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“I know Daddy talked to you. I thought—”

“I do NOT want to talk about it. ”

Jolene stopped, unsure of what to say anyway. How did you talk to a child about such adult things? She’d never been good at knowing when to push with Betsy and when to back off. Invariably, she pushed when she should have let go. It was one of Jolene’s flaws: she was good at holding on. Letting go, not so much.

But one thing she saw clearly: Betsy was afraid and confused, and so she was angry. There was nothing Jolene could offer that would help. How could she talk about what she herself didn’t understand?

Instead, Jolene went to her daughter and pulled her to her feet and took her into her arms. It took a supreme act of will not to layer words onto the hug, but she managed it, just let it be.

She felt Betsy’s haggard sigh, and knew how her daughter felt. It was terrifying to see your parents fight. She knew Betsy would remember last night, and she would notice Michael’s absence this morning.

Lulu walked into the bedroom, dragging her favorite yellow blanket behind her. “Hey, I want a hug, too. ”

Jolene opened one arm and Lulu rushed forward, folding her little body alongside her sister’s. They stood there a second longer; then Lulu pulled back. She scratched her tangled black hair, pushed it out of her eyes. “Can I have Cap’n Crunch?”

“No Captain Crunch. That’s for special mornings,” Jolene answered automatically.

“Today could be special,” Lulu chirped.

“It’s the opposite of special,” Betsy said bitterly.

“Why?” Lulu wanted to know.

Jolene sighed. “Come on, girls. Let’s get breakfast going. ”

As they made their way downstairs, Jolene felt Betsy’s gaze on her. In the kitchen, Betsy seemed to notice everything—the way Jolene’s hands shook just a little when she got out the flour and eggs for pancakes, the way she kept sighing, the way she opened the fridge and just stared inside. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore, being under this scrutiny. She poured the girls Cheerios.

“Where’s Daddy?” Lulu asked, concentrating on getting the right number of Cheerios in her spoon.

“At work,” Jolene said, wondering what she’d say if he stayed away tonight, too.

Betsy looked up sharply. “He left already?”

Jolene turned to pour herself more coffee. “You know what it’s like when he has to catch an early ferry,” she lied, not looking at her daughter.

The moment seemed to draw out; she could feel Betsy’s suspicious gaze on her back. “Hurry up,” she said. “We need to leave in twenty minutes. ”

As soon as breakfast was over, Jolene herded the girls upstairs to finish getting ready. They left right on time, and by nine fifteen, she was home again.

She parked in her garage and then walked next door. Waving to Carl, who was working on a Ford truck, she went to the front door, opened it, and said, “Hey, Tam,” at the same time she went inside.

Tami was in the living room, in a fraying blue robe and sheepskin slippers, sipping coffee from a huge insulated mug. Behind her, the wood-paneled walls were studded with dozens of family photographs, all framed in white. Dead center was Tami’s military portrait.

“Hey, flygirl,” Tami said, grinning. She sat on the blue plaid sofa, her slippered feet propped on the glass coffee table.

She looked at Tami, and for a second she couldn’t say it, couldn’t force the words out.

Tami frowned and put down her coffee cup. “What is it, Jo?”

“Michael said he doesn’t love me anymore,” she said quietly.

“You don’t mean—”

“Don’t make me say it again. ”

Tami walked forward slowly, put her arms around Jolene, and held her. It took Jolene a minute to lift her own arms, to hold on to Tami, but once she did, she couldn’t let go. She wanted to cry, was desperate for a way to release this pain, but no tears came.

“What did you say to him?”