A Soldier In Conard County

Edie Hardin, who had her own experiences of combat, had gravitated with her and Seth’s child to a group of women. Billy Joe Yuma, formerly a medevac pilot in Vietnam and now director of the county’s emergency services, had not joined the group around Gil.

Miri studied the group dynamics and wondered what was going on. The meeting of some kind of elite club, no outsiders welcome? Or something else.

Jack spoke. “Go join ’em.”

“I don’t belong.”

“Exactly.” Jack gave her a little nudge. “This is a barbecue to make Betsy happy, not to create a support group.”

He had a point. Miri took a couple steps in the direction of the knot of men, then hesitated. There might be a good reason for that huddle. She also suspected there were stories about Al that would never be repeated to Betsy, but that Gil could share with these men of similar backgrounds. Maybe that was cathartic for a man who said very little. Except that he didn’t appear to be sharing much. The others were talking, and occasionally a bark of laughter would punctuate the otherwise quiet conversation.

There were other clusters, as well. Nearly sixty people. They’d hardly congregate into one large crowd. Miri had been to lots of large gatherings as a teacher, and crowd breakout was common. Conversation became easier.

Jack was right, however. This barbecue, while ostensibly to welcome Gil back, was really about giving Betsy some happiness again. Not since the funeral had she joined in any social events, but now she had organized one in an amazingly brief span of time. And everyone she had called had evidently arrived to support her and Jack.

Gil was only a small part of it, as Al’s best friend.

Betsy had decided to rejoin life. For that alone, Miri would feel eternally grateful to Gil. He’d provided the push she needed, the excuse.

So what did Jack expect her to do? Go break up that huddle of men? She didn’t think Betsy would want that, especially since she’d said Gil could just find a comfortable chair and hold court—or not come at all if he didn’t want to.

Gil was the excuse. Betsy was the one smiling for the first time in ages, having a bit of a hen party around the folding tables that held enough food for an army. Three other men were working grills with hamburgers, hot dogs and bratwursts.