Читать книгу The Ocean Between Us - Сьюзен Виггс, Susan Wiggs - Страница 14

After the day’s final briefing, which was anything but brief, Steve Bennett knew the exact date and time he’d be leaving his family. Again. Sure, he was a patriot; he’d spent his career serving his country. Yet he felt alternately harried, preoccupied and distracted by his myriad duties. A part of him missed the glory days of flying, the constant brushes with danger and the heady rush of cheating death. But he was a family man now, and he’d reached the stage of his career where he was ready for his own command.

And that didn’t happen without compromise. Even if it meant putting up with rule-book blowhards like Mason Crowther, his immediate superior.

When he walked through the door, he deep-sixed the burdens of the day, shutting his eyes and inhaling the smell of baking chicken. Like magic, the aromas and sounds of home lifted his spirits. Then he took off his cap and tossed it Frisbee-style to a hook on the hall tree—a little stunt that drove Crowther nuts and often prompted him to remind Steve that replacing a damaged cover would set him back two hundred bucks.

Feeling decidedly better, he went in search of his wife.

Grace stood at the counter, tossing a salad. He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Smells great,” he said. “Do you need some help?”

“No, thanks. We’ll eat just as soon as you get washed up. The kids want to go out tonight.”

He aimed a wounded look at Emma, who was setting the table. “You’re ditching us?”

“It’s the last Saturday night of the summer. Our last night of freedom.”

He washed his hands at the sink. “Yeah? So what are you up to?”

Emma shrugged in a way that made him grit his teeth. His elder daughter was not uncommunicative, but she definitely had her own set of private signals and gestures.

“Translation, please,” he said, trying to keep the edge out of his voice. He knew this was a particularly difficult move, uprooting the kids for their senior year and thrusting them into yet another “hostile environment,” as they liked to call it.

Steve knew it wasn’t his fault. But it sure as hell wasn’t his family’s, either.

“Some of the kids are going down to the beach at Mueller’s Point.”

“Bonfire and fireworks,” Brian added, ambling into the kitchen. Without being asked, he started filling the water glasses from a chilled pitcher.

“Excellent,” called Katie from the living room. “That means I can go, too.”

Both Emma and Brian snapped to attention. “In your dreams, dork,” Brian said. “It’s bad enough I have to drag Emma along—”

“Drag Emma along?” she said with an arch look. “Hey, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have any friends at all.”

“If it weren’t for me,” Grace said, tapping her arm with a spatula, “you wouldn’t have any dinner.”

They all sat down and Steve asked the blessing and then wondered why he bothered to ask. This family was all he needed and more. This was what he lived for, these moments of simplicity when they sat down to share a meal. He wondered if they had any idea how much it meant to him.

“So,” said Grace, passing the bread. “How was—”

“Your day, dear,” Katie finished for her. “You always say that, Mom.”

“Well, I always want to know. Don’t you?”

“I already know. He filled out some forms, answered a zillion e-mails, had a planning meeting with the senior staff and did all the stuff Captain Crowther didn’t want to deal with, because that’s what the DCAG does.” Katie pushed her glasses up her nose. “Right, Dad?”

“Pretty darned close, Miss Smarty-Pants.” He caught Grace’s eye. She looked distracted tonight, maybe a little tired. “Thanks for asking.”

This was his opening to announce the upcoming trip to the Pentagon and then the deployment in November. Not now, he thought. He’d save the news for another time. With school starting Monday, everyone had enough on their minds.

But was there ever a good time to tell the family you were leaving them? He’d done so many times, but it never got easier.

He looked around the table and his heart filled up. Although he could command a squadron or air wing, he was helpless when it came to his family and helpless to know whether or not he was doing a good job at home. His background, which included more foster homes than he’d ever bothered to count, hadn’t prepared him for the powerful tenderness of family life. His instincts told him how to land a plane on a carrier deck at night in a storm, but they couldn’t tell him how to talk to his daughters.

Emma was so pretty she could break your heart with a single blink of those Caribbean-blue eyes. Steve ought to know—she’d broken his often enough. Every time he said goodbye to her, from the time she was old enough to understand what goodbye meant, she had broken his heart. Yet oddly, with all the moving they had done, Emma seemed to adapt the easiest. She actually liked making new friends, and found her place in school with seemingly little fuss or effort.

Brian was his trophy son, and he appeared to like playing that role, bringing home honors in track and baseball, earning decent marks in his classes. He was a prime candidate for any number of colleges, and the Naval Academy was at the top of his list.

Then there was his little Katydid, so quick you’d miss her if you didn’t keep your eye on her. She read a book every day or two and was so smart she had her teachers scrambling for material, trying to stay one step ahead of her.

And Grace. The architect of it all. She built this family brick by brick, fashioned it out of hard work and a vision he hoped like hell they both shared. In the upheaval of the move this summer and taking on his new duties, he’d barely had time to sit down and talk to her about anything.

She used to make time, carving a quiet half hour out of the day so they could discuss whatever was on their minds. He’d never told her how grateful he was for that; he figured she knew. But lately, even she’d been sucked into the breakneck pace of their lives, and those half hours had fallen by the wayside. He missed their time together, but didn’t know how to tell her so.

It wasn’t his fault, and it sure as hell wasn’t hers, but a hairline fissure had appeared in their marriage, seemingly out of nowhere. Or so he thought. He was almost afraid to mention it for fear of giving it a name and making it real. But he had to trust that things were fine, or nothing else in the world made sense. Grace was different from women who walked away from Navy men. She wasn’t going to bail on him.

He stabbed his fork into a second helping of chicken. “There’s a barbecue at the Crowthers’ next Sunday,” he said. “The whole family’s invited.”

“I’m busy,” Katie declared.

“I’ve got practice,” Brian said.

He noticed Emma had no objection. The Crowther boy was her age, and he’d called at the house a couple of times, looking for her. “The whole family,” he repeated. “He’s the CAG, and he wants everybody to have a good time.”

“Then he should count us out,” Katie said.

“Maybe buy us tickets to a Mariners game,” Brian suggested. “That’d be a good time.”

“You don’t have to stay long,” Grace explained in her ever-patient tone. But even she sounded a little weary of social obligations. She used to love dressing up, going to official functions and informal gatherings. “Just say hi and eat some barbecue and take notes, because—”

“Because next year, Dad’s going to be the CAG,” Katie finished for her.

“Such a bright child,” Grace said with a wink.

“I heard Mrs. Crowther is a Grade-A, certified b—uh, pill,” Katie said in a gossipy tone. “Brooke Mather says she has these horrible teas and stuff for the wives, and gets all mad if you don’t come. And my friend Rose Marie says that in the winter, you can’t wear a fur to any function, because Mrs. Crowther doesn’t have a fur.”

“Even if it’s a really ugly fur?” asked Brian.

“That’s enough,” said Grace with a gleam of suppressed amusement. “We’ll all go, and we’ll be terribly polite and charming and they’ll think the Bennetts are the nicest family in the Navy.”

Steve had been dealing with Crowther all day, and he yearned to change the subject. He turned to Brian. “So have you had a chance to look at the admissions packet from the Academy?” he asked.

“You bet,” Brian said. “I can’t wait to roll up my sleeves and start filling in all those bubbles with a number-two pencil.”

Steve grinned to hide a twinge of annoyance at his son’s sarcasm. Brian was a star athlete with bright prospects, yet he spent every spare minute creating intricate, almost hyperrealistic drawings of some fantasy world. He claimed to be working on a graphic novel, which was beyond Steve’s comprehension. Still, Brian had a serious desire to excel, and Steve hoped he’d choose to do it at the Naval Academy.

“It’s a little early in the year to burn out on the application process,” he pointed out.

“I looked at that stuff,” Emma said. “It’s not that different from a regular college application.”

“Except for the blood test, urinalysis, dental X rays, physical aptitude exam…” Brian counted them off on his fingers. “Oh, and they’re not going to like my tattoo and body piercings one bit.”

“What tattoo and body piercings?” Katie demanded, craning her neck to study her brother.

“The ones I might get one of these days,” he said. “Now that I’m eighteen, it’s all up to me.”

Clearly bored with her brother, Katie turned to Steve. “Can we get a dog?”

She had been asking all summer. She asked every summer, he remembered. “We’ve talked about this before. A family pet is—”

“One more thing to worry about,” Katie interrupted, exaggerating his Texas accent.

“It’s one more thing to love,” said Emma.

Steve and Grace exchanged a look. Both knew better than to take the bait. The conversation was in danger of turning into a squabble that had no resolution. With characteristic skill, Grace steered the topic around to other matters and brought the meal to a successful conclusion. She did this all the time, he realized, watching her pump Katie for details on the bike trip she’d made with her two new friends today. Grace smoothed out the wrinkles, anticipating trouble before it appeared.

“I’m proud of you for making friends so quickly this summer,” she told Katie.

“Like I have a choice,” Katie said.

“You don’t,” Grace said, getting up from the table. “None of us do.”

Maybe it was his imagination, but Steve sensed a subtle tension in the air. It was probably all in his head, he thought, watching Grace serve a dessert of strawberries in little glass bowls.

Sometimes he was so grateful for his family, it made his chest ache. That was the hell of having a job like his—he missed crucial moments in their lives. And even the periods of deepest contentment never lasted. But maybe, he conceded, the job made them sweeter, made him appreciate them more. Grace used to tell him so all the time, but she hadn’t mentioned it lately.

After dinner, the kids got ready to go out. Steve could hear Brian and Emma upstairs arguing. The two of them shared the Bronco II, and if their plans for the evening didn’t happen to coincide, they sank into one of their legendary disputes. He wondered why, after all these years, they still bothered. It was a bit like shadowboxing.

The twins were so alike, blond and athletic, with identical blue eyes. They had the sort of looks older women fussed over in grocery stores. When they were little, Grace used to push them around in the “double wide,” a dual stroller she took everywhere. By the time Katie came along, that stroller had a lot of miles on it. Katie occupied a sling-like compartment in the rear of the contraption. She was such a quiet, unobtrusive little soul. One time—Grace swore it was only once—she had actually set her diaper bag on top of the baby, having forgotten until a little kitten mew of distress alerted her.

The expected squabble subsided without intervention, and Steve let out the breath he’d been holding. The twins had entered a phase of their relationship in which they were starting to like each other on a selective basis. Perhaps as the concept of leaving home became ever more real to them, they decided to explore the deep and mysterious heart of their twinship. Whatever it was, Steve would not complain. Especially since Katie, his awkward colt of a daughter, seemed to be experimenting with her own brand of rebellion here and there.

At the moment, Katie was stretched out on the sofa, reading a book. Her long, skinny legs—Olive Oyl legs, she lamented—were draped over the backrest, her head hanging off the side at an impossible angle. She read with deep concentration, seeming to inhale the story through her eyes. Steve walked over and mussed her hair playfully, earning a we-are-not-amused glare. He bent down to see what she was reading. “Beneath the Wheel by Hermann Hesse. The feel-good book of the year.”

“At least it makes my life seem less depressing.”

“Since when is your life depressing?”

“Since Brian and Emma get to go out tonight and they’ve already got tons of friends and not one person even cares if I exist—”

The phone rang. “I’ll get it,” she shrieked, flinging aside the book and clearing the coffee table in a single leap.

“She ought to go out for the track team. I’m thinking hurdles.” Steve’s gaze followed her as she streaked from the room. “What’s this about her depressing life?”

Grace smiled as she wiped down the dining room table. “Wait five minutes. Her mood will shift.”

It took less than five minutes. Portable phone in hand, Katie rushed back into the room, bursting with smiles. “I’m going to the movies with Brooke Mather,” she announced. Then she locked eyes with Steve and cleared her throat. “May I go to the movies with Brooke Mather? The eight o’clock show at the Skywarrior?”

The base cinema was crowded with teens each summer and had been for decades. Steve wondered idly what it would be like to watch the decades slip by in one place.

“Who’s driving you?” asked Grace.

“We can ride our bikes.”

Grace threw the sponge into the sink. “Nice try, kiddo.”

“We can.”

“Of course you can. But you’re not going to. You know the score, sweetheart. The base is—”

“I know. I know. Too crowded with clueless drivers who don’t watch for bikes, especially after dark.”

“Riddled with revved-up Navy guys who have only one thing on their minds,” Emma chimed in, coming down the stairs.

“Yeah, Dad,” Katie said, “what’s with all the revved-up Navy guys? Aren’t you senior officers supposed to keep discipline?”

“No,” he said, “we’re supposed to throw our unfledged daughters in their paths as virgin sacrifices. Go ahead. Ride your bikes. It’ll appease the gods.”

Her face fell and her cheeks ignited. Too late, Steve realized his sarcasm had been too harsh. Lately, he seemed to have an uncanny ability to make his smart daughter feel stupid.

“I’ll take her,” Emma said as Katie studied the floor.

“Take her where?” Brian demanded, clumping downstairs. In a rugby shirt, khaki shorts and Top-Siders, he looked more J. Crew than United States Navy. But Steve didn’t say anything.

“You’re going to take me to Brooke’s, and then you’re giving both of us a ride to the movies.” Katie recovered quickly and addressed her brother in a bossy tone.

“And when it’s over, you’re bringing them home,” Grace added. “Please.” It was the system they had worked out over the summer. The twins were responsible for their sister. It was the price they paid for car privileges. Katie took full advantage of her power over them, particularly Brian. In front of her friends, she liked to sit in the back seat and direct him with a regal “Drive on, James.”

The customary rush to the door ensued. Whereabouts were verified, curfews set, cell phones confirmed operational. As soon as they departed, Steve headed into the study to check his e-mail—the bane of his command these days. On the desk he found a stack of notes in Grace’s handwriting. He recognized the names of shipping companies and local agencies and clubs, along with women’s names and numbers. She belonged on the Navy’s payroll, considering all she did for its families. That was Grace—helping, always helping. Sometimes she was so busy helping other families that the Bennetts were on autopilot.

At dinner she had seemed quieter than usual. Sometimes Grace reminded him of the calm, clear water above a reef. Placid on the surface, a lot going on underneath, invisible yet very real. But he was a flyer, not a diver. And he sure as hell wasn’t a mind reader.