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his whine short and followed me to the monitor. I set my little notebook on the table near the computer and gave it a soft pat of promise. School clothes for Bryan was on my list, and there was nothing wrong with shopping the easiest way possible, was there?
    We surfed several Web sites together. He vetoed dozens of my suggestions—shirts too itchy-looking, pants the wrong color or not cool. But we finally settled on a few T-shirts and some new jeans a size bigger. I placed an online order from Sears and released my son to the backyard. That night I drew another red X on the calendar, proud of creating a fairly normal day for my son.
    Before I headed to bed, I checked the computer. Another e-mail waited from Tom. My fingers hovered above the keyboard before I typed my answer.
    Hi honey!
    Bryan and I went to the Norfolk Botanical Garden yesterday. It’s gorgeous. They have an azalea festival every spring. Let’s go next year, okay?
    Yes, I’m keeping busy. Some late back-to-school shopping with Bryan. All the usual.
    Okay, I know I promised to go talk to someone, but I’ve been doing great, so it would really be a waste of time. Besides, I have you and mom, and friends. That’s all I need. Big kisses (is it okay to send e-kisses to the chaplain? Will it undermine your spiritual image with the troops?)
    Your favorite wife

    The next morning, Bryan fidgeted during our blessing in the doorway. Laura-Beth’s son, Jim-Bob, waited on the sidewalk as I rested my hand on my son’s head. “ . . . and I ask for health and strength for his body and mind, and thank you that he gets to be in the Thanksgiving play. Thank you for loving us so much. Amen.”
    I stooped down, and Bryan’s kiss grazed my cheek. He raced to the sidewalk as if all the energy I’d lost had been siphoned into his small muscles. Jim-Bob gave him a playful shove and their voices rose in laughter. They charged to the corner as the bus pulled up.
    When I walked back into the house, the first thing my gaze hit was the yellow notebook.
    I couldn’t have chosen one with a more subtle cover?
    I strolled past on the way to the kitchen for a mug of coffee, pretending I didn’t see it. But as I sipped coffee in the kitchen, the thought of a long day alone with my thoughts was pure torture. Time to take charge. One of my self-appointed tasks was to gather information on whatever was wrong with me.
    I carried the coffee out to my pseudo-office in the corner of the living room and booted up the computer. When I’d worked at the dry cleaners, I’d been more than a cheery receptionist. I was a wiz at online research. Lipstick smudges, smears of mustard, rare brocade with a chocolate-raspberry stain? Google, link, scroll. I could find the solution.
    The crime had rubbed a smear across my psyche. Okay, more than a smear. A stain absorbed deep into the fabric. But a little research should turn up stain-removal steps. I attacked the keyboard and began my search of the Internet, following each promising trail, ferreting facts about crime victims, panic attacks, and emotional health.
    Hours later, the back pages of my notebook held a wide array of suggestions and resources. Pencil in hand, I studied my gathered information.
    Group therapy was recommended. Hmm. Talking to a counselor would be bad enough, but a bunch of strangers? Still, I didn’t want to rule out ideas too quickly. I drew a star next to that one.
    Talking about the event and even visualizing it to work through emotions was mentioned from many sources. Ugh. I drew a line through that idea. Much better to forget.
    Medication? I drew a few question marks. Maybe the base doctor could help, if I could get over my embarrassment. Good grief, he dealt with military folk who’d seen much worse. He’d probably laugh me out of his office if I told him my problems with one little traumatic event.
    Then there was the spiritual component: prayer, Scripture, fellowship. I drew an arrow to them, but my hand faltered and