The Ocean Between Us. Susan Wiggs
problem.” Angling the cart to one side, Grace selected a four-pack of glue from a display rack. She held the package briefly to her face, shut her eyes and inhaled. “I love the smell of glue sticks in the morning.”
“Very funny, Mom.” Katie opted for the refillable pencils, tossing them into the cart. Of Grace’s three kids, Katie was the only one who would actually keep the pencils long enough to refill. Then she added a chisel-tipped highlighter pen, a pack of index cards and a D-ring binder. “Okay, I’m all set.”
Katie was a moving violation of the laws of birth order. She overachieved like a firstborn, worried like a middle child and, only when she didn’t think anyone was looking, still played like the baby of the family. And like the baby, she was adored by everyone—except by herself.
They headed toward the checkout stand. Emma stood at the magazine display, flipping through Cosmo. Katie tilted her head sideways to read the shout lines. “Nine Ways to Drive Him Wild In Bed,” she read aloud. “You know, if that stuff worked, we would have world peace, I bet.”
“Let’s go,” said Grace, taking the magazine from Emma and sticking it back in the rack. Grace was no prude, and she wasn’t naive enough to think a parent could hold back the urges of nature, yet she felt a little dart of resentment at these women’s magazines and the glossy, seductive promises they made.
The two-for-seventy-nine-cents filler paper and multi-packs of ballpoint pens that seemed so cheap in the ad circular somehow managed to multiply to a hundred dollars’ worth of school supplies. Grace handed over a well-worn credit card, knowing the balance would make her wince when it came in the mail.
Glancing across to the adjacent checkout stand, she spied a young mother carefully counting out change while her two little kids swarmed the gumball machine by the exit. She was Navy, of course. After nineteen years as a Navy wife, Grace could spot one a mile away. They possessed a peculiar forbearance, and a deep strength as well. They were a special breed of women—and lately, the occasional man—to which Grace belonged. A sorority of itinerant householders.
The woman looked up, and for two seconds their gazes held. Grace offered a smile, and the woman smiled back, then resumed counting out her money.
She sent Emma and Katie out to the car with their bloated cart while she stopped at the ATM machine by the door. As she waited for the machine to cough up the cash, her gaze wandered to the community bulletin board above the drinking fountain. Yellow handwritten cards and published brochures offered everything from dog-sitting services to weatherproofing. Garage sales abounded, as they did in every Navy town. When it was time to move, you lightened your load.
There were items on the bulletin board from Welcome Wagon, Mary Kay, the usual suspects. A glossy, tri-fold brochure caught her eye, mainly because it shouted the word free. She took one out of the rack. One free month of unlimited classes.
The flyer was for the Totally New Totally You fitness studio down on Water Street, owned and operated by Lauren Stanton, IFA Certified.
She stuffed the brochure into her purse among ferry schedules, receipts, change-of-address forms and the kids’ health records. With much greater care, she folded the bills and receipt from the ATM into her wallet. She was almost afraid to look at the bottom line.
In the parking lot, a gray-and-white seagull cried out and flew aloft, drawing her gaze upward. The sky was almost unnaturally blue, arching over a distant mountain range topped in snow, even in August. The fathomless blue of Puget Sound surrounded misty, forested islands with interesting names like Camano and Orcas. And Whidbey, of course. This was far and away the prettiest place they’d ever lived, even more dramatic than the vol-cano-scape of Sigonella, on Sicily. The weather here was on the cool side, unseasonably cool, locals said, and evenings warranted a sweater or light jacket.
Grace turned her face up to the dazzling sky. This was so different from other places she knew. She had been to coast-hugging barrier islands connected by causeways to the mainland—Galveston, Coronado, Padre near Corpus Christi. Sigonella was an arid rock. But Whidbey Island had its own sort of magic. Forty-five miles of rolling hills surrounded by cold blue water, Whidbey was a world unto itself, with its air of serenity and ageless beauty. Accessible only by car ferry or by a dizzying arched steel bridge spanning Deception Pass at the north end, it commanded the heart of Puget Sound.
She was going to like it here. No, she was going to love it here. That really wasn’t the problem. In a couple of years, she was going to have to leave. That was the problem.
Exasperated with her own thoughts, she dug for her keys, which were strung on the silver anchor key chain Steve had given her the first time he went to sea, long ago.
At the car, the girls were talking to a big-shouldered boy with a neck as wide as his head. Or rather, Emma was talking while the boy hung on her every word and Katie leaned against the shopping cart, trying to act nonchalant. The boy wore a purple football jersey and a gold stud in one earlobe. He looked like every high school girl’s fantasy—and he looked familiar.
“Mom, this is Cory Crowther,” said Katie.
Grace smiled at him. “Hi, Cory. I remember you from your dad’s change-of-command ceremony.” Earlier in the summer, Cory’s father, Mason Crowther, had taken command of Carrier Air Wing 22. Mason was one rung on the ladder higher than Steve, his Deputy CAG. In a year, Steve would be eligible to take command from Crowther.
“Yes, ma’am. I remember you, too.”
“But you disappeared on us,” she added.
He sent her a grin worthy of a toothpaste ad. “Went to football camp, ma’am.”
“I bet your mother missed you,” Grace said. Allison Crowther played a key but undefined role as the CAG’s wife. Grace realized her comment embarrassed Cory, so she said, “All set?” to her daughters. She pulled the cart around to the back of the car. Maybe he’d offer to help.
“Nice to see you, ma’am. I’d better be going,” he said. “Practice.”
So much for gallantry, thought Grace. She kept silent, though. Moving so frequently was hard on the kids, and she didn’t want to sabotage any potential friendships.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and wheeled backward, unable to take his eyes off Emma. “See you around.”
“See you,” said Emma.
“Bye, Cory,” Katie said, her eagerness adorable to Grace but unappreciated by the boy. “Good luck at practice.”
He grinned again and took off, heading for a shiny Dodge Ram pickup truck. Navy blue, of course. An array of squadron insignia decorated the rear window and bumper.
Katie sagged dramatically against the station wagon. “Good luck at practice,” she mimicked herself. “God, I’m a hopeless dork.”
Emma ruffled her hair. “You’re not used to football gods yet.”
“Don’t ever get used to football gods,” Grace said. “They’re nothing but trouble.”
“Was Dad a football god?”
“He didn’t play football,” Grace said. But he was a god.
“What did he play?” Katie asked.
“He didn’t. He was already an officer when we met.”
Grace opened the back of the car, and the three of them loaded the bags. She was tempted by a tube of Pringles sticking out of a sack, but quickly reminded herself of the nightmare in the mirror. She was going to have to take it easy on the Pringles.
“I’ll drive,” said Emma, folding her lithe form behind the steering wheel.
“You always drive,” Katie said, out of sorts over the Cory encounter.
“It’ll be your turn before you know it,” said Emma. “Get in and buckle up. We’re taking the scenic route.”
They drove through Oak Harbor,