The first time two U.S. Army Casualty Notification Officers came looking for Macy, it was to tell her that her husband Finn had died in Afghanistan.

Suicide bomber, the taller officer said. Nothing left but a half-burned dog tag.

Macy didn't remember much after that, except that she had been getting groceries out of the car when they'd arrived, and the taller officer's eyes were the exact shade of the head of iceberg lettuce that had rolled away when she'd dropped the bag.

Three years later, when the third Casualty Notification Officer came to see Macy, she would remember Finn's black lab, Milo, racing in between the tables they'd set up on the lawn, pausing to shake the river water from his coat and spraying the pristine white linen tablecloths. She'd remember thinking, Don't panic, don't panic, over and over again as she stared at those dirty brown spots on the tablecloths.

Everything else would be a blur.

The officer found Macy at her Aunt Laru's limestone ranch house just outside of Cedar Springs, in the Texas Hill Country west of Austin. It was a beautiful spread, forty acres of rolling hills covered in live oaks, cedar, and blooming cactus on the banks of the Pedernales River.

Laru Friedenberg had married and divorced three times before the age of forty-five. The marriages had left her a little bit jaded and a little bit wealthy, and when Laru had learned Macy was hosting a luncheon, she'd insisted that Macy host it at her house. The luncheon was a fundraiser to benefit a nonprofit organization, Project Lifeline. Macy and a friend had founded the charity to help families of soldiers who'd been wounded or killed with financial aid or services. The organization was a success thus