The Ocean Between Us (11 page)

Steve didn’t usually have trouble sleeping, even with the distant noise of jets on the runways, but tonight was different. He usually knew just what to do with worries and unsettling thoughts. They went into a compartment in his mind, walled off by themselves where they wouldn’t bother him until he chose to deal with them. The Navy taught you that. You divided yourself—your mind, your heart, your life—into compartments and managed things one by one. The present issue was different. This spilled out and over and down, threatening to make a mess of everything.

He turned his head to look at his sleeping wife. She lay on her side, her back to him, her bare arm on top of the covers. Ordinarily he would reach out and gather her close, curve his body protectively around her until they both settled down to sleep.

But tonight wasn’t ordinary. In the gray half-light, he watched her for a minute, searching for some visible sign of her discontent. She looked exactly the same to him. She looked like Grace. His wife. The glue that held the family together. Nothing made sense without her. And yet that was how he lived half his life, it seemed. Without her.

That wasn’t supposed to be a problem. Navy families had to be
strong. They had to make sacrifices. All the Bennetts understood that. But now, seemingly out of the blue, Grace appeared to have discovered a problem with a way of life she had helped create. All of a sudden, she wanted a mortgage and a career. She wanted to “invest” in expensive waterfront property.

A dull thud of apprehension sank in his gut. Maybe she was thinking she didn’t want to move anymore. Maybe she wouldn’t make the next move with him.

That was ridiculous, he told himself. For nineteen years she had followed him all over the globe, picking up the family with the ease of a vacationer on a summer picnic, packing up and moving on. It was what they did. It was who they were.

Setting down roots in this place would change everything. It had the potential to alter the course of their lives, to turn their long-standing goals upside down. He didn’t know what to make of her change of heart. And maybe, he reflected, it wasn’t so sudden. Maybe they just hadn’t talked about it until now.

He eased himself from the bed without waking her and put on a pair of pajama bottoms. He walked out into the darkened hallway and down the stairs. In the kitchen, he looked out the window and checked the driveway. Good. The kids’ car was there, which meant they were home safe.

He pulled open the refrigerator, found the orange juice and drank straight from the carton. Grace frowned on that, of course, but Grace was upstairs, sound asleep. She frowned on a lot of things lately.

After putting the juice away, he stood in the shadowy kitchen, listening to the hum of the fridge and the distant buzz of aircraft on night-training maneuvers. The Naval Air Station never slept.

He braced his fists on the counter as frustration bubbled up inside him. He didn’t need trouble on the homefront. Not now. If he stayed the course, his next tour of duty would likely be a command cruise with the carrier air wing. This was what he’d been working for all his career. But now Grace was deviating from a course they’d both agreed upon, and he was supposed to simply to allow it.

Pushing back from the counter, he let out an explosive sigh of frustration. He was about to go back to bed when a white beam of headlights washed through the downstairs. A car was pulling into the driveway.

Across the street, a pair of men in civilian clothes passed by, walking none too steadily.

What the hell? He grabbed a T-shirt from behind the laundry room door and pulled it over his head.

Middle-of-the-night visitors never meant good news. His mind flipped through the possibilities. Someone had been injured, maybe one of the rookie pilots. Or an enlisted man was in trouble, perhaps. A fellow officer. Or—

He pulled open the front door.

“Sir, we’re sorry to disturb you,” said the MP standing at attention. “But we need to talk to you about your daughter.”

Steve stared at Emma with only the most reluctant comprehension of what was going on. Who was this young woman who stared back with unflinching calm? She stood on the threshold like a stranger he’d never met before. Her blond hair was uncharacteristically stringy and dirty-looking. Her clothes were damp and hung on her frame.

The MPs explained that, at the main gate of the station, they had received her from the local authorities. The sheriffs’ deputy who had picked her up at a county-park beach had made the delivery. They enumerated infractions that were the stuff of parental nightmares: drinking, risky behavior, swimming in an unauthorized area.

In a numb state of shock, Steve went through the motions like an automaton, thanking the MPs for their help, instructing Emma to apologize for the trouble she’d caused and to promise she’d never do it again. She obeyed in a flat, clear voice, exhibiting neither fear nor contrition. But apparently it was enough to mollify the MPs. Showing deference to Steve’s rank, they saluted him and returned to their patrol duties.

Steve waited until their taillights disappeared before he turned to Emma. “All right, young lady—”

“Don’t wake Mom,” she said.

“Is that all you have to say for yourself, don’t wake Mom?” Steve demanded. But in reality, the same conviction had been close to the surface in him as well.

When Emma didn’t answer, he paced back and forth in the foyer. “You’re soaking wet.”

“Can I just go to bed?”

“Not until you explain yourself.” Steve broke out in a sweat. He never knew what to say to his kids when they got into trouble. When hardened sailors were brought before him, he knew exactly what to do. He evaluated the infraction and meted out justice firmly and fairly. But with his own kids, he was at a loss.

Her shoulders sagged. “What happened was—”

“Are Brian and Katie home?”

“Yes. Now, are you going to listen?”

Privately, he admired her poise. Katie or any other girl would probably be lying in a puddle of tears by now, but Emma held herself straight and tall, and she looked him in the eye.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“We all got together,” she said, “to mark the end of summer. There was a fire on the beach and a bunch of people started jumping off the dock into the water—”

“Into Puget Sound? In the dark?”

“It’s no big deal. It’s a tradition on the island. The kids say their parents did it, and probably their parents before them. Anyway, one girl got into trouble, so I went in after her. By the time I swam out to her, she was just floating facedown, not breathing.”

“You went in after her.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Why you?”

“I’m a lifeguard. I know how to do this stuff.”

“So is the girl all right?”

“Yes. Her lungs were full of water, and I had to do…mouth to mouth.” For the first time, Emma’s composure wavered. Her lower lip trembled. “I was so scared, Daddy. At first she wouldn’t
breathe. She was all cold, like she was dead or something. I was so afraid she was—”

He cut her off, pulling her awkwardly against him, her wet clothes soaking him. “You did fine, baby,” he said. “You did the right thing. So did your friend go to the emergency room?”

“No.” Emma spoke against his chest. “Ask Brian if you don’t believe me. He saw the whole thing.”

Steve felt torn between admiration and skepticism. He let go of her and stepped back. “How is it that you managed to save someone’s life one minute and get hauled in for drinking the next?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Just lucky, I guess.”

“Where’d you get the beer?”

“Some kid brought it.”

“Which kid?”

“Just…some guy.”

“I need a name, Emma. Full disclosure. Complete information.”

“No, you don’t,” she said with infuriating calm.

“Emma, I’m warning you—”

“Fine. You really want to know? It was Cory Crowther.” She thrust up her chin and glared at him. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”

Crowther. Damn.

“See?” said Emma. “You were better off not knowing. Now you have to decide whether or not to rat out your superior’s kid.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know. I never should’ve said a word, not even for the sake of full disclosure.”

Steve thought Cory was a good kid. From their few encounters, he had formed a positive impression of the boy. He was tall, athletic, polite and respectful. But apparently he had another side. “Look,” he said, “this kid sounds like bad news. You shouldn’t be hanging around with him.”

“Yeah, well, when you’re me, you can’t exactly be choosy about your friends.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? When you’re you?”

“When you’re a Navy brat, Dad. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

“Why don’t you do that? Why don’t you spell it out?”

“I can’t be picky about my friends because I’ve never stayed in one place long enough to have a lot of options. One or two years at a school, three max. That’s what I’ve had, all my life. It doesn’t exactly give me time to build perfect friendships, does it?”

His daughter was bright and funny and kind. How could she think she had to go begging for friends? “You’re looking at it all wrong, Em. You kids are lucky. You are privileged. You’ve lived all over the world. You speak two languages. You’ve seen things most kids never dream of.”

“But I’ve never had a best friend,” she whispered, and her soft voice cut him like a knife.

“So you go out drinking with my commanding officer’s boy.”

“I didn’t plan it that way.”

“Did Crowther get escorted home by the MPs?”

“As if. The deputy commended him for looking after the girl who nearly drowned, and told him to be careful driving her home. I was the one holding a sack of beer, just like they told you.”

“If Cory Crowther was responsible for the beer, why didn’t he step in when he saw you were getting into trouble?”

“What would be the point of two of us getting in trouble? For that matter, what would that have done to your career, Dad, if we had both gotten in trouble? You know what would have happened. It would have turned out to be my fault, and you would have paid the price.”

Where had she learned this stuff? There was no book explaining the intricacies of Navy politics. But his kids had understood such things since they were tiny. They’d had a graphic lesson back when the twins were in second grade. He was being considered for a tour in either northern Alaska or the Spanish Riviera. Things were looking good for Spain when Brian beat the crap out of his superior officer’s boy over a baseball game.

The next week they’d been ordered to Alaska.

Apparently that lesson had sunk into Emma. She knew his fortunes were tied inexorably to his superior’s whims. If Mason
Crowther decided to make his life a living hell, he’d do it. The position of Deputy CAG was precarious and Emma knew it. Emma, his daughter. His heart. He thought he knew her. But here she was, out jumping off docks and getting into trouble with boys who had more of a sense of self-preservation than honor.

“Look, Emma, your behavior matters, and not just because of my position. It matters because you need to respect yourself.”

She suppressed a yawn. “Can I be excused, please?”

“All right. Look, I’m proud of you for saving your friend.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“So do me a favor, okay? Keep your nose clean.”

Emma pursed her lips. “I’m just going to try to survive my last year of high school.” She started toward the stairs, then hesitated and turned back. “What about Mom?”

Given what was going on with him and Grace, he wasn’t eager to stir juvenile delinquency into the mix. “We won’t bug your mom with this. I expect you to have a great start to school. And I don’t want to hear one more word of trouble with the Crowther boy. His old man is the type who looks for ways to make my job harder. Do you hear me? Not one word.”

“Fine,” she said in a harsh whisper. “I won’t say a word.”

On the kids’ first day of school, Grace got up early. She was always the first one awake, insisting on a proper breakfast and then gearing them up with backpacks and book bags, as though arming warriors for battle. She was packing three lunches when Steve came into the kitchen. She knew that, at 0800 hours, he would assemble the troops to subject them to the customary first-day-of-school pep talk. He looked wonderful, as always, fresh from the shower, his khaki uniform crisp. But on closer inspection, she saw faint lines of fatigue around his eyes.

“Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

“I slept fine.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and started organizing his briefcase.

Grace took a deep breath. The argument still hung between them. They were out of synch. They needed to talk more. But he was leaving for Washington, D.C., so once again, a big discussion would have to wait. “Guess who I’m meeting today?”

“Who?”

“A banker. About a commercial account for my relocation business.”

“Aw, Gracie. I wish you wouldn’t rush into this. You’re going to need credentials, references—”

“I’m not rushing. I have stellar credentials. I’ll have references coming out my ears, what with all the Navy families I’ve worked for over the years. Everything’s falling into place, Steve. I’m applying for a business license, too.”

He looked at her as though she were an alien life-form. “A business license? What the hell is that, Grace?”

“It’s the first step.” He wasn’t getting it. She could just tell. “I even got the name of a firm to handle the incorporation.”

“Grace, Incorporated?”

“My God,” she said. “You’re being condescending again.”

“Who, Dad?” asked Katie, clumping down the stairs. “Condescending? I’m shocked.”

“Hey, Miss Smarty-Pants. Give your dad a hug.” While he embraced Katie, he sent Grace a look that would have to pass for an apology. They weren’t finished with the discussion, not by a long shot, but without saying a word, they came to a mutual, unspoken agreement. This morning was about the kids.

Katie had risen at 6:00 a.m. She’d changed her clothes four times, spent a half hour fixing her hair and had chewed her nails to the quick. By eight o’clock, she looked exhausted.

“How about some breakfast?” Grace offered, holding out the blender pitcher. “I’ll give you half my tofu smoothie.”

“Since when do you drink tofu?”

“Since I heard it’s more healthy than a Pop-Tart. Here, have a sip.”

Katie wrinkled her nose. “I’m not hungry.”

“At least drink some juice.” She took a glass from the cabinet.

“Look at that,” said Steve. “My own little Katydid starting high school. I remember when you started kindergarten.”

“You were at sea when I started kindergarten.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t remember it.”

Unexpectedly Grace felt a lump in her throat. Because she
did
remember. Only yesterday, it seemed, she’d been primping her little girl for the first day of school, holding back the tears as she
sent her youngest child from the nest. Katie had been nervous—no, terrified. But like a resigned prisoner going to the gallows, she had bravely marched to meet her fate. She was terrified now, Grace realized, seeing the tremor in Katie’s hand as she lifted the glass of orange juice to her lips. Ah, poor baby. New situations always rattled her.

Grace felt a pang of regret for all the times they’d thrust Katie into new schools, new neighborhoods, new ways of life. As soon as she settled into a place, they moved again. The process had made her daughter fragile and insecure.

She stood as though bracing herself for having the rug pulled out from under her. Just once, Grace wished they could offer Katie stability beyond her immediate family circle. What sort of person would she become, given the opportunity to attend the same school for more than three years, and have a group of friends she wouldn’t be forced to leave?

“I remember your first day of first grade,” Steve said, looking for concurrence. “Don’t I, Gracie? I remember thinking, look out world, here comes Katie Bennett. I feel the same way now.” He put his hand on top of her head and grinned at her. “This school has never seen the likes of you.”

“Then they won’t notice if I don’t show up,” Katie said.

Brian came into the kitchen, his hair damp from the shower, his duffel bag stuffed with gear. “Is he starting that whole Henry V thing about ‘we few, we happy few’?”

Grace poured him a glass of juice. “I think he waited for you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t want to miss a word of it,” Steve said.

Emma arrived, quiet and self-possessed, not showing even a hint of the nervousness that seemed to crackle and buzz around Katie like a force field. “Morning,” she said. “Do we have any Pop-Tarts?”

“Breakfast of champions,” Grace said, holding out a box of frosted strawberry pastries.

“Thanks.”

Steve watched Emma for a moment, his expression unreadable.
She seemed to concentrate extra hard on operating the toaster. Then Brian stepped between them. “Excuse me,” he said, reaching for the cupboard. He found a two-quart mixing bowl and filled it with Cheerios and milk. Then he sat down and dug in.

Grace turned away to refill her coffee mug. “Where did he learn that, anyway?”

“Learn what?” Emma set her backpack by the door and leaned toward the hall mirror to check her makeup.

“To eat like a caveman,” Katie said.

“You mean like a star athlete in training,” Brian said between mouthfuls. “It’s a gift.”

“I’ve got to go,” said Steve, picking up his attaché case and taking his cap from the hook by the back door.

Grace could already see him pulling away, moving out of one world and into another. From breakfast and children to meetings and briefings, great matters and challenges. Like a knight from times past, he donned the trappings of his office, drawing the uniform like a shield around him. He belonged to a secret world, and although she had been privy to it for many years, she would never truly be a part of it. That was never more apparent than now, when he was on his way out the door.

“What, no ‘happy band of brothers’ speech?” asked Katie with mock disappointment.

“You know it by heart, anyway,” said Grace. “If the school has a drama club, you’re all set.”

“I’m going to try out for marching band,” Katie declared.

“Of course you are,” Grace said. “You’ll knock ’em dead with your clarinet playing.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing.” Brian put the huge bowl to his lips and gulped it dry.

Steve kissed Grace’s cheek, and she shut her eyes and inhaled his scent of shaving soap. The dispute stayed open, though, hanging between them like a chilly shadow.

She flashed on a memory of the early years of their marriage. Sometimes, in the morning, he used to laugh and make love to
her with a sweeping spontaneity that took her breath away, and then he’d rush off to work.

Where had that laughter, that spontaneity gone? She didn’t recall waking up one day and realizing it had fled. Instead, it seemed to have bled away like a slow, almost imperceptible leak, its effects masked by everything life heaped upon their plate: children, Steve’s career, frequent moves and the simply day-to-day routine of living. Yet they were a happy family, Grace insisted to herself fiercely. She had dedicated her life to making it so, and to believe otherwise now was to call herself a failure.

But was it so bad to want something more? Steve seemed to think so.

He headed for the door. “I’ll probably be late today,” he said. “Public affairs meeting. Some big magazine wants to do an in-depth report on the carrier. I’ll call and let you know.”

“No, you won’t,” said Grace. He almost never did. He gave himself to his work one hundred percent. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be the man she loved. Although if he did… “Killigrew will call.”

“That’s his job.”

Grace reminded herself that he had to stay on top of all aspects of air-wing intelligence, maintenance, operations and public affairs. Homeport tasks removed him from combat, and sometimes he almost seemed like any other husband, going to the office for the day. She had to remember that no matter what his orders, he always had the heart of a warrior.

“You kids have a good day, you hear?” His smile flickered over each of them, a swift benediction. Katie met his gaze and lifted her chin in determination. Brian squared his shoulders and hefted his duffel bag. Steve and Emma shared a look Grace couldn’t quite fathom. “You hear?” he repeated.

“Yes, sir,” Emma said with a surprisingly convincing salute.

Once he was gone, the next wave of departures began. Brian was happy with the new school; Grace could tell. He liked his coaches and his teams—track in the fall, swimming in the winter and the all-consuming baseball in the spring—and fitting in had
never been a problem for him. Emma seemed relatively untroubled as well. She took change in stride, treating each move as a new adventure. With more practicality than vanity, she used her looks to advantage. Her hair was a yard of blond silk, her smile as bright and genuine as a new coin, and she made the most of the attention they got her.

Grace wished some of that effortless
je ne sais quoi
would rub off on Katie. “How would you like me to drive you to school?” she offered, thinking it might ease her nervousness.

“No, thanks,” Katie said, finishing her orange juice. “I’ll ride with the twins.”

Grace gave her a hug. “I want you to love high school,” she said. “I know high school is going to love you—if you let it.”

“Like middle school loved me?” Katie gave an exaggerated shudder.

“No. Middle school is simply survival training for anything else life dishes out. You survived it, so you’re ready for anything.” Grace dumped the rest of her smoothie down the sink. The hell with the diet. It was too much trouble. Defiantly she put a forbidden, sugary Pop-Tart into the toaster.

Katie picked up her backpack and clarinet case. Grace hoped she wouldn’t change her mind about band tryouts this afternoon.

Out on the driveway, the kids good-naturedly endured her final hugs and bits of sunny encouragement, then piled into the Bronco. The neighborhood brimmed with similar scenes of worried mothers wearing overly cheerful smiles and dispensing advice to unnaturally silent, well-groomed children. As Brian backed out of the driveway, Grace stood alone in the yard, her hand raised in farewell until the truck turned the corner and she lost sight of them. Then she lowered her hand to her heart and held it there momentarily, lost in thought. She shook herself alert and waved to Helen Coombs across the way, and noticed Sylvia Dowd loading her young kids on a lumbering yellow school bus.

Grace turned back toward the house, feeling unsettled. The start
of the school year was a new beginning, but it was always bittersweet for her. She was the one they left, the one who stayed behind.

Ordinarily she would throw herself into her duties as an officer’s wife, organizing socials, coordinating volunteer work and support groups. But for the first time in her marriage, the incredible adventure of being part of a Navy family lacked appeal. For once, she wanted something different. The idea planted by Marcia Dunmire had taken root, and Grace wasn’t about to let Steve talk her out of doing this.

But first she decided to take a walk. Exercise was more important than counting calories. Everyone knew that. She dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, put her hair in a clip. The frosted Pop-Tart clenched in her teeth, she tied on her ancient Reeboks, then strode out the door and down the driveway. Still chewing, she headed along the sidewalk, certain she’d walk off the calories in just a few blocks.

She felt perfectly virtuous until a pair of joggers passed her, their lean, muscular legs gleaming in the morning sun, their ponytails swinging rhythmically with each swift, athletic stride. Like grim sailors on parade, they held their gazes straight ahead as though reluctant to lose focus by looking at Grace.

Resolutely, she balled her hands into fists and forged on. Power walking, it was called, but she didn’t feel terribly powerful. A little sweaty, maybe. But not winded yet. She passed a row of gray-painted hangars, each labeled with the squadron number and its insignia: the Gray Knights, the Lancers, the Screaming Eagles. Tough-sounding names for squadrons of men and women willing to put their lives on the line.

Pushing her chin up and trying to pretend she wasn’t winded, she walked all the way to the geographic tip of the Naval Air Station. It was a perfect morning, the sea and the mountains shining with that rare clarity unique to this part of the world. She filled her lungs with the mingled scents of brine, jet exhaust and fresh air, then pivoted on her heel and headed back.

To her right, surrounded by a fringe of grass, was a monument
that gave Navy families a chill of apprehension. Yet people seemed drawn to it, perhaps by some fatalistic sense of reverence. This morning, Grace noticed a young woman standing on the U-shaped walkway around the retired EA-6B Grumman Prowler.

The jet was permanently parked there and anchored to earth by stout cables of twisted steel. Off to the side was a pair of frozen bronze men, and bronze kids stood on the walkway, permanently pointing to the plaques of lost personnel in the Prowler community. The empty pilot’s bubble was stabbed through by sunlight and magnified on a patch of grass. The distorted light and shadows in the cockpit created ghosts under the clear canopy. For a moment, Grace imagined she could see a doomed young pilot at the controls, but when she blinked again, the image dissolved into a bowl of reflected morning sun.

Grace stopped next to the young woman who stood there. She had thick dark hair, olive-toned skin and deep brown eyes that misted as she moved reverently along the row of granite plaques that surrounded the jet. Each plaque was chiseled with the names and call signs of men and women who had died in the service of their country. After each name was listed the aviator’s shockingly short life span.

“They were younger than my husband is now.” The dark-haired woman glanced up. Her delicate beauty seemed curiously piercing to Grace.