The Ocean Between Us (14 page)

Grace blinked at the Inbox icon on her computer screen. Fifty-six new messages had come through the address linked to her Web site. That couldn’t be right, could it? She’d never received that many messages in a single day.

Maybe the spammers and virus spreaders had found her despite the filters and firewalls installed on her computer. Or maybe…

It couldn’t be. Marcia had only launched her Web site live yesterday morning.

The project had taken longer than expected as Grace truly got down to business. She stopped daydreaming and fooling around. The kids were settled into their school routine and were busy all the time. Predeployment madness had taken over the air wing. Steve remained skeptical of her enterprise. That only made her more determined to succeed.

She placed a notice in the Yellow Pages, created a brochure and sent press releases to the local papers. She organized an office around the computer in the study. Over the years she’d amassed and cataloged information on everything from moving companies to pet-sitters. As for references, she could produce letters from Navy families across the globe. Several had, at her request, already
e-mailed testimonials for posting on the site. She contacted other firms and created a list of services and prices. Yet it never felt quite real until the Web site finally went public.

The previous evening she’d tried to make the launch an auspicious event for the Bennetts, fixing a special dinner and announcing her news. But somehow the moment had fallen flat. Steve had said, “I hope you know what you’re doing, honey. Once I leave, I won’t be around to help you out.” Brian and Emma fell into a dispute over the use of the car. Katie was preoccupied by some incident at band practice. Grace had shrugged away a tiny nudge of resentment. The fact was, even she had no idea what might happen once she hung out her virtual shingle. It could very well amount to nothing.

With an unsteady hand on the mouse, she clicked open the mailbox. A little flutter of nervousness stirred in her stomach. Then she read the first one: “Our Bulk Mail Program reaches 10 million Inboxes…” She scowled, deleted the ad and moved on to the next. “Business Opportunities on the Web…” Delete. With growing exasperation, she scrolled through promises to reduce her home mortgage, enlarge her penis and find her a Russian bride. The prime minister of a Third World nation wanted her to loan him fifty thousand dollars.

Grace was about to delete the whole Inbox when the next message caught her eye. “…Wonder if you could advise me about getting estimates from a moving company.” The message seemed legit. So did a few others: “…check the rental rates for office space in San Jose…” “…private schools in the D.C. area…” Between the ads, inquiries from real people sped past in message after message. Grace was amazed. She was in business. In business. Oh, how she loved the idea of that. People wanted her advice. Her professional opinion. And if she impressed them the right way, they would become her clients. Paying clients.

“I’m a fraud,” she murmured, her confidence sinking. “A total fraud. An Internet pirate. I can’t believe I did this.”

She picked up the phone and called the person who had sent
the first legitimate message. A fill-in form on the site collected preliminary information and phone numbers. She got an answering machine and left a slightly breathless message. A couple of the other requests were incomplete, so she replied in e-mail. Several were dead ends. She cautioned herself not to get impatient as she punched in yet another phone number. Someone picked up before she chickened out.

“Cameron Vintages. May I help you?”

“Mr. Ross Cameron, please.” Grace’s request was crisp and clear, giving no hint of her nervousness. “This is Grace Bennett of, um, Grace Under Pressure Executive Relocation Services. I’m calling at his request.”

After a brief hold, a male voice said, “This is Ross Cameron.”

The voice made her shiver. She didn’t know why. It was smooth and dark and sweet. Audible chocolate. “Mr. Cameron, thank you for taking my call. This is about the message you left at my Web site.”

“Oh, yes. Your firm came up on a search.”

Firm. She had a firm. “How can I help you, Mr. Cameron?”

“I’m moving my company from Chicago to Seattle. I’m a wine importer. It’s a six-month project, maybe more. Does that sound like something you can help with?”

Grace took a deep breath. Good Lord,
no.
“I certainly can.”

“Good, then—”

“Mr. Cameron?”

“Yes?”

“May I ask what you typed in the search engine?”

“Yeah.” A smooth chuckle drifted through the wire. “Moving help—desperate.”

Grace relaxed, took out a notepad and got down to work. This was her first flesh-and-blood client, and she wanted to do a good job.

“Mr. Cameron, I feel I should be completely honest with you. If we come to an agreement, you’ll be my first client through the Web site.”

There was a long hesitation. Butterflies beat against the walls of her stomach. “Mr. Cameron?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I was just wondering if I get a free toaster or something, for being first.”

“You do, actually. We’re offering a free comprehensive change-of-address notification service.” It had been Marcia’s idea to offer the incentive. “I want you to know, though, that I’ve been doing this for years. I hope you’ll contact some of the references listed on my site.”

“I already have. So is it true you walk on water, Ms. Bennett?”

That voice. She could listen to it all day. Instead, she gave him another half hour, noting his needs and concerns, brainstorming the ways she thought she could help coordinate the move. By the end of her conversation with Mr. Cameron, she had a verbal agreement and had e-mailed him a written contract. She smiled at the tangible note of relief in his voice when she told him he could relax and let her make all the arrangements. She couldn’t believe how rewarding it was to know she had the power to help someone, to hear the tension in his voice unfurl. By the time she hung up the phone, the butterflies in her stomach were gone. They had taken flight.

She stared at the computer monitor until the screen saver kicked in. This was going to work. She was not nervous anymore; she felt confident. She could do this, and do it well.

By the time she got up from the desk, she had a grand total of two potential clients and one more who promised to get back to her. A few were looking for free assistance, and although Grace was tempted, she forced herself to resist. Marcia had advised her not to open that door. If she did, she’d cheat herself out of legitimate clients. Instead, her site offered fee-based departure-and-destination services, move management, orientation and consulting.

She jumped up from the desk with a list of chores to do. She was in this for real now. She headed for the door, then hesitated. She paused in front of the hall mirror and smiled at her reflec
tion. There was nothing different about her. She still carried a good twenty extra pounds. Still had a hairstyle that was at least five years out of date. But the look on her face transformed her.

“You go, girl,” she said to her reflection. She hurried upstairs and changed into a pair of black matte jersey slacks and a breezy white blouse. It was a tad conservative, perhaps even matronly. She’d better start that diet again, and soon.

Meanwhile, she had work to do. But first she reached for the phone to call Steve. She was bursting with her news. It was a funny thing. Her new enterprise didn’t feel real to her. She knew it wouldn’t until she shared it with Steve.

She set the phone down. This was something she wanted to tell him in person. He was bound to be busy making the final preparations for his departure, but she only needed a few minutes of his time. She’d tell him and the kids the full story at dinner tonight.

While she gathered things into her handbag, she reflected that Steve had always been her validation, whether she was planning a tea for officers’ wives or checking the kids’ report cards. When he was away, everything stayed on hold until he came back. She held things in like a diver under water, and when he returned, everything came out of her in a rush of relief. It struck her that she’d been living her entire adult life to the rhythm of his duties.

Maybe her new career would give her a better sense of balance, let her breathe while he was away.

The hangar buzzed with a special energy on the eve of deployment. Lumbering transport trucks and buses clogged the parking lots. The reality of Steve’s imminent departure struck hard. Oh, how she would miss him. That never changed, never got easier. But maybe this new project would make the time pass more quickly and convince him they could afford Marcia’s house after all.

As she drove toward the CAG offices, she thought about the kids. Like her, they were used to deployments, but they always took them hard. She hoped they were getting along all right in school. The twins were busy seniors, and even Katie, the worrier, had settled happily enough into her classes. She had qualified for
honors classes and divided her time between homework, music lessons and band practice. Unlike Brian and Emma, who loved sports, Katie was content with her books and music. She had already advanced to second lead clarinet in the marching band.

Other than the fact that Steve was going away, life was good, Grace told herself. Better than ever now.

Yet a shadow lay beneath her perception. It wasn’t just the lingering dispute over the house. A weird disconnect seemed to hang in the air between them lately, and she wasn’t sure of the cause. She had been meaning to talk to Steve about it, but so far she hadn’t brought it up. Mainly because there was nothing to bring up. Her sense of discontent was so vague and unformed that it was probably a figment of her imagination.

Except that it felt as real as a bone-deep bruise.

She parked in a visitor slot and pulled down the visor to use the mirror. Next to her, a minivan the color of an eggplant pulled up and a door slammed. As she was refreshing her lipstick, she caught a movement in the mirror. She turned and saw a young officer walking past. The parking lot was crammed with personnel, but there was something about the stranger that captured her attention.

A funny feeling came over Grace. She could only see him from a distance and from behind, but he looked so eerily familiar that a chill slid down her spine. The narrow hips and broad shoulders were typical of a Navy man, but something in the way he carried himself, or perhaps his peculiar gait, teased at her mind.

Before she could put her finger on it, he entered the hangar, disappearing from sight.

The appointment window on Steve’s computer screen popped up, alerting him to a meeting with someone he’d never met—Lieutenant Junior Grade Joshua James Lamont, of the VAQ 168, the air wing’s Tactical Electronic Warfare Squadron. Under the purpose of the meeting it merely read “personal.”

That could mean any number of things: rivalry with his squadron mates, a medical issue, troubles on the home front. But ordinarily when a pilot was having problems, he’d approach his squadron leader, not leapfrog up to the deputy commander of the air wing.

Of course, there might not be any sort of problem at all, he told himself. It was just as likely to be a fouled-up personnel transfer.

More and more lately he found himself dealing with petty annoyances, red tape and meaningless procedure. Of course, that was the chief domain of the DCAG. But on the eve of deployment, he ought to be thinking bigger. What sort of leader would he be? Would he inspire the men and women in his command and motivate them to excellence? Or would he turn into the sort of barking, punitive commander he used to despise? When he’d flown in the first Gulf War, a young hotshot looking for adventure, his CO had been a sadist the whole squadron detested.

That commander was a Rear Admiral now, with a whole battle group in his charge. He had a reputation of being one of the most respected senior officers in the Navy.

Steve reminded himself that he’d chosen this life. He wanted the big Navy career. Regular promotion was essential. An upward-bound officer was like a shark—if he didn’t move forward, he’d drown and pass from existence.

But sometimes the compromises between ideals and reality frustrated him. The festering argument with Grace had the unwanted effect of making him question himself and the choices he’d made. What kind of man didn’t buy his family a house?

Oh, he’d offered. He told her to find something they could afford. But she wouldn’t meet him halfway, so they were at an impasse.

He scowled away the thought. Self-doubt was not supposed to be part of his makeup. From the time he’d stepped off the bus at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center, a raw recruit with nothing but ambition, he’d been focused on the job. It defined him and challenged him, gave his life shape and structure. Without the Navy, what would he be? Just another guy with a family and a mortgage.

He had no idea if he could be happy in an ordinary life as a regular Joe. Without the Navy, he didn’t know who he was.

Grace used to be on board with his career plan. She was a big part of his rise through the ranks. From the first day they’d met, she’d believed in him with a sturdy faith he was never quite sure he deserved. But lately…

“Lieutenant Lamont to see you, sir,” said Killigrew’s voice over the intercom.

“Send him in.” Steve automatically swept his desk with a cursory inspection. The Navy drummed that into you—neatness and order above all. It was that orderliness and attention to detail that could make the difference when it mattered. Besides, you always wanted to show your best side to a junior officer.

The door to his office opened and Killigrew stepped aside. “Sir, this is Lieutenant Lamont.”

“Thank you.” Steve stood up, as much to flex his legs as out of
courtesy. Sitting behind a desk had never been his favorite activity, but it was starting to be the largest part of the job.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

If he’d been less preoccupied, Steve might have wondered why his assistant’s voice sounded strained, why his inflection wavered as he introduced Lamont. The visitor stood at attention in the open doorway, backlit by the strong sunshine streaming in through the clerestory windows that lined the upper deck of the hangar.

Killigrew stepped away, closing the door behind him and cutting off the sunlight.

Steve stared at Lieutenant Lamont and said nothing. He could not have choked out a word under threat of death. Because he was mute with shock as he looked at a younger version of himself.