Sometimes, Even Ice Cream Won't Help

For five nights in a row, I have been at the VF*n*W for one thing or another. Last night, I decided Old Sarge and I were going to have a decent meal finally, and I would catch up on some house work. As I was getting supper started and putting away groceries, the phone rang. OS got it; he speaks very loudly on the phone, so I knew right away Son #2 was calling. I’m continuing on in the kitchen, picking up a bag with ice cream in it. I’m hoping to get big smiles out of the husband, since he has the world’s biggest sweet tooth, so I walked into the living room to show him his goodies. He’s still talking, but definitely not smiling. I leaned over to see what he was scribbling down.

XXX Trans
XXX Quartermaster
Afghanistan?
Nov. 15th

Our eyes met for a second, and I walked back in the kitchen to put the ice cream away. When I closed the freezer door, it let out a long mournful sigh as the door sealed.

Exactly right, I thought. I rested my head against the door.

Breathe.

Nothing is set in stone at the moment. Son #2 still isn’t sure even where they are going, but his CO has told them all to make their phone calls and get ready. #2 and Young Sgt could be leaving within days of each other if this turns out to be the case. But hey, it’s the Army.

When Old Sarge got off the phone, he came into the kitchen. We looked at each other as if, what now?

All I could think to do was to hold out my arms, and he did the same.