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.
CHAPTER 7
In the wake of the kids’ departure, the house had a hollow air, as though waiting to take a breath. It was funny how houses each had their own personalities, thought Grace. This one was self-consciously cute, with Bavarian-style windows and halfhearted gingerbread trim. It was her least-favorite type of house—a meandering floor plan, boxy rooms, open hallways that amplified noise. The Navy’s idea of officers’ housing was that size matters.
She wandered out onto the porch to watch the kids drive away. Whidbey Island lay so far north that in summer the sun lingered late, painting the sky with deep shades of pink and gold she’d never seen anywhere else. The sight filled her with wistfulness, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason.
The tread of a footstep startled her briefly, and she turned to see Steve there. “Hey, sailor,” she said, instantly getting over the brief moment of surprise. Every once in a while, she forgot he was around. A Navy wife either had all of her husband or none of him. There was no in-between time.
The Bronco’s taillights glowed at the intersection, then disappeared around the corner. A bittersweet feeling swept over her as she watched them go. They looked so independent, heading out into the evening by themselves. She turned to Steve with a heart full of need. “I hate watching them go.”
“Brian’s a good driver.”
“It’s not that. I hate the idea that they’re leaving.”
“Summer’s not quite over yet,” Steve pointed out, clueless.
“I don’t mean school,” she said. “I mean for good.”
“What, do you want them to stay?”
God. He didn’t get it. She turned to the porch rail, planted her elbows on it and stared out across the yard, a cramped rectangle of beaten-down grass trampled by countless families that had lived here before. Far in the distance rose the mountains in a glittering robe of gold, unreachable.
“Don’t get all pissed off at me, Gracie. I didn’t make the rules. The point of raising kids is to prepare them to be independent, so they can leave and find their own lives.”
Logic wasn’t what she needed right now. She needed…she didn’t know how to put it into words. “I’m not mad at you,” she said.
“Then what’s this?” he asked, touching her forehead with his finger, then with his lips. And just like that, her annoyance melted. “You’re frowning.”
She smiled up at him. “Not anymore.”
“Good.”
They
