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came down, Conrad waited until he sat down with his cereal, then told him.
    â€œThe Marines!” Ollie said. “No way!”
    â€œThe ones with the white gloves,” Jenny said.
    Conrad rolled his eyes, but Lydia could see that he was more confident now.
    *   *   *
    That night when they went to bed, Lydia and Marshall talked more about it. Lydia closed the door to their bedroom. The room had a bay window and a window seat looking out over the lawn to the barn. The walls were papered with a ferny green print, the curtains white. The furniture was honey-colored—an old maple bureau under a curlicued mirror, two carved side chairs. In the corner was an upholstered chaise longue, comfortable and inviting, on which no one ever sat. A white bookcase stood in the corner holding Lydia’s favorite books and photographs of the children. On the floor was a fraying carpet that had never been large enough for the room.
    Lydia stood leaning over the bureau to look in the mirror as she took off her earrings. “So what do you think?” she asked. “I’m flabbergasted. The Marines.” She looked past herself in the mirror, at Marshall. “I don’t think I like it.”
    â€œI don’t recall being asked if we liked it.” Marshall unbuttoned some of his buttons, and pulled his shirt over his head, straining the ones still buttoned.
    â€œBut this isn’t some summer job. It’s dangerous,” Lydia said. “We should have some say about it.”
    â€œI don’t actually think we do,” Marshall said. “But it’s not dangerous. We’re not at war.”
    â€œThe military is always dangerous,” Lydia said. “What about those Marines in Somalia?”
    â€œThere are thousands and thousands of Marines. A few died in Somalia. That could have happened anywhere. They could have died in a car crash.”
    Lydia turned to him. “But they didn’t. That was a horrible death.”
    Marshall said nothing.
    â€œIt’s so strange of him. Where did he get the idea?”
    Outside, the big sugar maples muffled the house in the darkness.
    â€œWe’re not supposed to know where our children get their ideas,” Marshall said. “It’s a mystery. If we’re successful parents, our children will invent themselves.”
    Marshall stepped out of his pants and turned them upside down. He took them by the cuffs and swung them neatly, aligning the legs. He set them over the back of a chair.
    Lydia sat down on the bed. She put her hands on her knees. “I really don’t like it,” she said. “I really don’t.”
    Marshall sat down next to her. He put his arm around her. “It’s something we didn’t expect. But I think his mind is made up. He’s twenty-one, he’s an adult. I don’t think we have much choice.”
    â€œHe has a year before he signs up for good. I hope he changes his mind,” Lydia said.
    â€œI can understand the appeal,” Marshall said.
    Lydia frowned. “Why do you keep saying that? You were a protester.”
    â€œBecause I thought that war was morally wrong. I’m not opposed to all wars. Some wars have to be fought, like World War II. And I can see why Conrad wants to do this. It’s the big test: I’m kind of proud he wants to take it.”
    â€œIn our generation, if you acted out of moral beliefs, you were a protester,” Lydia said. “Or you joined the Peace Corps.”
    â€œSo, maybe in his generation, you join the Marine Corps,” Marshall said. He stood up again.
    Lydia shook her head. “It’s just insane. I know I’m supposed to adapt to this. I mean, I’m a family therapist. A mother has to let her children go. I know that.” She shook her head again. “But does she have to let them walk off a cliff?”
    *   *   *
    The colonel snapped his hand down at his