The Ocean Between Us (19 page)

Grace glared at the pale blue form on the clipboard. Why did they need to know all this nonsense, anyway? Goals? Who were they kidding?

She sneaked a glance at the other four women in the lobby of the fitness studio. All of them were busily filling out their forms, probably with lofty and admirable goals, like increasing their bone density or running a marathon to raise funds for cancer research. They all looked fitter and thinner than Grace. The whole world was fitter and thinner than Grace.

In the weeks since Steve’s deployment, she had not come to any conclusion or determination about the state of her marriage. But it occurred to her that there was one thing she could change—her life. Launching the relocation service was only the beginning. She wanted to launch her
self.

Her secure world had turned into a dangerous place. It was up to Grace to create her own safe haven. The idea didn’t seem terribly radical; women did this every day.

But for Grace it was a huge step.

The day before, she had gone for her annual physical to her new doctor on the Navy base. She’d dared to hope he’d look in her mouth like a horse trader and declare there was some mistake, that she couldn’t possibly be that age. Or that weight.

Instead, he’d heartlessly put the accurate numbers on her chart—in triplicate.

His assessment confirmed the ugly truth she’d glimpsed in the dressing-room mirror that day. There was a huge difference between who she was and how she pictured herself. The way Grace saw it, she had fallen asleep about the time Katie was born, and she’d been on autopilot ever since. And somehow, without her noticing it, a dowdy, middle-aged woman had taken up residence in her body. In her life.

Panicked by the sneak attack of time and gravity, she’d been dieting for weeks, but according to the physician’s atomically calibrated scales, it wasn’t working. Up until recent years, she’d been lucky, favored with a cooperative metabolism and a decent level of natural fitness. But now gravity was at work, and, finally, for the first time in her life, Grace admitted that she needed help with something.

Her form was still blank in the Goals section. She had so much—an exciting life, a wonderful family—that it seemed selfish to want more. Yet she wanted so much more that it scared her. Steve’s deception was a disaster, yes. But it had a curiously liberating effect on her. Instead of waiting around to see what would happen next in his career, she intended to make things happen for herself. She was joining the fitness class in hopes of finding her way back to her favorite jeans, or maybe even a swimsuit. But more than that, she wanted to find a way back to herself, to re-discover the dreams she’d put aside long ago and to find out if, after all this time, they could still come true.

She filled out the rest of the paperwork. After signing the liability disclaimer, she frowned at the paragraph of legalese. “I don’t see a Do Not Resuscitate order,” she muttered.

The receptionist, a teenage redhead, took the clipboard from her. “You must be new,” she said.

“That’s right.”

The teenager glanced at the blue form. “Welcome, Grace.” Her brow puckered in a frown. “Grace Bennett, is it?”

“That’s me.” Maybe the girl was one of the kids’ classmates.

“We’ll be starting in just a few minutes.”

Grace wandered into the studio, a nightmare fun house of mirrors. Great. Just what she needed. A three-hundred-sixty-degree view of her flaws. A few other women were milling around, sipping water from Nalgene bottles and doing stretching exercises. They wore yoga pants or spandex bike shorts and bra tops worthy of Brandy Chastain. Grace suddenly felt self-conscious in her outdated leggings, Go Navy T-shirt and shabby Reeboks.

The women were setting up molded plastic benches with rubber tops. They weren’t rude, exactly, but they had that earnest, humorless standoffishness Grace associated, rightly or wrongly, with Pacific Northwest women. “Hi,” she said. “This is my first time here. I’m Grace.”

“You’ll need one of these benches,” said one woman. “Later,
we’ll get out the hand weights and resistance bands.” She gestured at a shelf stuffed with medieval-looking equipment that would not be out of place in a torture chamber.

Then another woman arrived, and Grace was delighted to see a familiar face. “Patricia! How are you doing?”

Patricia beamed at her. She looked more relaxed than the uncertain, stressed-out new bride Grace had met last fall. “I’m fine. I don’t know what I would have done without you, Grace. Thanks for helping me with the move.”

“Thanks for the reference. I have two clients now. Not many, but it’s a start.”

“I’m trying my best to get used to being alone.” Her hand drifted over her lower abdomen in a universal gesture that all women understood. “Or maybe I’m not so alone.”

“Really? And it’s okay for you to exercise?”

“Modified. The doctor encourages it, actually, since I was already active before I got pregnant.”

The news of a pregnancy caught one of the other women’s attention. She introduced herself as Radha Mitali. “I’m a doula,” she said.

Grace wasn’t sure whether she should console or congratulate her. Patricia said, “A what?”

“A doula. I give emotional support to women in labor,” Radha explained.

“Really?” Patricia looked intrigued. “I wonder if my insurance covers that.”

“I also teach a class in Tantric sex,” Radha added.

“I wonder if
my
insurance covers that,” Grace murmured.

Two other women joined them. One of them looked familiar to Grace. “Do you work for Island Realty?” she asked.

“You bet. Marilyn Audleman.”

“I’ve seen your picture on a For Sale sign.”

“I hope it didn’t stay there for long. This is Arlene Kusik, my associate.”

“Welcome to the class. I think you’ll be glad you joined. Before you know it, you’ll have arms like Demi Moore’s.”

“What, do you know her surgeon?”

Marilyn looked toward the door. “There you are, Stan. Come and meet Grace and Patricia.” Grace was surprised to see a balding, middle-aged man in the class. He seemed a little bashful. “I’m trying to get in shape so I can dance at my daughter’s wedding,” he said.

“What kind of dancing requires athletic training?”

He grinned. “My tux is twenty years old, and I’m hoping to fit into it again. This is actually a surprise for my wife.”

“Your wife’s a lucky woman,” said Grace. But then she completely lost her train of thought as another man arrived. He was a golden-haired god in nylon athletic shorts and tank top.

Grace blinked and nudged Patricia. “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

“That’s Dante Romano,” Marilyn said, motioning him over.

He shook back his shoulder-length blond hair and offered his hand first to Patricia, then Grace. “It is an honor to meet you.”

“Dante’s a mountain guide,” Arlene said.

“I specialize in summiting Mount Rainier,” he added.

That accent, thought Grace, feeling light-headed. And that physique. His body was so tight, so smooth, he resembled a shrink-wrapped deli ham.

“This class is excellent for improving the stamina,” he said.

Stamina? Grace hadn’t thought about that. She had no stamina to speak of. Maybe she shouldn’t have come here. Maybe she should leave. Then she checked out Dante again. Under the thin muscle shirt, his superhero pecs rippled.

Fine. She was definitely staying for the show.

“Okay, people, let’s get moving.” The teenage receptionist entered the studio, clapping her hands as she slipped a CD in the stereo. “I’m Lauren Stanton, and I’m here to get you motivated!” She shut the door to the studio, cutting off the escape route.

That
was Lauren Stanton? Grace stared as she shuffled over to her step-up bench. With her boundless energy, playful smile and daring short red hair, Lauren didn’t look any older than Emma. Her breasts were so perky they defied gravity.

She seemed to favor mediocre, beat-heavy music. “Get excited, people,” she exhorted, leading the class in some basic moves. “This is your day!” She was a relentlessly cheerful instructor, calling encouragement from the front of the room.

Grace tried to follow the steps. Surprisingly, it wasn’t all that hard. Hey, she thought, pleased with herself. I can do this. Right basic. Left basic. Up and down and over the top. She started thinking about what to fix for dinner. Within a couple of minutes, she felt winded but doggedly carried on, her pride keeping her from stopping. Sweat rolled down her face. Then, mercifully, Lauren slowed down and stepped side to side.

That wasn’t so bad, Grace decided, proud of herself. Stamina, she thought, sneaking a glance at Dante.

Lauren lightly clapped her hands. “Okay, warm-up’s over. Let’s get to work.”

Warm-up? That was a warm-up? Grace was already out of breath.

No one seemed to notice. Lauren pressed the remote control, the beat accelerated and the basics got more complicated. Within minutes, the simple routine became endless and confusing, filled with harrowing hazards like backward dance steps, up-and-over moves.

Grace figured she was burning twice as many calories simply by scrambling to catch up, so maybe this was working. But halfway through the routine, she started to question her sanity. What was she doing here, anyway, making a fool of herself in front of strangers and ham-boy? This was not like her at all. She was the sort of person who liked easy things. She liked books and movies that entertained her. She liked fixing dinners with three ingredients. Automatic transmission. Internet shopping.

All easy things, but this? This was going to be hard. Maybe impossible. She had not done anything deliberately physical since
nailing Harvey Lindbloom in a dodgeball game in the fifth grade. Why on earth would she subject herself to this?

Lauren Stanton didn’t seem to think it was hard at all. She kept going, the Energizer Bunny without the drum. “How’re we all doing?” she shouted over the music.

Grace had a vision of herself surrounded by EMS technicians.
She’s coding
.

“Let’s take it up a notch,” chirped Lauren.

Get the paddles!

The music’s unrelenting drumbeat pounded in her head. The tune switched to a painful pop perversion of a Dire Straits classic.

Charge to 360. Clear!

“Let’s up the intensity here, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s see some power moves.” She hit the remote control, launching a Spice Girls recording from a collection of Golden Oldies. Then she sprang into the air and leaped two-footed onto the bench.

Grace looked for the tunnel of light. Wasn’t that what you were supposed to see when you were about to die? The light and the warmth, the purity of all-encompassing love? The only thing that encompassed Grace at the moment was sweat. Gallons of it. She was drowning in her own sweat. Who knew that innocent little step-up platform and a Backstreet Boys mix could be so lethal?

And then a miracle occurred. Lauren announced the start of “cooldown,” slowing at last to an easy side-to-side step, arms swinging in rhythmic strokes.

Grace glanced at the clock. She was far from cool. Her vision swam; then she wiped the sweat out of her eyes. Forty-five minutes of aerobics, and she was still vertical.

The patient would live.

The familiar smell of floor wax and stale sweat enveloped Josh as he stepped into the high school gymnasium. He was missing an afternoon of training, but this was one duty he would not shirk. Nine years ago, an ALO from the Naval Academy had changed his life. He’d never forgotten that. The chance to help a young person appealed to him deeply. He loved the Navy, he loved kids, and he considered this a privilege.

He felt conspicuous in full uniform. Still, he knew it was important to look a certain way when meeting candidates for the Academy. Today he planned to conduct a general session and then administer the Academy’s rigorous admissions physical aptitude exam to his charges.

He had six packets in his briefcase, one for each student. He had just received the briefings on his candidates and hadn’t had time to read them thoroughly, but even without looking, he knew the odds were stacked against them. The Naval Academy was harder to get into than the Ivy League, and the application process was designed to eliminate all but the most promising young people.

Five of the students were waiting for him, standing around the gym with hands on hips, shuffling their feet on the gleaming
floor. They were suited up in shorts and T-shirts. When they spotted him, they fell silent and snapped to attention.

All men, he saw. At least four of them appeared to be decent athletes. But Josh knew from experience that it took more than athletic skill, and he explained as much in his opening remarks. “When I was a senior like you guys,” he said, “I thought I was all that. I had high grades, good test scores, letters in lacrosse and basketball. Teachers wrote glowing recommendations for me. How many of you men have all that going for you?”

One hand shot up. Three others lifted more tentatively.

“That’s good. But you know what? It isn’t enough. The person you are on paper is only the beginning of what the Academy is looking for. You have to want it so bad you dream about it at night. You have to be willing to go against your friends and your advisers and all those sports recruiters offering you a free ride just to play for four years.”

He scanned their faces. “How’m I doing?” They nodded, so he kept going. “Good. So I’m here to make sure you all have your applications in order.” He parked his briefcase on the bottom set of bleachers folded against the wall. “I’ll meet with you each individually at some point after the fitness test. For now, let’s get started.” He glanced at his sheet. “Adams.”

“Sir.” A short, muscle-bound boy stepped forward. A wrestler, Josh guessed.

“Bennett.” It felt strange, saying the name. He hadn’t read the candidate’s file yet, but he knew this would be Steve Bennett’s kid. He tensed with curiosity, wondering which boy it was. But they all just looked at one another.

“Bennett’s not here,” said the biggest of the boys, a football player with the clean-cut looks of a recruiting-poster model.

Josh didn’t know what to make of that, so he moved on. “Crowther.”

“Present, sir.” The recruitment poster boy squared his shoulders. He wore a gray jersey and brand-new Nikes. This was the CAG’s only son. He looked the part.

Josh nodded. “Johnson.”

“Sir.” The slim, shy-looking black kid stepped forward.

“Lopez.”

“Sir.” His mother had probably dressed him, Josh observed. He was color-coordinated from sweats and jacket to high-top sneakers. Athletic ability looked to be nil.

“Pinchot,” he said, nodding to the last boy, whose height and innate grace marked him as a basketball player.

“Yes, sir.”

Josh checked his watch. In about thirty seconds, Bennett would be officially late. That would go on his report to the office of admissions.

“I’m glad to see you all suited up,” he said, fitting a set of printed PAE forms into his clipboard. “We need to get started.” He picked up Bennett’s folder and checked his watch again. It was going to look bad if Bennett’s son had to be cited for tardiness. But then again, how would it look if he bent the rules for the kid?

Five seconds to go. Four…

“So,” he said. “It looks like Bennett’s a no-show. Let’s get—”

“Excuse me.” A tall blond girl entered the gym.

From the corner of his eye, Josh saw the boys all straighten up.

“Miss,” he said. “We’re busy here—”

“I’m Emma Bennett,” she blurted out, fixing him with an intense stare. Her eyes were as blue as the sea. As blue as…his. He remembered seeing the MPs bring a teenager home to Bennett’s house that night at the end of summer. Could it have been this one?

Josh didn’t betray a thing. He couldn’t say a word, of course. Their relationship was for Steve Bennett to disclose—or not. “Bennett,” he said, leveling his gaze at her. “We just about gave up on you.”

“Actually, sir, I—”

“We’re running late,” he snapped. “Fall in.”

“But I’m not here for the test. I just came to tell you—”

“Damn it, I said fall in,” Josh barked, knowing in his gut he’d better treat her as he’d treat any candidate. “Or are you special?”

She froze and glared at him. Something—a challenge?—gleamed in her eyes. Then, with unhurried grace, she began to move, never taking her eyes off him. She was like a queen, he thought, dropping her backpack on the sidelines and shrugging out of her jacket. Then with an attention-getting flourish, she rolled her sweatpants down to reveal a pair of tennis shorts.

Behind Josh, one of the boys groaned softly. Josh felt an unexpected jolt of protectiveness. “Can it, men,” he muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, “Hurry up, Bennett.”

“The only reason I came here is to tell you—”

“Shut up and fall in.”

She held her head at a haughty angle as she joined the gaping boys. Crowther whispered something to her, and she shrugged and looked away. Josh’s head was spinning. What the hell was going on? He wondered how much she knew. Had Bennett told his family? Was that why this girl acted so hostile?

He forced himself to concentrate on the test. This was these kids’ future, and he owed it to them to do a good job. He put them through their paces, noting their scores on the official forms that would be sent to the Academy. They had to pass a series of tests—push-ups, throwing, running, jumping. Four of the men did fine or better, especially Crowther, who didn’t even break a sweat. Lopez was a problem. When he failed the third exercise, he left in a huff of fury and tears. Josh made no comment as he filled out the form.

The big surprise was Emma Bennett. She surpassed the women’s standards on every test. He was about to congratulate her when he noticed that she was suspended from the high bar in the requisite flexed-arm hang, a challenging exercise that disqualified more than half of the female candidates. Her body was trembling.

“What are you doing, Bennett?” he demanded.

“Counting.”

He glanced at his stopwatch. “You’ve been up there for almost a minute. Don’t you know the standards?”

“No.”

“Well, you can let go, Bennett. You only had to hang on for twelve seconds.”

She let go of the bar and dropped to the mat, brushing the palms of her hands together. She rotated her shoulders, and then, with that same queenly attitude, she joined the other candidates on the sidelines. Josh thanked them all for coming and encouraged each of them to do their best on the other parts of the application.

“Any questions?” he asked.

They stood in silence.

“Good. I’ll get your PAEs mailed off to the Academy, then. I’ll also be scheduling an interview with each of you in the coming weeks. You’ll also need to submit materials to Senators Murray and Cantwell, and to Representative Larsen because you need a nomination from a member of Congress. I remind you that this is the toughest institution in the country to get into. Forget Harvard, Stanford, Georgetown. The Academy’s standards are higher, because they’re looking for the whole package—intelligence, leadership qualities, athletic ability, raw talent. And commitment—that’s huge.” He handed out copies of their test results. “You’re dismissed.”

They shuffled around with book bags and backpacks. Josh caught Emma’s eye. “Miss Bennett, may I speak with you a moment?”

She regarded him coolly, then shrugged and waited while the others left.

“You did a good job today, Bennett,” he said. “How are you coming on the rest of the application?”

“I haven’t sent anything in,” she said.

“Is there a problem?”

She gave a brief, sarcastic laugh.

“What’s the matter, Bennett?”

“Yeah. There’s a problem. I’m not a candidate.”

“Judging by your performance on the PAE, you are.”

“You don’t even know me. What if I have crappy grades and test scores?”

“You don’t.” He was bluffing, but the look on her face told him he was right. “What’s your GPA?”

“I have a 3.8 grade point average.”

That was well above the minimum requirement. “What about your scores?”

“They were 1425 combined on the SAT.”

“So what’s the trouble?”

She aimed a glare at the stack of files on the bench. “Didn’t you read those?”

“I just received them this morning.”

“Well, if you’d bothered to look, you’d see that I’m not a candidate.”

He found the file marked Bennett and opened it. “You have a brother.”

“A twin brother. He’s the applicant, not me.”

“So why didn’t he show up today?”

“I’m his sister, not his keeper.” The edge in her voice cut deep.

“Then why’d you come here?” he asked. “Why did you take the test?”

“It’s not like you gave me a choice. You just kept barking at me.”

“So you’re saying you’re not interested.”

“Bingo,” she said, and picked up her backpack. With a haughty toss of her head, she started toward the door.

“Why not?” he demanded loudly.

She stopped and turned back. “What?”

“Why aren’t you an applicant?”

For the first time, she seemed at a loss. “I guess…I just never thought about it.”

“You should think about it.”

Maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe not, but just for a moment, inspiration lit her face. Josh felt a weird connection with the belligerent girl he’d just met. It was like looking in a mirror, seeing his own hopes and fears and dreams.

Then the moment ended and open hostility burned in her eyes. “Why? So I can be just like you?” she snapped, and then rushed out of the gym.

She knew.
He sprinted after her through the heavy doors of
the gym. The rain had stopped, leaving a damp terrain under a sullen sky.

“Bennett,” he said.

Halfway to the athletic field, she stopped and turned back, looking at him over her shoulder.

He held out a computer form. “You’ll need this copy of your PAE.”

She took it from him but didn’t look at it. She was staring at him. The sense of shock and unreality that had gripped him ever since he saw the name on his list intensified. He used to long for brothers and sisters when he was growing up. He was convinced a sibling or two would fill the lonely days of his childhood with a sense of belonging he’d never quite found as an only child.

And here she was, a sister.

“I have to go,” she said, and hurried away.

He quickened his pace and fell into step with her. “You did great, Bennett,” he said. “I’m not just saying that. And I don’t want you to withdraw from applying because of me.”

“I told you. My brother’s the candidate, not me. Brian’s the one who’s supposed to be applying, only he couldn’t make it today. But he’s a real good athlete, way better than me—”

“Did he send you to tell me that?”

She stopped walking and glared at him full on, with a gaze as steady as the horizon. “No. I think you can probably guess the reason for his absence.
Sir.
” She made the courtesy sound like an insult. “Just because you decided to show up out of the blue doesn’t mean a thing. It’s not his fault that woman left him and never bothered to tell him she had his son, so don’t think you’re going to make us feel bad about a damned thing.” Her voice rose steadily through the tirade and cracked when she burst into tears.

Josh stood there at a total loss, horrified by the tears and unexpectedly moved by this stranger who was his sister. “Hey, I’m not out to make any trouble. I swear it. The only reason I went to see your father is that I’m going to be flying in his air wing.”

She blotted her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “I didn’t think I’d be very upset about this.”

“I didn’t want to upset anyone. The man who raised me—he was my father, not Steve Bennett.”

She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, “You look just like him.”

He nodded and gazed out at the field where the football team was assembled and practicing hard, looking like ghosts in the white glow of the misty stadium lights. “I can’t do much about that. Look, Emma,” he said, using her given name for the first time. “My parents were great. I never felt like I needed a thing from my birth father.”

“Did you join the Navy because of him?”

“No. I did it because of me.”

“My dad always wanted a son in the Navy.”

“I’m not his son. But you know what? I bet he’d be just as glad to have a daughter in the Navy.”

She shook her head. “It’s not going to happen.”

“You’d make a hell of a midshipman, Emma.”

“How do you know?”

“I spent four years of my life there. I know what it takes. I bet you’ve got that.”

“What if I don’t want to go into the Navy?”

“Then you won’t. You don’t make your commitment to service until the beginning of your third year at the Academy. Give it a shot.” He could see her waver. Her big blue eyes hid nothing. “You should give yourself this option, Emma. Because you never know.”

She stood still in the gathering dark. Her breath made tiny clouds in the cool air. The clash and crunch of the practicing football team, interspersed with the coach’s whistle, sounded hollow in the silence.

“Emma?” he prompted.

“You have to swear you won’t say anything. To anyone.”

“About you applying to the Naval Academy?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It just seems so weird. And besides, I don’t want to disappoint my parents if I don’t get in.”