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