Chapter 7

“Wait!” I say, knowing I can’t face this alone, “I’ll get my husband.” I run toward the kitchen, skid to a stop halfway. I keep forgetting, Jeff is gone, too. Brad flew back for his funeral six weeks ago. When my son and I hugged for the last time, I begged him to be careful—the last few weeks are the most dangerous time.

On rubber legs, I return to the door. First my husband, and now Brad. Isn’t this minister embarrassed for a God who would allow this?

“May we come in?” the minister asks.

“No, I’ll come outside,” I reply in a voice I do not know. My inner voice, the one I trust, whispers that there’s been too much death inside already.

I step onto the porch. The minister grabs my arm, whispering ministerial words. I shake off his hand, although I know he means well.

The young man begins to read stiffly, “I’m sorry to inform you, on behalf of the United States Army, your…your…”