The Ocean Between Us (21 page)

“That’s fine.” Marilyn locked the house and left Grace standing with the kids in the yard.

“Well?” she asked Brian.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“It’s awesome,” Katie said. “Are we really moving here? Really and truly?”

“I’m pretty sure we are,” Grace told her.

“I can’t believe you’re doing it, Mom. Just like that.”

“It isn’t just like that. I’ve wanted a house for years. I decided to quit waiting around.”

“Good. I hope we get to stay here forever. I’m in band and I want to go out for track next year. If I have to leave junior year, I’ll die. Completely die.”

“You will not, Drama Queen,” Emma said. “We move all the time, and it’s fine.”

“Fine for you, maybe.”

“Has Dad seen this house?” Emma asked Grace.

Grace’s stomach clenched as she remembered the night she’d told him she wanted the house. “Just in the brochure.”

“And he’s okay with this?”

“He’s at sea,” she said.

As an act of rebellion, buying a home didn’t seem terribly radical, but for Grace, it was a declaration of independence. The day she officially qualified for the loan and set the date for the closing, she sent Steve an e-mail, asking him to call.

She didn’t have to wait long. That was one of the benefits of being a senior officer. He didn’t have to wait in line to buy a phone card or use the all-too-public phones in the squadron rooms.

“Is this some kind of joke?” he demanded, his voice thin and distant on the satellite phone.

So it had deteriorated to this, she thought, her heart sinking. Phone calls across half the world used to mean I-love-yous and hurried endearments. “I’m buying this house,” she said, holding on to her composure.

“You said you’d wait.”

“No,
you
said I’d wait. I said it’s going to happen now.”

“Damn it, Grace, I know you’re pissed about my first marriage but this—”

“This is not about your first marriage. It’s about your second. You knew I wanted this and I found a way to make it happen. It’s going to be wonderful, Steve. You’ll see.”

“Don’t do it, Grace. Just wait.”

“I’m through waiting.” Buying a home was supposed to be a joyous occasion for a couple, yet she felt close to tears.

“I guess I can’t stop you,” he said.

“Yes, you can.”

“But I won’t.”

“Good. This is going to work out beautifully.”

“How can it when I’m telling you not to do this?”

“What do you care where we live while you’re at sea?”

“This is not what the power of attorney is for.”

“Navy families do this all the time.” She’d never thought twice about doing business in Steve’s name. Military spouses signed contracts while their loved one was at sea. Every Navy wife she knew had probably bought a house or a car on her own at some point. “You’ll come home to your own house, Steve. How can you not want that?”

“What I want is for you to stick to the plan.”

“What are you afraid of? That you’ll lose out because I decided to get a life?”

“You have a life. With me and the kids.”

“I’m ready for more. Is that so hard to understand?”

“Yeah. It is. Look, Grace, I have to go,” he said. “Someone’s waiting for the phone. Just…quit acting so irrational about all this, okay?”

“I have to go, too. Your irrational wife has a meeting at the Officers’ Spouses Club.” She hung up and glanced at the clock. The call had exhausted her and filled her with doubts. Time to get dressed. She put on her good knit suit—navy with white piping, of course—and drove to the officers’ club. She had done this a thousand times, it seemed. But something felt different today. The suit was a bad fit.

As she walked across the parking lot and entered through the double glass doors, she knew what she would encounter inside. Allison Crowther at the podium. Women and the occasional civilian husband, people who were eager, well-groomed, motivated, dutiful. Like Grace.

She overheard snatches of conversation as she entered the building. “The deployment’s going well, isn’t it?” “You must be so proud of him….”

Every spouse present knew what a military wife contributed to her husband’s rise through the ranks. Grace used to love the excitement of Steve’s career and she took pride in his accomplishments. Still, Grace felt queasy with apprehension at the thought of what she was doing. He alone had the power to undermine her.

But something had happened to her. She didn’t want to be dutiful Grace, the disappearing wife. She didn’t want to be here, in the lobby that smelled of stale cigarette smoke, facing a room full of tables draped in white linen. Anxiety built up in her chest, and her cheeks felt flushed as she started to hyperventilate.

Someone asked her if she was all right. Grace said she needed some fresh air and dashed back out the door. From her car, she made several calls on her cell phone. “I have news,” she said to each of her friends. “I’m dying to celebrate. Can you meet me at the Rusty Pelican?”

Grace discarded the hated knit suit and pulled on her jeans. They didn’t fit the way they used to. Too loose, she realized with a start.

She put on a crisp white shirt, left a note for the kids and headed out into the bleak, dark day. She turned up the radio and sang
along with Avril Lavigne, pounding the beat on the steering wheel with the heels of her hands.

Her friends in fitness class had invited her a few times to the neighborhood watering hole, but she had declined. She’d never gone to a bar without Steve. Ever. Until now. She took a deep breath and walked inside. A thumping rock number pulsed from unseen speakers, and couples filled the dance floor. Marilyn and Arlene were waiting with Radha, Lauren and Patricia. The rainbow glow of neon bar signs illuminated the women’s faces around a wobbly cocktail table. A pitcher of frozen margaritas and several glasses stood ready. As Grace took a seat, Stan and his wife, Shirley, joined them, too. She beamed, grateful for their friendship.

They had turned from acquaintances to friends after Stan’s wife became suspicious about his absences and thought he was having an affair. When Lauren and the other class members assured her of the truth, Shirley booked a ballroom-dancing cruise and started attending some of the classes herself. Seeing the two of them together, Grace wondered if she and Steve had any chance at all of getting to that comfortable, settled point in their lives and their marriage.

She lifted her glass, which contained a twelve-ounce margarita, and clinked it with the others. For the first time in years, she had actual non-Navy friends. She admired Marilyn’s confidence and Arlene’s attention to detail. Radha was passionate about a woman’s self-image, and Stan’s steadfast devotion to his wife and family was downright inspirational.

“I still can’t believe it’s happening,” Grace said.

Marilyn beamed at her. “Marcia was thrilled to sell it at last. It’s a wonderful investment, Grace.”

Oh, it was so much more than that. She felt terrified and elated and filled with a curious sort of power. She had survived the mountains of paperwork, the waiting on pins and needles for loan approval and the suspense of the final closing.

Patricia Rivera lifted her glass of pineapple juice. “You and Captain Bennett must be thrilled.”

“I am,” Grace said. She could only hope Steve would be, once
he saw the place. She lifted the pitcher of margaritas and gave herself a refill. Stan and Shirley headed for the dance floor.

Three men sidled over, practically drooling at the sight of Lauren and Patricia.

“Uh-oh,” said Marilyn. “Here comes trouble.”

The strangers sat down at the adjacent table and slid their chairs closer. The women huddled together, closing ranks, but the men didn’t seem to get the message. Instead, they scooted their chairs even closer.

“Wanna party?” one of them asked. He had big shoulders and wet lips, and poor Patricia looked terrified.

“N-no, thanks.”

“How about you, babe?” he asked, turning toward Grace.

Grace looked back over her shoulder. Surely he couldn’t mean her.

“Yeah, you,” he said. “You’re a Navy wife, arencha?”

“Brilliant deduction,” Grace said, even as she felt a stab of cold panic in her chest. The others were frozen like frightened rabbits, just as stunned as she was. When he didn’t back off, she mustered her dignity and said, “Do you mind?”

“I bet you’re real lonely, eh, Navy wife?”

His leer set a torch to her temper. Civilians often thought women like her fooled around when their men went to sea. Grace had battled the misconception for years. It was perfectly true that, as a Navy wife, she was used to the pangs of desire that afflict women separated from their husbands. Of course, she never acted on those primal urges.

She looked at the stranger and his two friends, then put on her most seductive smile. “You know what they say about Navy wives,” she purred.

“Yeah?”

She dumped her drink in his lap, all twelve ice-cold, sticky ounces of it. “We can’t hold our liquor.”

The night was so clear that Emma could pick out every star in the sky. It made the perfect backdrop for the football tumbling between the goalposts the moment the final buzzer sounded.

A deafening cheer erupted from the bleachers. The Comets had won their final home game and would advance to the state championship.

Emma shot to her feet with everyone else. The band blared out a victory march. On the field, the triumphant players leaped with joy. A pair of linebackers hoisted the quarterback on their shoulders, for he had scored the winning touchdown.

Of course he had. Cory Crowther was that kind of guy.

The happy crowd poured like a mudslide down the concrete steps between the bleachers. Emma jostled her way to the field and finally reached Cory, who grinned from ear to ear while cameras flashed. He looked incredible, even after being baptized with Gatorade. When he spotted Emma, he yelled her name and beat his chest like Tarzan.

“Great game,” she told him, bubbling over with happiness. “I’m so proud of you, Cory.”

He put his arm around her, engulfing her in the mingled scents of sweat and Gatorade. “Hey, thanks.”

Mrs. Crowther chose that moment to show up. She was smiling, but there was something ice-cold in her eyes when she glanced at Emma. With a shiver, Emma edged away from Cory. Mrs. Crowther didn’t like her. Emma had never bothered to find out why. Maybe she’d heard something about the night Emma had been caught with the beer. But she’d probably never been told whose beer it was.

“Wonderful game, son,” she said. “Emma.”

“Hello, Mrs. Crowther.” Emma wondered if Cory had told her about Emma’s application to the Naval Academy. She’d sworn him to secrecy, but he might have said something to his mom. Maybe that was why Mrs. Crowther was so chilly. Could be she didn’t want anyone to compete with Cory for the appointment.

Without acknowledging Emma’s greeting, Mrs. Crowther beamed at Cory. “I know you’re off to the locker room with your teammates,” she said. “I just wanted to tell you congratulations.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Cory flashed his winner’s smile.

She headed toward the parking lot. “I’ll see you at home, dear.”

Emma watched her until she disappeared into the crowd. “She hates me.”

“She hates everybody.”

“But why—”

“Hey, Cory.” Katie came rushing up to them, still wearing her red-and-white band uniform and clutching her clarinet and music. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, kiddo.”

Emma almost laughed at Katie’s adoring expression.

“Who’s the band geek, Crowther?” Jimmy Bates, a running back covered in grass stains and mud, knocked on the top of Katie’s cylindrical hat. “Anybody home?”

Katie’s cheeks turned a simmering red. “Go away,” she muttered to Jimmy, a sophomore who had not yet grasped the idea that he was supposed to start growing up.

He batted at the fringe hanging from one of her epaulets. “I don’t know whether I should salute you or ask you to play ‘Sergeant Pepper.’”

“Back off, Bates,” Cory said.

“What, you’re into dorks these days?”

“Hey, the marching band comes to every single game,” Emma broke in. “They play their hearts out, even if it’s raining or freezing cold.”

“Yeah, so don’t knock it,” Cory added.

Jimmy shook his head in disgust, but he kept his mouth shut as he headed for the locker room. Katie was regarding Cory with pure hero worship.

He’d be the perfect date tomorrow night, thought Emma. The incident with the beer last summer was no more than a flicker of memory—it hadn’t been his fault the authorities had shown up when they did. “I’ll see you later,” she said, and watched him head for the locker room with his howling teammates. “Let’s go find Brian, Katie.”

“He’s incredible,” Katie said, floating as she got into the car. Brian was already at the wheel, waiting for them.

“Who’s incredible?” he asked.

“Cory Crowther. He won the game, and just now, he defended my honor.”

Brian pulled out of the stadium parking lot. “Yeah, he’s a real prince.”

Emma was mystified by her brother’s dislike of Cory. The two of them had been like oil and water since the day they’d met. “He didn’t let Jimmy Bates get away with calling her a band geek.”

“And for that we’re supposed to worship at his feet?” Brian snorted. “Bates has the hots for our little band geek here, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Katie sank dramatically to the floor of the back seat. “Jimmy Bates. My life is over.”

Grace walked into Katie’s room to find her standing in front of the mirror affixed to the closet door. She unfastened the chin strap of her plumed helmet and her face crumpled.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Grace asked. She stepped around the stack of moving boxes. Sunday afternoon they’d be out of here.

“I’m a total geek.”

“You’re a talented musician and you look adorable in that uniform.” It was a classic, from the tall plumed hat with its shiny strap to the double-breasted jacket and the white leather spats.

“I look like a giant nutcracker,” Katie declared, ripping off the helmet. “I don’t even have a date for the dance tomorrow. I might as well stay home and help you pack boxes.”

“You’re going to the dance with a group of friends. That’s more fun, anyway.”

“I’m such a loser, Mom.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” Grace helped her take off the uniform. Katie moved slowly and gingerly, like an accident victim. “What in the world put that idea in your head? Did someone say something?”

“Just forget it,” she said glumly, shuffling toward the shower.

Grace folded the pieces of the uniform one by one, smoothing out each seam and crease, and put them in their own box. Katie had been so proud the day she was selected for the marching band. Now, seemingly out of the blue, she saw herself as a loser.

There were few tortures worse than hurting for your child, Grace reflected. Without warning, she found herself drowning in need for Steve. What she wouldn’t give to sit down with him and talk about poor Katie. Or Brian’s college plans, or Emma’s reluctance to talk about the future. But he was away, their marriage was broken and she was left to either wait for him to come home or move on.

She didn’t like any of the options she’d been left with.

The phone rang and she welcomed the interruption. It wasn’t like her to indulge in frustration and self-defeat.

“Hello?”

“Um, yeah, um, hi. Is, um, Katie there?”

Grace felt a flutter of interest. “Who’s calling, please?”

“This is, um, Jimmy Bates.”

“Hold on,” she said, and she meant it. The kid on the line sounded as though he was going to keel over from nervousness. “I’ll see if she’s available.” Grace had just heard the shower turn off. With the cordless phone in hand, she knocked at the bathroom door. “Katie, you have a phone call.”

“I just got out of the shower. If it’s Melanie, tell her—”

“It’s somebody named Jimmy Bates,” said Grace.

The bathroom door opened immediately. Katie’s cheeks were on fire as she grabbed the phone, whipped back into the steamy bathroom and shut the door.

Grace poked her head into Emma’s room. “Who’s Jimmy Bates? He just called for Katie.”

Emma grinned. “Her Homecoming date.”