Chapter One

Evie McCoy sat in the home of Lynnette Wellington for the monthly support meeting—a gathering of wives and significant others whose loved ones were on deployment. She hadn’t wanted to come but her mother strong-armed her. She believed if Evie met with other women who were going through the same struggles, Evie would have an easier time of it.

So far her mother was wrong.

The women were friendly enough, but for the majority of them, this wasn’t their spouses’ first deployment. Not only that, most of them, like Lynette, had been married a good bit of years. They’d been there, done that again and again and as a result, were old hands at the process. They’d probably understand how Evie felt and have some good advice, if she could bring herself to speak up, but…

From the corner armchair in which she sat, Evie glanced around the beautiful living room decorated in greens and golds. These women knew each other and had formed strong relationships with one another. Evie couldn’t help feeling a little left out.

Not only was this her first meeting but of them all, she’d been married the least amount of time. She and Jonathan had barely been together a year before he’d been shipped to Afghanistan. That was three months, two weeks and four days ago. Compared to the rest who’d been married five years minimum and in addition, had children to worry about, she and Jon were footloose and fancy-free newlyweds.

“Evie, get out of that corner and come into the kitchen with me,” Mrs. Wellington ordered in her friendly, no nonsense manner. “I can use a hand.”

Evie obediently rose to her feet. She’d assist Mrs. Wellington and then make her excuses. Coming here had been a waste of time.

In the kitchen, her host directed, “Reach into the fridge and grab the sandwich platters while I prepare another pitcher of lemonade. You know, Evie, I look at you and see myself, all those many years ago.”

Distracted by the Herculean amount of food in the refrigerator, Evie said, “Ma’am?”

Evie glanced over in time to catch Mrs. Wellington’s wince. “Please, Evie, call me Lynette. None of us stand on formality around here and ma’am makes me feel like my grandmother.”

“Sorry,” Evie apologized as she pulled one of the loaded platters from the fridge and set it on the center island with a thump.

“You and Jon have been married how long?” Lynette asked.

“One year, two months.”

“And he’s been gone at least three of those, and probably wasn’t home a lot of the time he was here, am I correct?” she asked, stirring the lemonade powder into the pitcher of water.

“Yes, ma— Lynette,” Evie quickly corrected herself.

Lynette smiled at her. “So much like me and Nick. The ink wasn’t even dry on our wedding license when he shipped out that first time. Twenty years, four kids, and countless moves later, he’s still deploying, though they come with less frequency now. Is Jon planning on making a career of the military?”

Evie frowned. “We’ve talked about it. The job market is so bad, even if he wanted to get out, Jon’s scared he won’t be able to find a job when the time comes.” At first she’d been all for him staying in the military, understanding it was a source of income and something Jon loved. Now she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

“How are you coping with him being gone?” Lynette asked with quiet concern in her brown-eyed gaze.

Evie flipped through all the responses she could make and settled on, “I’m still adjusting.”

“From what I was told, you two don’t have any children and you’re not expecting?”

“No kids. If we did, it might make Jon’s being gone easier to handle,” Evie impulsively admitted.

“It would definitely give you something to talk about. Let’s get this into the other room. Then we’ll find a corner, and sit and talk,” Lynette instructed as she picked up the tray with the pitcher and with a nod of her head, indicated for Evie to do the same with the sandwiches.

She followed Lynette, her intent to leave placed on hold. With that one comment, “something to talk about,” Lynette had caught Evie’s attention.

Lynette and Nick Wellington had a beautiful, spacious home. Evie and Jon’s small one bedroom apartment could fit inside the living/dining room area with room to spare. One day she and Jon would have a home like this, if their marriage survived.

They each piled a plate high with food consisting of chicken salad, deviled eggs, tuna macaroni salad, crackers, and deli sandwiches, and sat in a corner away from the main hub of the other ten women but still within hearing distance.

After giving Evie a few minutes to nibble, Lynette asked, “Can I ask you a question?”

Considering Lynette had been asking questions since the moment Evie arrived, she responded with a wary, “Yes.”

“Why’d you come tonight? Don’t get me wrong. I’m delighted you did, but you seem so…uncomfortable. It’s more than you not knowing any of the women here.”

Evie sighed as she looked down at her plate. “My mother talked me into it. She thought it might help.”

Lynette nodded understandingly. “And has it?”

Deciding on honesty, Evie admitted, “No, not really. I mean, it’s nice meeting all of you, but I don’t really fit in. You’re talking daycare and school and doctor’s visits, home maintenance and having to do everything for yourself because your husband’s away. While I sort of get that, I can’t relate. I’m not pregnant. Jon and I don’t have any kids. We live in an apartment so I don’t have maintenance issues. It’s just…you guys have so much to talk about. Not only with each other, but with your spouses as well. Jon and I, well, he’s only been gone three months and we’re already running out of words,” Evie confessed in a rush.

Lynette placed a comforting hand on Evie’s knee. “And this worries you.”

“Yes. Jon’s a talker. Usually I can’t shut him up but since he’s been over there…” Evie sighed again, and shook her head. “I know he’s under a lot of stress but he won’t talk about it. Says he doesn’t want to burden me, or cause me to worry more than I already am. Instead he wants to hear all the news from home, but…there isn’t any. I go to work, to school, to church, and home. He doesn’t want to hear about the tests I took, the sermons I heard, or who’s doing what on my job. That stuff’s boring.” She gave a rueful chuckle. “I’m boring.”