“Attention to orders.”
The military personnel in the conference room came to their feet. Major Juliet Grayson was already standing at attention, as was her new commanding officer, who stood at her right. On her left stood the most wonderful person on earth: her son. Matthew was eleven years old and halfway through sixth grade, but he still looked boyish and acted goofy—most of the time. Not today.
Today, her little boy was trying to fill a man’s shoes. Juliet’s husband should have been here, standing at her left, ready to pin her new rank onto her uniform at this promotion ceremony. He was somewhere else. With someone else. Which was why he was her ex-husband.
“...special trust and confidence in the patriotism, valor, fidelity and abilities of Juliet E. Grayson.”
Fidelity. At least the US Army appreciated that quality.
“...she is therefore promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel on this date by order of the Secretary of the Army.”
There was polite applause in the conference room and genuine smiles. Promotions were happy occasions, even when the person being promoted had only been assigned to the unit for a couple of weeks. Juliet hadn’t yet moved into a permanent house here at Fort Hood, Texas, but the conference room was still filled with at least two dozen well-wishers, including her commanding officer, several senior noncommissioned officers, and a few of their civilian spouses. The spouses had come to welcome Juliet’s spouse, of course, but she didn’t have one. She hoped they would make a fuss over her son. Matthew had insisted on wearing a necktie.
Her son might be dressed as an adult, but he was still kid-sized. Juliet bent down so he could unclip her shoulder board from the blue suit jacket of her service uniform. The rank insignia for a major, a gold oak leaf cluster embroidered onto the epaulet, was now a thing of the past. Matthew had her new shoulder board in his fist. Juliet suddenly wished they’d practiced the clipping and unclipping at home. He was just a child, and every adult in the room was focused on him; he might get flustered. His life had been rough enough without subjecting him to another potentially embarrassing situation. She should have thought of the possibility, should have shielded him from at least one small hurt, although she’d failed to shield him from the big hurt of divorce.
But after a moment of awkwardness when Matthew didn’t know what to do with the old shoulder board—Juliet simply held out her palm, so he could place it in her hand—he clipped on the new shoulder board with its higher rank, an insignia of silver oak leaves. Juliet was prouder of Matthew for the dignified way he was participating in this ceremony than she was with herself for being promoted. She winked at him, then stood so that her commanding officer could pin the new rank on her other shoulder.
Just like that, she was a lieutenant colonel.
It had only taken a few minutes...plus sixteen years of active-duty service. Sixteen years ago, she’d graduated from college, changed from her cap and gown into her brand-new army uniform, then raised her right hand and made a promise to defend the Constitution.
Sixteen years ago, she’d bid farewell to her tight-knit circle of college friends before taking her diploma and herself to her first duty station. Most of her friends had stayed in the city to start new careers. Two had stayed at the university to begin master’s degree programs. Out of their little gang of eight, only she and Evan Stephens had made a military commitment, volunteering their lives in the service of their country.
Evan Stephens. Blue-eyed, athletic, lover of beer and baseball and blondes, not necessarily in that order. Juliet was not a blonde. She and Evan—and the six others in their circle—were just friends and had been just friends since their sophomore year.
Sixteen years ago, she and Evan had gotten behind the steering wheels of their separate cars and left the campus for separate army posts, he to Missouri for the Military Police Corps, she to Arizona for Military Intelligence. But the night before graduation, after her parents had gone back to their hotel to sleep, Juliet had run into Evan on the college green. Under a full moon, they’d talked about their futures, just the two of them.
Their parents were proud of them, and she and Evan were excited to don their new uniforms, which shone with the single gold bar of a second lieutenant on each shoulder, but by that fountain in the moonlight, they’d dropped their ROTC cadet bravado and gotten real.
Do you think we’ll be stationed at posts we don’t want?
Do you think we’ll miss Christmas with our families next year?
Do you think we’ll see combat?
Do you think we’ll die?
These were concerns that didn’t come with the civilian careers their friends had chosen. More and more students had gathered on the central green, milling about in the moonlight. Then one student had gotten down on bended knee as he held up a little ring box to an excited girl. Or rather, a woman. They were adults now.
Juliet and Evan’s questions had taken a different turn. Evan had wondered why any civilian woman with a successful career would want to marry him and be dragged from post to post. She’d have to restart her professional life every few years, going back to handing out résumés and going to job interviews with each move. Juliet had wondered if any man would be willing to be left behind to take care of their babies on his own while she was deployed. A civilian spouse was pretty much guaranteed to face time as a single parent during the military spouse’s inevitable deployment or hardship tour.
I’m probably killing my chance of finding Mr. Right anyway, just by serving in the army. Military women have double the divorce rates of military men. Did you read that article?
Yeah, real nice of Colonel Hodges to post that crap.
Students from the college of music had shown up at the green with their violins and cellos for an impromptu jam session. Juliet and Evan had carried on the rest of their conversation as they’d danced with the crowd to stringed versions of current hit songs.
Slow songs.
They’d danced as a couple.
I don’t know why I’m worried about divorce, she’d said. I’d have to get married first, but I scare guys off just by being in ROTC.
You don’t scare me.
She hadn’t laughed. Evan hadn’t said it as a joke. His hands had felt strong and warm on her waist. She’d been dancing with her hands linked casually behind his neck. At his words—You don’t scare me—she’d looked up at him and realized how well she knew his handsome face after three years of shared cafeteria pizzas, study sessions at the library, Frisbee games right here on this green. She was going to miss it. She was going to miss him.
She was holding on too tightly.
She’d looked away. You’re so lucky, Evan. You can wait until you retire and then get married and have your kids.
Why can’t you?
Because we’ll be,