Chapter 23

One interesting development during Max's deployment was that I become a member of the informal pilots' wives group. It was Sherry Nixon, the wife of Major Pete Nixon, who invited me to join them each week for lunch. I'd known there was such a group, just some of the wives meeting occasionally to eat and talk, without agenda or organization, but it had never occurred to me to think about it, much less inquire about it or join it. But I was Max's husband, and though I was male I was still married to one of the squadron's pilots. Sherry apparently tried to bulldoze the wives, and when that didn't work invited me on her own initiative.

"I'm not sure I'd fit in," I told her when she called me, a couple of months into the deployment.

"Because you shave your face and not your legs?" Sherry might have been married to a major, but she wasn't hoity-toity.

I couldn't help laughing. "That's one way to put it. Mrs. Nixon—"

"I'm Sherry. I'm Mrs. Major Nixon only when I can't help it."

"Okay, Sherry. The fact is that I am a man, and would be out of place in a women's gathering. And I'm a former enlisted man – you probably know that, since by the time Max and I got married rumors had spread through the whole wing, or so I've heard. I'd really be out of place."

"Derek, you've got more former rank than I've ever had. I'm a civilian, and I always have been. My husband wears oak leaves, but I've never been in the military and I'm the first person in my family who's ever had any association with the military. You outrank us all."

"Well..."

"And besides, we cook better than you do."

"How do you know that?" I asked, not offended but curious. I had no doubt she was right.

"Well, you shave your face and not your legs."

"All right, you win," I said laughing. "I can't resist that sort of blandishment. When and where do I show up?"

"We're meeting at my house this month. That's why I'll be able to get away with this – if nothing else, you'll be a guest in my house, and not even Mrs. Colonel Freeberg – that's Mrs. Bird Colonel Freeberg – will be able to trump that."

"Is she one of those wives who wears her husband's eagles?"

"Oh, yes! But I pay her no attention – as I said, I'm a civilian, and not under orders. Let me tell you how to get here." She did, and told me they'd be eating at 6 PM on the first Monday in October. "That's 6 PM now, none of this military stuff. I'm not trying to deny that we're military wives – spouses, I guess, unless you want to be an honorary wife – but we're not in the military and Billie Freeberg aside, none of us want to act like we are."

"I'm not sure about the honorary wife part. But I'll be there. Should I bring anything? And how should I dress?"

"Just bring your appetite, sugar, and we usually wear clothing." Sherry's southern accent was different from Max's, I couldn't say just how, but it was definitely southern.

"Sherry, you're going to have me laughing for hours if you're not careful. I take it that I don't need to wear a suit and tie, then?"

"Well, none of us ever have. Of course, if you'd like I could see if any of us have a dress which would fit you..."

"Oh, I think I can find a little number in the closet," I said. Sherry's sense of fun was infectious. If Mrs. Freeberg fit the description, it would be interesting to see the two of them involved in the same conversation.

"Then we'll look for you then and there."

Well, I thought when the call was over, that was interesting – and it's going to be interesting. I sat down at the computer and brought up my e-mail program. I described the conversation to Max, and told her that since she owned so few dresses I just might try a pair of her slacks and one of her blouses with sheer long sleeves – she had two or three of those. And then with a smiley face at the end, I sent her the message. I didn't know when she'd be able to read it, but I figured she'd get a laugh out of it.

That first dinner was actually fun. Sherry Nixon was an entertaining host, and it turned out that even Mrs. Freeberg – who looked more like a colonel than her husband probably did – couldn't resist. And as one of the other wives, Judy Brooks, said, "With our husbands – and wife – all in Iraq, we'd better get along. We're all we've got until they come back."

That sobered us up. It wasn't as grim as it surely must have been if we'd been a collection of infantry spouses, but nevertheless being without the ones we loved for months – probably a year and perhaps longer – wasn't any sort of fun. I picked up my wine glass – Sherry was fond of wine, it seemed – and said, "To those who are as present in our hearts as they are absent at this table."

Everyone looked at me, picked up their glasses, saluted each other, and drank. I hadn't known I had it in me. I'd done it on the spur of the moment, not thinking any of it through, and yet it had worked. When we all put our glasses down again, Sherry – who'd seated me to her right – put her hand on mine. "Honey, you hit that just right." She looked around the table. "I daresay all of us have had trouble in our marriages at some time or another. But I don't think any of us have ever been so angry that we'd ship our husbands off to Iraq for a year."

They all shook their heads. Sarah Booker, whose husband had only recently received his certification in the F-15 and received orders to the wing, looked across the table at me. "You're a newlywed, aren't you, Derek?"

"Yes, ma'am," I told her.

Sherry rapped on the table with the handle of her fork. "When I said that here we're just spouses, not ranks, I meant it. Her name is Sarah."

I nodded. "It's a hard habit to break. Yes, I'm a newlywed."

"It must be hard on you," Sarah continued.

"I don't know whether it's harder on me because I've been married such a short time, or easier. I can't imagine what it's like to have been married for years, gotten used to it, and then have to send my husband – or wife – off on a long deployment."

Mrs. Freeberg – she was the one wife who apparently didn't go by her first name – unbent a little bit. "It's difficult. You do go through hard times in a marriage. Harold and I nearly divorced several years ago – I won't go into the reasons, since they weren't important after all. At times I still wonder if I wouldn't like my freedom. But when he's gone like this, I know that it wouldn't be freedom at all – just loneliness."

Kathy Harrison, a mousy little woman who hadn't said much, spoke up. "It's like you're missing part of yourself. It feels like the whole world has moved away."

"Exactly," said Mrs. Freeberg. "As angry as I've been at Harold sometimes, he's been there. And now he's not. And not even the things he does that make me angry are there – I don't find dirty flight suits half out of the hamper, or the TV remote in the bathroom, or unsavory magazines ... well, the things he does that make me angry I would welcome right now. I would welcome them because it would mean that he was home."

"Maybe it's because we've been married such a short time," I said, "but what I miss about Max isn't what annoys me, but the good things. I wake up in the morning, and turn to her – and she's not there."

Sherry looked at me. "Sometimes we cry at these dinners."

"You wouldn't think less of me?"

"Derek," she said, again putting her hand over mine, "if you didn't miss Max your marriage would be in trouble." I thought of how different her hand on mine was from Max's; with Sherry, it was friendship and compassion, nothing more. "Why would we think less of you because you miss your wife so much it hurts? And why would we think less of you for showing that hurt?"

"It's the way I was raised, I guess. I came from a liberal family – sensitivity, getting in touch with your feminine side, all that sort of thing. And yet what I saw was that the men in my family didn't cry. And that's affected me."

"We all cry," said Kathy. "Sometimes I cry until my pillow is soaked on both sides."

Sarah nodded. "This is my husband's first deployment. He's just arrived here, he's new to what he's doing – and it scares me. I think of all the things that could go wrong, and I'm not even there..."

Sherry nodded at her. "It's all right. We know it hurts."

Sarah's face was wet, but she had gotten control of her voice again. "It hurts more than I know how to say."

Judy Brooks hadn't said anything in a while, but now she spoke up. "I've been through this before. And I still don't know how to describe the pain. If I told you that it feels like someone's pulling my heart right out of my chest, it wouldn't be graphic enough." She looked at me. "We've got each other, Derek. But you're new to this, and you're new to us. Who do you have?"

That question was the last straw, as it were. What I wanted or didn't want didn't matter – I broke down. I covered my face with my hands, and then I felt hands on my shoulders, many hands. There were hands on my shoulders, my back, my arms, even on my head, not caressing me, just letting me feel that the women cared. I reached to push my plate away and saw someone doing so for me, and I collapsed on the table, overcome not only with my loneliness and grief, but with the emotion that came from knowing that all these wives cared about me.