of those days.” Helen moved back so Claire could enter the room. The daughter-in-law saw that a card table had been set for lunch. “I am hungry, though,” Claire said, hoping to counter what she thought was a bad start to the visit. “I almost ate without you.” Helen had made tuna salad and sweet potato soup, both as good as Claire remembered them. They spoke little through lunch, Claire not knowing what to say, especially when she couldn’t speak of what occupied her thoughts, and Helen using silence to advantage, or so Claire believed, taking her own sweet time to forgive her for being late. Helen declined Claire’s offer to clean up. While the older woman cleared the table, Claire moved to the small living room and sat at one end of a love seat. In front of her, on the wall, were several framed arrangements of military medals, the artifacts of a long military career by Archie’s father. “You’ve seen George’s medals before, haven’t you?” Helen said, coming into the room. “Yes, of course.”

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“He'd put on his uniform every Veterans Day. I never had to take the pants in. He was so proud of staying trim.” “What was it like?” The question had come of its own volition, and once she heard it, Claire wished she could suck it back. She really didn’t want to broach this subject, as much as her mind was consumed by it. “Dear?” “When he was at war.” “It was hard, of course. But you kept yourself busy. And you knew he was doing what had to be done. Vietnam was the worst. Not for what happened over there but what happened here at home. I cried through the entire war for what those college kids were doing to the morale of our troops. I’ve never forgiven them.” Claire looked to the window, which provided a view of a back patio. A young couple was having lunch out there. For Archie, a major attraction of Sunnyside Heights was that young and old lived together in the same complex. Helen said, “I worry about Archie having to go to Iraq.” Claire wondered if she had heard right. “But if he has to, he has to.” Helen smiled, a melancholic smile that seemed to accept whatever the future might bring. Claire thought of telling her the news then and would have, had Archie not instructed her to save the moment for himself. “It was a lovely lunch,” Claire said to change the subject. “You haven’t told me what you hear from Archie.” “I don’t hear from him often. It’s so busy with training and all.” “Will he be home soon?” “Yes. Next week.” But only for a few days, she wanted to add. Long enough to pack up and leave again, this time for Ft. Bliss, Texas, for more training before shipping out to Iraq, to war.

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Claire rose to her feet. “I wish I could stay longer,” she lied. “I’m glad you could find time to have lunch.” Was this, too, a reprimand? Claire couldn’t decide. She hugged Helen and let the old woman walk her to the door. On Monday morning Claire entered the faculty lounge to find Nicole grinning at her. Claire was about to ask what was so funny when Nicole stepped forward, holding out a file folder. “I found something you’ll be very interested in,” Nicole said. “Oh?” “Get your coffee.” Nicole waited at a small table at the far end of the lounge, which was as much privacy as the room afforded. When Claire joined her, she slid forward the open file in front of her. Claire looked down at a stack of bewildering forms. “Archie is an only child, isn’t he?” Nicole asked. “And his mother is sick.” “She’s not sick.” “She lives in assisted living.” “But she’s not sick.” “The point is, she can’t function on her own.” They were government documents, Claire began to understand. Nicole said, “Archie qualifies to petition for an exemption so he can stay to take care of his mother. This isn’t an emergency situation. He doesn’t have to go.” Claire stared down at the forms as if they contained invaluable secrets and opportunities. She was overwhelmed, not knowing where or how to begin. “I think you two have a real good shot at this,” Nicole said. “Show them to Archie. All he has to do is fill them out. There’s an instruction booklet in there somewhere.” Claire looked up at Nicole.

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“Thank you so much.” “Honey, anything it takes to keep somebody from going over there. I’d do it for a stranger.” It was as if a gray fog had lifted in her mind. Claire found something to hope for, and the school day was over before she knew it. At home, sipping a glass of white wine, she went through the forms more carefully and flipped through the instruction booklet. Yes, with his mother living in a certified assisted-living facility, Archie qualified for an exemption from any assignment that would be life-threatening, as surely being dropped into the middle of Iraq must be. Claire resisted the temptation to phone Archie, as improbable as finding him available to answer would be. But now more than ever she looked forward to his return, not in order to cling to him in desperation before a more difficult departure but because he might be home for good, as after all the training in weeks prior, because as near as she could understand the forms and the instructions, Archie was perfectly situated in his relationship with his mother to qualify for the special exemption. Claire couldn’t wait to share the good news with him. On her way to school the next morning she stopped at the small florist section of a market and bought Nicole a bouquet of flowers, mixed and bright and fragrant, and she signed the accompanying card with the inscription, “You don’t know how much grief you’ve saved me.”

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9 Archie Archie’s battalion was turned loose two days early, on Friday instead of Sunday. It was a long day’s drive from eastern Oregon back to Eugene whether one took the direct route on two-lane state highways across the middle of the state or the faster if longer north-west-south arc of Interstates. Archie and Hal had made the trip to the armory in Ontario using the direct scenic route, Archie driving his pickup truck so Kelly could use the lone family car to get back and forth between her musical gigs. This wasn’t a problem for Claire, who drove the same Toyota compact she owned when Archie had proposed to her after a Valentine’s Day date, a night on the town, dining and dancing. Archie had offered to buy her a new car many times after their marriage but Claire saw no reason to part with transportation that was as reliable as the day she’d bought it. With a gleam in her eye, she would throw back at Archie one of his favorite sayings, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” They decided to return on the Interstates, almost an eighthour drive but divided highway the entire way, the first long leg on I-84 from Ontario up to the Columbia Gorge, then west along the river to I-205 south, which avoided Portland, finally picking up I-5 south of the city to continue to Eugene. Archie did all the driving.

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They’d been on the road for an hour. Country music played on the radio. Neither listened to country music at home but there was something about driving a truck across the wide open spaces that demanded it. Archie said, “You've been quiet. You okay?” “Well as can be expected.” “You knew this was possible. Probable even.” “Theoretically possible. Never probable. I certainly didn’t expect it to happen.” “Think of it as an opportunity.” “Really? And what opportunity is that?” Archie said, “To serve your country, asshole.” Hal smiled and shook his head. “I'm serious.” “I know you are,” said Hal. “You're as patriotic as I am.” “But more of a coward.” “We're going to be fine, buddy. Trust me.” They dropped the subject. When they talked at all, which was seldom, it was small talk about the weather, about two young women who passed them in a sports car, about how bad the coffee was at a rest stop. They reached Eugene before the late spring sun had set. Archie drove Hal home, pulling into his driveway. No sooner had Hal opened the door than Kelly came running out of the house. They met at the truck’s front bumper, and Kelly leaped into her husband’s arms. Archie saw that she was crying. Archie put the truck in reverse. Hal, looking uncomfortable in the embrace of a bawling wife, nodded at Archie, then went back to comforting Kelly. On the drive home, Archie wondered about his own homecoming. He couldn’t imagine Claire being as demonstrative as her sister, and yet it must feel nice to have a wife so happy to see you that she races into your arms, practically knocking you over, clinging to you as if never again

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to let you out of her sight. Or was Kelly just trying to cover-up what she was getting on the side? Archie was waiting at a stoplight when he saw the man on the corner, who was holding up a sign that read “Homeless vet will work for food.” The man looked old, maybe fifty, and he had become something of a fixture in recent months, often found at busy street corners with his sign. He didn’t look particularly underfed. He was filthy, in jeans with holes in the knees and a torn, stained fatigue jacket. On second thought, it was hard to say how old the guy was. He could be thirty as easily as fifty. What he probably wanted was a handout for booze. Archie couldn’t help but think, Get a real job, asshole. Finally Archie was home. He sat in the pickup in the driveway, as if waiting for Claire to come out to greet him. When she didn’t, he got out and climbed the steps to the porch. He stood there a moment, waiting for the door to open. He took out his house key and let himself in. It was after seven. Archie stood inside the front door, listening. Finally he called, “Claire? Honey?” He wandered into the kitchen. Claire’s morning cereal bowl and coffee cup were in the sink, unwashed. Apparently she hadn’t come home from school yet. Welcome home. He opened the refrigerator. At least there was beer in the house. He twisted off the cap and dropped it onto the kitchen counter. He took a long swig. Welcome home.

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10 Claire Claire wasn’t expecting Archie home until Sunday or Monday. On Friday, still in good spirits from the possibility that her husband could be excused from going to Iraq, she accepted Nicole’s invitation to join the usual end-of-the-week gathering at Nobby’s Bar & Grill. A dozen teachers sat around three tables that were pushed together, and Claire found herself sitting next to Duncan, the new English teacher. They had met at the beginning of the year and exchanged greetings in the hallway but never had had a real conversation. Duncan, who was drinking red wine instead of the usual beer, seemed determined to make up for lost time. He told Claire how much he liked Eugene and liked the school. He had no idea hippies were still alive and well until he’d moved to Eugene. Yes, he was married but his wife had not come with him from North Dakota, she was filing for divorce, having found a corporate businessman who seemed to offer her more than Duncan had. He said this with a clear attempt at humorous irony, and Claire couldn’t tell how much he actually missed his wife. There were no children, fortunately. After a while he stopped talking and smiled at her. It took Claire a moment to realize he was waiting for her to speak, her turn to give a life story perhaps. Duncan’s gaze was unrelenting, and Claire wondered if she were blushing. There

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was something flirtatious and sexual in his attention that made her nervous. When she tried to speak, her voice caught and she coughed instead. She sipped beer to clear her throat. He was still looking at her. “I’m just a math teacher,” she said. “I didn’t take many math classes, needless to say, but none of the few I remember had majors who looked like you.” Now she was sure she was blushing. “I’ve been in Eugene since getting my first teaching job here,” she said. “My husband and I started going out in college.” “I like hearing stories like that.” “He may be going to Iraq.” It had just come out with no more effort than a cough. She regretted saying it. “Actually I heard from the grape vine that he’s in the National Guard. I’m sorry. It’s such a mess over there.” This is not what she wanted to hear. She looked away. “I’m sorry,” Duncan said again. “I get so angry that we’re doing Vietnam all over again. Sometimes I don’t know when to shut up.” Vietnam? Why was Iraq like Vietnam? “Excuse me.” Claire stood up and hurried to the rest room. She was staring at herself in the mirror when Nicole came in. “Are you all right?” “Duncan said Iraq is like Vietnam. I don’t know why it upset me.” Nicole didn’t respond. “Well, once Arch puts in the petition…” Claire didn’t complete the thought. “My prayers are with you,” said Nicole. “I think I’m going home.”

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“Don’t mind Duncan. He’s got a good heart but isn’t always very diplomatic.” “Do you think Iraq is like Vietnam?” “Claire, I hate this war. But given your situation, I don’t want to talk politics with you.” “That’s why you told me about the petition? Because you hate the war?” “Honey, I would help anybody avoid going over there. Let’s go back in there and change the subject. I’ll buy you a White Russian. I’m tired of beer.” “No, I’m going home.” Claire didn’t even stop by the table to say goodbye to the others. At the door, she turned one last time and found Duncan staring at her. He waved. She offered the slightest hand gesture of acknowledgment and got the hell out of there.

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11 Archie For a moment, he thought he was having an erotic dream. Archie had fallen asleep on the sofa in front of television. Now he was being kissed and fondled awake by a strange woman who led his hand to her breast, whose breathing was heavy in his ear, whose desire for him was almost nymphomaniacal, who clearly was demanding that he make love to her, and by the time he realized the woman was Claire, his own wife, and not some nebulous erotic female in a dream, more principle than flesh, they were clumsily (even after all these years) undressing one another in a hurried assault to get naked. Afterwards, embraced on the sofa, Claire lying on top of him, Archie said softly, “Welcome home.” “Welcome home yourself.” Later, over wine at the coffee bar in the kitchen, he asked her where she’d been. “I stopped by for a few drinks with Nicole and the others.” “Nicole.” His tone did not hide his amusement. He considered Nicole a poster child for lesbianism and radical feminism, a stance that was so extreme it was comic if not pathetic. He never had understood what Claire saw in her. Claire said, “We owe Nicole a lot. You won’t believe what she’s done for us.”

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She was right. Archie couldn’t believe what Claire was telling him, nor could he believe her enthusiasm in the telling. She had gathered and spread the contents of a file folder across the olive green tile of the coffee bar counter, sliding documents his way as she explained the opportunity he had to petition to get waived from being sent to Iraq. When at last she was exhausted and done, she embraced him and kissed him on the cheek and pulled back to wait for him to speak. She looked like a child waiting to be given a birthday present. “How long have you been thinking about this?” Archie asked. “Only a few days. Why?” “I'm in a state of shock.” “I was, too. I had no idea we could get out of it.” “I’m not getting out of it, Claire.” She looked at him as if she hadn’t heard right. “I can’t do this,” he continued. “No way. My dad would roll over in his grave. My mom would disown me. I can’t believe you’d even consider such a thing.” “I was doing this for us.” “For yourself maybe. Not for us. Not for me. I’m a patriot, Claire. I’m proud to be called to serve my country. It’s my duty to go.” “Duty to whom?” “To my country. You shouldn’t have to ask.” “What about your duty to me?” “You didn’t marry a coward.” “And I didn’t marry a soldier!” Claire stormed off and Archie let her go. He stayed at the coffee bar and didn’t get up until the bottle of wine was gone. He found her in the bedroom, spread diagonally across the bedspread in a fetal position. He cleared his throat but she didn’t stir. Archie fetched a blanket and gently spread it over her.

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He returned to the kitchen and sat back down at the coffee bar, this time drinking beer. When the beer was gone, he felt high but not high enough to get rid of the sick feeling in his heart, the terrible realization that his own wife might not support him at a time when, in his own mind, he was about to venture forth on the most important charge of his life, defending his country. His father would have been proud of him. His mother will be proud of him. But his wife … suddenly she seemed like a stranger to him. When he returned to the bedroom, Claire had gotten under the sheets and was asleep again. He stared at her for a long time before turning and going back down the hallway. He ended up sleeping under a blanket on the sofa in the living room, and this time no erotic surprise appeared to arouse him.

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12 Claire She woke up in an empty bed. As her mind moved from the gray terrain of a forgotten dream into the twilight of consciousness, she remembered everything that had happened and was overwhelmed by sadness and anger at herself. Did she really believe that Arch, the only son of a military career man, would petition to avoid duty he likely felt honored to embrace? Her suggestion had been an insult, and she wondered if she had hurt him enough that he’d spent the night in a motel. Apparently not. The cushions on the sofa were still depressed from his weight, and a blanket had fallen to the floor. He had slept here, she understood, but was gone now. Probably to have coffee and breakfast alone, gathering his thoughts, wondering what to do with this strange wife of his, who seemed to be asking him to become a coward and shirk his patriotic duty. Or perhaps, she decided later, sitting at the breakfast bar over coffee after a long shower that had not succeeded in turning off her mind after all – perhaps he had gone to his best friend and her own brother-in-law, Hal, as he sometimes did after they’d had an argument, kidnapping Hal to go to a tavern together, losing his anger in beer and pool and whatever else it was men did together when they were pissed at their wives. She poured another cup of coffee and phoned Kelly.

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“Hello?” “Hi, it’s me. Is Arch there?” “No. Is he on his way?” Claire bit her lip. “Claire?” “I thought he might have hijacked Hal to go out for a beer or something.” “In the morning? Is something wrong?” “We had a fight. It’s all my fault.” Claire explained to her sister how Nicole at school had given her the forms with which a soldier could apply for emergency hardship and be spared duty in dangerous assignments. When she was done, Kelly said, “Oh, Claire…” “I know.” “Did he spend the night?” “On the couch. He was gone this morning.” “I bet he’s having breakfast somewhere.” Claire didn’t respond. “If he shows up, I’ll call you right away.” “Thanks, Kelly.” “Claire…” “Yes?” “This is not a good time to talk. Can we have lunch?” “I’d better be here when he comes back.” She almost had said if he comes back. “Well, soon. This is hard for everyone. We need to stick together.” “This isn’t your problem—” “Claire, we’re in this together. I don’t like them going over there any more than you do. But it’s what they signed up for. Somebody has to do it.” Do they? Claire wondered. Over a year ago, President Bush had stood on the deck of a warship and announced that the serious fighting was over. Perhaps this had been true for a

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time but now the fighting was more fierce than ever as the insurgents rallied and grew in number to fight the American soldiers. National Guard troops continued to be activated and sent over there. “Claire?” “I’ll let you go.” “It’s going to be okay. He’ll understand that you did what you did because you love him.” Will he? Claire wasn’t so sure. “I’ll call you this evening,” said Kelly. An hour after hanging up, Claire was still at the coffee bar, sipping coffee, listless, drained and angry at herself for ever believing Arch would shirk his military responsibility. How could she have been so stupid?

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13 Archie Helen was surprised to see her son when she opened the door. It was seven-thirty in the morning and the last she heard, Archie was doing National Guard training outside of Baker City. “Am I too late for breakfast?” Archie asked. “In five minutes you would have been.” There was a wheel chair in his mother's small apartment, set against a window with a view of one of the flower gardens behind the building, suggesting a favorite sitting spot. Archie knew Helen sometimes used a wheel chair to save time (otherwise walking slowly with a cane or walker) but he had not seen it fixed so permanently in the room before. He asked if she wanted to take it to the dining room. “Are you in a hurry?” Helen asked. “I'm in no hurry at all.” So they took their time, Helen choosing the metal walker over the wooden cane, which she thrust forward step by step in their slow journey down the long hallway. As they entered the dining room, she said, “Would you order for me? Two scrambled eggs, one bacon, and one hashbrown patty. And coffee, of course.” The dining room was about half full, most of the residents already having eaten and departed back to their rooms. Archie smiled at a few faces he recognized and accepted greetings

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from seniors he did not recognize and did not remember meeting, if indeed he ever had. He brought their two trays to the corner table Helen had chosen. “Is that all you're eating?” she asked when she saw his bowl of cold cereal. “I'm not hungry.” “Are you upset?” The question caught him off-guard. Bannocks usually were not this direct. He had noticed, however, that his mother was much more ready to speak her mind since his father had died. “Claire and I had a fight.” “When did you get back?” “Yesterday. She immediately got on me about filing for special hardship.” He saw the puzzled look on Helen's face. Of course, she didn't know what he was talking about. “My unit got activated. We're shipping out to Iraq.” Helen studied her son a moment, then dropped her glance to her food. They ate silently. When his cereal bowl was empty, Archie said, “You understand why I have to go, don't you, mom?” “Of course I do.” “I can't believe she'd think I could do something like that.” “This is all new to her.” “She knew the risk. She should have.” “She's used to you going away for a few weeks a year. It must not seem like being in the military at all.” “Maybe you could talk to her.” Helen had to smile. She'd expected to lose a son after he married but, in fact, she still was the woman who among all others was closest to him. She was still the one to whom he brought his troubles.

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“Send her by,” Helen said. “I'll sit her down and tell her a few things.” “Thanks, mom.” “Have you talked to her this morning?” “I slept on the couch and was gone before she was up. I drove around for a while, then came here.” “I think you need to go home. She must be worried stiff.” “I don't want to fight with her. Not now.” “She did something from impulse because she loves you. She probably has had second thoughts already.” “You think so?” “She may think the worst. You're out somewhere drowning your sorrows.” “The thought crossed my mind.” “You made the right choice coming here. Now help me get back and then go home and talk to your wife. Tell her to stop by at her earliest convenience. I'll tell her a few things about being a military wife.” But he didn't head straight home. He stopped at a tavern after all. He ordered a red beer, a blend of beer and tomato juice that the bartender mixed by hand behind the bar. When it was half gone, he took his glass to the pay phone. For a moment, he thought no one was home. Then Claire answered. “Are you all right?” he asked. “Oh, Arch, I'm sorry. I was so stupid.” He took a breath of relief. If she knew she'd been wrong, he easily could forgive her. “It's okay, Claire.” “Where are you?” He hesitated a moment. “Getting gas. I had breakfast with mom. She wants you to stop by.” “Tell me a few things about being a military wife, right?” “She's just trying to help.”

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“God, I'm sorry. I know. Are you coming right home?” “I'll be there soon. I have some errands to run.” He didn't. He had a second red beer, taking his time, enjoying the feeling that he was right and she was wrong and wanting it to last as long as possible. After he returned home, no telling what might happen.

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14 Claire In the five-year journey of their marriage, sex had become the oil for the squeaky wheel. When Archie came home, Claire was waiting for him at the coffee bar. She stood up immediately and took a tentative step toward her husband. When he reciprocated, taking a step toward her, she rushed into his waiting arms. No words were exchanged, no apologies offered or discussions begun. They embraced and kissed and quickly were making their way to the bedroom, groping and fondling one another. After making love, Claire rested her head on Archie’s shoulder. This was her position when she fell asleep. She experienced a moment of panic when she awoke later in an empty bed. Then she heard the roar of the lawnmower outside. She went to the bedroom window and looked out at Archie mowing the lawn. In a moment, turning the mower to come past the window, he saw her, standing nude in the window. Seeing his grin, Claire did a little exotic dance for him, then bounded into the bathroom to take a shower. She felt that all was right with the world once again. Her euphoria was short-lived. Scrubbed and dressed, her hair still wrapped in a towel, she was in the kitchen making iced tea for Archie when the reality of the situation reared up to face her once again, bringing an ache of fear to her gut. Her

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husband was going to war. Every day, it seemed, soldiers were getting killed over there. When the tea was in the refrigerator to cool, she phoned Kelly and told her Archie was back. Her sister asked all the usual questions – had she apologized, had he forgiven her, had they discussed the situation – all to which Claire gave curt affirmation, having no energy to explain the erotic focus of their reconnection. “I think we need to get together for dinner or something,” Kelly said after being satisfied that Claire’s disposition was better. “You guys want to come over?” “Why don’t we do it here? We have a new gas barbecue. We’ve hardly used it.” A few days later, Claire and Kelly were in the kitchen, making potato salad together. The guys were supposed to be barbecuing the chicken out back but from the window the sisters saw that mostly they were shooting a basketball at the hoop over the garage door. In the new gas grill, the chicken needed almost no attention. Claire, try as she might, could not get into a party mood. She marveled that her sister could carry on as if this were just another summer barbecue, one of many they might share, and not the last time, or at least one of the last times, the four of them would be together before the men, their husbands, got shipped to Iraq. But she had learned something from the ordeal of her mistake in bringing to Archie an offer that had insulted him: she knew better than to speak her mind. So she sipped more wine than usual and let Kelly do most of the talking and tried not to think of anything beyond the practical moment, now we cut the potatoes, now we add the mayonnaise – she tried to get through the evening, as through the day, on as much of an unthinking automatic pilot as she could muster.

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Then everything changed in an instant, as quickly as a pinprick bursts a balloon and changes a free-floating sphere into a formless mass of falling rubber. “Did you ask her?” Hal asked his wife. They were seated around the picnic table on the back patio. Until this moment, their conversation had been filled with small talk, reminiscences and playful kidding. Claire said, “Ask me what?” “I forgot,” said Kelly. Hal stared at her, as if the prod, Well…? “I was thinking of having a going-away party at the Elks. I could reserve the banquet room.” “Sounds good to me,” said Archie. “Claire?” And she burst into tears.

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15 Archie Later Archie told Kelly and Hal, “I think she’s going to be okay.” Claire immediately had fled into the house on the energy of her emotional outburst, racing to the bedroom and flinging herself face down on the bed. Archie was right behind her. He sat on the edge of the bed, put his hand on her back and gently pressed her against the mattress as if trying to control the pulsations of her sobbing. Slowly she got control of herself. “Claire, what's the problem?” Claire didn't respond. “Is there anything I can do?” She did not reply. “Claire, I think you should freshen up and come back and join us.” When Archie came back outside, Kelly was clearing the picnic table. Hal stood and waited for Archie to speak first. “I think she’s going to be okay.” “Hal and his big mouth,” Kelly said, stacking the plates on the picnic table. “You said you were going to tell her about the going-away party.” “When the time was right. She's still walking on egg shells.” Archie said, “Is that what this is about?”

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Kelly shot him a look that read, You don't know? He felt compelled to clarify what he meant. “I mean, I thought we were past that. I thought she accepted that I was going.” Kelly exhaled audibly, as if in reprimand, and carried the dishes into the house. “Jesus,” said Archie, swinging one leg over the bench to sit down. Hal sat back down and said, “I guess she's pretty upset. You can't blame her.” “I damn well can blame her. She should realize this is something we have to do.” He stared at Hal before correcting himself. “I have to do. I feel like I was born for this moment.” “Archie, come on. This isn't a John Wayne movie.” “Fuck you, too.” Kelly was rinsing the dishes under the faucet when Archie entered the kitchen. He went to the refrigerator and fetched a beer. “Your husband is on Claire's side,” he said. “What about you?” “I understand you have to go over there, if that's what you mean.” “How come Hal doesn't?” “I think he does, deep down. He's just scared. I'm scared, too.” Archie let out a long breath. He took a swig from the bottle. “I think the party is a great idea,” he said. “I hope you do it.” “I plan to.” “Make it big, invite everyone. We deserve a goddamn sendoff.” “I totally agree.” “They called Americans who went through Pearl Harbor the Great Generation. The way everyone rallied against

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adversity and all pulled together and beat the shit out of Hitler and the Japs. What the hell was nine-eleven if not another Pearl Harbor? So where the hell is our great generation when we need it?” “I think it's because it's harder to find the enemy.” “That's what they count on, you know. Just like Vietnam. They're like mosquitoes, a nip here, a nip there, depending on the fact that eventually you get tired of swatting at them and go the hell home. Then they've won.” There was a silence. Hal appeared. “Did the party move inside?” “Party's over, buddy,” Archie said. “Archie thinks the going-away party is a good idea.” “But where will we find a military band?” Archie asked. When he discovered that Hal and Kelly were staring at him, as if waiting for more, he said, “Just kidding. Sort of.” “I'll call later with the details,” said Kelly. She left the rinsed dishes in the sink and stepped toward the doorway where Hal was still standing. “Claire will come around,” said Archie, not sounding like he believed it. Hal said, “Sure she will.” “You need to come around, too, buddy.” “Don't worry about me.” “I try not to.” “I don't like it but I'm going.” “Learn to like it because it's the right thing to do.” Archie looked at Kelly for support. All she gave him was a smile. “Tell Claire to call me,” she said. And they were gone. Archie returned to the bedroom to check on Claire. She was asleep. He arranged a blanket over her and closed the door behind him. In the living room he plopped down in front of the television set.

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16 Claire Once again Claire awoke in an empty bed. She felt a moment of panic, thinking Archie had shipped out without saying goodbye – or had she been dreaming this? She put on her robe and headed for the kitchen to put on coffee. It was a school day. Archie was sitting at the coffee bar. A full pot of coffee was on the counter. Seeing her, Archie started pouring her a cup. “I made hot cereal,” he said. “Do you want a poached egg?” A poached egg over oatmeal was her habitual breakfast during the week. “That would be great,” she said. Claire sat down with her coffee while Archie poached her egg in a pan of simmering water. She felt vaguely guilty about how nicely he was treating her after the earlier behavior. He delivered breakfast to her and joined her at the coffee bar. She smiled, thanking him. Why was he staring at her? “I’m running a little late,” she finally said, though this wasn’t true. Archie nodded and picked up the paper. She ate quickly, then took the empty bowl to the sink and filled it with water. As she started out of the kitchen, Archie said, “Don’t I get a kiss?” “Of course you do.”

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In his kiss she read that he wanted more than this. He’d forgiven her. Again she started away and again he stopped her. “I need to clear up some things at the office this afternoon. You’ll probably get home before I do. If I’m going to be later than seven, I’ll call you.” “Okay.” “It’s going to be all right, Claire. I really need you to believe that. I really need your moral support.” “You have it,” she said and rushed off before her expression revealed whatever doubt was still lingering in her heart. There was a flier in her mailbox at school. A headline at the top read: “The International Club is hosting a Get Out Of Iraq Rally.” For some reason, reading this took her breath away. “Are you all right?” It was Duncan, whose mailbox was next to hers. “I’m fine,” she said. She crumpled up the flier and dropped it into the large trash bin. Duncan found her again in the faculty lounge. Claire was sitting alone, trying to get her composure, her concentration, before class. The flier had upset her more than she understood. Duncan held out a folded slip of paper. “What’s this?” “My phone number.” “Why do I want your phone number?” “If something comes up you can’t handle, plumbing or something, give me a call. Mowing the lawn, anything.” He still held out the slip of paper, but Claire didn’t reach for it. “This isn’t a come on,” he said. “If you want to ignore me, just take it and deep six it while I’m not looking.” She took the paper. “That’s very kind. Thank you.”

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“I hate to learn about anyone having to go over there. Well, we won’t get into that. I’m sure you have a different opinion about it. Anyway, just wanted to be of help if I can. Have a good class.” Claire watched him leave the lounge. When he was gone, she got up and walked to her office, a cubicle really, and got the text she’d need for her first class, Geometry. After school Claire was walking to the faculty parking lot when she saw the rally gathered in front of the library. She was shocked to see how large it was, perhaps two hundred students and dozens of faculty members, all gathered in front of a student who spoke through a bullhorn from the library steps. Claire took a detour to avoid passing them more closely. Soon Duncan raced up beside her. “Saw you coming,” he said. “I mean, leaving. Changing your route.” What did he want from her? She continued walking. “I know how hard this must be for you,” he said. “Did you want something?” “Fair question. I guess I’m here because I don’t want you to take this personally. Just because I’m against the war doesn’t mean I don’t understand how terrible you must feel. We want the troops home as much as you do.” “I still don’t understand what you want from me.” “Nothing. Your friendship. I meant it about helping you out if anything comes up.” “I have your phone number.” “Right. Well, I guess I’m making a fool of myself or something.” “Close.” “Right.” Suddenly he was trotting off, back toward the rally. She felt the sudden, surprising urge to call him back, to assure him

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that they could be friends. But she let him run on, watching him disappear into the crowd in front of the library.

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17 Archie Archie couldn't read his boss, Charlie McAlister. On the one hand, back-slapping Charlie was his usual effervescent self, going on and on about what an incredible contribution to the country Archie was making, and all the troops going over there with him, it was a sacrifice far beyond the call to duty, and Archie could be sure his job would be waiting for him when he got back, which was the law, of course, but it was also the goddamn right thing to do, yes, the goddamn right thing to do, what the hell kind of company would it be to take jobs away from our patriots while they were overseas defending all the rest of us? I'm proud of you, Charlie kept repeating, I'm damn proud of you, son. But Archie sensed that there was more here than met the eye, there was something about Charlie's overkill that suggested compensation and cover-up for an opposite emotion, as if filling Archie's vacancy, even if only temporarily, was going to be one large pain in the butt. Archie, for as much as he disliked his job, was consistently one of the top two or three salesmen on a staff of over a dozen. With Archie gone, the office sales figures would drop immediately, which would reflect on the office manager, Charlie McAlister. Archie figured that Charlie was more worried about his own standing with the company than with anything else.

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Archie, in fact, had been giving considerable thought to making the escape from his insurance job permanent. He was thinking about making a career of the military. More and more, he considered it a mistake not to have enlisted in the regular Army right after graduation from college, rather than compromising with the National Guard. He now realized he had done this because he knew in his gut that Claire did not want to be an Army wife. She still didn't want to be an Army wife, which was partly what her scheme to get him excused from duty in Iraq was about. He worried that she wasn’t prepared to make the sacrifices expected of a military wife. He had seen this especially clearly on the night of the going-away party at the Elks Club. Kelly, in charge of everything, had reserved the banquet room. What surprised Archie was how many people had crowded into it, and he wasn’t sure if they had come because they were invited or because they’d heard Kelly singing and wandered in out of curiosity. At any rate, several hundred people had crowded into the room, helping themselves to the food spread out on the long line of tables pushed together, ordering drinks at either of the two bars on opposite ends of the room, mingling comfortably. Only his mother was absent, saying the party was past her bedtime, but Archie knew his going was hard for her despite her many years as an Army wife – perhaps as a result of such experience. She’d been through this many times before but it never got easier. Archie began the evening sticking close to Claire because he was worried about her, about what she might do if she drank too much, which she was known to do when she was upset. He knew she was upset. They hadn’t fought, in fact they had barely talked in recent days, but there was palpable tension between them, unspoken differences they avoided in order to keep the peace. Liquor might loosen his wife’s tongue, embarrassing them both.

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In time, as the crowd grew and the noise level rose after Kelly stopped singing, Archie found himself shaking a lot of hands as one Elk after another cornered him to wish him well and praise his patriotism, and Claire slipped away from him. He still kept an eye on her, watching her stay close to Kelly as if she, too, knew the limits of her tolerance for alcohol. Still she returned to the bar more frequently than Archie would have preferred. Hal, too, was drinking too much. Archie knew his friend was not happy about going to Iraq, which was understandable, but what was not understandable was Hal’s inability to suck it in and accept his responsibility like a man. Hal looked on the verge of tears, wandering through the room with a drink in his hand, frowning as if someone had died. Elk members cornered Hal, too, to offer congratulations and good wishes, and Hal sometimes looked as if his response would be to smack the well-wisher in the nose. After Claire wandered off, Archie found himself sticking close to Hal, ever the protective guardian. The night got old quick. Too many people were drinking too much, and Archie was ready to get the hell out of there. He looked around for Claire. He found her at the bar across the room, and as he made his way for her, Kelly stepped up on the small portable stage and turned on the microphone. “May I have your attention, please?” she said. Many, but not all, of the guests gave her their attention. Kelly went on. “We have two guests of honor tonight. It seems appropriate to call them that. We honor them, we send them off with our love and prayers, and we look forward to their safe return. Hal, Archie, do you want to come forward and say a few words?” Everyone broke into applause. Archie got Hal’s eye and gestured toward the stage. A path opened up in the crowd to give them room to come forward.

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When they reached the stage, Kelly embraced Hal. Archie looked out over the crowd for Claire. She was still at the bar. Kelly pushed Hal to the microphone. For a moment, Hal stood silently, as if struck dumb by the crowd waiting for him to begin. “Suck it in, buddy,” Archie said. Hal turned away and coughed, then faced the crowd again. “I just want to say how much I appreciate you all being here tonight. This is not the thing I expected to be doing for the rest of the year, and into next year, but when your country calls, you go. And since I'm going, it's really great to be going with my best friend – even if he is my brother-in-law.” This brought forth laughter and applause. Hal stood aside to make room for Archie at the microphone. Archie, too, stood silently for a moment, knowing he had them in the palm of his hand. He felt a rush of adrenalin, feeling such power. Finally he began. “This is never an easy time. I grew up in a military family, as some of you know, and have vivid memories of Dad being shipped overseas. He was in three wars. Three. I think I should count myself lucky being called up for only one. But it doesn't make it any easier to leave your loved ones behind. The thing is, what is so important is that we know you are here waiting for us, supporting us, because this is what will keep us going, knowing we have our wives and families and friends, all of you good and patriotic Americans, waiting right here on the home front for us, waiting to give us your hugs, your thanks—” “Parades!” someone yelled. “Sure, a parade, why not? The point I'm trying to make is, we are going over there for you. We are your representatives. America's representatives. We provide the bodies, but the American spirit, the reason we go, belongs to you.” When he stopped, there was the briefest silence before the crowd went nuts, applauding and shouting and whistling. Archie had struck a nerve, and as he glanced over the

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appreciative crowd to Claire at the bar, Archie saw that she was clapping, too, she was applauding enthusiastically as if she, too, were proud of what he was doing for them, for their country. This is how I want to remember her, he thought. This is the image I want to take with me to Iraq.

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18 Claire Claire was on fire. She had not felt close to Archie all night, going through the motions of the going-away party on a supportive wife’s automatic pilot, trying to keep herself distracted from the same nagging fears and worries she’d harbored since learning of his orders by mixing, going with the flow, trying to let the apparent supportive enthusiasm of their friends carry her along through the evening. When the party was over, when the guests started leaving, she felt relief and wanted to do nothing more than rush home and go to sleep. But Archie was waiting for her in bed with other things on his mind, and when she succumbed to his desires, she did not expect to be aroused herself, certainly not so suddenly and so insatiably, but now she was aglow in desire, every inch of her skin tingling with erotic energy, and she became more aggressive in their lovemaking than was her habit. Strangely, she did not feel connected to Archie, he was not her husband so much as Maleness, as the masculine body that she needed to quench her great sexual thirst, and she had spent his prowess twice before Archie rolled away from her to the edge of the bed, the signal that he was through, and yet she desired more. She let him go. What other choice did she have? She waited until she heard the deep guttural sounds that told her he was asleep, and then Claire slipped out of bed and drew herself a hot bath, where she lingered until the water was tepid, fondling

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herself, still trying to end the strange obsession that possessed her. Finally she turned chilly and hurried back to bed where she snuggled against Archie’s warm body, eventually drifting off the sleep, relief at last. The next morning, she was awoken by Archie fondling her. He had his third wind. But Claire was no longer in the mood, whatever madness had possessed her was gone, and she lay passively as Archie did his thing, thinking to herself that she must do all his laundry today so he would be able to take whatever civilian clothes he needed. They were eating cold cereal at the breakfast bar when Archie said, “Last night was incredible.” Claire smiled and turned away, feeling she might blush. “I should go to war more often.” The comment struck her like a dart to the heart. She wanted to turn and scream at him, to set him straight about her, but she was too stricken, too shocked by the remark, to move. “Are you all right?” Archie asked. She mumbled, “I need to do your laundry,” and hurried away. In the laundry room, she stopped and caught her breath, hoping that he wouldn’t join her. He didn’t. She put in the first load. Archie was still at the breakfast bar. Claire fetched the vacuum cleaner and started in the bedroom. After a moment, Archie yelled over the racket, “I have some errands to do!” Vacuuming often chased him out of the house, and Claire did not stop him from leaving now.

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19 Archie Archie didn’t understand where Claire was coming from, which was nothing new. He’d never understood her. In their dating days at the University of Oregon, he’d considered her mysterious, bright, individualistic and a tad eccentric, the only woman he knew, or ever had known, who was majoring in mathematics. She was a great mystery to him, which early on became part of her attraction. Only later, after courtship and into marriage, did his occasional uncertainty about Claire’s behavior or motivation become less romantically defined and more realistically irritable. As he prepared to leave for active duty, this was one of those times. But sex, not understanding, was the bedrock of their marriage. Claire’s sexual frenzy on the night after the goingaway party had given him considerable hope that at last they were connected again, connected in the most intimate way possible for them, connected by flesh, by lust and abandon. It had been a while since they had connected with so much passion, their marriage having undergone the usual journey from passion to comfort, from spontaneity to habit. Sex was never unfulfilling between them but it had become less reckless in recent years, no more screwing at the coffee bar or on the back porch on a summer midnight – they had become a married couple, not lovers. Archie was glad to be reminded that more than habit was still available to them.

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But what did Claire think? She seemed to withdraw within herself on the morning after their passionate night and had remained there. It was just as well that he was leaving now. He feared that the longer he stayed, the more distant she would become. His unit was shipping out of Portland, not Eugene, first stop Fort Bliss, Texas, and Archie consulted with Hal about the best way to get to Portland. He suggested the train, by which he really meant that he didn’t want to make a big production number out of it, the two of them driving up with their wives for yet another sendoff. The train schedule, however, was such that they’d have to leave the afternoon before and spend the night in Portland. Since the unit was assembling at the airport, Hal suggested renting a car, and Archie agreed. Saying goodbye to Claire was both awkward and painful. She was trying so hard not to cry, trying to be a good Army wife, that Archie finally embraced her and whispered, “Let it go, Claire,” which she did. They held one another for fully five minutes before Claire stepped back and forced a smile. “At least we have email,” she said. Archie looked puzzled. “Kelly said they had computers on base, we can send email.” “I didn’t think of that – but right.” Claire looked hurt. “I just didn’t think of it, honey. Of course we can exchange email.” Hal was picking up the car but was late, which left Archie and Claire to sit at the coffee bar, trying to make small talk, Archie reminding her to start the pickup at least once a week and it wouldn’t hurt to drive it to the market now and again. The longer they waited, the more an unspoken tension rose between them. Archie didn’t know what to say. He could see that Claire didn’t either. The doorbell rang.

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“Must be Hal,” Archie said. At the door, Claire broke into tears again. Archie held her and said, “Everything’s going to be okay, Claire. I need you to keep the faith. Can you do that for me?” She pulled away enough to shake her head vigorously, yes, she can keep the faith. Hal drove. After they were on the Interstate and out of city traffic, he said, “Claire’s taking it hard.” “Kelly, too, right?” “Maybe not so much.” “She just hides it better.” “Maybe she’s not so sad to see me go.” “Of course she is.” “Maybe she’s got somebody on the side.” Archie studied his friend. He looked serious. “I can’t imagine it,” Archie said. “Or did you find out something?” Hal seemed to be measuring his reply. Finally he said, “You get a sense of these things.” Archie let it rest. They drove on to Portland without broaching the subject again.

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20 Claire The phone rang almost as soon as Claire returned to the kitchen. It was Kelly. “I found a support group,” she said. “You've got a drinking problem again?” Off and on over the years, her sister had sworn off the sauce after one drunken episode or another. Kelly laughed and said, “Hello? A support group for wives with husbands in Iraq.” Claire said nothing. Kelly was a joiner, unlike herself, and coming up with this was just like her. Claire's first instinct was to have nothing to do with it, which Kelly anticipated. “Just give it a chance, Claire. It's going to be lonely with the guys gone, you know it is. We both can use all the support we can get.” “They have potlucks or what?” “Sometimes, sure. Don't sound so skeptical.” “I didn't know I was.” There was a silence. Claire said, “So do you have to join and pay dues or what?” “Christ, Claire, this is snotty even for you.” “Well, pardon me.”

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“I'm sorry. I guess I was hoping you'd share some of my enthusiasm to discover them. Listen, is this a bad time or something?” “Actually, I have to get to school.” “You didn't take the day off?” “I just got a sub for the morning.” “So there's no rush yet.” “I have some prep to do. Why? Was there something else?” “Yes, but if you're too busy ...” Claire heard the sulking in her voice. “What is it?” “I broke it off with Eric. I should've ended it months ago.” “How long has it been going on? Maybe you told me already.” “I told you a few months. Actually almost a year.” Claire didn't know what to say and so said nothing. “You're the only one I can 'fess up to,” said Kelly. “I hope it helps.” “It does, actually.” “Well, if Hal doesn't know, and it's over ...” Claire let the silence suggest, Then maybe the harm has been minimized. “It's really important to support him over there. I couldn't keep on under the circumstances. I'd feel guilty as hell.” Claire wanted to ask, You didn't feel guilty before? but kept the question to herself. She said, “Is this something you're going to tell your support group?” “God, no! Our support group. At least I hope so.” “We'll see.” “I had to get this off my chest.” “I can understand that.” “It just happened after a gig one night. Too much to drink and all that. Hal and I were having problems. It just happened.

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Then after the first time, it continued on its own, on some kind of automatic pilot.” Adultery as automatic pilot. This was a new concept to Claire. Kelly said, “So tell me I'm an idiot.” “You already know that.” “Tell me anyway.” “Kelly, I don't know if you are or not. Shit happens.” “You can say that again.” “I have to get to school.” “Okay. Can I give your name to the support group?” “Why not?” “I'll talk to you soon,” said Kelly. “Okay. Bye.” Driving to school, Claire tried to remember what the bass player looked like. She couldn't remember.

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21 Archie There was such a huge sendoff of the troops at the Portland International Airport, with hundreds of family members gathered to wave flags and cheer, embrace their loved ones and cry on their shoulders, that Archie regretted that Claire wasn’t there. He had not expected this. A three-star general even spoke, telling the soldiers and their families how proud the nation was of their sacrifices. Even Hal looked a little proud to be an American soldier. Then the troops lined up to pass through security before boarding a military transport to Texas while in the terminal the families watched behind the gates, the small flags hanging limply at their sides. The flight seemed longer than it was. After landing, they piled into trucks, which delivered them to the mess hall for a belated meal. Then they were assembled again, shown their billets, and marched to check out their bedding. That evening Archie was sitting on the floor next to his footlocker, spit-shining his boots, when he felt a presence close by. He looked around to find Hal standing in the aisle behind him. “Hey.” Hal said nothing. He looked upset about something. “What's up, buddy?” “You tell me,” Hal said.

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Archie got to his feet. He stared at his friend, trying to measure the degree of his displeasure. “You're pissed about something,” he said. “Tell me about it.” “About what?” “I don't think this is the place. Let's get a beer.” Hal obviously didn't want to talk, so Archie kept his questions and concerns to himself as they walked to the Enlisted Men's Club. This was Archie's first visit but apparently not Hal's, who seemed to know where he was going. The Club was far larger than Archie had expected and far more crowded. When they were seated at a small corner table, Hal filled their mugs from a pitcher. He stared at Archie, as if waiting for something. “Buddy,” said Archie, “I haven't seen you this pissed since high school maybe.” “I talked to Kelly tonight.” “Shit. She told you she's having an affair?” “No, as a matter of fact.” “Then what the hell is it?” “She asked about you.” “She asked about me?” “Don't sound so surprised.” “You're right. We're friends, why shouldn't she?” Hal was silent. Archie finally understood. He couldn't believe this was happening. “Jesus Christ, Hal. You're my best buddy on the planet. You actually think I'd do something like that to you?” “Wouldn't be the first time somebody screwed his best buddy's wife.” “I don't believe this shit. Did Kelly actually say something that made you come up with this?” “She seemed so goddamn interested in your well being.”

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“Or you read that into it. For the record, if she's having an affair, it ain't with me.” Hal stared at him, as if trying to measure the truth or falsity of the remark. Archie said, “It is not me. Period. I wouldn't do that to Claire and I wouldn't do it to you. Thanks for such incredible confidence in my character.” He gulped his beer and stood up. “Sit down,” Hal said. “Why should I?” “Because I made a mistake. Because I'm an asshole.” Archie sat back down. “Christ, Arch, what the fuck am I going to do? This is driving me crazy.” Archie didn’t know what to say to him. The subject was dropped, and they finished the pitcher. Back in the billets, Hal went to bed and Archie finished polishing his boots.

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22 Claire School was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because a few weeks were still left in the school year, even though the minds of her students were in the stratosphere, far from attention to algebra problems and geometry proofs, where her seniors especially talked and thought only of graduation and the prom and where everyone anticipated summer vacation like children waiting for Christmas. School was a curse because her primary distraction, the vehicle into which she could pour her energy and occupy her mind, was almost ending. What would she do with herself once school was over? How would she stop herself from worrying about Archie? In the faculty lounge, Duncan must have read her mind. She was grabbing a cup of coffee between classes when he joined her. “I thought you were sick today. Then I heard you saw your husband off this morning.” Claire hoped her expression communicated how much she didn’t want to talk about this. “Anyway,” Duncan went on, “my condolences once again. You have my number, right? In case something comes up.” Claire nodded and hurried away. *

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Archie called that night. She was expecting him to and would have been worried sick if he hadn’t. She already was worrying because he called late, just as she was getting ready for bed. “Arrived safe and sound,” he said. “I love you, Archie.” “I love you, too. Try not to worry.” “I’m trying.” “That’s my girl.” There was a pause. “How was your day?” “Nobody learns anything the last few weeks of school. All they can think about is graduation and vacation.” “I vaguely remember those days.” “I need to figure out how to keep busy this summer. Maybe I’ll go to an agency, see if I can do some tutoring or something.” “Or give yourself a break. You deserve it.” She didn’t tell him why she wanted to keep busy. Instead she said, “You know me,” as if that explained everything. “Oh! I almost forgot to tell you. They have lightning bugs here! Man, I forgot how cool they are.” He had told her about growing up in the east and south, during many moves as an Army brat, in summers with lighting bugs, the small insects that flashed a rhythmic light each evening as they rose up out of the grass. Claire had never seen one. “Maybe one day,” she said. “I wonder if I could send you some. If they’d make it. I bet they would in a jar with leaves and stuff, and air holes. Maybe I’ll do that.” She laughed. She wondered if he’d just made this up, hoping to distract her, to get her laughing. “I’m serious here,” Archie said.

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They talked some more but Claire knew before Archie that it was getting time to say goodnight, they’d reached the limit where conversation was comforting and were fast approaching the edge of desire and missing one another. “I love you, babe,” he said again before hanging up. “I love you, Archie.” Claire hung up. A moment later she crawled into bed and soon was crying herself to sleep.

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23 Email FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] SUBJECT: Hi Claire! I hope you get this at your school address. That’s the main one you use, right? I didn’t know what would happen if I sent it to the same address it comes from. You know me and computers. Anyway, the line at the phone was so long tonight I thought I’d wander into the computer room and see if I could figure out how to write an email to you, and I only had to ask for help once. Anyway, they don’t waste any time around here and we’re already deep into training. The focus so far is what is called Search & Destroy, where we train in this kind of Iraqi village they set up, with buildings to patrol, looking for the bad guys so to speak, and of course there may be snipers on the roof tops so it’s all pretty intense. I’m enjoying it, though, because I know how important it is to be prepared and ready for whatever shit is going to happen over there. Time is racing by because our days are so long. I hope they are racing by for you, too. Anyway, a line is beginning to form here, too, to use the computers, so I’ll sign off. I think you’re right, email is the way

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to go, and I’ll look for mail from you soon. Love you, honey. Keep the faith. Arch

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] SUBJECT: RE: Hi Claire! Got your email. Archie, please don’t take this wrong, but you don’t have to tell me all the details about your training, especially about how dangerous it can be, it just will make me worry about you more. Okay? I know how important this is to you – strike that, to the WHOLE COUNTRY! – and I know you always excel at whatever you do. That’s all I need to know. God, I wish school wasn’t about to end! My time passes more quickly when I am busy, just like you, and I have to figure out some way to keep busy during the summer. I miss you, of course, but I am hanging in and I’m going to make you proud of me, you’ll see. I thought I would drop by and see your mother soon. I’m sure she’d be excited to get the latest news from you. Nights are the hardest, Arch. I miss feeling you beside me. I can’t wait till that can happen again. God speed, my love. I’ve never been one to say prayers but I think maybe that is going to change. I love you so much. And miss you already. Be safe, Claire.

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FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected],or.us SUBJECT: RE: RE: Hi Claire! Hello again, sweetie. Not much new to report. They work our asses off over here. Of course, it’s the only way to get ready. Say, I was meaning to ask you if you have noticed anything going on with Kelly? Hal is going crazy over here. He has it set in his mind that Kelly is having an affair. In fact, for a while, he thought it was with me! Can you believe that? Anyway, I don’t know what you or anyone else can do about it one way or the other but it sure would be helpful if she let him know how much she loves him, if she still does, and if she doesn’t, well, hell, I don’t know what will happen to him then. He’s in the pits. Your school is almost over, isn’t it? Did you decide to tutor this summer? Of course, there’s a lot of yard work around there for you to do with me gone. That could make you as busy as you want to be actually. I never had time to do everything that could be done. I’m sure you’ll figure out how to stay busy, love. I’m the couch potato of the family. All my love, Archie.

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24 Claire On Sunday afternoon Claire was about to send Archie an email when the doorbell rang. The computer was on a small desk in the back corner of the living room. She rose and stepped to the door, arriving just as the doorbell rang again. She opened the door to find three women beaming at her. Claire immediately assumed they were religious zealots on a door-to-door mission of salvation. “Claire?” asked a gray-haired woman, clearly the oldest. “Yes.” “I’m Mildred Archer. This is Mary Culbertson and Hannah Adams.” The two other women nodded, still smiling. Mildred said, “Your sister, Kelly, gave us your name. We represent the Military Wives Support Group. May we come in?” Claire didn’t know how to turn them away. She led them to the living room, inviting them to sit, and took a chair as far across the room as she could get. Mildred did most of the talking, as the others nodded like a rhythm section, telling Claire about the difficult times all military wives shared and how there was power and support for one another in numbers, which is to say in their organization, and they sure hoped Claire agreed with this and would join their group, as Kelly had.

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When Mildred stopped talking, all three women stared at Claire, waiting for a response. “Kelly told me about you,” Claire said. The women nodded in unison. “I’m sure you’re right,” Claire went on. “It’s just that everything is a little hectic right now, so much has been happening all at once, that I really need some time to put everything together before I can commit to anything at all. I’m sure you understand.” “Of course we do, dear,” Mildred said. “It took me three months before I realized how important it was to join,” said Mary. Claire said, “Perhaps you could check back with me in a month.” The women exchanged glances before Mildred said, “Of course, dear.” Mildred stood up. The others quickly followed. Claire stood last. After they were gone, she sat at the coffee bar. Why had their visit depressed her? A part of her knew they were right, there was support in numbers, but she also had a fierce streak of independence in her, which rebelled against being a joiner. Although the computer was still on, the email to Archie still waiting to be delivered, Claire did not return to send it. She felt restless and decided to take a drive. She was waiting for the light to change when she noticed the same man at the corner holding the sign that read, “Homeless vet, will work for food.” Claire felt a sudden urge to roll down her window and call him over. Surely she could put him to work. The lawn needed mowing for starters. There always were house chores that needed doing, and with Archie gone, who usually did that sort of thing, she might have more than she could handle. Duncan, of course, had volunteered his services but Claire felt suspicious of his motives. Putting a homeless vet to work would be a good thing to do.

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But the light changed and the car behind her beeped its horn, so Claire drove on by the man without talking to him.

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25 Archie The focus of their training was a mission to search and confront insurgents from the shadows and crevices of the village or urban environment. To this end, a training ground had been built that reminded Archie of a Hollywood movie set, a dirt road moving between small buildings in which the enemy presumably was hiding. Working in assault teams of five, the soldiers (and they were called soldiers now, not National Guard troops) crouched low as they raced to a building entrance, an exercise that made the goal too easy since no one was firing at them; announcing their arrival with a barrage of fire behind which they raced inside, splitting into two smaller teams now, every other man moving quickly left or right to hug the wall and dart toward the next doorway – it was all very choreographed, very impressive, very active. But, of course, at this stage of the exercise, there was no enemy to shoot back at them. The enemy came soon enough, soldiers from another company playing the role. Now it was not so easy to approach and enter a building. Other weapons came into play to give the soldiers an advantage. They threw grenades into the building ahead of them. They fired canisters of tear gas to flush out the enemy. When the soldiers took a break from this war game to eat a meal, they sat on the ground and opened rations, even though

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the Mess Hall was only a small march away. This was how they would eat in the field much of the time, and there was nothing like starting sooner rather than later. Archie and Hal usually sat together, leaning against a wall in the shade if they could claim the spot soon enough, otherwise drifting away to sit together in the hot Texas sun. Archie knew from the start that he was enjoying training a hell of a lot more than Hal was. Finally he couldn't keep himself from telling his friend to shape up. “You'd fuck up a wet dream,” Archie said. “What's that supposed to mean?” “Just looking at you brings my morale down. Get a grip, man. You're going over there, you might as well learn how to save your ass when the shit hits the fan.” “We're sitting ducks. This is a suicide mission.” “No way. Dangerous and difficult, hell yes, but we got the fire power, it's just a matter of keeping heads up and moving forward a step at a time. We can starve the sons-a-bitches out if it comes to that.” There was a silence. Archie said, “You still got your mind back home, don't you? You got to let it go, buddy. What happens, happens. You can't afford an emotional distraction like that now, it will come back and bite you on the ass.” “So how the hell do I get her out of my mind? I feel like I'm in a waking nightmare.” “Maybe you should call her and tell her what you think.” “I'm afraid what she might say.” “You got to resolve this before we get over there. You can't go through the real thing without being one-hundred percent engaged, man. Otherwise you will be on a suicide mission.” Again, they were silent a moment. “Want me to call her?” Archie asked. “And say what?”

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“Look, Kelly, Hal thinks you're having an affair, and if you are you'd better end it or file for divorce because the thought of it is torturing him. And if you're not, tell him so. He can't go to Iraq being emotionally insecure about you. It's signing his death warrant. Resolve this shit one way or the other. Let him know what if anything is going on, let him know the truth.” “That's quite a speech.” “I’m serious. You're my best bud. I can't stand seeing you this way.” Hal took a deep breath and audibly exhaled. “What a fucking mess,” he said. “I'll call her tonight.” Hal nodded, but Archie wasn't sure if this was in agreement or a gesture saying he'd think about it. Before the matter was clarified, the sergeant yelled across the dry landscape that lunch was over thirty seconds ago, why the hell was everybody sitting around like a collection of slackers?

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26 Claire The next evening Claire was putting away dinner dishes when she saw Kelly turn into the driveway. Claire met her at the door. “Yes, they paid me a visit,” Claire said. “I was going to call you.” Kelly walked past her into the house. She looked upset about something. Claire followed Kelly into the kitchen. Her sister was helping herself to a glass of white wine. “Something happened,” Claire said. “I got a call from Archie.” “What?” This was going to get serious. Claire took a wine glass from the rack above the coffee bar and put it on the counter for Kelly to pour her one, too. Kelly said, “He says Hal thinks I’m having an affair.” “I see.” “Why are you always saying I see? You don’t see. You don’t have any idea what Hal thinks. Or your own husband said, for that matter. You don’t know unless I tell you.” “Kelly, I’m not your enemy. So tell me.” They both settled onto stools at the bar. Kelly said, “Your husband should mind his own business. Did he tell you he was going to do this?”

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“Of course not. I would have tried to talk him out of it.” After a silence, Claire said, “Maybe Hal put him up to it.” “That’s what worries me. He can be so spineless.” “What did you tell Archie?” “I told him to mind his own goddamn business.” “Did you deny having an affair?” Kelly sipped her wine. “Kelly? You’re keeping something from me.” “Of course I denied it. Jesus. What else am I supposed to say? Archie said Hal is so worried that his life’s in danger, that if he goes to Iraq in this condition …” Kelly couldn’t finish. Her eyes were welling with tears. “Oh, Kelly. You know you have to make a decision.” “I have. It’s over. It really is.” “You need to let Hal know that you’re here for him, waiting for him, waiting for his safe return.” “I wish he’d call me.” “They can get email.” “Hal doesn’t do email.” “Want me to ask Archie to tell him to call you?” Kelly forced a laugh. “See? You’re getting involved yourself. Suddenly this is everybody’s business.” “Fine, I won’t.” “I didn’t mean that.” Claire waited for more. Kelly said, “I don’t know what I meant. I wish everything would just go away.” “It won’t. But this can be resolved if you two talk it out.” “He’s not so easy to talk to, especially about something like this.” They sipped wine, silent a moment. “Would you ask Archie to tell Hal to call me?” “Of course,” said Claire.

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Kelly finished her wine and left. As soon as she was gone, Claire went to the computer.

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27 Email FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] SUBJECT: Phone call Kelly just left, and she’s very upset by your phone call. For the life of me I can’t understand why you would call her without talking to me about it first. I assume Hal put you up to this but even so, it’s poking your nose into their business and Kelly, for one, didn’t really appreciate your call at all. I wish you had talked to me first. Please let me know what is going on with you. Claire. P.S. Tell Hal to call Kelly. I told Kelly I’d forward the message.

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28 Claire Claire was sitting at her desk at school, staring into space, aware of nothing, when suddenly she was aware that Nicole was standing beside her. Claire jumped. “How long have you been there?” she asked. “You, Claire, look like shit. What’s going on?” “I think I’m sorry school’s over. It keeps me from thinking too much about what Archie is going through.” “You try and get a summer tutoring gig?” “I had no idea I’d want it when it was time to line one up. I suppose I’ll be busy enough doing all the chores that Archie usually does.” “Feel like a drink after work?” Claire expected Nicole to suggest Nobby’s, the usual teachers’ hangout, but instead she told Claire about a new place in the same neighborhood, called Seafood Mama’s. It sounded fine to Claire. “I need a shoulder to cry on,” Nicole confessed as soon as the waiter had left. He’d brought them a bottle of Oregon Chablis, opened it, poured a smidgen in Nicole’s class and waited for her approval before filling both glasses. “I hope you don’t mind.” Claire said, “Of course I don’t mind.”

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She waited for Nicole to go on. Nicole took a long sip before beginning. “Ruth left me. After five years – in fact, only a week after our fifth anniversary. It was a great anniversary, too. I had no idea something was wrong.” “Nicole, I’m so sorry.” “That’s not the half of it. Guess who she left me for.” Nicole paused for dramatic effect. “One of our students.” Claire’s mouth dropped open but she didn’t speak. “Hillary Nelson.” “Hillary?” Claire had no idea Hillary was a lesbian. She’d always pegged her for the type that couldn’t make the cheerleading squad but lusted after football players anyway. A lesbian! Talk about the wrong impression. “I thought the little vamp was lusting after me. She was using me to get to Ruth. Something like that.” “There’s such an age difference.” “That’s the problem. Ruth is terrified of growing old. She thinks a fling with a nubile will make her feel younger.” “Maybe that’s what it is, just a fling.” “Fling is not in my vocabulary,” said Nicole. “I’m very conservative that way. One strike and you’re out.” “I’m so sorry.” “So I need someone to talk to, and you’re it.” “I’m honored. I mean, I’m really sorry, but I’m glad you’re comfortable talking to me.” “So what’s new in your world? Archie in Iraq yet?” “He’s still training at Fort Bliss. I think he ships out pretty soon, though.” “You still backing the war?” Claire let out a little nervous chuckle. “I really don’t know how I feel about it. I think it’s important that I support my husband.” Nicole nodded and waited for more.

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Claire said, “I really don’t want to talk about Iraq.” “Let’s talk about your summer. You need something to keep you busy.” Duncan appeared at their table. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked. He was but no one stopped him from joining them. Claire knew immediately she had to get away from this man before she said something she’d regret. He had taken his seat between them but immediately slid Claire’s way, leaning close to remind her that he was available whenever she needed help around the house, such as cutting her lawn, which he noticed was badly in need of same. On and on he went until Nicole couldn’t stop herself from grinning. Claire abruptly stood up. “It’s been fun,” she said and hurried away. In the car she caught her breath. She waited until she had calmed down before starting the engine. On the drive home she passed the homeless veteran again, who was holding up his sign for work at a different corner than before. She was a block away before she turned to go around the block. She pulled to the curb and rolled down the window. He leaned down and looked in. “Do you mow lawns?” Claire asked. “Yes, ma’am, I sure can do that!” “Well, I have one that really needs it.” “When do I start?” “Is Saturday too soon?” “Not at all. What time?” “Is ten too early?” “I’m up at five, ma’am. Ten is no problem.” “Let me give you my address.” While she was looking for something to write on, he said, “I assume you have a mower.” “Of course.”

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She gave up looking and tore off a corner of a blank check, the part with her address on it. “Here’s the address.” He took the slip of torn check and glanced at it. “Do you know where it is?” Claire asked. “I can find it. See you Saturday morning at ten, ma’am.” Claire nodded and hit the button for the window. Before it had completely closed, she had pulled away. The rest of the drive home, Claire felt pleased with herself. She was doing a good deed, helping someone who was homeless, a veteran at that. Archie should be pleased.

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29 Email FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] SUBJECT: What is going on with YOU? Claire, are you crazy!? What do you know about this street person anyway? You can’t just invite these derelicts off the street and bring them home, for God’s sake. You know nothing about him. When he comes over, you have to send him on his way right away. Give him five dollars if it will make you feel better but get rid of him! And don’t invite him back!

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30 Claire Archie’s email took Claire by surprise. His anger, once she thought about it, was not surprising so much as its written expression was rare. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever seeing him angry in print before. She made several false starts at replying but each attempt sounded angrier than he did, throwing fuel on the fire of their misunderstanding. She decided to try again in the morning, after she’d slept on it, and this is when the doorbell rang and Claire instantly remembered that Kelly was taking her to a meeting of the support group tonight. Claire let Kelly do all the talking on the ride across town, barely listening. Nor did her attention improve at the meeting, which was held in the modest home of one of the support members. Claire drifted in and out of the meeting like a bored student. “Loneliness,” Mildred was saying. “Especially at night and on special occasions, the holidays, birthdays, anniversaries. This is when loneliness hits hardest, and this is the time for you to pick up the phone and call one of us. This is when we can help each other most.” A woman whose name Claire already had forgotten endorsed this advice with a personal story about her suffering during a recent anniversary. The next advice came from Mary.

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“We need to work on our self-esteem,” she said. “We’re used to letting our husbands handle things like the car and the lawn and house repairs. Stress number one for me was the car. It seemed to stop running the day after Joe left. I felt so stupid and responsible somehow. I had to have it towed to the mechanic. Talk about feeling helpless!” Again other women jumped in to share their own experiences with mechanical ineptitude and feelings of helplessness. Then a woman Claire had met only tonight, whose name also was forgotten, explained in great detail how she had painted the outside of her house without any help at all, even though she never had done such a chore in her life. She simply followed directions from a book she had checked out at the library. We can do much more than we think we can, she reminded the group. “When is daddy coming home?” Mildred asked rhetorically. “Explaining the war to children. This can be a real challenge.” Claire, without children, drifted off again as the discussion continued. When she brought the group back into focus, everyone was rising and heading for the door. “Are you all right?” Kelly asked after they were alone in the car and heading back to Claire’s. “You seemed a million miles away tonight.” Claire nodded without replying. Kelly said, “It reminded me of an AA meeting.” “I didn’t know you were still going.” “Not often. I’ve been able to control it most of the time. I actually don’t think I’m an alcoholic.” Claire didn’t reply. “You want to stop for a drink?” Kelly asked. Then she laughed. “You’re sure?” “You’re not your sister’s keeper, Claire. Of course I’m sure.”

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“I think I do feel like a drink.” Over a tequila sunrise and a second and a third, Claire told Kelly everything that was on her mind, her fears for Archie and her unsettled feeling about the war, his recent anger at her attempt to do a good deed for a veteran, her apprehension about the summer with too much time on her hands, too much time to think – for once, Claire did most of the talking, her tongue and mind lubricated by the flow of drinks. After four, Kelly suggested that they call it a night. “You think I’m drunk,” Claire said, her words slurring. “You are.” “Right.” Claire started giggling. “I should do this more often.” Kelly had to help her inside, where Claire passed out on the couch. Sometime after midnight she awoke, managed to knock over the end table on her way to the bathroom, then ricocheted off the walls on her way to the bedroom, where she plopped onto the mattress with most of her clothes still on. She was out like a light.

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31 Archie Late on Saturday morning, Archie was waiting with the rest of the troops for the mess truck to arrive. Soldiers smoked and relaxed, some sprawling on the dry hard Texas earth to relish a brief moment of inactivity; some read and others wrote letters. The truck from the mess hall was late. Finally they were greeted with a surprise, not the mess truck but the caravan of trucks that returned them to Main Post and the billets. There was no explanation from the lieutenant in charge or anyone else about what was going on, about why today’s training apparently was being cut short. With an exchange of puzzled looks, the troops climbed into the back of the trucks and huddled together on benches for the ride back to base. Once the trucks were on their way, speculation erupted in a chorus of weary voices. Something terrible must have happened to change the training schedule in this way. Had there been another terrorist attack? Had the war in Iraq suddenly escalated? Perhaps they were shipping out to Iraq immediately. No, perhaps the explanation was more mundane, more typically Army: perhaps they were returning for an unannounced inspection. Or perhaps they were being moved to another training facility, where the mess truck was waiting for them. When the trucks stopped, Archie climbed down to find himself in front of the Mess Hall. Their lunch during training always had been in the field, adding more reason to speculate

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about the occasion for such a change in their routine. Archie had no opinion on the matter. Archie had no opinion because opinions were a waste of time, a diversion of focus and energy. He was a soldier. A soldier followed orders. He saw no point in second-guessing his superiors and worried about those who did, especially Hal. “This is the calm before the storm,” Hal said after they had carried their lunch trays to a table. He had leaned close to speak just above a whisper. Archie studied his friend, finding what he expected to find, which was fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the task at hand. Hal was like a brother to him, but Archie realized more than ever that Hal was not cut out to be a soldier, and this troubled him. Archie said, “Go with the flow, buddy. What happens, happens.” Hal couldn't let it rest, as others at the table couldn't, and Archie tuned them out in case they brought his own spirits down. As far as he was concerned, they sooner they got to Iraq and down to business, the better. The sooner they wiped out the insurgents, the sooner they came home. Other shocks awaited them after lunch. First, their orders were ready. They were shipping out to Iraq in exactly one week, earlier than expected, to a southern town called Basra, where they would be working with the British to maintain order during what was called “the period of transition.” Many soldiers cheered when they heard the assignment because rumor had Basra among the safer cities in Iraq. Archie was disappointed. He wanted to be where the action was, which was Baghdad. With their orders cut, they were being given the afternoon off, every man to have an eight-hour pass, their first pass since being at Ft. Bliss. There were, however, restrictions. While they could take the shuttle into El Paso, under no conditions

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were they to cross the river and border into Juarez. Mexico was off limits. Two hours later, Archie felt as if he were in Mexico. Mariachi music played on the jukebox. All of the women in the El Paso bar, without exception, were Mexican, or at least Hispanic, and more Spanish was being spoken in the loud and dark room than English. Archie, Hal and three other soldiers from the unit sat at a table near the jukebox. They were ordering beers two at a time and drinking steadily from the bottle as if to make up for lost time, as if they might not experience this luxury for some time to come, even the dark and noisy bar on the El Paso G.I. strip considered a luxury when compared to life in the field. They were drinking like soldiers on their way to war. The young and not-so-young women in the bar recognized their desperation and fluttered around the table like vultures around road kill. Some spoke English well, others not so well, but all knew enough English to ask for drinks and suggest a “date” in a hotel room nearby. If affirmative answers weren’t immediate and clear, they fluttered off to another table, which also was filled with soldiers, some on their way to war, some not, and as soon as they were gone, two or three or four other young women would arrive in their skimpy attire and forced smiles and repeat the same hustle all over again. For the first hour or so, Archie was amused by the antics of the women. You didn’t see this sort of blatant sexual hustling in Eugene, at least not anywhere he’d ever been, and at first he enjoyed teasing them with the suggestion of interest, even buying two girls drinks. But their tenacity and repetition came to bore him, then depress him. They were hookers, after all. Archie supposed they were hustling for money to support kids, drug habits and pimps. What began as loud and carefree fun, a genuine escape from the stress of training and now assignment, became a depressing reminder that not all of

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America was mirrored in the happy circumstances of his own existence. Suddenly he wanted to call Claire, he wanted to hear his wife's voice. It did not occur to him that in the noisy bar she might wonder what he was up to halfway across the country; he just wanted to talk to his wife, thinking she would bring him back to reality, distract him from the loud and increasingly distasteful flirtation of the whores in the G.I. dive. The pay phone was on the wall in the hallway that led to the men's room. He called Claire collect but no one answered. He didn’t leave a message. In his light-headedness he decided she was at her sister's and so called Kelly but there was no answer there either. He tried Claire again and let the phone ring until the voice mail came on. Twice he was interrupted by whores on their way to the rest room, one of whom propositioned him even as he waited for his wife to pick up the phone. Hanging up, Archie decided he was ready to catch the shuttle back to base. But Hal wasn't at the table, and he hadn't passed him coming back from the men’s room. He asked a solder from his outfit who went by the nickname Bear where Hal was. “He left with Rosalita,” Bear said. The reply was followed by laughter all around the table. Archie said, “I'm serious. We were going to head back.” “He left with the girl,” a soldier named Hank said. “I assume they went to get a room.” “Shit.” Outside Archie looked up and down the street. The girls left with their marks to one of the hotels up the street, as Archie understood the protocol, so he wandered in the direction of the first hotel sign that caught his eye. There ended up being two hotels in the block, each in a five-story stucco building that had seen better days, each adjacent to a bar looking even seedier than the one Archie had

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just left. There also was a bar across the street. From there, Archie reasoned, he could watch for Hal to come out of one of the hotels after he'd finished his business with the whore called Rosalita. The wait across the street – sitting alone at a window table in a bar that was almost deserted, a bar full of old men, mostly white, universally sullen and silent, in contrast to the G.I. party going on at the other bar – took less than a beer. Hal came out alone and headed back toward the other bar. Archie left his beer on the table and rushed outside. “Hal!” Archie caught up with him at the corner. Hal was grinning. Archie didn’t know what to say. “Go on, say it,” said Hal. “Say what?” “That I fucked up. I could catch a disease. Two rights don’t make a wrong. I know you disapprove.” Archie said, “I was looking for you because I’m ready to head back.” That was the end of the conversation, as far as Hal’s quick moment with the Mexican whore Rosalita was concerned. They had to wait almost half-an-hour for the shuttle bus, time spent shuffling restlessly around the bus stop. On the short trip back, no one spoke, and Hal even managed to catch a nap, or pass out, so that Archie had to shake up awake when they arrived. Archie headed to the mess hall, and Hal went to the billets. By the time Archie came to his bunk, Hal was snoring on the bed beside his. Archie stretched out on his bunk, quickly got restless, and left to go to the Day Room to try phoning Claire again.

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32 Claire Claire awoke with a pounding in her head. It took her a moment to realize the sound actually was someone pounding on the door. She rolled over and put Archie’s pillow over her head but the knocking persisted. She got up and put on her bathrobe. The doorbell rang, then again, and after the briefest silence the knocking continued. Claire moved to the front window and peeked around the drapes. Then she saw the homeless vet on the porch and realized he was here to mow the lawn. She had overslept. Claire rushed to the door and cracked it open. “I’m sorry, I overslept. I’ll meet you at the shed in the back yard in fifteen minutes.” “I could come back another day,” the man said. “No, this is entirely my fault. Just give me fifteen minutes.” She skipped her morning shower, figuring she could take it after yard work, and dressed quickly into the jeans and work shirt she wore for household chores. When she raced out the back door, the homeless vet was sitting on the ground, leaning against the back shed. “Thank you for waiting!” she called, hurrying to him. He climbed to his feet and grinned. He was, Claire decided, younger than he looked from the perspective of a car, standing at a corner with his sign. He was no less disheveled,

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the dark beard scraggy and untrimmed, his hair unwashed, the Army fatigue jacket stained and torn. He offered his hand and said, “I’m Mike, but everybody calls me Moondog.” Claire was reluctant to shake, and Mike, or Moondog, noticed her hesitation and pulled his hand back. “I'm raring to go,” he said. Claire noticed that Archie had put a padlock on the door. “I need to get the key,” she said. “No problem.” By the time she returned fifteen minutes later with no key, Mike (she would never be able to call him Moondog) was sitting on the grass, again leaning back against one side of the aluminum shed. “I can’t find the key anywhere,” Claire said. She already had decided to give him five dollars and send him on his way. She held out the bill and said, “I feel like I’ve made you waste the whole morning.” Mike climbed to his feet. He was grinning, which puzzled her. “I can open the door if you want me to,” he said. “Oh, I don’t think we should break the door. I can call a locksmith and we can try again next week. I mean, if you still want to.” Mike said, “I can pick the lock.” Claire stared at him. She never, to her knowledge, had met anyone who could pick a lock. “Nothing’s broken if I fail,” he said. “Well, okay then.” It took him only a few minutes. He’d taken what looked to Claire to be one of those fancy Swiss Army knives out of his jeans pocket, dropped to his knees in front of the door, and started poking, ever so gently, at the padlock with a long skinny blade from the knife. In no time at all, he pulled on the lock and opened it.

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“There we go,” Mike said, straightening up. He removed the lock and opened the door. Then he stepped inside the shed. Suddenly Mike was in charge. He rolled out the power mower, returned into the shed and emerged with a gas can and a funnel. “I might as well fill it before I start,” he said. “Yes, that’s a good idea.” The remark sounded stupid to her. Claire realized he was in control now, and she was only in the way. “Since you have everything under control,” she said, “I have dishes to do.” It was a lie but it got her away from there. She started to brew a pot of coffee, figuring Mike might appreciate a cup later, and before it was done perking she heard the mower come to life. By the time she was sipping her first cup at the coffee bar, the veteran was passing back and forth on the grass beyond the kitchen window. “I thought you’d be ready for a cup of coffee,” Claire said after Mike turned off he engine. He’d seen her coming from across the lawn. “I’m ready for a break. Thanks a lot. You have a larger yard than I realized.” “Archie usually does it in two sessions. Sometimes half Saturday and half Sunday. Or half before lunch and half after.” “I can see why. Do you plan to add on to your house? You have the space.” “We’ve talked about it but never too seriously.” “You have a fine piece of property.” By now he had taken the coffee from her and took his first sip. There was something awkward, something forced, about this homeless man in his ragtags telling her she owned fine property. “You can finish the rest tomorrow if you like,” she said. “Oh no, I’m doing fine. I’ll be done in less than an hour.”

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Which was true. She was making a shopping list when the doorbell rang. That’s when she realized the mower had been silent for some time now. Mike stood on the front porch. “I didn’t lock the padlock,” he said. “If you think you should, I can always pick it again.” “I’ll pick a new one up at the store.” He nodded. There was an awkward silence. “Ma’am, I believe you said twenty dollars …” “Of course! Where is my mind this morning? Just a minute.” She hurried inside and took a checkbook out of her purse. She had opened it to the next check before she caught herself, realizing that a homeless man might not have an easy time cashing a check. She returned the checkbook and took out her the wallet. Fortunately, there was one twenty amidst the ones. “Here we are,” she said, back on the porch. She had folded five ones with the twenty. Mike noticed the tip right away and grinned. He had a pleasant grin, though it struck her as almost tragic, considering his circumstances. “See you again in two weeks?” Claire asked. “Sure enough. If you have other things that need doing, just let me know. I’m easy to find.” He was still grinning. Was this a joke, that a homeless man was easy to find? Of course she often saw him at a corner around town, holding up his cardboard sign. “You did a wonderful job,” Claire said. She watched him from the kitchen window until he was out of sight. Where did he sleep? How did he eat? She should have made a sandwich with the coffee. She made a mental note to be sure and do this next time.

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33 Archie Archie phoned Claire at six Sunday morning. He’d wake her, of course, but at least he knew she’d be home. “Hello?” He almost got an instant erection, hearing her sleepy voice. “It’s me.” “Archie?” “Sorry to call so early, it’s my only chance today. I tried to call you yesterday afternoon.” “I must have been out. It’s so good to hear your voice.” “You, too.” “Is everything all right?” “Everything’s fine. I got orders.” “I don’t understand. You’re not going to Iraq?” “Where in Iraq. To Basra.” “That’s in Iraq?” “In the south. It’s pretty quiet down there. It’s a British zone actually.” “Well, that’s good then, isn’t it?” No way was he going to tell her how much he wanted to be in Baghdad. “It’s fine.” Claire yawned. “It’s six,” she said.

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“I know. It’s tough to get a phone around here.” Claire said, “No, I’m so glad you called. I miss you so much.” “Me, too. I wanted to let you know I have orders.” “I’m glad you’re going somewhere safe.” Let it pass, Archie told himself. He said, “Is that homeless guy still bothering you?” “I let him mow the lawn.” “You what?” “Archie, he did a good job.” “Now he knows where you live and that you’re there alone.” “He’s not like that.” But he could pick a lock, she reminded herself. “I don’t like him being there at all. Don’t do this again, promise me? There are lots of kids who can mow the lawn for you.” He thought, but didn’t say, that she ought to be able to mow the lawn herself. She could take the whole godddamn week doing it if that’s what it took. “I don’t want to fight, Archie.” “I didn’t know we were fighting.” “I need some more sleep, honey. Can you call back later?” “No, I can’t.” There was a silence. Archie said, “I’ll let you get back to bed.” “Don’t be mad.” “Just promise me you won’t let that homeless guy come around again.” “I promise. I love you, Archie.” “I love you, too.” “Call me again as soon as you can. I like it better than email.” “It’s not easy to get a phone.” “I understand.”

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“You get back to bed. You need your beauty rest. Is school over?” “Just a week to wrap up.” “Try to keep yourself busy. I don’t want you worrying.” “I won’t, knowing you’re going somewhere safe. Can I tell Kelly that Hal is going there, too?” “He’ll probably call himself.” Claire yawned. Archie said, “Goodnight, babe. Love you.” “Love you.” Archie hung up. His expression caused the soldier waiting in line for the phone to ask, “Everything all right, dude?” “Everything’s fantastic,” Archie said and moved off for the Mess Hall.

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34 Claire Sunday afternoon Claire drove across town to visit with Helen and give Archie’s mother the good news. Despite good intentions, promising Archie and herself that she’d stop by once a week, Claire had not been consistent with her visits since Archie had left. She never felt quite comfortable in Helen’s presence, seeing in the older woman’s scrutiny a posture of disapproval. Helen was one of those mothers who believed no woman was good enough for her son. Or so Claire had come to believe. Claire’s inconsistency, of course, was ammunition for Helen, who met Claire at the door with a disapproving stare, as if to say, Well, I certainly don’t want to inconvenience you by asking you in… Claire said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been by recently. It gets so crazy at school at the end of the year.” “You’re lucky you caught me. I was just going out.” “Oh. I won’t be long then. Archie got his orders. He’s being assigned to Basra, in southern Iraq. Apparently it’s a British sector and very quiet. I’m so relieved.” Claire couldn’t remember being looked at in the way Helen looked at her now. Her expression suggested confusion or even incomprehension. Claire said, “Is something the matter?” “I was just thinking how disappointed he must be.”

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“Disappointed?” “Not to be in Baghdad. Archie always wants to be where the action is. Well, I suppose he’ll be requesting a transfer and get there soon enough.” This is what stayed with Claire for the rest of the day. She had walked with Helen to the bus that was taking several dozen residents to a mall for the afternoon. Afterwards, instead of going home, she’d stopped by Nobby’s for a glass of wine and to try and make sense of what Helen had said. She’d never understood Archie’s enthusiasm for the National Guard, dismissing it as the heritage of being raised in a military family, but could this same inheritance lead him to transfer voluntarily from a safe town like Basra to a dangerous city like Baghdad? “A penny for your thoughts.” It was Nicole. Claire had taken a stool at the empty bar. Apparently in her first cursory glance around the room she had missed the librarian. “They’re not even worth a penny,” Claire said. “I’d guess you have bad news and want to be left alone.” Nicole had brought her glass of wine and taken the seat next to her. Now she stood up. “No, stay. Archie got his orders.” “That bad. Baghdad?” “Basra.” “Basra’s been pretty quiet. You should be celebrating.” “I just visited his mother. She said he’ll probably request a transfer to Baghdad.” Nicole shook her head knowingly. “What?” Nicole smiled and said, “Men never grow out of the cowboy stage, do they?” Claire had never thought of Archie in this way. Nicole said, “I think you’d like to change the subject. You ready for the big finale?”

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The question led to small talk about the last week of school, all the cleaning up and packing to do, taking down posters and student work, trying to remember what items belong to the school and which were purchased by the teacher or brought from home, all the while having to deal with students whose impatience for the end of the week grew exponentially by the hour. When Nicole ordered another wine, Claire declined and, despite realizing the her friend was in almost desperate need of companionship, still in grief from the recent breaking up, she made an excuse to get out of there. She felt like being alone.

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35 Email FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] SUBJECT: What is going on with YOU? Dear Archie, I visited your mother today. She seems to be doing great. I caught her on the way to an excursion to the mall with some other ladies who live there. She seemed to be healthy and in good spirits. One thing she said, though. She thought you’d be disappointed about being assigned to Basra and might ask for a transfer to Baghdad. I won’t pretend to understand why you might do this, if this is true, but I can’t hide my feelings from you that such a transfer would make it much, much worse here for me, considering how dangerous Baghdad is. If you were thinking of a transfer, please reconsider for my sake. You are serving your country as much in Basra and anywhere else, Archie, and you have more than your own needs and desires to think about here. I’m trying very hard to be a “good army wife” or whatever you call it, and I did go to one of those support group meetings, and I’m doing the best I can without you. But knowing you are in harm’s way in Baghdad, well, I don’t know if I could take it. Maybe your mother is wrong about this. If so, I’m sorry to

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even bring it up. But I’ve been worried ever since she told me that it may be true. Archie, I love you. I’m proud of what you are doing over there. Please follow your orders and stay in Basra. Love, Claire After sending off the email, sitting at the coffee counter with a bottle of imported water, Claire realized that she couldn’t truthfully say that she was proud of her husband being sent to Iraq. It was more like bad luck, drawing the bad card from a deck, getting the booby prize. She quickly felt guilty feeling like this, but this was how she felt about it. Did this mean she wasn’t patriotic?

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36 Archie Was he dreaming? Archie lay on his side, facing Hal’s bunk. Slowly he realized that the silhouette in front him, a figure sitting with his back to him, was Hal. Hal was bent forward, as if tying a shoe. Archie closed his eyes and opened them again. The figure was still there. He took a deep breath. He was awake. Hal rose, picked something off the floor and walked off. It took a moment for Archie to scramble out of bed and follow him. Archie, in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, caught Hal outside the billets as he was stepping off the porch. He was dressed in civilian clothes, carrying a suitcase. “Hey.” Hal stopped and hesitated before turning, as if thinking about it. Hal said, “Hey.” “What are you doing?” “I'm going home.” “Man, come on. Get real.” “This doesn't concern you.” “It's called AWOL. They put you in jail for a long time.” “I'll take my chances. They can't be worse than over there.”

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Archie realized he was chilled, even in the early Texas summer morning. “Come inside so we can talk about this.” “There's nothing to talk about.” “I'm freezing my ass.” “Go back to bed.” Archie stepped off the porch and took several steps toward his friend. They stood face-to-face, close. “I'm not letting you do this,” said Archie. “How are you going to stop me?” Archie let out a slow breath. He nodded, as if to give Hal one last clue before he did what had to be done. Hal just looked at him. Archie made a fist and cold-cocked Hal on the chin. Hal twisted and fell to the ground. Archie shook his hand. It had hurt more than he expected. “You fucker,” Hal said, spitting blood. “You broke my tooth.” Archie's breath came in short pulsations now, a rush of adrenalin. “Are you coming back inside?” He moved to Hal, who was still on the ground, and offered his hand. “Take a shower and go back to bed. It's a couple hours before reveille yet.” Hal reached up and let Archie pull him to his feet. “Open your mouth.” Hal obeyed, and Archie peered inside. “It's your gum. I don't think anything's broken.” “And if I don't come back inside?” “I start on the other side. One way or another, you're going back to bed, even if I have to carry you over my shoulder and dump you there.” “Since when am I your problem?” “Since we became best friends, asshole. You're scared, as you've got a right to be, but it's fucking up your thinking.”

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There was a silence, as if Hal once again was testing the situation, wondering what to do. “Fuck,” he finally said. Archie put one arm over his friend's shoulder. “It's going to be okay. Let's go back to bed.” By the time the sergeant turned on the lights in the billets so the troops could rush to reveille, Hal was snoring, and Archie was lying on his bunk half-dressed, impatiently waiting for the day to begin.

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37 Claire Claire was shocked at how many personal items she'd brought into her classroom: the boxes she filled and carried to her car took up the back seat and spilled into the trunk. When she was done, she walked slowly through the classroom to make sure she hadn't missed anything. Satisfied that the room could be left for the summer, she stepped into the hallway. Duncan faced her. Apparently he had been watching her. “All done?” he asked. “All done.” “Me, too. Can I buy you a drink to celebrate?” “I need to get home. I'm expecting a call from Archie.” This wasn't true. She said it to remind him that she was married. “Don't want to miss that. Listen, I was thinking this Saturday may be a good time for me to come over and mow the lawn or whatever needs to be done.” “Actually I took care of it last week.” “And didn't call me? Now you hurt my feelings.” “I'm perfectly capable of mowing my own lawn.” In fact, she'd never been able to start the monstrosity of a mower easily. “Well, you have my number if something comes up.” Nicole joined them, all smiles and energy. “Claire, are you coming to the party?”

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“Party?” “At Nobby's. A bunch of us are going out to call it a year in style.” “She's expecting a call,” Duncan said. “It won't be the same without you there.” Claire wanted to go – what she didn't want was Duncan following her around. Somehow Nicole seemed to pick up on this. Nicole said, “From Archie, right? So come by after the call. I'm sure we'll be there for hours. This is the last party of the year for us. Come on, let me tell you all the reasons you have to be there.” Boldly, remarkably, Nicole took Claire's arm and led her away, turning to say to Duncan, “We'll see you at Nobby's in a bit.” It worked. Duncan didn't follow them, and Claire and Nicole emerged from the building alone. “Is he still bothering you?” Nicole asked. “Maybe he's sincere, I don't know. He keeps wanting to mow my lawn.” “You think he has other motives?” “Yes. I don't know.” “Is Archie really calling you?” “No. I just wanted to remind him I'm married.” “You devil. So we'll get a drink somewhere else and kill an hour, then go to Nobby's. Sound like a plan?” Nicole was just what Claire needed at a time like this. For all her earlier heartache, Nicole was bubbly and talkative through their two drinks at the bar in a Chinese restaurant neither had been to before, a place on the way to Nobby's. Claire was glad to let Nicole do all the talking. She nodded as Nicole went on about one summer project after another, learning how to wind surf, taking a correspondence course in Spanish, continuing the classical guitar lessons that she'd

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started last summer but let slide through the school year, taking a late summer trip to Hawaii to see her parents. Finally, after two gin-and-tonics, Claire said, “If we don't leave now, I won't be able to drive.” Claire wasn't a big drinker, and the crowd at Nobby's was well on their way by the time she and Nicole joined them. She made a note to have one drink, a Pepsi, to show she was there in spirit and then to head home. Suddenly a bath and bed seemed more inviting than a party. She stayed longer than she intended to because of Nicole. Nicole was still drinking gin and tonic, one after another, and it was obvious before Claire had finished her first Pepsi that the librarian would be in no shape to drive home. Claire wanted to make sure she had transportation before she left – or rather, knowing that Nicole would insist on driving, and often drove when Claire wished she hadn't, Claire wanted to make sure someone was assigned to take her home. But no one seemed to be concerned about Nicole's state of inebriation because they themselves were drinking more than usual. Claire realized she rapidly was becoming the only designated driver there. She decided to hang around for a bit and see if she could convince Nicole to accept a ride home. Nicole helped the situation considerably by passing out. It happened so suddenly that it took a short while for anyone to notice. Claire quickly volunteered to take Nicole home with her, where she could sleep it off. Duncan ended up carrying her to Claire's car. “I'll follow you,” he said, after dumping Nicole in the passenger seat. Nicole was stirring a bit, mumbling incomprehensibly. Clair said, “No. I'll be fine.” “You're sure?” “Positive.”

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But it wasn't this easy. On the trip home, Claire had to swing to the curb when Nicole started making retching sounds, managing to get out of the car and open the passenger door just in time for Nicole to lean into the gutter and throw up. Afterwards Claire stooped at the curb, holding Nicole's hand, and several minutes passed before Nicole nodded that she was ready to travel again. Claire led Nicole into the bedroom. She sat her down on the bed and cleaned off her chin with a damp washcloth. She asked if Nicole wanted to take a shower. Maybe later. Right now Nicole wanted to sleep. Claire helped her out of her blouse, which was stained down the front from the accident, and tucked her into bed. She sat on the edge of the bed until satisfied that Nicole was going to be able to sleep. Claire would remember what happened later as one of the strangest experiences of her life. She had stretched out on the sofa in front of television and dozed off. Suddenly someone was kissing her, soft lips on her cheek and chin, and Claire felt confused because the kisses were softer than those Archie habitually gave her, but if they weren't her husband's, whose? Then the strange lips pressed against her own, and she was aware that a wet tongue was wiggling into her mouth, and Claire opened her eyes and realized this wasn't a dream, this was Nicole, who was lying on top of her and kissing her, seducing her. Claire maneuvered a hand to push Nicole away but her hand found Nicole's breast by accident. “Love me,” Nicole whispered. “No, get up!” Claire was smaller than Nicole but once her strength was driven by panic, she had no trouble sitting up and pushing Nicole off her. “What do you think you're doing?”

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The look on Nicole's face would puzzle Claire forever: not hurt or surprise but betrayal, as if Claire were breaking some prior commitment. Nicole scrambled away, and in a moment Claire heard the bathroom door slam. Claire didn't know how to handle this. Her gay friend never had made an advance before, and Claire attributed what happened to alcohol, to Nicole likely being still drunk. After the shock of the moment, Claire could forgive her. She walked to the bathroom door. “Nicole?” “Leave me alone.” “It's okay.” There was no response. “Nicole, just go back to bed. It's okay.” “I want to go home.” “I don't think you're sober enough to drive.” “Fuck you.” Claire flinched as if slapped. She took a deep breath. “Nicole, I'm going back to bed. I'll see you in the morning.” But Claire couldn’t get back to sleep. She kept listening for Nicole, and a long time passed before the bathroom door opened and Nicole's footsteps returned to the bedroom. Nicole closed the bedroom door behind her. Claire turned off the television and fetched a blanket and tried to sleep on the sofa. She wondered what Archie was doing now. The next thing Claire knew, the phone was ringing.

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38 Archie “Hello?” The voice didn't sound like Claire. “Claire?” “Hello?” Archie was sure it wasn't Claire. He'd woken up a stranger. He hung up and redialed. “Hello?” It was the same voice the second time. Then he recognized Claire's voice, “Hello?” “Claire?” “Archie?” “Hello?” “I have it, Nicole.” “Nicole's there?” “Nicole, it's Archie. Would you hang up please?” There was a click. “What's Nicole doing there?” “It's a long story.” “I don't like the sound of that.” “She was too drunk to drive. We had the end of the year party last night. I let her stay here.” Archie didn't respond. He knew she'd read this as disapproval. “Archie, are you okay?”

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“I'm good. I got your email.” “I'm sorry if it upset you. I know I should just go with the flow.” “Claire, the Army sends you where they need you. They don't depend on volunteers. There's a master plan behind everything.” “Your mother said you'd be disappointed.” “That's neither here nor there. I go where I'm told to go.” “Would you rather be in Baghdad?” Archie paused a moment, then changed the subject. “Is Nicole in the bedroom?” “I gave her the bed. I slept on the sofa.” “You two aren't becoming an item or something?” “Archie! You know me better than that.” “I hope so.” “You're not serious? I thought you were making a joke.” Was he serious? Now he wasn't sure. He said, “Of course it's a joke. I just wanted to call so you'd relax about Baghdad. If I go there, it's because I'm ordered to go there. Everything's in the hands of the Army.” There was some sweet talk after that, as Claire woke up and came to appreciate his call and became satisfied that he wasn't volunteering to go to Baghdad, but Archie was only half engaged in the conversation. His other half was restless to hang up, to get out to training, to get overseas, to get this show on the road. Claire didn't understand where he was coming from. Whenever he made an effort to explain, as now, in the motive of this call, he regretted the attempt. Claire, maybe all women, just didn't get it.

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39 Claire Apparently Nicole did not remember last night or was too embarrassed to bring it up. She wandered into the kitchen looking like hell and when she saw Claire sitting at the coffee bar, she closed her eyes as if testing whether Claire would still be there when she opened them. She was. Claire said, “I can’t remember how you take your coffee.” She already had a cup ready for her. “Where’s my car?” “At Nobby’s.” “Can you take me there?” “Don’t you want coffee?” Nicole didn’t. Nor did she want conversation, so Claire drove directly to Nobby’s and dropped her off. Nicole didn’t even say goodbye or thanks. Claire decided she must be hugely embarrassed and made a note to let Nicole know, in a few days when she was feeling more herself, that they still were friends. Claire stopped at the market on the way home, which changed her route and after shopping brought her to a corner where Mike was standing with his usual sign. She prayed that the light wouldn’t turn red, and it didn’t. But Mike noticed her anyway. Although she had meant not to look his way, she did as she passed and found him grinning and waving. She lifted one hand off the steering wheel and waved back.

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Back home, Claire fretted about whether she should take Archie’s advice and terminate Mike’s lawn help. He was a good worker, she thought, and regardless of what Archie thought, she felt good about helping him out. She couldn’t understand Archie’s antagonism unless it was driven by fear for her welfare, as if Mike might be a latent rapist or some such deviant, which of course was ridiculous. Claire prided herself on having a good sensitivity to a person’s character. She felt no fear of any kind from Mike. The doorbell rang. Claire considered ignoring it. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and she really didn’t want to see anyone, except possibly Kelly, and her sister frequently appeared unannounced. Claire went to the door. “I thought I’d better check in,” said Duncan. He stood on her porch with a confidence that suggested he belonged there. “I’m not sure what you mean.” “If Nicole’s okay.” “She’s fine.” “She was in some kind of shape last night, wasn’t she? I’ve never seen her get so plastered before.” “She’s fine,” Claire said again, hoping her tone communicated her displeasure at seeing him. Duncan nodded. “Your lawn looks great,” he said. “I really don’t have time to talk.” “I don’t understand this hostility.” Claire focused on her breath. She had no energy to play whatever game he was playing. “But I can take a hint,” Duncan said. “No hard feelings, okay?” Claire’s mouth opened but no words came. Duncan nodded again. Claire said, “I’m a little hungover today myself. I don’t mean to be rude, but I do have to ask you to go.”

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Duncan grinned. “That’s better. Hangovers I understand. I’ll be in touch.” As he walked to his car at the curb, Claire wanted to shout after him, No, don’t be in touch, that’s the point I’m making, don’t you see? Apparently he didn’t, and Claire was angry at herself for the rest of the day for not making it abundantly clear to him.

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40 Archie Archie’s training day became longer than ever. With their training sequence shortened by a week, the troops took to the field at seven instead of eight and returned after dinner for two more hours of drill, all in an effort to make up the lost training. Archie loved the added activity because it made time pass more quickly. He also sensed a greater cohesion in the company, a firmer grasp of reality, of the seriousness of their training and mission. They no longer were weekend warriors in the National Guard but in essence members of the Regular Army with as much claim to being called warriors as anyone else. If there was an exception to this new camaraderie in the unit, it was Hal. Archie began to wonder if perhaps it had been a mistake to stop him from going AWOL. Archie worried that Hal would be a liability on the battlefield, a burden to others and too fearful or unskilled to protect anyone else. Yet the training sergeants, to Archie’s surprise, expressed no reservations about Hal’s progress. Hal was never reprimanded or taken aside. Was Archie then holding him up to too high a standard because he was his friend? Was Hal a better soldier than he realized? The thing was, this wasn’t the kind of question you wanted answered on the battlefield. You needed confidence long before you got there. Archie tried to phone Claire again but she wasn’t home. With the earlier morning start to their training, he found it

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difficult to get a phone first thing in the morning. He called at odd times, as he could, but she still did not answer. He left messages. He told her he loved her. But he wanted to talk to her before he shipped out. As the date approached, his days got even busier and the lines at the phones got longer. After another unsuccessful try to catch her at home, Archie decided to get up and call at three or four in the morning when he would be sure to get her.

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41 Claire Claire knew that something wasn’t right between her and Archie. The last phone call had been uncomfortable, almost tense, as if their wills were pulling in opposite directions. Maybe Helen was right and Archie was disappointed not to be sent to Baghdad, into the thick of what was left of the war, in which case her own fear for his safety must strike him as weak, maybe he even labeled her with his most pejorative description, being a wimp. She called him in Texas but it was an impossible effort. Archie was always in the field, and apparently her messages were never forwarded, which explained the upset tone of the young soldier who answered the phone at the only number she had. Archie was trying to call her as well, leaving curt messages, “It’s me – I love you,” “Love you,” “Aren’t you ever home? Love you.” She was home as much as ever but for some reason he was calling her at odd moments of the day instead of waking her on his way to training. This worried her because if he really wanted to reach her, he could. He could call her at five in the morning as before. Why wasn’t he? And then he did. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t dreaming. The bedside clock read 3:45. “Hey, you awake?” “I’m here.” “You get my messages?” “Of course. I was hoping you’d wake me.”

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“I love you, babe.” “Archie, I love you.” “We fly out tomorrow.” “Already?” “I told you they moved us up. Anyway, I have no idea what the situation is over there for calling or sending email or anything. I’ll call as soon as I can.” “Okay.” “I don’t want you to worry.” “Okay.” “In a year we can look back at all this.” “I hope so.” “I feel good about going over there, Claire. You have to respect this.” “I do, Archie.” “Good.” But did she? They exchanged a few more pledges of love, and Archie explained that there was a long line waiting for the phone, and so they said their goodbyes. As soon as she hung up, Claire broke into tears.

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42 Archie The Enlisted Men’s Club, called by everyone the EM Club, hosted nightly spirited revelry that ran the gamut from loud happy hours to downright drunken mayhem. A soldier always had a reason to drink, always had something to celebrate or drown his sorrows about – a promotion or reprimand, a transfer, a wife’s childbirth or a divorce or a Dear John letter, a winning lottery ticket or a losing lottery ticket. Drinking at the EM Club needed little motivation. Almost everyone in Archie’s outfit was at the club the night before they would depart for Iraq. Almost everyone drank too much. There was little talk of Iraq, however, and considerable laughter as the men and a handful of women in the Oregon National Guard’s 41st Infantry Brigade continued a ritual of bonding to loud tomfoolery and tall tales of training, to exaggerations of exploits in college and even high school, to just about anything that was frivolous in content. This was a time to escape the reality of going to war, their last chance to fool around. Archie was at the bar, waiting for his sixth beer when an idea came to him. It was something he’d said to Claire on the phone. Why hadn’t he taken the idea seriously before? Back at the table, he shouted, “I need volunteers!” – and shouted several more times until he had the attention of Hal and the others.

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“I need volunteers! I’m going to send my wife some lightning bugs!” The table of soldiers roared its approval, and everyone wanted to volunteer. As it turned out, capturing lightning bugs was more complicated than Archie realized. Jars were confiscated from a trash bin behind the mess hall and holes punched in their lids. Trapping the bugs in the jars, however, was a difficult sport, especially considering how much they had had to drink. Soon enough it became a contest with GI’s stumbling through shrubbery and tripping across lawns, carrying jars in pursuit of their blinking, flying quay. After half an hour of such foolishness, everyone got bored and thirsty at the same time and returned to the Club. But Archie had a dozen jars with lightning bugs in them, which he rearranged into two jars filled with twigs and leaves to make the critters feel at home. The bugs were still alive the next morning, the jars on the floor beside Archie’s footlocker. Archie, hungover but serious, the morning charge to get his gear ready to travel, had decided to throw out the jars when Frank, a new friend from the night’s escapades, came by to remind him that he’d promised to ship the jars to Archie’s wife. Frank needed the address. “Would they survive?” Archie wondered aloud. “You must have fifty of them. I expect a few would.” There was nothing to lose, so Archie gave Frank the address, a twenty to cover shipping, and returned to the more serious task of preparing to go to war.

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43 Claire She lived the days immediately after Archie’s phone call as if in a daze. She’d sit at the coffee bar in the morning and not be able to remember what she’d done the day before, or what she had planned to be doing today. Then everything changed. Claire was doing dishes, listening to jazz on the college radio station, feeling mellow, when “My Funny Valentine” by Gerry Mulligan began – and without warning, as suddenly as Alice falling into a rabbit hole, Claire burst into tears. She was not crying so much as weeping, her body convulsing as her breathing became difficult. She stumbled to the divan and fell forward on her stomach, caressing a pillow as if it were the only thing saving her from drowning. Claire dozed off. When she awoke, she felt exhausted on the one hand but was unable to keep still on the other, pacing in and out of the kitchen as if she couldn’t remember what she was looking for. She decided she needed someone to talk to, company, a voice to distract her from listening to the one in her head with its unlettered gloom. Kelly wasn’t home, and Claire left the brief message, Call me. Nicole also didn’t answer but Claire left no message. Next to the phone was the contact sheet from the Military Wives Support Group. So this is what they were talking about. Claire started to dial the top number, Mildred’s, but hung up

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before finishing. Mildred was the leader of the group but also the most sanctimonious among them to Claire’s ear. Claire dialed the next number, which was Mary’s. “This is Mary.” Claire couldn’t speak. “Hello?” She began sobbing, her heaves audible over the phone. “Who is it, please?” “Claire.” “Claire?” She doesn’t even remember me, Claire thought. She hung up. A moment later the phone rang. Claire picked it up. “Claire, are you all right?” Time seemed suspended. One moment she was struggling to speak coherently on the phone, the next she sat on the divan in her own living room, facing Mary and a woman named Nancy. Claire felt like she was in a dream, her surroundings awash in a gray fog, the faces across the room distorted in speech but the voices silent, everything pulsating in an odd slow motion. “Don’t you see, dear?” someone was asking her. The sound of Mary’s voice had shot into Claire’s consciousness like a rocket. Claire, standing, said, “I need to go to bed.” That was all. Whether they followed her to her bedroom or not she later couldn’t recall. Apparently they had let themselves out because when Claire wandered into the kitchen at three in the morning, the living room lights were still on and the house empty. She poured a glass of cold water from the refrigerator and sat silently at the coffee bar. When the water was gone, she returned to bed.

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44 Archie They landed in Kuwait, not Iraq. After several hours, during which they stood in line for bedding and were assigned bunks in a recently built billets, they assembled to learn that each squad in each platoon was being divided into four-man teams, each in turn assigned to a Humvee. For the rest of the day they were to become familiar with the vehicle, each taking turns driving. They’d gotten little experience at this in training. In a few days they would form a convoy and head into southern Iraq, destination Basra. With mixed feelings, Archie got assigned to his team, which was not the team to which Hal had been assigned. For the first time since training began, they were separated. Archie worried about Hal, still, but in another sense he felt relief not to have to be looking after him. Hal was going to have to learn to soldier better than he had in training, and there really was nothing Archie could do about it. His team members were Doug, Tracy, and Zak, none strangers to him but none close either, not as close as they surely would become once they were crowded into a Humvee together, bouncing through the desert. Zak was the most extroverted of the group and became the team leader by default, which was fine by Archie. Zak suggested the order in which they should take turns driving and since no one had objections, it was followed.

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The Humvee was a hoot. There was no other word for it. It looked like a gigantic misshapen jeep from the outside and inside it felt somewhat like being in a tank but less confining, less claustrophobic. There was a feeling of power in being behind the wheel of so formidable a vehicle. Archie felt an immediate bond with his team: Danny, only 19 but the most physical and fearless among them, an all-state linebacker in high school who had not lost his athletic edge; Josh, in his mid-20s, also a salesmen like Archie, but of used cars; and Zak, in his late 20s, the only one of them with time in the regular Army and experience as a teenager in the first war against Iraq. What bonded them was attitude, all clear in their embrace of the task ahead, however dangerous, because they had been called to duty and a patriot accepted the calling, indeed felt honored to be among the chosen to defend the country. So strong was their immediate bond that personal habits changed immediately. In the evening, they went to the E.M. Club as a unit, a team, and sat together, even though only the day before they would have congregated with others, with their friends from training. Now they were a team, they would be fighting the war shoulder-to-shoulder, a band of brothers, and this realization kept them together. When they sat down at a table with their beers. Archie saw Hal across the way, sitting with his own team, and for a moment their eyes met, and each friend nodded. Archie smiled. Hal, for the first time, actually looked like a soldier. It was a good thing they had been separated. Maybe he’d been too harsh about his brother-in-law, maybe all along he’d been a better soldier than Archie gave him credit for.

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45 Email FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected] SUBJECT: Missing you I’m writing this hoping you’ll get it sooner rather than later. I don’t know how else to speak to you, where to call, where to write, and you probably can’t access email but at least I can put myself in the frame of mind that I’m talking to you. First, let me say that I had a hell of a time right after you left but I’m much better now. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, I know how you worry, but I wanted to tell you I figured out how to spend the summer, how to keep busy. I’m going to finally write the Algebra textbook that I’ve been talking about for so long. I’ve already started a chapter outline, and I think I’ll be able to finish a draft before school starts again. It’s a big job but that’s great because it will keep me busy. I got your package. For the longest time I didn’t get it – I kept wondering why you would send me two jars of dead cockroaches. Then I remembered the bugs that light up. That’s what they were, right? Lighting bugs? Anyway, unfortunately none of them made it here alive.

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So that’s the news here. I love you so much and miss you so much already but please don’t worry about me, I’m stronger than you realize. We can get through this, Archie. For me, I think the key is to keep busy. Please write or send email when you can but I know how busy you must be, so I won’t worry if I don’t hear from you right away. Just know that you’re always in my thoughts and in my prayers (yes, you read that right!) and I’m going to believe that no news is good news and not worry about you as much as you probably think. I’m strong, Archie. I’m keeping busy. And I know we can get through this. All my love, Claire

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46 Claire Claire answered the doorbell to find Mike grinning at her. “Today’s the day, right?” Was it Saturday? She supposed so. She’d never contacted him, as Archie had wanted, to tell him not to come again. “Yes, right.” “If you’ll open the shed, I’ll get right to it.” Afterwards she paid him without adding a tip. Mike didn’t seem to mind. “Two weeks then?” Now was her chance to tell him, she knew. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t do what Archie wanted because she believed he was wrong. Mike worked hard and did a good job. She felt perfectly safe around him. “I’ll see you in two weeks,” she said. A few days later Claire was taking a short cut from Kelly’s, which took her through a sprawling park in the hills between the northern and southern residential districts of town. She was passing through the park when she saw Mike and another man sitting at a picnic table near the road. There was a jug of wine on the table between them. Apparently he didn’t see her, and she drove on. But she found herself driving through the park more often when she

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was out and about, wondering if Mike made a habit of hanging out there. The next time she saw him, less than a week later, Mike was rooting through a trashcan. He brought out a pop can and dropped it into the garbage sack he was carrying, which appeared to contain dozens of cans. Mike headed up a bank above the picnic area, moving into the trees. Where is he going now? Claire wondered. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she swung the car into the parking area for the picnic tables. By the time she was heading up the bank after Mike, he had disappeared into the dense forest. There was a path of sorts at the top of the bank, and Claire followed it, wondering if she were following an habitual trek of deer or humans. She continued walking, even though she now had concluded that her curiosity was making a fool of her. She was about to turn to go back when she heard laughter. The sound was coming from her right some distance away. Claire left the path to move between the spruce pine and Douglas fir, slowly heading toward the sound. She recognized Mike’s voice amidst the laughter. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the camp. She let out a little gasp of shock and surprise. A hut of sorts had been constructed out of scrap plywood, branches and God knows what else, a large lean-to almost the size of her living room, in which two sleeping bags were spread out on a tarp, the rest of the space filled with crates used as wardrobe closets. Mike and two other men, who were equally scruffy and unkempt, sat on other crates around a card table. Once again, a large bottle of wine was on the table. The plastic sack of cans was on the ground near a tree from which a small mirror hung. Once out of her shock, Claire realized they were getting ready to play cards. One of them was shuffling the deck. They looked like three buddies on a camping trip, not homeless men hiding out in a public park.

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She watched them for several minutes, then turned and headed back. She walked faster in retreat than she had in approach.

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47 Archie’s War Journal June 11, 2004. My first entry. Let me explain what this is. I bought a small spiral notebook at the PX, what there is of it, before we left Kuwait, figuring it might come in handy for letters or whatever. But writing letters isn’t going to cut it, things are just too hectic and unpredictable, so I’ve decided to keep a diary or journal or whatever you want to call it. A War Journal. Archie’s War Journal. I want to start by copying some news items from the Stars & Stripes. We don’t get much news on a daily basis, well other than rumors, because it’s not like you go out and drop a quarter in a machine and get the daily paper. We get issues of the Stars & Stripes but usually they’re almost a week old by the time they make the rounds, at least in my unit, so we’re never up to date on anything. I’ve been collecting some recent stories to save. I’m doing this because I want to make sense of this experience later. Obviously this is going to be the most important thing that ever happened to me. I felt that as soon as we headed out of Kuwait and immediately drove straight into a dust storm on our way to Basra. It was like being on another planet. Anyway, I got a bit of time right now, so let me copy down the essence of some of these recent stories. Here’s what’s been going on around here the past month.

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May 11 2004 Nick Berg, a US hostage in Iraq, was shown being beheaded by Islamic militants in a video released on a website sympathetic to their cause. His killers claimed the execution was to avenge the abuse of Iraqi detainees by US troops. May 20 2004 Ahmad Chalabi, the Pentagon's one-time protégé, was humiliated when US officials and Iraqi police ransacked his private office in Baghdad. May 29, 2004 Three U.S. Marines were killed in Al Anbar Province, in western Iraq. The deaths bring to more than 800 the number of American servicemen and women killed since the start of the American-led invasion of Iraq in March 2003. June 7, 2004 Gunmen dressed as Iraqi policemen raided a police station in Musayyib and set off explosives, killing 12 people. Attackers blew up a vacant police station in the Sadr City slum in Baghdad. In Taji, a car bombing near a military base killed 9 people.

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48 Claire Claire couldn’t get Mike out of her mind. His situation. The fact that, in his capacity as gardener, he seemed perfectly normal, a polite man whose age she still couldn’t determine, not too particular about his personal hygiene – well, maybe that was not a fair judgment, given his circumstances – but not someone she would take as a derelict or a wino, although now, having twice seen him drinking wine during the day, she wondered if she were giving him too much benefit of the doubt. For a week she gathered up her nerve to ask him about a few things when next he came to mow the lawn. She waited until he was done and eating a tuna fish sandwich she had made for him. They were sitting at the table on the small patio behind the house. “I saw you last week,” Claire said. She was relieved that her voice hadn’t broken. Mike nodded, chewing, but said nothing. “In Foothills Park.” “What were you doing in Foothills Park?” He’d spoken with his mouth full. Bad manners, the way Claire had been raised. “Taking a short cut.” “People do that.” There was a silence while Mike finished the sandwich. “Is there something you want to know?” he asked.

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“You found a pop can in a trash can.” Mike smiled, which set her back. He could be so casual about behavior that Claire didn’t understand. “Nickel a can,” Mike said. “I can make a couple bucks an hour sometimes.” “Maybe you can find some more lawns to mow. I mean, the wages are better.” “Very true. Habit, I guess. Cans have been my major source of income for years.” “You can make enough doing that?” Mike held out his arms. “Here I am.” After a silence, Mike said, “I get the impression there’s something else you want to ask. Just ask it.” “I was wondering… well, I was wondering where you live.” Again Mike smiled. “I saw you following me,” he said. “I know you know where I live.” Claire could feel her face burning. She wanted to disappear. “It’s cool,” Mike said. “I figured you’d be embarrassed if I said hello or anything.” He seemed to be waiting for her to speak. She cleared her throat. Mike said, “You’re not going to report us, are you? Those are the best digs I’ve had in a long time.” “How long have you been there?” She again felt relief that her voice had been steady. “Almost three months. That’s pretty good for a public park. Usually someone reports us before that.” “Us?” “Me and Pete, my partner. We tramp together.” “There were three of you.”

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“We were helping somebody out but he turned out to be a wino. You can’t trust winos, so we sent him on his way. I thought he’d probably report us but I think we’d’ve seen the cops by now.” Claire was too overwhelmed to think of anything articulate to say. She felt awkward now, and apparently Mike shared the feeling. He stood up. “I appreciate the sandwich. Should I come back in two weeks?” “Of course. Of course.” It didn’t take long after he’d left for Claire to feel like a fool. She knew there were homeless people, hundreds maybe thousands of them right here in Eugene, and obviously they would live as best they could under the circumstances, including setting up camp in a public park, and if some of them were alcoholics and drug addicts, not all of them were, not Mike, she thought, again giving him the benefit of the doubt, and she had been shocked and made uncomfortable by the circumstances of his life because, in fact, she’d never had a conversation with a homeless person before Mike came into her life. Now, seeing how he lived, and the wits he had to survive, she felt a vague admiration of him.

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49 Archie Archie had been trained primarily to engage in intense door-to-door search and destroy missions on hostile streets. The streets of Basra, as near as Archie could tell, were not very hostile and at any rate were patrolled routinely by British troops. The American presence in the city was to support the British effort, which meant that Archie’s Humvee team and the others found themselves patrolling on wheels around the outskirts of the city, looking for signs of enemy activity. It was boring work almost immediately. Archie, still collecting articles for his journal, longed to be where the action was. There had been action in Basra a few months back, he heard, when thousands took to the streets to protest lack of water, electricity, jobs and other basics of life. The war had devastated this city like so many others, and repairs were slowed down considerably since they were being done in the middle of guerrilla warfare. Occasionally Archie’s team was called to guard some construction activity or other, water pipes being laid, an oil depot being repaired, but this duty was even more boring than cruising around the dry landscape of a country Archie began to identify with hell. Whenever he retrieved an old copy of Stars & Stripes he read about troops engaging with the enemy, usually in the vicinity of Baghdad, and he longed to be a warrior among them. Copying news items into his small

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journal, he more and more began to feel like an observer of the war, not a participant.

June 8 2004 Iraq's new government was given international legitimacy by a UN Security Council vote to support the transfer of sovereignty from the US-led occupation. 15 people were killed by car bombs in Baquba and Mosul. June 9, 2004 Rebels killed 12 members of an Iraqi security force in Falluja. Saboteurs blew up an oil pipeline north of Baghdad that carries fuel to one of Iraq's largest power stations, forcing authorities to cut output on the national power grid by 10 percent. June 12 2004 Gunmen killed a top Iraqi diplomat in the first high-profile assassination in the country since an interim government took over on 1 June.

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50 Claire A rain storm more suited for December than June swept down the valley, dumping in two days over an inch of rain on Eugene. At first Claire used the sudden grayness as a kind of veil of privacy around new energy and concentration to work on her textbook. Working on the computer at the desk, she lost track of time and ate at odd hours, grabbing a meal not because it was noon or six or because she was hungry but because she needed a short break from writing. For a moment her world was small and intense. Walking across the lawn to fetch the morning paper after the worst of the storm had passed, Claire realized she was getting her slippers wet, so saturated was the soggy grass underfoot. She tried walking on tiptoe and almost slipped. Back inside she dropped the paper unopened onto the counter at the coffee bar, where a week’s worth of newspapers were scattered unread. She didn’t have to open the paper to know the news was bad. At the computer she felt uncertain what to write, her streak of creative energy gone with the bad weather. She wondered how Archie was doing and when she would hear from him. She really should write him another email even if weeks passed before he could retrieve it. He’d know she was thinking about him, missing him. In fact, she was trying not to think about him because when she did she began to worry.

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What tidbits of news overcame her efforts to avoid them – a news break on the radio, a headline passed at the supermarket – only reminded her that Iraq continued to be a very dangerous place to be. She retreated from the depression of thinking about Archie in Iraq by thinking about Mike in the park. How in the world could he have gotten through the storm without getting drenched? Why was he sleeping outside in the first place, rather than taking advantage of a homeless shelter? Surely the city provided services for people in his unfortunate circumstances. But how aggressively was Mike working to change his situation? He was mowing her lawn every other week, yes, but Claire was not aware that he was looking for more lawns to mow. She’d be more than happy to let him borrow the mower. Claire was back at the computer, trying to get back into the rhythm of writing, when the doorbell rang. It was Kelly. Claire sensed immediately that something was wrong by the overly dramatic way Kelly let herself in, saying with the gesture of an actress, “Do you have anything to drink?” Claire poured white wine for her sister and diet Pepsi for herself. As usual, they sat at the coffee bar. “Don’t ask me what I’ve been up to,” Kelly said after small talk. “I can hardly believe it myself.” Claire hadn’t planned on asking and didn’t take the bait now. There was no need to. Sometimes Claire thought that Kelly made such a mess of her life because she enjoyed talking about it so much later. “Your colleague dropped by a week ago,” Kelly went on. “Not quite a week. Just before the rain. He didn’t leave till an hour ago.” Claire studied her. “My colleague?” “Duncan.” “Oh my God.”

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Claire looked away, as if the very site of Kelly enraged her. “I know, I know.” Claire forced herself to laugh. Actually she shouldn’t be shocked. Duncan’s intentions were clear enough, and once he discovered Kelly, the rest must have been easy. Kelly asked, “You want the gory details?” “No, Kelly, I don’t. It’s none of my business. Why did you even tell me? It’s not as if I give a damn what Duncan does.” “What about what I do?” “I gave up on you a long time ago.” Kelly finished her wine, then held up her glass in a gesture of inquiry. “Kelly, Kelly.” And Claire poured more wine. “We spent the entire rainstorm, three days, in bed,” said Kelly. “I haven’t done that in years.” “Oh please spare me the details.” “It didn’t mean anything. I was depressed. It was just an escape. For a couple days I managed to forget how much I hate this stinking war and Hal and Archie having to be a part of it.” Claire wasn’t sure how to respond. She was not aware that Kelly had become political. “The reason I told you,” Kelly said, “is because I think he’s the type who will tell you himself. You said he was flirting with you. I think he did this to get you interested or something.” “I don’t care what his motives were. Duncan is not a part of my world.” “Well, mine neither, Claire. It was just something that happened. He came by the club one night and tried to pick me up afterwards. I turned him down but not forcefully enough apparently because he came over the next morning, and we were in bed within the hour and stayed there, more or less, for three days.”

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“What enjoyment do you get out of this? Do you actually believe I’m jealous or something?” “I don’t want you to hear it from him first.” “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in weeks and I don’t expect to.” But the possibility that Duncan would drop by haunted her for the rest of the day. Claire wanted nothing do with him. Although Kelly insisted their encounter had been a three-night stand and was over, she didn’t believe that either. Kelly had found her wartime lover, is what it amounted to. Poor Hal.

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51 Archie’s War Journal June 13 2004 More than a dozen people were killed, including a senior government official, in the latest in a wave of attacks on Iraqi politicians and security forces in Baghdad. June 14 2004 A car bomb ripped through a convoy of vehicles carrying western contractors in central Baghdad, killing at least 13 people, including two Britons. June 16 2004 The commission investigating the 9/11 attacks found “no credible evidence” of a link between Iraq and al-Qaida, contradicting President George Bush's assertion that such a connection justified the toppling of Saddam Hussein. Also, the political handover was dealt a blow as insurgents wrecked pipelines and assassinated a top oil industry executive. Two explosions at oil pipelines near the Persian Gulf forced the shutdown of Iraq's main oil export terminal. June 17, 2004 A car bomb killed 35 Iraqis and wounded more than 140 outside a civil defense recruiting station in downtown Baghdad.

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Another car bomb exploded in a village 50 miles north of Baghdad, killing six.

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52 Claire Kelly suddenly had become an activist against the war, at least to the extent of making placards for a big “bring the troops home” march planned for the 4th of July. Claire could sympathize with her sister's strong feelings even though she never could bring herself to do something so visibly upsetting to Archie. Claire had stopped understanding the mission in Iraq the moment the President announced with great bravado from an aircraft carrier that the war was essentially over. Yet soldiers were still getting killed over there, not to mention Iraqi civilians, sometimes women and children. There seemed to be no end in sight. Against the backdrop of such international disaster, Claire saw the possibility of doing good in her very small corner of the planet. She debated with herself whether or not to offer the shed to Mike. To Claire he seemed a victim of bad luck, not a bad person, and if she could help him, then why shouldn't she? The problem was, if she invited him to stay in the shed, how long would he be here? She couldn't give him an open-ended invitation, and since she couldn't figure out how to put limits on her offer without looking uncomfortable with it, she decided to let the matter rest. Then Mike, after finishing the lawn work, said something that got Claire thinking again. “Next time, in two weeks, will be my last one,” he said.

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He was eating the tuna sandwich she'd fixed for him. Claire sipped a glass of white wine, something she usually didn't do so early in the day. “Oh?” “Going to Florida. Mainly to spend the fall and winter there but I want to take my time and see some friends in the southwest and then get there early enough to stake out a claim before the rush.” Mike continued to amaze her. He could have been talking about taking a leisurely vacation. “I'm not sure what you mean, stake out a claim.” “Most of the homeless people in America want to spend the winter in Florida.” “Yes, I suppose it does beat being homeless in the snow.” “Really.” “So you'll be leaving in two weeks?” “Around there.” “How did you survive the rain we had?: “Man, what a mess! It was like trying to camp in a swamp.” “Did you go to a shelter?” “I avoid shelters like the plague.” “Oh?” “I always catch a virus and half the time somebody tries to rip me off. Shelters suck, to be honest. I know the city means well by them but I don't know many who prefer them to being left alone – except when the weather's bad. It takes a snow storm to get me in one.” “You know, I've been thinking...” There. She'd taken the first step to get it off her mind, she'd put something out for them to talk about. Mike just looked at her. “There's not very much in the shed,” Claire said. “It wouldn't take much work at all to make room for you to sleep in there. At least you would stay dry.”

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Mike thought a moment. “I can't ask you to do that.” “Well, I wouldn't except it'd be for such a short time. Two weeks. Maybe it's no better than your accommodations now.” “I've been sleeping on the steps of the library.” “The library?” “The back steps. There's a spot where they go down and you can keep out of sight.” “Well, the shed would be better than that, wouldn't it?” “Yes, it would. The thing is, I travel with Pete. I couldn't go somewhere else without him. We're as tight as brothers.” Claire didn't hesitate. “Let's see how much room there is.” She unlocked the shed, and Mike moved the mower and the tools to one end. There was a lot of empty space left. “Two sleeping bags would fit fine,” said Claire. “With room to spare.” “I believe they would.” “What do you say?” “I can't believe you'd do this.” Was she blushing? She hoped not. Claire said, “Why don't you ask Pete and let me know then?” “Oh, there's no need to ask him. This is an incredible offer.” “You can move in as soon as you like then.” “Really?” “Of course.” “Well, maybe later today.” “Great.” “Man, oh man. I feel like I won the lottery.” Claire felt like she'd won something, too. She moved through the rest of the day with a new lightness in her heart, almost a feeling of relief, as if her sense of well-being did not depend on the larger world and its conflicts, its wars and

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confusions, but on the small actions within her personal reach. She was genuinely helping a man in need and felt good about it. She felt good even though she knew she never could share this with her husband.

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53 Archie Archie recalled reading (or maybe Hal, who read more, had told him) that war was a long span of boredom interrupted by sudden moments of sheer terror. Soon enough Archie and his team understood the boredom part. Their daily inspections of the outskirts of Basra became repetitive and fruitless, but still they went on. Only occasionally was the routine interrupted with orders to do something else, usually to guard construction activity going on in the area. Three teams had been called to guard an oil depot when Archie got his belated introduction to the rest of the meaning of war. His Humvee, with Zak driving, was sandwiched between the others, driving behind the Humvee occupied by Hal’s team. It was the first time Archie and Hal had orders to the same assignment. Zak was complaining as usual. Archie was riding shotgun. “This damn Army. We didn’t learn shit from Vietnam. We got the same situation, an enemy you can’t find, goddamn guerrilla cowards who hide among the populace, throwing a grenade here, planting a car bomb there, as nasty as an attack of mosquitoes, and instead of getting out the aerial spray and bombing the bastards once and for all, we pussy foot around, terrified of injuring a goddamn civilian or some damn thing, fighting with two hands tied behind our back, no wonder we’re not getting anywhere.”

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The explosion came suddenly and Archie was slung against the door as Zak swerved to his left to avoid crashing into the Humvee in front of him, which already was in two pieces and burning. Everyone was yelling, and as soon as their Humvee skidded to a stop along the shoulder of the road, Archie opened the door and rolled out, his rifle immediately at the ready, and he scrambled behind the Humvee before peering up to look for the enemy. There was no visible enemy. There was only the burning Humvee, Hal’s Humvee, and Archie heard the screams of its occupants. Archie was the second on the scene, behind Zak. They rushed to get the stricken soldiers away from the Humvee in case it exploded. Archie heard Hal groaning as he and Zak carried him away, which meant at least Hal was alive. Archie didn’t notice then, as he would learn that night, that Hal had lost the lower half of his left leg, everything below the knee. Archie didn’t learn till evening that Hal was going to be okay. A sergeant who knew their relationship searched him out at chow. Hal would be transferred first to a hospital in Germany, then eventually sent home. He had lost part of a leg. The more Archie thought about it, the more relief he felt. In a distorted way, Hal had caught a break because he was not the kind of guy who belonged there. Archie would not have been surprised by much worse. Losing part of a leg might be the smallest price to pay to get Hal out of there and home. As for Archie’s own attitude, the attack made him wish more than ever that he could face the enemy head-on and fight. How the hell could you fight cowards who planted bombs and ran? Or martyrs who would blow themselves up for the cause?

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54 Claire Claire learned that good deeds in thought were one thing, in action another. Watching Mike and his friend Pete arrive with three grocery carts piled with belongings, Claire realized what a spectacle moving into the shed must be for the neighbors. It didn’t take long before one of them phoned her. “What in the world is going on?” Mrs. Ricker wanted to know. She was an elderly widow and was the one Claire expected to hear from first. After Claire explained the situation, assuring Mrs. Ricker this was a short situation only, the neighbor said, “Are you approved for this? Where will they go to the bathroom? Where will they shower?” Claire assured Mrs. Ricker that everything was taken care of and repeated that the stay was temporary, only a few weeks. She lied that Mike was a cousin. How could she explain her motive otherwise? She left Mrs. Ricker in better disposition than when she called and waited for the next phone call. Miraculously, none came. Claire was working on her book when the doorbell rang. She expected to find Mike or Pete, who had yet to say a word to her, perhaps because he had no front teeth and was embarrassed to speak. Maybe they needed to use the facilities. She had no choice but to offer them, no other solution to a natural need occurring to her. But it was Nicole.

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Claire was surprised and delighted to see her. Since the drunken incident, Nicole had all but disappeared from her life. But Nicole’s expression stopped Claire’s joy in its tracks. “You have to come get Kelly,” Nicole said. “What’s wrong?” “She’s at Nobby’s with Duncan and is getting out of control. Duncan finally gave up and left. I’m worried about her.” “I’ll meet you there.” Before leaving, Claire rushed back to the shed. The shopping carts on the lawn were empty, and a new lock was on the door. Mike and Pete were gone. She had come to offer them use of the second bathroom in the den. She’d leave the back door open for them. Now there was no need to. Nicole met Claire at the bar as soon as Claire came in. “The bartender said she went into the john and hasn’t come out.” Claire found Kelly sitting on the floor near the washbasin, her face stained from tears and contorted in pain. “Kelly? What’s wrong? Why didn’t you call me?” Kelly looked up and for a moment, by her expression, Claire thought she was going to be accused of something. “Hal got shot,” she said. Claire insisted that Kelly come home with her. She could even spend the night, perhaps a few days. It took the rest of the day for Claire to get a sketch of what apparently had happened. Hal’s Humvee had hit a road bomb, and in the explosion Hal had suffered enough injury to be flown to a hospital in Turkey. Soon he would be transferred to a hospital in Germany. His life was not threatened. There had been some unspecified injury to a leg.

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Claire was relieved and tried to get Kelly to feel the same relief, that Hal was alive, that it could have been so much worse. She worried about Archie, of course, but this was not the time to bother Kelly with her own worry. Wouldn’t Archie have been in the same Humvee, given how inseparable they were? Yet if Archie, too, had been injured, or worse, surely she would have received the same visit from the military that had greeted Kelly that very morning. Or had they tried to come by while Claire was gone? Who could she call to find out? Kelly slept through late afternoon and evening, using Claire’s bed. Claire was staring at the television set, not really watching, when Kelly came into the room. “I need to get my car. I’ll get a taxi.” “You will not.” On the drive to Nobby’s, Kelly explained that she was more determined than ever to do something about this foolishness in Iraq. Claire had never heard her sister talk with such conviction about anything. “They have no exit strategy,” Kelly went on, sounding like a student who had just discovered a deep truth. “They don’t even give the troops the proper equipment. Believe me, on the fourth, there will be thousands here and all around the country demonstrating how Americans really feel about this war. They may call us unpatriotic but we’re the real patriots here. We’re the ones who care about the lives of the soldiers. You can’t send them in there with no plan, no equipment, and insufficient numbers to do the job in the first place. It’s criminal.” Claire was so dumbfounded by the sudden energy in Kelly’s monologue that she said nothing. She finally pulled behind Kelly’s car and waited for her to get out. Kelly touched her arm. “I know you’re for the war,” Kelly said. “I’m not necessarily for the war. I’m for Archie coming home safe.”

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Kelly studied her. “March with us.” Claire forced a laugh. “Archie would kill me.” “How’s he going to find out? We need all the numbers we can get. Believe me, this has got to end. This is the new Vietnam. We have to stop it the same way, by protesting.” “I had no idea you were so political.” “Nicole’s been working on me.” Claire had no idea. She didn’t know what to say. “Anyway, sorry to upset you,” Kelly said, opening the door. “I’m fine now.” “I’ll call you tomorrow.” “I’ll be hard to reach. I’m on the committee making signs for the march.” The fourth of July was only a week away. Claire had read nothing about a protest march – but then she usually avoided the news. “Take care of yourself, Kelly.” “I have a mission. I’ll be fine.” “Let me know if you hear more about Hal.” At home, Claire called the local recruiting station, where she was assured that no news was good news as far as the Army was concerned.

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55 Archie’s War Journal June 19, 2004 U.S. forces carried out an air strike in a residential neighborhood in Falluja, firing missiles that killed 22 people. The intended target was not immediately clear. June 24 2004 Insurgents launched coordinated car bomb and grenade attacks in several Iraqi cities, killing at least 69 people and injuring 270 in one of the worst days of violence since George Bush declared the end of major combat, in May 2003. June 25, 2004 A wave of attacks by insurgents killed 105 and wounded hundreds. In the deadliest incident, in Mosul, car bombs killed 62 people, including a U.S. soldier.

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56 Claire Claire quickly regretted offering Mike and his friend the shed. She’d acted on a humanitarian whim without thinking through what the offer meant, such as access to the bathroom and a shower. She shuddered to think what the bathroom would look like after Mike and toothless Pete, who was even more scruffy, got through with it. With the new stress in her life, the realization in sudden visceral terms that Iraq was a very dangerous place to be, she had more than enough on her mind without worrying about what effect two homeless men on her property would have in the neighborhood and in her life. Three days passed before Mike, walking around to the front door to ring the bell, asked if they might use the bathroom from time to time. Claire didn’t know how to turn him down. She showed him the smaller bathroom at the rear of the house, off the den, and said she would leave the back door unlocked whenever she was home. They could help themselves. Her book came to a standstill because she couldn’t stop worrying about Archie. She sent email and tried to call but heard nothing from him. One afternoon she stopped by the rest home to see if Helen had heard from him. To her surprise, Helen had been moved to a hospital. She’d had a serious bout with pneumonia, a nurse told her. Claire immediately felt guilty about not visiting her more often, so guilty that she couldn’t bare to visit the hospital in person

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and phoned instead. Helen was sleeping. Claire immediately bought flowers and a card and dropped them by the main desk at the hospital without asking if Helen was awake. Claire returned home just as Nicole was backing out the driveway. Claire let her move the car to the curb and waited for her on the porch. They sipped tea at the coffee bar. Nicole told Claire that Ruth, her former lover, had been in touch, confessing she’d made a mistake and wanting to get back together, but Nicole had rejected her. Claire wondered if sharing this, gloating about it, was the reason for the visit. “It felt good,” Nicole said. Claire hadn’t told her about her houseguests in the shed. Nicole, therefore, was shocked when Mike appeared in the doorway and said, “Excuse me.” Nicole looked at Claire with almost devilish curiosity. Claire, getting up to hurry to Mike, missed the implication. “Your toilet sticks. I can fix it if you buy the part.” “Oh, yes, it’s been doing that for weeks. I forgot to tell you.” “Easy to fix.” “Let me give you some money.” Her purse was on the coffee bar. Later, as Claire tried to explain the situation with Mike and Pete, Nicole looked at her with disbelief. “What?” Claire finally asked. “We’re all human, honey.” “What does that mean?” Nicole’s lips formed a devilish grin. “You think I’m sleeping with him?” Nicole shrugged. “You’re not serious.” The grin remained. “Damn it, Nicole, this is serious. I am not my sister. I don’t sleep around.”

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Nicole’s expression turned serious. “Did she break up with Duncan?” “I don’t know. I’ve never been able to keep up with her.” There was an awkward silence as they finished their tea. Claire didn’t offer refills. She felt like being alone. “Well,” said Nicole, “what I actually came over for is to invite you to march with us on the fourth.” Claire was silent. “The thing you have to understand is, there’s an amazingly wide variety of opinions about the war that inspire people to march. Some are against it. Others are actually for it but don’t like the way it’s being handled. What unifies us all is caring about American soldiers being killed over there. We certainly didn’t expect this, we were told everything was going to happen differently than it turned out. Maybe we were lied to, maybe Bush is just stupid. The point is, it isn’t going well at all and we need to let the administration know that we, the people, don’t like what’s going on. Numbers count. Look what people marching did about Vietnam. Johnson didn’t run for reelection because of it. We finally had to leave Vietnam because of it. Numbers in the street are the voice of democracy, Claire. Unless you’re really happy with the way things are going over there, I’d really encourage you to consider marching with us.” “Of course I’m not happy,” Claire said. “Well then?” “Archie would kill me.” “How’s he going to know? Anyway, I assume it’s for him you’d be marching. If you do.” There was another silence. “I’ll think about it,” Claire said. It didn’t take her long to make up her mind. An hour after Claire had left and after Mike had returned and fixed the toilet, Claire walked through the garage, looking for cardboard and

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wood to make a placard to carry in the march. She already knew what it would say: BRING MY HUSBAND HOME ALIVE!

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57 Archie’s War Journal June 28 2004 Iraq's US-led administration transferred sovereignty to the interim Iraqi government in a surprise move two days ahead of the scheduled handover. Paul Bremer, the outgoing US governor, signed over control of the country and responsibility for dealing with its escalating security troubles to the interim prime minister, Ayad Allawi, in Baghdad. June 29, 2004 The U.S. Army announced plans to call up 5,600 former soldiers for yearlong tours of duty, mostly in Iraq and Afghanistan, under a rarely used wartime program. Three U.S. Marines were killed by a roadside bomb in southeastern Baghdad.

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58 Archie The first thing Archie thought when he was called off guard duty to report to the Company Commander was that Hal was dead. The manner of the Specialist-5 who fetched him in a jeep was somber enough to suggest tragedy, even though the soldier told Archie he had no idea what was going on. You weren't taken off guard duty for good news. Good news could wait; it was bad news that rose up and slapped you across the face. But it wasn't Hal who had died. It was his mother. Archie sat across the captain's desk, silent, stunned. He hadn't been aware that his mother had been ill. Suddenly he felt a surge of anger for Claire, who should have been on top of things, who should have contacted him if something were amiss. As soon as the captain released him, after making arrangements for emergency leave and giving Archie only an hour to pack to catch a ride with a cargo plan flying to Kuwait City, from which he could begin the long journey back to the States, Archie tried to phone Claire. A strange man answered. “Bannock residence,” said the voice. Who the hell was in his house? “Who is this?” “If you're calling for Claire, she isn't in. Would you like to leave a message?”

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“Who the hell is this?” “This is Moondog.” “What the fuck kind of name is that? What are you doing in my house?” “Excuse me?” “This is Archie Bannock, and I want to know what the hell you are doing in my house?” “The Mr. Bannock who's in Iraq?” “How do you know that? Who the fuck are you?” “You don't have to get pissed at me, man.” Archie closed his eyes, trying to regain his composure. There was a silence. Mike said, “I fixed your toilet. I mowed your lawn. Okay?” “Where's Claire?” “She went to the store. If you call back in an hour or so, she should be here.” “What are you, a handyman?” “That's it.” Archie thought a moment. Then he said, “Tell her I called. Tell her I'm on my way home.” “Oh?” Archie was incensed again, this time by the tone that invited explanation. It was none of this handyman's goddamn business. “Just tell her. I'll be in touch soon.” Archie caught the cargo plane but nothing was leaving Kuwait for the rest of the day. He was advised to stay in the airport nonetheless, so he did, reading magazines, now and again trying to call home but getting no connection, waiting, asking the same question at the counter, getting the same shrug and smile, as if the clerk did not understand English, which in fact he had understood perfectly well earlier; Archie was stuck in a system that operated without any semblance to the punctuality

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he was used to in the States. Finally, around five in the morning the next day, he was able to get a seat on a plane from Kuwait to Amsterdam, where once again he would wait for space-available on a plane going anywhere in the States or Canada, the North American continent. He understood that he had no idea when he would get home. He had no idea when his mother was being buried. Presumably Diane, his older sister, who lived in Massachusetts, was already there, making the arrangements. Certainly they wouldn’t bury her until he got there. He just didn’t want it to be a horse race.

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59 Claire The night of July 2, Claire learned about Helen’s death when Diane phoned. Archie already was on his way home, perhaps arriving as early as the fourth. Claire offered Diane the spare bedroom but Archie’s sister, a businesswoman, turned down the room in favor of one at the Hilton. Claire now had a dilemma: to march on the fourth or not? She discussed the situation with Kelly and Nicole, and neither pressed her to march, which helped Claire decide to go through with it. At least the march would keep her busy and distract her from worrying about Archie. Then Kelly called back with unexpected news: Hal was in a military hospital in Maryland, and the Army was paying all expenses for a one-week visit so Kelly could be with him while he continued surgery. She was leaving immediately and would miss the march. On the morning of the fourth, Nicole pulled into the driveway and honked her horn. Claire rushed out, put her placard on the back seat with several others and climbed into the car. The marchers would gather at a park south of downtown and march several miles to the Free Speech Plaza near city center, where they would listen to speeches from march organizers and sympathetic politicians. Claire had struggled with her sign, which in turn gave her doubts about the wisdom of marching at all. Not that she didn’t

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believe it was the right thing to do. More and more, she doubted the wisdom of the government’s policy in Iraq. But she knew that Archie would never approve of protesters against the war, and Claire wanted to make sure she was marching for something she truly believed in. She’d read about past protest marches deteriorating into acts of violence, which she wanted no part of, not even by distant association. Then why not do nothing, why not call Nicole and bow out entirely? Because she also felt frustrated and powerless. Whatever one might believe about the wisdom of liberating Iraq (if, in fact, this was what we were doing), no one could refute that precious little was going as planned. No one could disagree that the government should do better. And this became her placard: DO BETTER! It didn’t take Claire long to rejoice in the difficult decision of joining the march. On television, she had the impression that protest marchers were mainly college students, but this morning the thousands who gathered for the march looked very much like a cross-section of the community. Claire was surprised by how many people she ran into whom she knew, colleagues and parents from school, women from her past, including a few once-close friends she hadn’t seen in years. The upbeat mood of the march also surprised her, as if this act of protest gave all who participated the validation of moral action. There was great unspoken confidence in the crowd that everyone was doing the right thing, the thing that had to be done in this time and place, and this bound the throng of marchers into a special community. After the march and the speeches, Nicole, Duncan and others from school were going to meet at Nobby’s but Claire decided to bow out. She was glowing with satisfaction that was so new to her that she didn’t want it spoiled by the usual chatter of the barroom. She felt like being alone. She felt like reflecting on how this special morning had affected her.

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Nicole offered to drop her home but Claire declined. It was a pretty day as well as a special one. She could walk. When Nicole protested that it was so far, Claire just smiled. She felt like she could walk forever.

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60 Archie It had taken him a miserable 55 hours to get from Iraq to Eugene, much of it waiting in airports in Kuwait, Amsterdam, New York and Chicago. Now Archie sat in the back of a cab at ten in the morning on the 4th of July, feeling tired, worried, and not very social. If Claire wanted to go see fireworks tonight, Archie was going to let her go alone. His first task was to go home and see Claire. After that, he needed to locate his sister and learn the details of the funeral arrangements. He was sure he had arrived home in time. Archie unlocked the front door and entered the house. At the kitchen, he stopped, as if expecting to find Claire sitting at the coffee bar. He stared into the room. Something didn’t look right but he couldn’t place it. Claire was forever redecorating something or other. Moving toward the living room, he called, “Claire?” In the living room he was stopped by changes too obvious and ominous to ignore. The room, while not bare, was missing much of what defined it. The entire entertainment corner – wide screen television set, DVD player, FM radio, stereo speaker system – was gone. Archie raced into the bedroom, calling “Claire?” The room was empty. The bed was made. In the kitchen, Archie found a beer in the refrigerator and opened it. Sipping at the coffee bar, he realized what had struck

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him about the kitchen: the coffee maker and the microwave were gone. He gulped down the beer and went to the phone. He called the police. Before the police came (damn well taking their time, he thought), Archie noticed something else. The shed behind the house had been trashed. The door was open, and inside the floor was littered with beer cans, several wine bottles and an assortment of fast food wrappers. Archie stormed next door and banged on his neighbor’s door. Mrs. Ricker smiled as soon as she opened to door. “Archie! When did you get back?” He explained that his house had been robbed and Claire wasn’t home. “I saw her leave this morning. Just before the truck arrived.” “What truck?” As near as Archie could put together Mrs. Ricker’s rambling recollections of the morning, Claire had left shortly before nine. Almost immediately, a pickup truck had pulled past the shed into the backyard, and the men who had been living in the shed carried out various things from the house. When Archie asked why the hell she hadn’t called the police, Mrs. Ricker explained that she didn’t think there was a robbery in progress. In fact, she had come outside to get a better look, which is when one of the men came over and talked to her. He was so polite and kind, explaining how Claire was making a donation to the Salvation Army, that she didn’t for a minute consider that he might be lying. Later Archie filed a police report with the officer who finally showed up but he could tell by the officer’s manner that this was only a formality. Archie opened another beer. Where the hell was Claire?

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He went into the garage to make sure his truck hadn’t been stolen as well. It hadn’t. But in the garage Archie found something that upset him even more than being robbed. Two placards were propped up against the work bench. One read: BRING MY HUSBAND HOME ALIVE! The other read: IT IS NOT SAFE IN IRAQ! Archie stared at the signs for a long time. He didn’t know how to escape the conclusion that Claire had something to do with them. What the hell had happened to her in the weeks he’d been gone? Was she suddenly a pacifist, a protester, a goddamn peacenik?

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61 Claire & Archie Archie was sitting in his chair in the living room when Claire entered the house. He had run out of beer so had switched to whiskey. He was having a hard time getting drunk, his mind too active to get numb. Claire screamed when she saw him. She quickly recovered and raced to him, bending forward to embrace him. Archie didn’t hug back. Claire straightened up, aware that something wasn’t right. “You must be exhausted,” she said. “When did you leave Iraq?” “So you know about all this?” “About what?” She unconsciously took a step backward, away from him. He’d been drinking, obviously, and he was upset about something. She had to make her way carefully through the minefield he was dropping at her feet. “About fucking what? Look around, Claire. What do you see?” It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about. She gasped and under her breath said, “Oh, my God.” “Mrs. Ricker tells me you were letting two bums sleep in the shed. Tell me it isn’t true.” “I—” She didn’t know what to say.

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“You’re fucking charity cases robbed us blind, Claire. They drove up in a pickup truck, probably stolen, and filled it with everything valuable they could find. See what charity gets you?” “I don’t know what to say.” She had to sit down – but as far away from Archie as possible. She collapsed on the sofa. Archie stood up. “I also found your handiwork in the garage. What are you, marching against the war or something?” Her instinct was to lie to him, to say that Nicole had been there, she needed a place to work, and Archie disliked Nicole enough that he might believe her. But she couldn’t begin. She couldn’t lie to him now. “To be honest, I’m not sure what I believe any more,” she said. Archie paced across the carpet one way and the other. To Claire he seemed on the edge of violence, and this frightened her. “I’ve got too goddamn much going on right now for this, Claire. Couldn’t you have waited?” “Archie, it’s not as bad as you think.” “Fuck it isn’t!” She’d never seen him look at her this way before. She never wanted to see that look again. Archie said, “Has Diane called?” “Of course. She’s staying at the Hilton. I offered her the guest room.” “I’m going to go see Diane.” He started away, then stopped and came slowly back into the room. “I’m going to get a room,” he said. A part of her wanted to plead with him not to do this, not to jump to conclusions. But another part, a part that surprised

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her, wanted to let him go so she could be alone. She had a lot of thinking to do. “Where were you this morning?” Archie asked. Claire took a deep breath, wondering how much she should tell him. She didn’t want to live a lie. She said, “If I tell you, you’ll jump to conclusions.” “Try me.” “Okay.” It took her a moment to find the words. “I marched to protest how the situation in Iraq is being handled. I don’t know how I feel about the war exactly but I do know it could be handled better over there. I wanted to express my opinion.” “So you’ve suddenly become political?” “I told you, I don’t know how I feel. But obviously something is wrong.” “Did you ever consider how I might think about this, my own wife out marching with the peaceniks?” “As a matter of fact, I did.” “And said fuck it.” “Archie, I feel so powerless! I get so upset every time someone dies over there! Which is almost every day now.” “And this is your way of supporting the troops, right? Jesus God, Claire. What the hell has happened to you?” Claire quickly stood up. “I have a right to express my opinion, Archie.” “Fuckin-A. Just as I have a right to get the hell out of here. I don’t like being around peaceniks.” Later that night, Archie phoned her. Claire was in bed, reading. “It’s me,” he said. “I know.” “Did I wake you?” “No. I was reading.” “What are you reading?”

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Claire exhaled so strongly that Archie could hear it. “You’re right,” he said. “Dumb question. Listen, I’m sorry I got so mad at you.” “Archie—” “Let me finish. I still don’t understand what you thought you were doing, in terms of supporting me and the rest of the guys over there, but it’s obviously your right to protest. I mean, that’s part of the reason we’re over there, to establish democracy.” Claire didn’t know what to say. He was so far from understanding her. “Are you there?” Claire said, “I’m here. Archie, I would never do anything if I thought it would hurt you.” “This hurt, Claire. It hurt bad.” Shit. She felt herself being backed into a corner. She heard his voice saying what came next before he actually said it. “Promise you won’t do anything like this again?” “I can’t do that, Archie.” “Jesus Christ!” He stopped. She could picture his expression, eyes closed, face in a frown, regretting losing his temper. “Archie?” “Yeah.” “Can I ask a question without you getting upset?” “Shoot.” “I’m serious. I don’t want to argue with you.” “What’s the question?” “Do you think we’re doing the best we can do over there?” She thought she heard him cuss under his breath, Fuck. “Claire…” He stopped and began again. “Claire, I’m a soldier. I’m a warrior. As hard as it may be for you to believe this, I like what I’m doing. Of course it’s

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dangerous. But I feel honored to be chosen to be there. I believe in what we’re doing. I believe we’re making a better life, in the long run a better life, for the Iraqi people. What you don’t understand, Claire, is that’s beside the point. What I think about it is beside the point. I’m a soldier. I follow orders. My commander-in-chief tells me to be in Iraq, so that’s where I go. You can’t run an Army without a chain of command. If you don’t follow orders, you have chaos. You can’t win wars from a perspective of chaos. But I do like being a soldier, more than I realized just being in the Guard, and I think this is my calling, Claire. This is what I want to do with my life. Maybe it’s like father, like son, or something. Whatever it is, I’m going to reenlist. I’m not selling insurance any more. I’m not sitting in an office any more. My calling is a soldier. A warrior. This is what I’m going to do with my life, Claire.” Claire was stunned. This was not the man she’d married – or thought she’d married. After a silence, Archie said, “Claire?” “You mean this. You plan to reenlist.” “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He had used those very same words when proposing to her. “Say something, Claire.” “Archie…” “What is it?” “I think we need to talk about this. I really don’t want to be an Army wife.” “There’s nothing to talk about. It’s what I’m going to do.” “This is not the marriage I thought I had signed up for.” “Ditto on that.” “So.” “So.” Claire closed her eyes, fighting against tears. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry. Claire cleared her throat.

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“The funeral’s tomorrow,” she said. “Right.” “I’ll see you then.” “I’ll be there.” “When do you have to go back?” “Day after tomorrow. They only gave me a few days.” “Do you think we should talk?” “Not if you think you’re going to talk me out of it. The army is my life, Claire. I understand that now.” “I see. Then I suppose we don’t have anything to talk about.” “Apparently not.” “I’m sorry it turned out this way, Archie. I truly am.” “I don’t need any false sentiment, Claire.” “It isn’t false sentiment.” “Fine. I’ll see you at the funeral.” She was so angry that he hung up on her that she thought of calling the motel and demanding that he give her the respect she thought she deserved. The thought passed quickly, and Claire walked to the coffee bar to pour herself a glass of white wine. She didn’t finish the glass and returned to bed. She couldn’t believe how badly she had misjudged Mike. She cried for a long time before she fell to sleep. The next day she purposely went late to the funeral and sat in the last row. She was out of there before Archie even had a chance to learn she’d come to his mother’s funeral, after all. In fact, Archie had noticed her sitting in the back row. He prayed she wouldn’t come forward and make a scene. When he later looked for her and discovered her gone, he was relieved. Archie got very drunk that night, drinking with his sister in the motel until she couldn’t keep up with him and went up to bed. Archie had a few more drinks but they closed too early for him. He bought a six-pack at a convenience store, which he took back to his room at a motel. He understood that his

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marriage was over. What he didn’t understand yet was whether he was drinking in celebration or in mourning.

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62 Archie On his long trip back to his unit, Archie visited Hal in the hospital in Maryland. Kelly was still there, and there was something in her manner toward him that told Archie she was a conspirator, a peacenik herself, perhaps the one who had talked Claire, who before now had no political bone in her body, into behavior bordering on treason. Kelly was gracious enough to leave them alone. After the condolences – a leg lost, a mother dead – and small talk, Archie told Hal about Claire’s letting two homeless men sleep in the shed, scumbags who ended up robbing them. Hal was someplace else and hardly reacted to the news. Archie wondered how many drugs they had given them. “Well, I wanted to stop by before I catch my plane,” he said. “You’re actually going back over there?” “Of course.” Did Hal shake his head in disapproval? Archie couldn’t tell. At any rate, he didn’t want to get into it. He stood up from the bedside chair. “You take care of yourself,” Archie said. “I’ll do my best.” “I’ll drop you a line now and then.” Walking down the hospital corridor, Archie was aware that he was losing his best friend as well as his wife, both

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because they disapproved of his being a warrior. He did not understand where they were coming from, why they couldn’t comprehend the close relationship between his calling and his duty and the most basic freedoms they enjoyed at home, how the latter would be impossible without the former, without the warriors who put their lives on the line in times of crisis. They lived in a dream world, these peaceniks, a world in which terrorists did not crash planes into your skyscrapers, a world in which hostages were not beheaded on television, a world in which suicide bombers did not blow up random families in a marketplace. One day, he supposed, the real world would come up and bite them in their collective ass. Perhaps then they might understand what he and others like him were doing with their lives. There was a coffee stand near the hospital entrance. In line for coffee, Archie noticed a little boy staring at him. “Hi there.” The boy smiled. As near as Archie could guess, his mother was the woman nearby who was talking to a doctor. “What’s your name?” Archie asked. “Billy.” “Good name.” “Are you a marine?” Archie crouched so his eyes could meet the boy’s eyes at the same level. “Army.” “My daddy’s a marine.” “Then you must be proud.” “He got shot.” “I’m sorry.” “He has to stay in bed.” “I bet he gets well real soon.” “I’m going to be a marine when I grow up.” “You daddy will be very proud of you.”

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The boy’s mother turned from the doctor and touched her boy on the shoulder, turning him around to join her. Archie stood up. Briefly the mother flashed an apologetic smile, as if to apologize for an interruption. “You have a great kid there,” said Archie. If she heard the remark, the woman ignored it. She was talking to the doctor again, and the boy was clinging to her leg. Archie decided he didn’t want coffee after all. He stepped out of line and left the hospital. Outside he walked to one of the cabs parked at the curb, his posture as erect as the clarity of his ideas. No doubt it would be another long and uncomfortable series of flights back to his unit in Iraq. But the mission was more pleasant this time around, he’d choose fighting terrorists, defending his country, honoring his commitment, to burying his mother any day of the week. She was an extraordinary woman, his mother. She was an Army wife. She supported her husband, his father, all the way. She supported him through Korea and Vietnam. She knew what a warrior needed. His mother was – had been – an Army wife.

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63 Claire Claire was not an Army wife. Whatever else she might be – naïve and stupid to have tried to help Mike, as confused as ever about politics and world affairs – she did not have whatever it took, whatever Helen had had, to be the wife of a career military man. When it sunk in that Archie was serious indeed about making a career of the army, she knew she would have to file for divorce. Before the summer was out, however, Archie beat her to it and served papers. By the time this happened, Claire not only was used to the idea but active in a new organization she had founded with Kelly, activity that would have alienated Archie even more if he knew about it. The idea had come to her during a night out with Kelly the day after she returned from visiting Hal in Maryland. What began as a few drinks and catch-up time became dinner and a long brainstorming session over coffee and brandy because they discovered they both were filled with a new political consciousness and needed to express it in some concrete way. They’d gone to Zenon’s for dinner, a popular crowded restaurant with small tables pushed close together. With everyone talking at once, a constant hum in the air gave the delusion of privacy. When Claire told her sister about the probability of divorce, Kelly said, “I’m not surprised actually. I always knew

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he was a latent lifer. He was an Army brat, for God’s sake. Things like that run in the family.” “I guess I should have seen it coming.” “Iraq just facilitated it. You can’t believe what Hal has to say about what’s going on over there. We only get half of what a mess it is.” Hal was going to be fine, if without half a leg, Kelly had told Claire earlier. His spirits were good, mainly because he was home. He’d be coming home soon and starting rehabilitation at the VA hospital in Portland. Claire said, “I’m been doing a lot of thinking. What bothers me most is the insinuation you’re not patriotic if you have anything critical to say about what’s going on.” “I know what you mean.” “I think we need to stand up and be heard. The spouses of the military fighting over there. We have more at stake than anyone.” “Wives against the war. Something like that?” “Spouses. Women, mothers, are over there, too.” “Right.” “But I think against the war is too strong. I mean, we do have to fight terrorism. It’s not that we’re against the war exactly. We’re against the mismanagement of it. Or against fighting on the wrong front, fighting terrorism the wrong way. You know what I mean?” “We’re against the mess being made over there.” “Exactly. And I think the name of the organization should be positive, being for something, not just against something.” Kelly said, “Spouses for …” They were silent a moment, thinking. “Spouses For A Responsible Foreign Policy,” said Claire. “Except it sounds so highfalutin, who would want to join?” “Spouses For Sanity In Iraq.” “Spouses For The Safety Of Our Loved Ones.” “Spouses For … shit, this isn’t easy,” Kelly laughed.

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The right name for the organization came to Claire a few days later during a meeting she had arranged with the Military Wives Support Group. Claire, strangely emboldened by her awareness of a new life on her own, had come to the meeting in order to share her concerns with other women with husbands in Iraq. She’d had to drag Kelly there, who considered the wives in this organization intransigent in their hawkish notions of the war in Iraq. Claire began by explaining how as a teacher she had learned that the squeaky wheel got the grease. When she needed supplies or teaching aides or anything else in the classroom that was not presently available, she had two choices: to live with the status quo or to raise a fuss until she got what she needed for the welfare of her students. She had learned that the latter strategy was best for the kids. The Military Wives Support Group was a necessary organization, Claire conceded, but it wasn’t enough. They needed an organization of spouses, husbands as well as wives, that served as the squeaky wheel, that focused on the needs of their spouses in war. She proposed forming such an organization, which would be called Spouse Watch. Only one woman from the Military Wives Support Group joined Spouse Watch. By the time school started, seven others had joined Claire and Kelly in the fledgling organization. On a unanimous first vote, Claire was elected chair of a committee of three charged to write a statement of purpose and a working plan of action.

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64 Patriots Almost immediately, Claire and Kelly began to argue about the direction Spouse Watch should take. Kelly wanted their organization to stand firmly against the war in Iraq. It was based on lies and misinformation, she argued. Claire tried to turn back to what she thought was the original impetus for the organization, as a watchdog for the soldiers, to make sure they were not forgotten, whether in terms of appropriate equipment and support in the field or of health care at home. The sisterly differences fanned out through the small organization with the result that it was difficult to find an activity that a majority of members would vote for. With its deep divisions, Spouse Watch was a microcosm of the country. Early in November, Claire was at the computer, working on a proposal for yet another activity that might win majority favor, when the telephone rang. “Hello?” “Hi there.” Claire’s mouth dropped open. It was Archie. “Claire?” “I’m here. I’m so surprised to hear from you.” “Figured you might be. But I thought just showing up might give you a heart attack. I want to come by and pick up my stuff.”

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Claire had packed some of it in boxes, which were stacked in the garage. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to pack his closet of clothes. She didn’t know if he planned to fetch them, if she should give them to the Good Will, or what. “You’re in town?” “Don’t you read the paper? Or maybe the article hasn’t come out yet.” “What are you talking about?” “They made me the Grand Marshall of the Veterans Day Parade in Springfield. Isn’t that something?” Claire was confused and didn’t know what to say. “I guess you don’t know. I thought it would be in the paper. I got in a pretty tough situation and got lucky. I saved a few guys including myself. I got shot a couple times but nothing serious. Anyway, they sent me stateside to recuperate, somebody sent out a news release about the medals, and the next thing I know the American Legion is asking me to lead the parade.” Claire was still silent. “So since I’m in the neighborhood, I thought I’d come over and pick up my stuff. Unless you’ve thrown it out.” They agreed that a good time for him to come by would be the following Saturday morning at ten. By nine Claire was a mess. The story about his heroics had appeared in the Register-Guard after all, several days after he called, and made him sound like John Wayne in a war movie. Claire was glad that he hadn’t been hurt but she also was nervous about seeing him again. She didn’t want to talk about the war with him. She didn’t want to argue. He looked good. Stepping into the house, he was thinner and more muscular at the same time, tan and masculine. He was wearing his uniform, which surprised her. They made small talk as they carried the boxes from the garage to the SUV he had rented. She had packed his clothes

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for him in several suitcases, and they went into the back of the vehicle. “Can you stay for coffee?” Claire asked after Archie closed the door on the last of his belongings. His lips pursed before he answered. “Thanks, but I’d better get going. I have a lot to take care of before the parade. And I ship out right after.” “Ship out?” “Back to Iraq.” Claire’s surprise was visible. Archie smiled. “A man gets shot up,” he said, “and the first thing he wants to do when he’s on his feet again is get back over there. I bet that’s hard for you to understand.” Claire shrugged, wanting to avoid the argument that hovered so clearly in front of them. “Being over there with those guys is my life. It’s the best life I’ve ever had.” There was an awkward silence. “So what’s new with you?” Archie asked. “Still marching for peace?” Claire bit her lip and let it pass. “I’m almost finished with my textbook.” “Good for you. Got a publisher?” “I think so.” “Outstanding.” “Archie—” She didn’t know how to begin. “What?” “Nothing.” She had wanted to explain the difference between Spouse Watch and “the peaceniks,” as Archie called all protesters, the difference between her politics and the politics of her sister. But she knew that opening this particular Pandora’s Box could bring on a rush of opinions that easily could destroy the civility they had managed to maintain.

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“It’s good to see you, Claire. I hope we can be friends.” “Me, too.” “I love being a soldier. I’ve finally discovered who I am. It wasn’t the life for you.” “No, it wasn’t.” “At least we found out before we had kids.” “True.” Archie reached out awkwardly and embraced her. Claire no less awkwardly wrapped one arm around him. They quickly separated, like two embarrassed school kids on the porch after a first date. “You take care of yourself, Claire.” “You, too, Archie.” Claire waited outside. She watched him get into the SUV and back out the driveway. Pulling into the street, Archie looked in the side mirror. He saw Claire standing at the end of the driveway, watching his departure. He thought of beeping a final farewell. But he didn’t. Just before Archie turned the corner and disappeared out of sight, Claire thought of waving. But she didn’t. On the desert between Baker City and Ontario, Major Joe Baker of the 41st Infantry Brigade faces a gathering of new trainees, National Guardsmen called up to begin the training process that will take them to Iraq. It is November, 2004, and the war has taken an unexpected direction. Insurgent resistance has grown beyond anticipation, requiring battle tactics recently considered obsolete, a return to the old-fashioned kind of war the Major loves so well, a hands-on, personal, building-bybuilding, door-by-door search-and-destroy mission, ferreting out an enemy who dares to try and stop the march toward democracy in Iraq. Suddenly his exercise with bayonets is training for the real thing.

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“Today,” Major Baker begins, “you are among the most honored members of your generation, honored because you have the opportunity to perform the greatest work available to an American citizen, to defend your country against its enemies…” And the troops, our own sons and daughters, listen to the Major, and to others like him all across the land, and their hearts swell with pride and patriotism until they are eager to rush forward to fight the wars of their parents in a ritual as old as human history.

END

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