Grace smiled as she turned on her heels to watch it fly. He’d been smart to launch it from high up. Hers had skimmed the swimming pool, just about landing in the shallows, and finally settled under the potted planter beside the patio table. Tom’s plane rolled to the right as it neared the backyard fence. She frowned. She must have made one stabilizer longer than the other.
“Did your mom say yes to the lesson?”
Grace turned to look up at her cousin and tilted her head, as he was now hanging upside down like a monkey. “She said maybe.”
He stopped his swinging and looked at her for a moment. “Better than a no.”
It was better than a no. But it was still frustrating. She’d been trying to talk her mom into letting her have pilot lessons this summer. She was almost fourteen; she was eligible for the lessons. Her dad had said yes. But her mom was holding out.
Dad. Her favorite man. She had buried her nose in his burly chest in thanks when he said yes and she embarrassed him. He talked so often about flying, telling his war stories about his days in Vietnam flying off a carrier. He talked about the dogfights and nursing his plane back to the base with bullet holes in the wings, and he laughed at the risks and the belief he had been invincible.
She wanted to be like her dad. The Navy wouldn’t let her fly the jets like she dreamed of doing, but they would let her fly the big cargo planes, the fortresses in the sky that would mean landing at interesting airfields—short, rough surfaces in Third World countries—giving her a chance to fly to where the action was happening in the world. She really wanted to learn to fly. And while she couldn’t solo until she was sixteen, she had several friends who had already started lessons. She just had to convince her mom.
“You can have my allowance to pay for the lessons.”
“You give away your allowance too easily.”
Tom climbed down from the tree. “You’d enjoy them. Want to go watch the planes at the airport?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll get us sandwiches. You tell your mom where we’re going.”
Tom would probably make them peanut butter and banana sandwiches, but she liked him enough she’d eat hers without comment. Her cousin was the brother she didn’t have.
She went to find her mom. On Friday afternoon the current class of pilots in training often practiced their landings. If she watched closely, she could figure out what the pilots did right and wrong as they landed. If she couldn’t take lessons, she was still determined to learn what she could through careful observation.
Tom was lucky he had been born a boy. He constantly got himself in and out of scrapes as he tried anything that sounded fun. She longed to have that same freedom. He’d probably grow up to be a baseball player or a coach or a skydiver, something outdoors and fun. Even though he was two years younger, she was trying to be more like him. Tom had figured out how to enjoy life. She wanted a big bite of life too, even if she was a girl.
“Are you coming?” Tom shouted at her.
“Coming!”
* * *
“I dare you to try.”
Bruce looked at his friend and then back at the water around the end of the pier. It was murky. The storm in the gulf last night had churned up the silt. To find the tackle box washed off the pier during the storm would mean holding his breath and searching by feel while the waves tried to knock him into the posts. “Why don’t you try?”
Scott dropped a pebble into the water and watched it disappear. “The PJs do it all the time.”
“Not all the time,” Bruce muttered, wishing Scott would leave his heroes out of it. Living next to a military base had given him a chance to meet over eighteen of the men he admired. They trained to rescue shot-down pilots. He wanted to be a Pararescueman someday, but he didn’t have to love water. He just had to figure out how not to be afraid of it.
The tackle box had probably popped open as it hit the bottom and spilled all their favorite lures across the seabed. The tides would have swept them around and the hooks would catch at his hands if he just felt around. Several years’ worth of handmade lures had been in that tackle box. Recovering them mattered.
“I need a waterproof light,” he decided. PJs went in prepared. He wasn’t going into that swirling water without being prepared. His friend looked disappointed. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t get it; I said I need a light.” Their bikes were balanced at the end of the pier. “Come on. My dad will have one.”
Scott turned back toward their bikes. Bruce paused to look one more time at the churning water. Scott was always pushing him to do hard things. He wanted to be able to do anything that had to be done, just like the PJs did. It just wasn’t easy to be brave.
One
* * *
MARCH 4
N
ORFOLK
, V
IRGINIA
He stood out in his flannel shirt and jeans, but so far none of the sailors had made the mistake of assuming he was a civilian. Air Force Major Bruce “Striker” Stanton warily watched them continue to arrive and crowd into his sister’s backyard, and he wondered how many sailors Jill had invited from the aircraft carrier USS
George Washington
to come to the predeployment party. It would be like her to invite them all so as not to leave anyone out. All five thousand plus of them.
He felt like he had invaded enemy country. The sailors, the average age of which was twenty-one, looked like children. They got younger every year. And those for whom this was their first six-month sea tour tended to travel together in clusters like penguins. A few of his friends cut from Air Force cloth were here but had long ago been swallowed up in the sea of white.
Striker maneuvered through guests to the chair he had staked out on the patio, doing his best to ignore the stab of pain from his right knee at every step. His dog was curled up asleep under the chair. Bruce used his left foot to push the dog’s tail farther under the chair to protect it from being stepped on. A party, food, and many willing hands to offer treats, and what did his dog do? Sleep. He had yet to figure out this yellow Labrador he had acquired two months ago from the pound.
Bruce nodded a greeting to one of the Navy SEALs he knew as he settled into the chair and prepared to stay put for a while. Sprinkled in the mix among the young sailors there were a few grown-ups. The ship’s officers, SEALs, and naval aviators stood out by the self-assured way they staked out their space.
As far as parties went this one was living up to past history. The soda was cold to the point ice crystals formed when he opened the can, while the hot dogs were burnt because his sister had insisted on working the grill. People came for the tradition of it, not for the food.
He’d driven up from Pensacola, Florida, where he was based, to Norfolk, center of gravity for military operations in the state with nine military bases for Air Force, Navy, and Marines clustered within the Hampton Roads area. He’d come for the weekend because his sister had invited him. He had news to share that was best done in person. And he’d come to see Grace.
He didn’t have to search to find her; he’d kept track of her in his peripheral vision throughout the afternoon, anchoring her as part of his frame of reference. Grace stood out in red. The sweater over jeans was a simple bold splash of color in a sea of white. His sister’s best friend, the cohost of this party, had been in his sights for years. Jill had introduced them. Lieutenant Grace Yates was one of the self-assured naval aviators. She was going to spend the next six months hurtling off the deck of the USS
George Washington
in an F/A-18 Hornet.
He watched her mingle and chat with the other squadron pilots; she’d long ago been accepted into their exclusive ranks. Ever since the combat exclusion rules had eased in 1993 to allow women to fill combat flight roles, she’d been showing she had the right stuff. Not flashy, not pushy, just one of the best pilots he’d ever met. She exemplified grace under pressure.
He admired what she’d done and how she’d accomplished it. She loved to fly and she turned that passion into a single-minded focus to be the best. She’d picked up Gracie as her call sign. She rarely commented on the ground she broke in her profession but she’d done so about the handle. Grace thought it was too soft a call sign. Bruce thought it summed her up in one word. It suited her.
Grace was the deep waters while Jill was the clear shallows. Grace rarely talked about herself. How many layers were there to the mystery that made her who she was? He was determined to find out. He was on a mission. Grace was the objective. And his profession had taught him well the value of good reconnaissance. He had known her for years, but only in the last few months had he decided to do that digging.
He liked what he had found. She was loyal to her friends, was close to her family. She sang with her church choir, rather badly, he thought. She liked vanilla ice cream, scary movies, skiing, and anything related to flying. Competitive in sports, tall, slender, fast on her feet, she had the arm and wrist strength to play a tennis game that decimated opponents. She’d broken her arm skydiving, had crashed her car at age seventeen and had to be talked into driving again, and never had more than a goldfish as a pet. There was a tightness to her mouth when she was mad and a smile that came easy around friends. He’d enjoyed the reconnaissance.
She’d dated Ben Grossel for many years. Bruce had met Ben a couple times and he’d found the former Navy pilot turned astronaut an exceptionally nice guy. Ben had been killed in a car accident two years ago while Grace was on her second sea tour. Bruce suspected that had rocked her life pretty hard although she had never said much.
A young boy in a blue sweatshirt slammed into the back of Grace’s knees, enveloping her in hug. She turned with a laugh to rescue him and haul him up to perch on her hip. She was often being tailed by her own fan club at parties such as this one. She’d started a kids’ flying club last year with some help from his sister and had become a bit of a hero to the kids. She had the rare touch of not only being a good pilot but also a good teacher.
His dog moved and Bruce reached under the chair to ruffle the dog’s ears. Today was going to be his last chance to see Grace for six months. He was a patient man. This gathering was scheduled to go until seven. His plan was simple, and he needed to accomplish only one thing with her today. He had the luxury to choose the right moment.
* * *
“Have you told Jill the news?”
Bruce looked over at the Navy SEAL trying to relax beside him in a patio chair too small for his frame. Life itself often seemed too small for Grace’s cousin, Tom “Wolf” Yates. They were rivals and competitors in the best Air Force versus Navy tradition. The women in their lives had been best friends for years, and on that common ground they had long ago forged an amicable friendship. “Coward that I am, I was hoping you would mention it first.”
Wolf grimaced. “We’re a sorry lot.”
“Have you heard how long you’re going to be gone?”
“Twelve weeks. You?”
“Sixteen.”
Silence stretched as the implications set in. They were both going to miss Jilly’s birthday on May 19. And not just any birthday—her thirtieth birthday. Bruce watched his sister turn hamburgers on the grill and laugh with the sailor keeping her company. The young man stood at relaxed attention, hands behind his back, being friendly in a very polite way. He wasn’t a fool. Jill was dating Wolf. It was dangerous territory to tread on.
“We need to do something special.” Bruce had planned to arrange another weekend like this one, come up and take Jill out for dinner, probably buy her a nice necklace since she loved jewelry. Rushing to do that before he deployed would just not be the same. Jill would be having her birthday without family, without her best friend Grace, without her boyfriend Wolf. She was getting a raw deal.
“I got her that inlaid jewelry box she fell in love with, but I’m doomed before I even wrap it. She’s going to feel like the gift is compensation.”
“She’ll cry,” Bruce predicted, knowing his sister. She’d cry, get over the disappointment, then put on a smile to tell them good-bye. But the initial news would hurt. Big days mattered, and through the years she’d been asked to spend so many of them alone.
Jill had a love-hate relationship with dating someone who put her third in his life behind God and the Navy. Bruce understood where she was coming from. It was one thing to pay that price of separation when you held up your hand and volunteered to take the oath of service; it was another when you had no choice but to accept it.
“To top it off, I’ll probably be somewhere that doesn’t have a phone.”
“She likes you too much to dump you over this.”
Wolf growled at him for suggesting it. Bruce laughed and wondered not for the first time how he’d handle having Wolf for a brother-in-law. Wolf was good for his sister. He was a solid man with a strong faith who didn’t get troubled by events; he simply solved the problem. Like most SEALs he was addicted to adrenaline rushes and was intensely competitive. But he also had a maturity well beyond his years, and Bruce knew the man’s heart. He could trust the man to be gentle with his sister. Jill was high energy and laughter, a lady who loved making sure people had a great time and who would go the second and third miles to help a friend.
He hoped it worked out for the two of them. Jill dated Wolf because she admired him and what he did; she just hadn’t escaped the hurt that went back to childhood with their dad always putting the Air Force before family.
It was hard being a big brother. It wasn’t until their parents died three years ago that he realized it had been four months since he’d last seen his sister, and a month since he had talked with her. He’d been ashamed of that. He wasn’t going to miss events in Jill’s life unless it was truly unavoidable. His focus had changed, but this deployment was coming at a vulnerable time. He wished he had another six months stateside before he had to do another TDY.