“Go tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”
Sophie’s full weight fell on Harper in a hug before she skipped off. Harper sat up and rubbed her face, sticky where Sophie had touched her. She grabbed her toiletry bag and turned herself decently human in the kids’ bathroom. By the time she emerged, the kids were back upstairs playing in their rooms, and Harper found Allison alone in the kitchen.
“Morning,” Harper said tentatively. “Where’s Darren?”
“Out for a run. If he’s not wandering the streets at night or napping, he’s running.” Allison laughed, but it was tinged with irony. “Our crazy was on full display last night, huh?” She held out a cup of black coffee.
Harper took a sip to buy some time. At the very least, last night had torn back a veil of normalcy. “Crazy doesn’t faze me; you know that.”
Allison huffed and leaned against the counter, her gaze on her coffee. “It might not faze you, but you know how it is around here.… I’m the one who’s supposed to deal with everyone else’s crazy.”
“Allison.” The frustration Harper felt was akin to when Ben refused to ask for help before making a huge mess pouring his own milk. “You were my rock after Noah died and when Ben was born, and you’ve been the rock for countless wives on base during deployments and births and deaths. Let me—let us—help you now.”
Allison swallowed, her chin wobbling. “Everything’s falling apart. It’s starting to affect the kids. Libby’s grades have slipped, and Ryan’s been getting in trouble at school. Sophie seems to be the only one who takes Darren’s moods in stride.”
“Is Darren talking to someone? Are you?”
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Allison’s attempt at a laugh fell a yardstick short.
The pressure to find the right thing to say stalled Harper’s tongue. No one could understand the stress and isolation of being a military wife unless she’d lived it. Finally, she said, “I’m glad you’re talking to me, and I want you to tell me everything, but I have to leave soon. What about the military wives’ support group you started?”
“They’re a great group of women.” Allison jerked, spilling coffee. “Oh my God, I forgot we have a meeting this afternoon. I was going to get everything ready last night, but I conked out.”
Her panic bled into Harper. “Are they coming here? What do we need to do?”
“It’s at the community center, thank God, but what’ll I do for food? I usually bring a homemade cake and petit fours and several dips.” Allison yanked the pantry door open so hard it bounced into the wall and hit her back.
Harper grabbed one of Allison’s hands and tugged her around. “We are going to hit up the commissary and buy whatever they have that we can open and plop some chips next to.”
“But—”
“No buts. We will buy paper napkins and plastic tablecloths and then you’re going to ask for their help.”
“It’s more of a social group. Or a place to complain about moving—again. Finding schools and doctors and all that. You know the drill.”
“You need support, and those women can help. No reason it can’t be more than social.”
Harper held Allison’s gaze and gave her hand a squeeze. In a thin voice, Allison said, “What if they think I’m weak or something?”
“I don’t think you’re weak. In fact, you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of calling a friend. I’ll be right there with you.”
“Promise?”
“Yep. Chowing down on some store-bought french onion dip and Ruffles.”
Allison’s laughter was sharp and edged with dread, but Harper would take it.
* * *
The women didn’t seem to mind the picnic-like fare she and Allison had thrown together. The chatter and laughter of ten women filled the room in the base community center. Born of routine, after an hour of gossip and small talk the women shifted metal folding chairs into a circle, everyone quieting and looking toward Allison, their leader.
Allison cleared her throat. “I managed to introduce Harper around, didn’t I?” Murmurs of welcome and smiles were directed toward Harper. “Does anyone have anything they want to discuss?”
Harper gave Allison’s ankle a nudge, but another woman with bottle-blond hair launched into a diatribe about her son’s pediatrician that went on for a solid ten minutes broken only by nods and sympathetic muttering.
The woman finally ran out of gas and the silence was filled by the squeak of women shifting in their seats. Harper caught Allison’s eye and nodded.
“I don’t know if anyone’s noticed, but”—Allison’s voice cracked—“Darren’s not doing great since he made it home.”
The women erupted in “oh nos” and “ah, honeys.” The circle of chairs scooted inward so the women could reach Allison to give a pat on her knee or squeeze her hand. Tears sprang to Harper’s eyes, the moment bringing back memories of the outpouring of support she’d gotten after Noah’s death. Among military wives, no matter what branch, when disaster struck one a “there but by the grace of God go I” feeling incited true compassion.
After Allison’s battle with Darren’s demons poured out, a petite woman named Samantha sat forward on her seat. “I don’t think my husband has slept a full night since he got home two months ago. He won’t talk to me about it.”
Walls crumbled right and left as one by one the women let go of the fa?ade. Another woman, a plump, pretty redhead, said, “Things can be tough when they’re home, but I struggle when they’re deployed.”
“We all miss our husbands,” said another woman curtly. “No one is saying we don’t.”
“It’s not that.…” The redhead dropped her gaze to her lap, her hands reflecting her agitation in their constant movement. “I haven’t been able to find a job since we moved here. I get bored and depressed and sometimes wonder what I signed up for by marrying a military man. Our lives—my life—seems to revolve around his career, wondering when he’ll deploy or what our next big move might be. Sometimes I resent it. Is that terrible?”
The woman’s confession slingshot Harper back nine years to when she was a newlywed struggling to fill the hours in their small town house off base while she looked for a job she wasn’t vastly overqualified for. It had never truly felt like a home. Her framed diplomas from UNC mocked her until she’d taken them off the wall and tucked them into a closet.
“Not terrible,” Harper said. “I felt the same way after I got married. I graduated with honors, but it was hard to find a decent job. If it hadn’t been for Allison, I would’ve lost it.” She had loved Noah, but how long would that have sustained her? He’d died and she’d never had to face up to the answer.
Some women stated their kids kept them plenty busy, but a handful of others agreed with Harper, lamenting the lack of opportunities for military wives to contribute outside of the household. The uncertainties military wives faced were unique, which meant their paths led them off the beaten track. Excitement went hand in hand with frustration.
The meeting wrapped up with hugs and promises to talk soon. While everyone pitched in to clean up, Samantha pulled Allison aside for a quiet conversation that left Allison wiping her eyes.
Once Allison and Harper were alone in the car, Allison pulled out a scrap of paper with a number written on it. “Samantha gave me the number of a group for soldiers that meets on base to talk about their experiences. Sort of like AA except for PTSD.”
“That’s great.”
“I don’t know if Darren will go.”
“You’ll have to work on him until he does, that’s all,” Harper said lightly to counteract the darkness in Allison’s voice.
“You make it sound so easy. Nothing’s been easy since he made it home.” Tears muffled Allison’s words.
If Allison weren’t driving, Harper would snatch her up into a hug. “I know it hasn’t, but if anyone can make it through this, even if you have to drag Darren kicking and screaming with you to the other side, it’s you. It’ll get easier.”