“Champagne shouldn’t be used for days like this. It’s a celebration thing.” Diana wiped away tears.

“We are celebrating.” Carmen tossed a fistful of tissues into an empty paper bag. “We’re rejoicing in the fact that one more time we’ve held it together like good little army wives. We didn’t scream and bawl like our daughters, even though we wanted to. We were strong.”

“And now we can fall apart.” Diana filled three glasses and touched hers with the other two, then reached for another tissue.

Chapter One

Over the past thirteen years, the ladies who lived on the same block in Sugar Run had been through wars, rumors of wars, death, divorce, fears, and joys, but nothing had prepared Carmen, Diana, and Joanie for the day they walked away from the army recruiter’s office in downtown San Antonio. Each of their daughters had enlisted and would leave in less than an hour, heading to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, for basic training. Backs straight, the three mothers managed to keep smiles on their faces until they were all inside Diana’s van, and then the waterworks started.

“I need a drink.” Diana wiped at the never-ending tears with a tissue, then passed the box around.

“This is ten times—no, a hundred times—worse than when Eli deploys. But, good God, Diana, it’s eight o’clock in the morning. If we start drinking now, we’ll be passed out by noon,” Carmen sobbed as she blew her nose and tossed another fistful of tissues into the plastic trash bag Diana kept in the van.

Diana pushed a strand of red hair away from her wet cheeks. “Passed completely out sounds good to me, and if you’ll remember, we always have mimosas when the guys leave on missions.”

Joanie took a compact from her purse and checked her reflection, then broke down into more weeping. “Zoe doesn’t look a thing like me. She’s got Brett’s dark hair and blues, and since she’s got nurse’s training, they’ll probably send her to some god-awful country. She took ballet, for God’s sake, and she was a cheerleader. She doesn’t belong in a foreign country seeing soldiers with their legs blown off.”

“In the words of Jimmy Buffett, ‘It’s five o’clock somewhere,’ so let’s go to Diana’s.” Blotches spotted Carmen’s translucent skin from crying so hard. Several strands of dark-brown hair had escaped her ponytail and hung limp like a frayed flag of victory on a rainy day. “At least Zoe will be able to tell you where she’s going. Natalie passed that language test with flying colors. She’ll be put somewhere to translate, and you know what that means. Everything will be classified, and she won’t be able to talk about it.”

Diana started the van and then laid her head on the steering wheel. “This is worse than kindergarten, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the women agreed.

“We were able to pick them up at the end of the day back then,” Joanie sighed.

Carmen stared at the front of the recruitment center. “I wanted one more glimpse of her, but I guess they went out a back door. I prayed every day from the time that Natalie was born that she’d do anything rather than join the service. I didn’t care if she flipped burgers at the local McDonald’s for the rest of her life, but oh, no, she made her daddy proud. He’s over there in God knows where, doing God knows what, and I’m the one left at home with the empty nest,” Carmen declared. “And yes, I need a good stiff drink. Maybe two or three.”

“That would be great. I’m not ready for an empty house.” Diana sniffled as she put the van in gear and headed north toward Sugar Run, population 3,412, according to the city-limit signs on either end of town.

Diana had known when she married Gerald that she’d spend months alone when and if he was deployed. She’d accepted that, and when he divorced her for another woman, she’d lived through that, too, with the help of her friends. She’d raised Rebecca on her own for the most part, and even though the teenage years were unbearable at times, she’d gotten past them. But seeing her only child leave for the service—that was more than a mother should have to bear after all she’d already endured.

She parked her van in the driveway of her small three-bedroom house—the place where she’d raised her daughter for most of the child’s life, and the house that she called home. When she got out of the vehicle, she could hear the high school band practicing its fight song. The fact that the house was close to the school had been a plus when she and Gerald had looked at it the first time. The music brought back the memory of Rebecca when she was in the fifth grade and learning to play the flute. At the time, Diana had kept earplugs in the kitchen drawer to be used for that hour every afternoon; now she wished she could go back in time to those days.

With Carmen and Joanie following her—the daughters had teased them all about starting a singing group like Pistol Annies—Diana crossed the yard and unlocked the door, leaving it open for them to come on in. She tossed her purse and sweater onto the sofa and kept going right through the small dining room into the kitchen, where she opened the cabinet door to the liquor supply.

“I’m having a double shot of Jack Daniel’s to start with. Y’all can mix your own.” Diana poured up her drink and carried it to the living room. She kicked off her shoes, sat down on the end of the sofa, and drew her feet up. “Rebecca’s going to have a tough time. Her room looks like a dumping ground. Bed’s unmade. Clothes are scattered on the floor, and there’s a quarter inch of dusting powder covering the top of her dresser. She may get kicked out and sent home the first week. Of course, as much as I already miss her, I don’t want her to fail.”

Carmen moved Diana’s sweater and purse to a rocking chair and sat down on the other end of the sofa. “My Natalie will be fine on that part of it, but I worry about her temper. If something doesn’t make sense to her—like algebra—she fights against it. But she’ll be okay with keeping things straight. She could go into her room at midnight with no lights on at all and put her hands on anything she wanted. She got her looks and her OCD from her father. I guess that’ll do her well in whatever part of the intelligence field they train her for. Don’t they have to be super organized?”

“Yes.” Joanie sank into a spot between the two women and sipped a glass of coconut rum. “And Rebecca will be all right, too.” She patted Diana’s knee. “Basic training for her will be like she told us once about history tests. You memorize it. Pass the test. Then you forget it and go on. She’s strong, and she’s independent. She may end up being one of the elite few that get sniper training.”