There was nothing quite like coming home from two weeks of having sand in places sand
really didn't belong (and trust that John was thrilled not to have been buried alive this time) to discover your wife had moved out while you'd been away. Sure, John had known they were transferring to an air base in the UK at the end of that week, but he'd kinda thought they were going
together.
After a long and very heated one-sided discussion that could be summarized as 'it's not me, it's you, John,' Nancy had informed him she was hopping a plane back to California and that he would be contacted by her lawyer - who was recommended by Dave - to deal with the details of the divorce. It seemed that in the blink of an eye, the era of being sequestered in Japan with Nancy was over.
A month later the new Major was celebrating Thanksgiving alone in his flat on base after spending a few off hours at the driving range (and don't get him started on how awesome it was having a golf course a short jog from home), popping open a crappy foreign beer, tuning in to whatever crap sport the Europeans called football, and settling onto...the single plush armchair Nancy'd left for him to take. At some point John figured he'd head to Cambridge for some decent furniture. Right now, there was no need for even a second chair. John was a month from 25, on the road to divorce after two years of marriage, and had basically lost all of his close friends to war or poor relationship choices. Who'd sit in it?
[We're officially out of lemons. Bring on the limes!]