The Last Resort

She says she has another family member out of work and destitute, living in an abandoned bus that sits in a junkyard. Clayton's imminent Army career "will mean a chance for a new start for us somewhere," she says. "We didn't need to do the Army; we could support ourselves somehow doing something here. But we'd always be struggling. That's a hard way to live."

[an error occurred while processing this directive]

She grew up spending summers as a pineapple-picker and now works 12-hour days as a banquet manager at a restaurant near Hickam Air Force Base in Honolulu, about an hour's drive from Waianae. At 49, she is waiting for one kind of hard life to end and for another to take its place. "I know that if Clayton or my son is deployed to Iraq that I'm going to be nervous and that it will be a strain," she says. "But what you tell yourself, what you have to tell yourself, is that the tough days will end someday, and that then you'll have something better for the rest of your life. It's the only way to get through it. Clayton tells us: Don't focus on the war; focus on the opportunities."

She calls out to Clayton: "I just got a letter from Ian. Want to hear it?"

Clayton turns on a National Football League game and mutes the sound. "He wrote you in the middle of training, huh? Boy must love his mama."

Teresa beams. "I'm so proud of him," she says. "Okay, I'll read it. Here it goes: 'Hi, everybody. It's pretty hard for me to write this letter . . .'"

She is not long into reading when her eyes well up. Her son writes that he has been so stressed while in basic training that he almost broke down emotionally one day while standing in formation with his platoon, that when it happened he wanted nothing more than to come home. Teresa stops in mid-sentence; her hands jut up to her mouth to fight off a choked sob.

"You want me to finish reading it?" Clayton asks.

It is a while before she can answer. "His handwriting is bad. I'll read it."

She reads on. Ian asks her to "tell Jassiah I love him."

This sounds so forlorn to her that she drops her head.

Clayton walks across the room and rubs her shoulder. "It's hard for a lot of people in the beginning, hon. It'll be okay. Really." He caresses her hand. She nods, hands him the baby and walks out of the room.

"That note isn't going to make my last weekend any easier," he says, shaking his head. "Her boy's hurting, you know? I'll tell you: No notes like that from me. When I get there, I can't be writing home saying I'm breaking down or that maybe I want to quit. I just gotta tough it out, no matter what it's like."