Undetected (29 page)

She'd been ready to go over a cliff, and she knew God had used Daniel to stop her. She felt ashamed now, replaying mentally the words she'd rehearsed during the flight west. She had gone from being stunned he'd proposed to wishing Mark hadn't asked her, not when she was seeing Daniel,
not when Mark was leaving for patrol, to being upset that he'd proposed. Her words would have carried the emotion of saying no, as well as the added edge of frustration that he'd put her in this position. It would have been wrong on so many levels to reply to his proposal in such an emotional state. And she would have never forgiven herself once she had calmed down and realized what she'd done.

The first marriage proposal she had ever received, from a man who meant the words
I love you
, and her heart didn't know what to feel. She curled up on the couch with the two kittens in her lap, and she let herself cry the tears still held in her heart.

B
angor was beautiful in the fall, the trees now in the process of casting aside richly colored leaves and preparing for winter. Gina felt a calm that hadn't been in her life for a long time. Bishop had been at sea for two months, and Daniel would depart on the
Nebraska
in two weeks.

Her flight had arrived early. She waited at the parking lot near Delta Pier, leaning against the side of her brother's car and drinking the coffee she'd brought from his place with her. She didn't want the coffee, but she needed something in her hands. She saw Daniel coming and straightened as he said a few words to the men with him, then broke away from the group to come over and join her.

“You had a good flight,” Daniel said, dropping a kiss on her cheek.

“I did.” She offered Daniel the coffee she had brought for him. It was her first time back in Bangor since her panicked flight months ago, and while she'd talked regularly with Daniel, this was the first time seeing him in person in many weeks. She'd missed him. The smile was still there and quick, but she could see changes too in the months since Jeff had
introduced them. There was another year of life and maturity being etched into his face.

He was studying her with equal attention to detail. “You came to have ‘the talk.' That solemn expression is a giveaway.”

“Yes.”

He reached for her hand. “Let's take a walk up to our favorite vista point.”

As they walked, Gina said quietly, “I can't marry you, Daniel.”

His hand around hers tightened, but he said nothing.

“I don't love you,” she whispered, having to force out the words. “I want to. I wish I did. I've spent the last months praying I'd wake up one morning and realize with blinding clarity you're the one, that I love you. And instead it's been the certainty that I need to recognize the truth. It isn't going to be, Daniel. You and I are a good fit, but not the best one, not the one you need, not the one you deserve.”

His silence continued. She risked a glance at his face. “Mad at me?”

“No.” He sounded resigned. He glanced over at her, offered a small smile. “It's been the best summer of my life. I can't be mad.” His thumb traced the back of her hand, then he released it, and she felt the loss of contact like a rip into her heart.

“Is it Bishop?” he asked after a moment.

“No. That is . . . no, at least not yet.” She bit her lip. “I so wanted to fall in love with you, Daniel. You're an absolutely wonderful man, and everything I hoped for in a husband. It's not you. It's me. I'm not the woman who is the right wife for you. I'm so sorry about this, about how long I let it go before I reached that conclusion.”

“Don't be. You've made a decision, and that's a good thing. We handled the summer well, Gina. I can't say I'm not intensely disappointed, but I'll survive. I do appreciate you telling me before I left for patrol.”

“I brought you a gift, a handmade ‘joke a day' for your time at sea. It would mean a lot to me if you'd accept it.”

“I will,” he promised. “Don't be sad. I know you're worried about how things might unfold with Bishop, but there's no need for you to be. You reached a decision about me; you'll reach one with him. If it's no to both of us, you'll be okay, Gina. You will find the right one someday.”

She was rejecting him, and he was comforting her. “Can I hug you without breaking your heart even more?” she whispered.

He turned her toward him, folded her into his arms. “I'll hug you,” he said. He sighed. “I appreciate you making a decision about me on its own, not a you-chose-Bishop-over-me one. That helps at the margins.”

“It was never a choice between you two. I promise you that, Daniel. Never a comparison.”

“Thank you for that.”

“I'm going to miss you,” she whispered, her voice wavering as she eased away from the hug, accepting that this goodbye was coming by her hands.

Daniel shook his head. “I'm not going anywhere. We're friends, Gina. I want that from you. You aren't going to change your mind, as you took too much thought to make it. So I'm not going to linger around hoping to hear that you've reconsidered. But I will be around when you need a friend. I trust you. And you can trust me when you need an ear to listen, a shoulder to lean on.”

“I don't deserve that.”

“I do. It's a selfish request, Gina. I need to know you're okay in the years ahead. We stay friends—that's my price for accepting your no.”

She solemnly nodded and took a deep breath, let it out, held out her hand. She'd kissed him for the last time, and those memories were now tucked away in her heart. “Friends.”

They solemnly shook on it. Daniel turned her back the way they had come. He smiled. “Got a joke for you.”

She groaned.

“A walrus went to see the dentist to complain about a toothache.”

She let herself laugh as she listened to the joke, even as her heart broke under the weight of the first door she'd closed by her own hand. She hoped she hadn't just walked away from the best guy she would find in her lifetime. But it was the only decision that came along with peace. She wasn't the right lady for Daniel Field, to her deep regret.

Her phone beeped as they neared the parking lot. She pulled it from her pocket.

“Trouble?” Daniel asked.

“An alert from JPL. A solar flare happened eight minutes ago.” She scanned through the numbers in the initial alert, the first flash readings the sun observatory satellites measured. “One of the largest on record. I'll be busy when I get back to Chicago.”

“You like the work?”

Gina tried to be objective about it. Work had become a place to hide from her tangled personal life, and her emotions about it were complex. “It's something else to think about. I'm good at the work itself, the large data sets. I'm enjoying the
process of it, the distraction. And at least I can't get myself in trouble with the sun like I can with sonar.”

“Don't ever regret what you did for the Navy,” Daniel assured her. “We've started using the new capabilities to good advantage. Boomers are now given cleared water to sail in, the area swept by fast-attacks running cross-sonar searches before we arrive. We will meet up now during patrol with one of the modified boomers carrying Tomahawks—either the
Ohio
or the
Michigan
—and take another deep look at the waters around our patrol box. The visibility is better, both in accuracy and distance. My job is much safer than it was. It's an invaluable improvement, Gina.

“When trouble eventually comes—and it inevitably will, for the world never stays at peace—submariners are going to stay alive because of what you gave us this year,” Daniel added. “Boomers will have what they need to remain well clear of the trouble. And fast-attacks now have the ability to wade into that trouble in more effective ways.

“We've had several meetings working out new tactics. You should see some of the advantages you've given fast-attacks when it comes to operational decisions. The U.S. may not even be in the fight; we may simply be trying to keep two other nations' combatants separated. Fast-attacks are better equipped to do that job now.”

“Thank you, Daniel. It helps to know you see it that way.”

They walked in silence for a minute.

“Bishop is back in another month,” Daniel said.

She nodded.

“He's going to have spent the 90 days wondering what you're thinking.”

“I consider matters with Mark suspended, awaiting his
arrival. I've been deliberately avoiding thinking too much about what I will say. But I'm going to be kind, Daniel. No quick emotional words this time. You were right about what he deserves.”

“If you decide to tell him no as well, send him to me. We will commiserate together out on a boat somewhere with a couple of fishing rods and a bunch of sunscreen and memories of the wonderful girl that slipped through our fingers.”

She offered a brief smile. “Thank you for being so kind about this.”

“If I thought I had a chance of changing your decision, I'd be in the middle of a new pitch right now, Gina. I don't want to let you go.” He looked away for a moment, and his voice sounded tight when he finished, “But I'm going to handle this well for my own sake as well as yours.”

“You deserve a wonderful wife, Daniel.”

“Someday that prayer gets answered for me,” Daniel replied. “You'll find a husband too, Gina.”

“Maybe. I don't have the courage to do this again. If the right answer with Mark is no, I'm going to take a break from that dream, at least for a while. It hurts too much, having to say no.”

W
hat felt like the longest patrol of his career was finally coming to an end. Bishop watched the sun dip into the western horizon, then lifted binoculars to scan Delta Pier as the
Nevada
drew near, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gina among those waiting. He heard, but ignored, a conversation above him by the lookouts as they did the same.

The crew knew the captain had a romantic interest, that this patrol had been spent hoping for a message from her. He'd added her name to his second sheet so she could send a family-o-gram or get updates about the boat from the ombudsman. There had been no word, and his crew knew that too.

Bishop didn't see Gina on the pier. He took a deep breath and forced himself to push aside the disappointment. His XO radioed the second tugboat approval to nudge the
Nevada
's tail, and moments later the soft thud of contact echoed over the water. Bishop had spent the last 16 hours of the transit in the sail, there if Kingman needed assistance with the maneuvers, but the man had the job well in hand. The journey had been spent with little to do and too much time for Bishop
to think about what might be waiting for him onshore. Or not . . .

Bangor Base was a big place, so Gina not being at the pier didn't mean she wasn't in the area. Jeff was at sea, but she could be staying at Jeff's place, could have left a message for him with the ombudsman, could be with the families in the squadron's ready room, or for that matter could have left a note on his own front door. But the early discouragement had found a foothold, and it ate away at the hope he'd held on to during the long three months.

He watched, alert for problems as the boat was nestled in against the dock and the mooring lines thrown across. He waited until the dock chief raised his hand, signaling he was satisfied with the position, and the tugboats had reversed, easing back from contact, before he relaxed. He slid off his sunglasses and turned to his XO. “You did a good job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Kingman looked exhausted. The transit had absorbed every bit of his skill for those last 16 hours. But there was a quiet confidence in the reply that hadn't been there on their last patrol. Bishop was pleased to hear it. It was part of his job, training his men, then giving them the experience so they could learn the nuances of the sub when at sea.

Bishop could teach his XO how to direct the boat, train him and the crew through the drills on how to accomplish the boat's mission with excellence, show the officer how to lead the crew by being an example. Bishop could teach Kingman through conversations and history what it meant to be a captain, what boomers and fast-attacks had done over the years, why a captain made a certain decision during a crisis, and the outcome. The part Bishop was still searching
for with Kingman was how to help him be prepared for the responsibility that came with the captain's chair. Knowing how to do each part of the captain's job was different than being ready to step into the role. All the unknowns and eventualities required another level of honed instincts, insight, and instant decisions.

Bishop knew the XO wanted that depth, was working hard and studying hard, was doing anything and everything his captain asked of him, was putting his heart and soul into
Nevada
gold—and he was close, but they weren't quite there yet. Bishop carried the burden of command, the responsibility for the lives of 155 men, the safekeeping of nuclear weapons, and the responsibility to fire them when ordered to do so by the commander in chief. A man had to be able to bear up, thinking clearly and confidently, under that pressure. It wasn't just competence a man needed to be the captain. The command of a ballistic missile submarine took personal courage. It was that intangible element that was still unknown, untested, with Kingman. Was he ready? Bishop would be doing the man no favors if he misjudged the answer to that question.

He'd personally been taught by good men, and he would get the job done with Kingman and get him ready for that first command of his own. Finishing that job would have to be the focus for the next patrol. This one was three days away from hand-over to
Nevada
blue, and what could be taught had been done.

“Your choice, XO, first overnight watch or second? I'll take the other.”

“I'll take tonight's watch, sir.”

Bishop smiled, having expected the answer. It was brutal on a tired, overworked body and mind to sleep at home for
a night in comfort, then spend the next night back in a sub bunk.

Bishop moved from the sail back into the command-and-control center, glad to finally have the splint off his fingers so he could transit ladders without the extra care with every motion. He picked up the intercom. “
Nevada
, this is the captain. Welcome home. A good patrol under difficult circumstances. Thanks to your extra effort, we met every date and every mission objective. Families are gathering at the Squadron 17 ready room. Enlisted not assigned duty stations for the overnight watch are dismissed after the boat is secured. Report back to the boat at 0900 for hand-over preparation. All officers please report in now. Captain out.”

He headed forward to the radio room to secure the authentication codes. He'd be able to get free of the
Nevada
in about six hours. If Gina was in the area, he would find her before the night was over.

Gina wasn't at the squadron's ready room, nor was she at Jeff's place. She wasn't waiting for him at his home. Mark felt the discouragement fill him as he unlocked his front door, let himself into the house. He went straight to the phone and played the messages on his second private number, given out to only his family and close friends. There was no message from Gina, and the recording space was not full.

“God, this simply hurts.” He let the pain flow out in the quiet words. He looked at the time. By now it was after one a.m. in Chicago. He was home for only six hours before he was needed back at the
Nevada
. It was possible she was in Pasadena, working at the JPL facilities. He didn't let himself
dwell on the fact she could have changed her mind and might now be engaged to Daniel. He'd track her down, find out, and he'd deal with what he found.

Getting home from patrol to deal with personal concerns was a reality every submariner faced, and it never got easier. The ombudsman had handed him the shore update summary with a quiet “Welcome home” but without her normal accompanying smile, and as he'd read it, he understood her sadness. Due to the requirements of the job, the Navy passed along no bad news to a crewman while a ballistic missile submarine was on patrol—it wasn't a place for a distracted or grieving man. So the bad news piled up.

Two of his men tonight had walked into homes to find their wives had left and filed for divorce. Four girlfriends had called it quits. Two miscarriages, five babies born healthy, a wife arrested for drunk driving, a teenager in a serious car accident, two deaths of grandparents, a heart attack of a father. What he was dealing with was a hole in his life where he longed to have Gina Gray. As tough as this was, he knew he was in far better circumstances than some in his crew.

His attempt at convincing himself he wasn't doing so bad lasted about as long as it took to draw the next breath. The sorrow and disappointment was intense. Mark looked at the time and considered again calling Gina, but accepted reality. Tracking her down and finding out what he was facing was an endeavor for the morning, not the middle of the night.

The mail his neighbor had brought in during the patrol was piled on the dining room table. Mark skimmed through the envelopes, separating first class and everything else, so he had a sense of what was urgent. An envelope with Gina's return address stopped him, and his heart constricted. He
held it a moment, sure this was not going to be good. He split it open and pulled out a note card.

If you can come to Chicago, I would like to have dinner with you and talk. Your Gina

His breathing started again. It wasn't much, but those last two words,
Your Gina
, gave him a sliver of hope. He looked at the date on the postmark. Two months into his patrol. That could be good or bad, depending on how her perspective might have altered in the month since she had posted this.

Come to Chicago and talk. She wasn't coming to Bangor, so she was still feeling cautious about being around the Navy. If it came down to it, he'd retire after his three years commanding the
Nevada
, his twenty years in the Navy, and move back to Chicago to be with Gina. Most of his family was there. He could adapt to being a civilian again and find something interesting to do.

He searched to find another letter from her, but there was nothing else. Hand-over to
Nevada
blue was in three days. He'd make travel arrangements for Chicago for the day after that. He would wait to call Gina and ask her to join him for dinner once he was in Chicago, so he could effectively address whatever she told him in reply. She was at least giving him an opportunity to make his case. Or was her decision already made? But would she tell him no over dinner?

He went to bed hanging on to that sliver of hope the note offered.