The Ocean Between Us (13 page)

“I went to the Naval Academy. What do you do for fun around here besides grow flowers and fix mussels?”

He kept turning the subject away from himself. What a concept. Most men were their own favorite topic. “I like sports. Swimming and boating in the summer, skiing in the winter. How about you?”

“I boxed when I was younger.” A proud grin lit his face. “I once took on the Venice Bomber.”

“The Venice Bomber?”

“Scott Burns. I can’t believe you haven’t heard of him. But I hung up my gloves years ago. What I’ve always wanted to learn is sailing. The Jet Ski’s fun enough, but it’s a little noisy.”

I can teach you to sail
. She almost said it. But she stopped herself. It was too much of a commitment. “A sailor who doesn’t know how to sail?” she asked. “Now, there’s something for the taxpayers to worry about.”

He sent her a look she felt all the way to her toes. “I’m a fast learner.”

“New question,” she said. “After the Naval Academy, what did you do?”

“I went to Pensacola for flight training. I’m doing more training here and in Nevada, and I’m also serving as an ALO—admissions liaison officer for the Naval Academy—helping local kids with their applications. I’m going to be flying the Prowler.”

Great. A carrier-based pilot. Pretty much the most dangerous flying there was. “I’ll just open that wine,” she said, escaping to the narrow galley kitchen.

He followed her, looking around at the bright white walls, the cabinet displaying her collection of blue-and-white Delft china. She saw him poking a finger at the dessert—chocolate pots de crème in white china cups.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said, pushing his hand away.

He laughed and kept hold of her hand. “I’m thinking of something else entirely, ma’am.”

She nearly recoiled from the unexpected heat of his touch. “It’s from a recipe called Chocolate Sex.”

“Sounds great, but it can’t come close to the real thing.”

“You haven’t tasted it yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. Some things you just know.”

His suggestive voice slipped over her like silk. His smile seemed to wrap around her heart, and she pulled her hand away.

“I know you’re trying real hard to send out ‘unavailable’ signals,” he said, “but I have never shied from a challenge.” Ever so gently, he took the corkscrew from her. “I’ve got it.”

She let him, knowing she wouldn’t admit that she had never mastered the art of opening wine, because Gil always did the honors. Just as he always cleaned the leaves out of the gutters, balanced the checkbook, rotated the tires and figured the taxes. After he died, Lauren set herself to each task with grim determination and persisted until she mastered it. She was still a little weak in the wine-opening department.

The cork pulled free with a resounding
thwok.
She poured two glasses and handed him one. “Cheers,” she said.

“Cheers, and do you have a pet?”

“Oh, we’re still on the twenty questions?”

“I think we’re only on number five or six. So what about a pet?”

She glanced dolefully at a flap in the back door, two little metal bowls on a rubber mat. “A cat named Ranger. He was a stray, and then he strayed again. I haven’t seen him in a while. I plastered the neighborhood with signs and I change the food and water every day, just in case.” She eyed him over the rim of her glass. “I bet you’re a dog person. Big dogs, specifically.”

He grinned.

This man’s looks were wasted in the Navy. He could be modeling boxer shorts or sports cars. “Well?” she prompted him.

“And here I thought I was going to be the mysterious new man in your life. I’m so predictable.”

“Spill,” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard the intriguing part of his comment.

“Three Chesapeake Bay retrievers. Curly, Larry and—”

“Let me guess. Moe.”

“Gotcha. The third one’s name was Scarlett. My mother claims I was raised by them.”

“Is that like being raised by wolves?”

“Friendly wolves. They were my siblings. I was an only child. You?”

“A perfect sister who went to Georgetown and stayed in D.C. to be a lobbyist. We grew up right here with our single mom. She died five years ago and left this house to me and Gil.”

“Your sister’s name is Gil?”

Lauren’s hand tightened painfully on the stem of her wineglass. She hadn’t meant to mention him right away. After he died, she quickly discovered that the moment she mentioned she was widowed at the age of twenty-three, it tended to put a damper on any conversation.

“My late husband,” she explained. “He died two years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “And I bet you’d be a rich woman if you had a nickel for every time someone said that to you.” There was genuine kindness in his smile that took away the awkward moment. “So how are you doing?”

“Better. One day at a time, as they say in my therapy group.” She picked up a knife and chopped some parsley for the broth. “At first I was taking it one minute at a time, even one breath at a time, so I’ve made progress.” She ran water over the mussels in the colander over the sink. “Fixing this dinner was supposed to be part of my therapy, but you ruined it.”

“Hey, thanks a lot.”

She laughed at his phony, wounded expression. “The assignment was to treat myself to a gourmet meal. Alone.”

“So I’m spoiling your evening.”

She looked him straight in the eye and felt something inside her melt. He was interesting, funny, smart and kind. And suddenly he was standing so close to her she could practically touch him.

“Yes,” she whispered as he brought his mouth slowly down to kiss her. “You’re spoiling it.”

Grace pulled into the driveway at 8853 Ocean View Drive, and fantasy took over. She was pulling up to her own house, listening to the crunch of crushed oyster shells beneath the tires. The old roses twining over the garden arch were blooming in generous clusters of seashell pink, the last burst of Indian summer, probably. She could pick some to float in a bowl on the dining room table. Dahlias like lollipops nodded in the breeze, and stalks of hollyhocks reached as high as the eaves. In the side yard, a pair of martins flitted around a birdhouse on a tall pole.

Was she wrong to love this house? Was it really priced beyond her reach, like Steve said? They had been arguing about it constantly. And at its heart, the dispute was not about a house or a career. It was deeper than that. There were things Grace had put on hold—willingly—that needed expression. The kids would be gone soon, and it would be just her and Steve. Sometimes she worried that he balked because he was afraid of giving up his career and finding himself alone with her.

She knocked at the door, and Marcia Dunmire answered, mild and friendly as the dahlias blooming in the yard. Since the open
house, she’d replaced the walker with a four-legged cane. “Hello, Grace,” she said. “It’s good to see you in person again.”

They had spent hours together on the phone, planning Grace’s strategy. She’d found a local CPA and bookkeeper. She had developed a business plan. She had contacted other relocation services, even set up reciprocal arrangements and referral agreements with some of them. Regardless of Steve’s attitude, she intended to launch her own company.

“Come on in,” Marcia said. “I’m so glad you decided to go ahead with this.”

“I halfway wish you’d talk me out of it,” said Grace, feeling a subtle flutter of apprehension in her belly. Maybe Steve was right, she thought. Maybe this wasn’t the time to start something new and risky.

“You seem nervous, dear.”

“It’s not every day someone offers to start a Web-based business for me.”

“It’s not every day someone takes on a moving company on my behalf. Coffee?” She indicated a pot on the stove. “Help yourself.”

Grace took a mug from the counter and poured. The kitchen, like every other room in the house, was hopelessly outdated and gloriously oriented toward the view of the water. The sight took her out of herself, and she felt an unexpected jolt of emotion in her gut. Of all the places they’d lived, none had ever affected her like this. She belonged here. She truly did, in a way she had never belonged anywhere else.

“Mount Baker’s the prettiest mountain in the world,” said Marcia. “Don’t you think?”

Grace nodded. The rounded, creamy summit was painted in yellow and gold by the autumn sun. A single small cloud clung to the peak like a pennon from a castle. “You’ve been blessed, waking up to this every morning.”

“Don’t I know it. I wish I’d dared to climb it when I was young, like you,” Marcia said. “I always meant to, but I never got around to it.” She sighed. “I wonder how many things never get done because people keep putting them off.”

“Plenty.” Grace reached for the cream, then she thought better of it and took the coffee black. “However, I’ve been busy on your behalf.” She took a set of brochures and forms from her tote bag and laid them on the counter. In exchange for Marcia’s design work, Grace insisted on handling every detail of her move. “These are the best seniors-only residences I could find near your daughter in Phoenix. I made a chart listing all the amenities of each, and a map with the features of each neighborhood. For instance, would you rather be closer to a bookstore or a movie theater? Is a gym important? Church? That sort of thing. You can look them over and decide which one you like best, and I’ll make all the arrangements for you.”

“Grace Bennett, you are a wonder,” Marcia said, the slight frown easing from her brow. “These look lovely. I won’t be homeless when I get to Arizona after all.”

“You’re going to miss this place a lot, aren’t you?” asked Grace.

“Actually, I don’t think I will. I’m moving closer to my daughter and grandchildren because I don’t want to miss out on their lives.” Marcia looked around the room, with its faded walls and old furniture. “I used to feel so trapped here when the kids were little. I couldn’t wait to get out somewhere, anywhere. I always envied the Navy wives with their jet-setting lifestyle.”

Grace nearly choked on her coffee. “Jet-setting?”

“That’s how it looked to me.”

“Well, I bet you never realized that the Navy wives envied you.”

Marcia shook her head. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“Women like me think what a luxury it would be to plant bulbs and know you’ll be around to see them come up. To give your heart to a friend and know you’ll still be close in ten years. To watch your kids settle into the same school, year after year.”

“It can work both ways. Staying in one little town can be very stifling.”

“Moving around like a gypsy tribe isn’t as romantic as it looks. You want to talk about small towns? Think of it this way, the
marriage is the town. Population two. With a handful of temporary visitors known as children.”

Marcia refilled her coffee mug, adding a generous splash of cream. “I never thought of it that way. Grace, I don’t want to get too personal, but are you saying you feel stifled in your marriage?”

“No,” Grace said quickly. “I didn’t mean to sound that way. The Navy’s been wonderful for us. The past twenty years have been an incredible adventure.”

“But…?” Marcia raised an eyebrow.

“Am I terrible to want a different kind of adventure?”

“Heavens, no.”

Grace released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Marcia led the way to the study adjacent to the kitchen. “Here are a few of my other clients,” she said, motioning Grace to a chair on rollers next to the Mac computer.

Clients, thought Grace with a sense of wonder. I’m a client.

Marcia had created impressive, functional Web sites for a florist, a law office, a finance company and a fitness studio.

“Wait a minute,” Grace said. “A fitness studio? You mean I can get physically fit on the Internet?”

Marcia laughed. “Don’t I wish.” She clicked on the site, displaying a young woman hefting a pair of hot-pink barbells. “Lauren Stanton is a local girl. She grew up with my kids, in fact.”

“Totally New Totally You,” said Grace. “I picked up a brochure in the store. I’ve been thinking of checking it out.”

“I take her senior lifetime fitness classes,” said Marcia. “At least up until my injury. You’re far too young for senior fitness.”

Grace laughed. “I don’t remember the last time someone said I was too young for anything.”

“You’re a baby,” Marcia assured her. “Let’s have a look at what I’ve done so far.” She typed in a Web address. “This,” she said, “is your domain.”

“In medieval times, that meant manorial land retained for the private use of a feudal lord,” said Grace.

“Well, now it means your own little corner of cyberspace. It’s
not running ‘live’ at the moment, but as soon as you tell me to launch it, you’ll be all set. I put up the features we discussed on the phone.”

Grace blinked at the screen. “GraceUnderPressure.org,” she said. “So you like the name I picked?”

“I think it’s perfect,” Marcia said. “What do you think of the design?”

That was perfect, too. Against a calm blue background, the heading stood out in clean white type. A row of links down the side of the screen were marked by small, puffy clouds.

Grace looked out the window. “I can see where you get your inspiration.”

“So you like it? It’s not too frivolous for a woman of commerce?”

“I love it. And I don’t know about the woman-of-commerce bit. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but—”

“Then you should do it. No buts.”

“You’re a good coach.” She marveled at how easy Marcia was to talk to, how simple things looked through her eyes. Grace had tried to discuss the project with Steve numerous times, but all he could see were the pitfalls and roadblocks. By contrast, Marcia made it look like a natural outgrowth of a service Grace had been performing pro bono for years.

“Well, if you’re not ready to get started in business, we can turn this into anything you want. A lot of Navy families keep personal sites for pictures and reports. That way, all their friends and family can check in and keep in touch.”

“Our circle of friends and family is pretty small. Relatives are in short supply. Steve grew up in foster homes, and I was an only child. My parents and grandmother are gone now.”

“Dear, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. My grandmother made me promise not to be glum about it, and I’m usually not.” There was more to the story, but Grace didn’t feel comfortable sharing it with Marcia. “Both Steve and I wanted a big family, and I think that’s one of the reasons.”

“And you’ve moved this whole family all over the world.”

“That’s right.”

“Then you’re definitely a professional.”

Grace laughed. “I don’t have any clients.”

“That’s the point of the Web site. Here’s a form for people to put in their basic information and request a contact from you.” She clicked to a new screen. “Stop looking for ways for this not to work, Grace. It’s the perfect place to start. Check this out. Once you submit your banking information, you’ll be able to take credit cards.”

Grace’s head was spinning. Launch yourself into business. Start a career. The words had been haunting her for weeks, prodding her, keeping her awake at night. She always thought she’d do well in business. And even though she’d set aside that dream long ago, it still resonated in her.

Now she sat and listened politely to Marcia’s concept of a Web-based business. It sounded fantastic. It was as though Marcia had opened a door, and Grace had stepped into a world that was absolutely familiar to her in every way. With a vision as clear as a cloudless day, she could see exactly how the enterprise would work. If only she would commit to it.

She must have shown some physical sign of excitement, because Marcia looked over at her with concern. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Grace said, and took a deep breath. “I’m ready to get started.”

Marcia beamed at her. “I was hoping you’d go forward with it.” They spent the morning working out the details, and the dream not only took shape, it took on a life of its own.

Hours later, a formation of jets rocketed overhead; Grace knew them by the sound. “Look at the time,” she said, startled. “I’d better go.”

“You can stay as long as you like.”

“Actually, I need to get to the bank. And after that, I’m meeting someone who needs help with her move.”

Marcia winked. “Get a letter of reference from her.”

Grace was positive Patricia Rivera would offer a reference if she asked. So maybe she’d ask.

“I’ll walk you to your car,” said Marcia, grasping her cane.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense, I need the exercise.” Out on the driveway, she shot a troubled look at the For Sale sign.

“No takers yet?” Grace asked.

“No. I might have to lower the price again or offer to owner-finance.”

“Could you afford to do that?”

“Absolutely. I wish you’d buy it.”

Grace laughed. “Am I that transparent?”

“You love this house. I could tell the first time I met you.”

“I do love your house, Marcia. Somehow, it just took hold of me. I’ve never felt that before—about a house, at least. But we’ll be moving in another two years,” she said. “Maybe less.”

“So live here for two years.” Marcia drummed her fingers on the handle of her cane.

“That wouldn’t be very practical.”

“You’ve got to live somewhere. Why not in a place you love? Listen, the way you spend each day adds up to the way you spend your life.”

The words struck Grace like soft blows. Flustered, she opened the car door. “Thanks for everything.”

While she drove home, she replayed Steve’s objections to the house in her head. A jumbo mortgage was a huge responsibility. It was a lot to ask him to take on just when his job was getting more complicated than ever. As an investment, it was risky. They could easily wind up with a white elephant on their hands.

“The kids have always wanted a pet,” Grace said aloud.