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of the Army National Guard were sent overseas during Operation Desert Storm, but the United States had troops on the ground for only a short time, and the Guard soldiers primarily assisted with tasks such as laundry services and field sanitation. Once again, Debbie’s skills were not required.
    Debbie had not voted for George H. W. Bush—and she would not vote for his son, either—but that was just because Debbie did not vote. It was a secret, and one of which she felt ashamed, but she had never voted in an election in her entire life. Wasn’t even registered. The problem was she never felt certain that she knew enough to make a solid choice. There was just one man in public life Debbie could imagine taking the trouble to cast a vote for, should he ever run, and that was Colin Powell. During the Persian Gulf War, Colin Powell won Debbie over with his cool unflappability and his direct manner. He was a military man, a straight shooter, she decided. Debbie had absolute faith in Powell. Otherwise she remained entirely skeptical of politics.
    By this point she had grown skeptical of romance as well. One night at Shorty’s, Debbie met an auto mechanic named Bill, and they dated for a few years. At one point Bill suggested that they marry, but Debbie said, “Bill, it’s not going to happen. I enjoy your company, I like being with you, but as far as getting married again, that just isn’t in the books for me.” Instead, they fell into a regular arrangement, where they saw each other most Saturday nights. Usually Bill would drive up to Bloomington and spend the night with Debbie. Or if it was a drill weekend, she might spend the night with him in Bedford. Bill was comforting but not central. It was the crowd at Shorty’s that filled her life. The crowd at Shorty’s, and her beloved dog Maxx. That’s all she needed; no more husbands.
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    In Bloomington, Debbie often went to the local Moose Lodge on Friday nights. Both of her parents had belonged to the organization, and Debbie herself was a member of Women of the Moose. She and T.J. got in the habit of dropping by on Friday nights, when their friend Diane worked as a waitress. In 1997, Debbie attended a Moose convention, along with T.J. and Diane. Diane’s husband, Jerry, who managed the maintenance shop at E-Z-GO, a company that serviced electronic golf carts, brought his coworker, Jeff Deckard. T.J. and Debbie were out on the dance floor, acting silly.
    Jeff said, “Who are those two girls?”
    Jerry explained, “Oh, they’re friends of ours from the Moose.”
    â€œYou need to ask T.J. out,” Diane told Jeff. “She’s single.”
    â€œWhat about that other girl?” Jeff asked.
    â€œOh, you don’t want to go out with her,” Diane said. “She’s dating somebody.”
    Jeff was a road mechanic with E-Z-GO. He drove all over Indiana, working on golf carts. He was forty years old, and had been divorced for about five years. A steady, old-fashioned man, he had been raised by a Pentecostal woman, and he would never approach another man’s girlfriend. One evening at the Moose Lodge, Diane came over with some drinks and told Debbie and T.J., “These are from Jeff.”
    She added, “T.J., he said to tell you hi and that he hoped you were doing okay.”
    â€œWell, what’s he saying hi for?” grumbled T.J. She liked men who looked like Mr. America, and objected that Jeff’s hair was thinning.
    â€œHe’s a really nice guy,” counseled Diane. “You’d like him once you talked to him.”
    â€œDiane, I’m not interested,” said T.J.
    One night, Debbie showed up at the Moose alone and saw Jeff drinking at the bar.
    â€œYou care if I sit next to you?” she asked.
    â€œOh, no,” said Jeff. “Go right ahead.”
    They talked for two hours, and learned that they both liked guns. Jeff mentioned that he had served in