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of Ben and Jerry’s, anyone could see she was single.
    Near the end of her lunch break, she pulled up the donor catalog search information, checking boxes at whim. The donor she created was a cheaper version of Mr. Stanford Grad All-Star—a tall Caucasian with curly brown hair and hazel eyes with fair skin tone with a degree in engineering. With a start, she realized that what she ended up with was Hayden.

B ebe pulled up to the Starbucks on her way to the clinic, but when she saw the long line of cars winding around to the drive-through window, she parked and went inside instead. She wore her favorite purple scrubs with the Dalmatian print that always drew attention, and the barista recognized her.
    â€œGrande bold with room?”
    Bebe said yes and handed over her Starbucks card with the hula dancer on the front.
    â€œI love this card,” the girl said. “I’m getting one when we go to Maui at Christmas.”
    Bebe thanked her, and when she took her coffee to the island to load it with Splenda, there, standing tall, was a young Marine in his dress blues. He politely moved aside to make room for her while he stirred his coffee. Bebe couldn’t help but stare. The crisp, commanding quality of his uniform was softened by the fact that he was some mother’s boy.
    Bebe yearned to ask him . . . what? She turned to him, fearing hewould leave before she knew what she wanted. “Can I ask you a question?” she blurted out.
    He straightened taller, if that was possible. “Yes, ma’am.”
    She suddenly felt tongue-tied. What
did
she want to know? Everything. Can it be done? Is it as bad as I’ve heard? How did you make it through? Awkward seconds went by before she finally admitted, “Oh, I . . . I don’t know what to ask.”
    He stood there, waiting respectfully, perhaps sensing the struggle inside of her.
    She focused on the medal over his heart. “I see you’re a sharpshooter.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Still, he waited.
    â€œMy son leaves for boot camp in a week.”
    To her chagrin, her eyes brimmed with tears. The young man inclined his head and spoke quietly between them. “You’re worried about him.”
    She nodded with an ache in her throat.
    He said, “It’s hard, and it’s arduous, but it’s doable. He’ll be fine.”
    She smiled up at him briefly and he purposefully met her eye. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen, and he was comforting her like a sage. She murmured her thanks, and left.
    Bebe sat in her car wiping away tears until her coffee cooled. She hadn’t realized her feelings were so raw, so close to the surface. She said a prayer asking for strength and comfort, and realized with a start that God had sent this young man into her path to assure her that boot camp was “doable.” That was the word he’d said. Doable.
    God loved her that much—enough to send comfort before she even realized that she needed it.
    She knew others would scoff at her simplistic belief that it had been more than just a chance meeting. But how often did one even see a Marine in his dress blues? She could have queued up with the other cars in the drive-through instead of going inside, or passed the young man without gathering her courage to speak. She could have stopped at a light and missed him altogether, or a whole list of other possibilities.But none of those things had happened, and she didn’t believe it was chance.
    She always marveled at the unexpectedness of God’s undeserved love. She, of all people, didn’t deserve it.
    She drove around for a while to gather her emotions before reporting to the clinic. Neil was reading a patient’s file at his desk when she arrived and could tell that she’d been crying. She told him about her encounter and they comforted each other. The thought occurred to her of how hard it would be to go through something like this