Pebbles.

The minute we got into the car, I couldn't help the tears.

"You're going, baby," I said, and she nodded a little numbly.

Then I really started to cry. She looked at me... and then she started to cry, too, big tears that rolled down her cheeks and left her eyelashes spiky.

"I don't even know what's in Arkansas," she wailed as we came to a stop sign, quickly lifting her hands to wipe at her soaked cheeks.

"Me neither," I said, feeling my chin tremble. "I just know that... Collin Raye sings about it a lot."

And then we started laughing.... and then we cried harder. I hugged her in my driveway, promising that I'd get a disclaimer tattooed on my forehead that I couldn't be married until my best friends came home.

"I'll write your fiancé a letter and tell him you're an axe murderer," she threatened, eyes watery. I grabbed her in a tight hug, so she wouldn't see my face crumple into a sob.

All of this, and she's not leaving for another month and a half.