Mendoza started to taunt Austin. “Oooh, looks like sis has grown up since I saw her last,” he said, picking up a bottle of dark liquor from the table.

“Shots, anyone?” he asked the room.

Everyone took a shot of warm liquor. Everyone except Kael, that was. There were shouts of “To Austin!” and “Welcome back, bro!” Austin gave a mock bow to acknowledge his friends as they celebrated his return. I wasn’t sure if any of them knew that he had been arrested. Looking around at these guys . . . well, I wasn’t sure if any of them would even concern themselves with something as trivial as a night in jail. But maybe I was being hard on them.

We all migrated back to the kitchen to cheer Austin’s return to Fort Benning. I put my shot glass in the sink and gathered up a few more. A guy in a bright blue T-shirt that said Bottoms Up! grabbed his glass back from me and went for a refill. Definitely a soldier. He was with a younger-looking guy wearing a brown band tee. Also a soldier. I kept forgetting how removed I had become from life on post. Sure, I still saw soldiers at work and at the grocery store. I still smiled at them while going through the gate to the Great Place, but I didn’t have any friends who were soldiers. Not one.

Not unless you counted my client, Stewart. She was the closest thing I had to an Army friend. But even though I liked and respected her, even though I felt close to her, I couldn’t really claim her as a friend. As Mali liked to remind us, clients were not our friends.

I turned on the hot water and rinsed out a few shot glasses just for something to do. I was glad Austin didn’t see me. He would have made some crack about my being responsible. It wouldn’t have been a compliment. God, it was so weird having him back, being at my dad’s, being surrounded by all these people. No doubt about it: this was Austin’s world, and I was only visiting.

I wasn’t the same person as I was before he left, though. It felt good to remind myself of that. And Austin, as much as he gathered people around him, he latched onto them, too. Which was risky in his case, because he was often the one to run, like our mother. And he often left broken hearts behind, also like her.

I walked over to Kael, Austin, and Mendoza.

“Another?” Mendoza asked.

“No way.” I shook my head and held up my hand, the universal symbol for no, thanks.