Undetected

She smiled. “Okay. I can do that.”

  He ruffled her hair. Honeymooning at home wasn’t such a bad idea after all. A couple of weeks when they could sleep in would do the start of their marriage a world of good. Her hand slid into his, and she stood and tugged him toward the kitchen. He decided she’d become pretty comfortable with him in the last few days. “Dinner, then we turn in,” she suggested over her shoulder.

  A month from now, that endearing blush would require more than a stray thought about their nights together, but he loved it all the same. He rested an arm comfortably across her shoulders. “How about I fix spaghetti while you box your candy gifts and put them in the freezer? It’s going to take a year to eat that much candy.”

  “True. But it’s a nice tradition, especially if you appreciate chocolate like I do.”

  He opened a cupboard and got out plastic storage containers for the candy. Gina sat down to box up the gifts. He dug out a box of spaghetti and a jar of sauce.

  “Mark?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Would you mind if I use Melinda’s things?”

  Startled, he glanced over at her. He thought he’d done a good job of clearing away Melinda’s things from the cupboards, closets, and counters. “What do you mean?”

  Gina pointed at the colored glass bottles, then at the figurine saltshakers. “She collected nice items. And I found some things of hers upstairs in the bathroom—hair dryer and curler, bath soaps. Are you going to feel weird if I use what’s around?”

  He wanted to wince at the question he’d been trying hard to prevent, the collision of past and present. It wasn’t fair to Gina. But he hadn’t neutralized the house nearly as much as he thought he had. “It’s not going to bother you?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I’m aware I’m borrowing Melinda’s things, but I don’t want to buy duplicates just to avoid what she chose or once touched.”

  “I don’t mind,” he said quietly.

  “You haven’t mentioned her name much lately. Has that been deliberate?”

  He hesitated. “Yes.” He stopped the dinner preparations to give Gina his full attention. “When I do mention Melinda, talk about her or about my first marriage, I’m not doing it to draw comparisons between now and then, Gina. I just want you to have a sense of my own memories, a sense of how history has shaped me. I’m willing to change and adapt. I want to learn all over again how to be a good husband to you, just as I learned with Melinda. I’m sorry I didn’t think of the smaller things that would still show this house had once been Melinda’s place. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in your own home.”

  “Our home,” she replied softly. “You were married to her, Mark, and made a good marriage. You built a beautiful home with her. And if you’re asking if I want to change every quilt in the place, every photo on the wall, every knickknack just because Melinda might have been the one to pick it out, the answer is no. I’ve been getting comfortable here, even before we were married. I’ll keep what I like, and maybe pack away what I would rather replace. I’ll make this my home. For now, I’m simply trying to read where you are in the transition from wife one to wife two.”

  He took two steps to the table and leaned down to kiss her. “Loved wife one. Adore, love, and treasure wife two. All right?”

  She kissed him back. “Yes.”

  “It’ll be easier if we find a new place when I get back from patrol,” Mark promised, thinking it needed to be a priority.

  She shook her head. “Melinda had very good taste. I kind of like not having to buy every throw rug, seasonal place mat, front door wreath and Christmas decorations all over again. Give me until you’re back from the May patrol before I have to make a decision on the house. If I need us to change houses, leave this one and its contents behind, I’ll let you know.”

  “Any hesitation, we sell what’s here and move, precious. Whatever it is, from the furniture down to the kitchen towels. It’s fine with me.”

  She smiled. “I’ll tell you.” She pointed to the last items on the tray. “Which do you want me to leave out for dessert—truffle or dipped caramel?”

  “Caramel.”

  She opened the freezer and stored four totes and several plastic bags of chocolate bar gifts, then opened the refrigerator. “Join me for a salad?”

  “Sure.”

  She lifted out the ingredients, and he pointed toward a cabinet where she’d find the cutting board. They companionably fixed dinner together. “I don’t mind being wife number two,” she told him as he handed her a plate of spaghetti. He nearly bobbled the dish. His gaze caught hers.

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re worried about it. Actually, I find it rather nice that you already have a sense of how to treat a wife and handle living together without me having to point out the little things that matter to a woman.”

  “You’re not like her, Gina, even though in some ways you are. You both expect a bathroom sink clean of whiskers, for me to reach the tall things for you without having to be asked, for the coffee to be made so you can see through it.”

  She smiled at the last point. “Someday I’d like you to tell me all the similarities and the differences,” she said softly. “I’m curious.” She was curious about a lot of things, but that was a land mine of a question. “I would find it helpful, Mark.”

  “Ask me again in a few weeks if you’re still curious.” He’d find a way to dodge the question by then. He held her chair, then fixed his own plate and joined her. He loved being married to Gina. It was never boring.

  “What just caused that smile?” she asked.

  He looked over at his wife. “You.”

  Mark propped his head on his hand. Gina was hibernating in the blanket layers, a woman who liked to be cozy. He idly turned strands of her hair around his finger. She was beginning to wake up, but he’d discovered she was slow about it. The journey was fascinating to watch. Melinda had always been early to rise, alert from the beginning, often up before he was. Gina was the opposite. He loved these moments in the morning, watching her wake up.

  She sleepily blinked, finally focused on him.

  “Good morning,” he said softly.

  She glanced toward the window. The blinds were closed, but a single ray of sunlight reached almost to the picture frame. “Still early yet,” she replied, sounding pleased about that. She tucked her hand near her chin, offered a sleepy smile, and closed her eyes again. “My feet are cold.”

  He nudged her feet into the warmth of the blanket near his. “You lost your socks again.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You are an absolutely wonderful wife.”

  His words brought her eyes open, startled. “What?”

  “I’m serious. I’m just wondering if you have any appreciation of how good a wife you are.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, looking bewildered, and beginning to blush.

  “I was thinking back to life before we were married, and what a typical morning for me was like. It didn’t have moments like this, where I could look at your lovely face and share a smile.” He settled his arm around her. “The evenings lacked the laughter of getting tangled up while trying to pass in the hallway, playing backgammon, having someone to do a late night raid of the refrigerator with—hanging-out time. Not to mention the joy of having you beside me for the night. You’re a very good wife, Gina. You love me well.”

  “I do. I like you well too.”

  He laughed softly, delighted with the newfound self-confidence that was appearing, and kissed her. “Pancakes for breakfast?”

  “Sure.”

  He’d heard Pong bark when the newspaper got delivered. He’d have a dog and two half-grown cats checking out what he was fixing his family for breakfast. He’d have to drop a pancake or two and feed them his mistakes. These were the days he was storing up as memories for when he would be deployed. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed being a husband till he was one again. “Breakfast will be ready in half an hour.”

/>   Mark picked up his coffee along with books from the side table and moved toward the patio door. “Want to join me this morning?”

  “I’ll be out shortly,” Gina replied, picking up the last wedge of her orange. She admired the fact her husband was disciplined about his time with God. It was a constant part of his morning routine, tended to come after breakfast and before he began the rush of his day. On good-weather days he’d sit out on the back deck; on rainy days he’d spread out his Bible and books on the kitchen table. She’d given him privacy the first few times, but he’d convinced her he meant it when he said it was fine for her to join him.

  She took the notebook she used for her own prayer time out with her and curled up in a chair near her husband with her Bible, dipping into the Psalms, and then Paul’s letters in the New Testament. She wrote out her prayer, then revised it and wrote it again. It took time to get her thoughts in order. When she was finished, she read it silently and signed her name to it, dating the page. She didn’t take lightly what she prayed. She wanted to know if God had listened, what He said in reply, what the results to her prayers might be. She idly looked back through the last few months and felt a moment of frustration that not many had been answered with a yes. Twenty years of trying to understand prayer, and she found it was still a mystery what God would respond to with a yes and when He would be silent.

  She glanced up and realized her husband had completed his devotions, was quietly watching her while he finished his coffee. He had closed his Bible and notebook, put his pen away.

  “You like to pray,” she commented.

  “I do.”

  “Are you good at it?”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her question. “If you’re asking are my prayers answered, mostly they are,” he replied comfortably. “But I think I’m probably more cautious than you are on what I want to risk asking.” He smiled. “God no doubt likes your approach better. Your heart’s on your sleeve when you pray and you lean forward into life. From the few you’ve shown me, you have big dreams and hopes in your prayers. I’m more cautious, and I basically pray God’s words back to Him.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Take a verse like the one in Hebrews, ‘Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.’ I ask the same thing of God as He asks of me. We need two thousand dollars to fund the commander’s barbecue when the Nevada gets back after this May patrol. I’m not sure where it’s going to come from this year, since there are more demands on our income than usual and this isn’t the kind of thing I’m comfortable spending our savings on. We need some extra income from somewhere to cover it.

  “So the prayer is simple: God, do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to you. God has control of the money to meet this need. I’m trusting He will come through by the time the patrol is wrapping up. If God doesn’t, if He stays silent or says no, it will hurt, but I’ll deal with that if it happens. The answer is His choice.

  “It’s a relationship, Gina, and a friendship. On the whole, I know God is good to me, even when I can’t grasp why He chooses to answer one prayer with a yes and another with silence or a no. But if I don’t ask much”—Mark shrugged—“it’s a problem I struggle with, how much I want to ask and risk in prayer when I might only get silence in reply. I often think age has made me too cautious with God. Or life has.”

  “Is some of that a holdover from when Melinda died?”

  He considered her question, then nodded. “More than I probably realize. I talked a lot with God during the years after I lost her, but for a time I stopped praying for specific needs. Any no, any disappointment, was simply too much to risk. Life simply hurt. It’s gotten better with the passing years. God is kind, and He heals a heart and has answered nearly everything I’ve asked in the recent years, which has made it easier for me to hear the occasional silence. But some of that caution is still there.”

  “What were you praying for today?”

  “The upcoming patrol. It’s going to be hard on you, the fact I’m gone. And it’s going to be hard on me, missing you and knowing you’re back here alone.”

  “It’s your dream, Mark, to command the Nevada. I can’t wish that wasn’t in your schedule, even though it’s hard to think about you being gone all that time. But I want you to go, enjoy every minute of it with Nevada gold, do an excellent job, store up memories, and then come home and spend your R and R with me.”

  He smiled. “A well-crafted answer. You’re making the transition to being a commander’s wife.”

  She thought about it and nodded, surprised to realize how comfortable she was with the idea. “I am. And a commander goes to sea. I’ll be fine, Mark. I know you’ll do an excellent job and keep the Nevada safe, and while you’re gone . . . well, I’ll find a way to fill my days. I’ll read more. Maybe go back to Chicago for a couple of weeks. Spend some time at the office just surfing around through subjects—and hopefully not find anything particularly surprising. Security is going to be around everywhere I go, so you won’t need to worry about me locking my keys in the car or having a flat tire on a poorly lit road. Someone will always have a phone I can use.”

  “I’m glad they’re around.”

  “Sometimes I forget they are, until I look back and see who’s in the rearview mirror. Or I go through a door on base and hear someone walk in behind me, and realize it’s the security for the new shift. It still catches me off guard.”

  “I sleep better knowing the security’s there, Gina—there to watch out for you.”

  She nodded, accepting that. “I’ll miss you, Mark.”

  “I’ll miss you too, precious.” He smiled at her. “Will you write me letters? I know they can’t be mailed, but you could leave them for me on the bedside table. That way I can know how your days were going as they happened.”

  “I could do that.”

  Her husband nodded, pleased. “I’ll look forward to reading them when I get back.”

  The Nevada refit was half done, and for once Mark had gotten home while it was still daylight. He took the glass of iced tea Gina offered with a grateful thanks. He’d swapped his sweat-stained shirt for a clean T-shirt, but otherwise hadn’t changed, so his hug was brief. He needed a shower. “Any more groceries to bring in?”

  “This is the last sack. You got the mail in?”

  “On the desk,” he confirmed.

  He went to find the local news. When he sat down on the couch, his eyes closed of their own accord. Tired didn’t begin to cover what refit did to his body. He heard Gina follow him into the living room a few minutes later.

  There was a bow-tied box on her side of the couch, another on the floor. She opened it, laughed, and set it on the floor beside the second box. “What’s this?” She held up a few of the magazines for him to see.

  “You like to read. I bought you a few more things to read.”

  “The Economist? Chemistry Today? Science Digest?”

  “Ever read them?”

  “Not recently.”

  He’d bought her five years’ worth of back issues off eBay. “Enjoy.”

  He felt her hand slide into his, and he smiled, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her over beside him. “I’m going to nap, you’re going to read, and tonight we can snuggle.” He rested his forehead against hers, sighed, considered stretching out on the couch to sleep right here, but a shower and a bed would suit his aching body better. He was heading there just as soon as he caught the local news and the weather update for tomorrow. He had gone up or down a ladder more than 40 times today—and that was after he’d started counting.

  He felt her fingers stroke lightly across the bruise on his wrist. “Another accident?”

  “A case of peaches,” he said, shaking his head. “I joined the supply line, got distracted, missed a hand-off.”

  “What distracted you?”

  “Someone asked if my wife was going to ‘send off’ the boat w
hen we leave.”

  “What’s that involve?”

  “Traditionally? Or what I might let you do?”

  She laughed. “Seriously, I should do something as the commander’s wife. How about a joke a day you could read over the intercom?”

  That got him to briefly open his eyes and lazily stroke her arm. “You don’t tell very funny jokes.”

  “Okay, then a riddle a day, a puzzle or brainteaser.”

  “Better. I was thinking along the lines of 90 cute dog and cat photos, and I’d stick a new one on the captain’s board every morning.”

  “That’s pretty lame.”

  “Better than you showing up in a bikini and kissing the boat goodbye.”

  She laughed and leaned up to kiss him. “I’ll think of something.”

  “Yeah. Turn up the volume on the news, would you?”

  He felt a cat’s paw on his shoulder and braced for the claws to find traction, but the animal landed lightly on his lap and head-butted against his chest, looking for attention. He obliged. He was coming to like cats—not as much as the dog, but they were mostly okay.

  “I’m going to go walk Pongo for a bit. Chicken strips over rice for dinner in 30 minutes?”

  It sounded wonderful. “I love you.”

  A hand patted his chest. “I love you too.” He opened his eyes in time to see his wife disappear into the kitchen. He felt moisture in his eyes and blinked, felt a second cat bat a paw at his hair, and reached up to the back of the couch to haul the other animal down.

  Lovable, fascinating wife. Good marriage. He was too tired to more than appreciate the fact that life had taken a very good turn.

  The weatherman was forecasting rain, so tomorrow he would be climbing wet ladders. The Nevada needed grease, lubricants, oil, hydraulic fluid, filters, hose fittings, couplings, joints, pipes. Mechanicals were the focus tomorrow, and parts needed to be restocked. He’d be in the middle of it. A small thing, but when the captain showed up for the grunt work, sailors gave him the benefit of the doubt when he asked for the second mile at sea.

  He’d have to make sure Gina didn’t do something too corny or too memorable for the send-off. He’d be comfortable with a goodbye kiss at home and her not coming to the dock to see the boat off. He would have to emotionally disengage for 90 days, and the break was going to be a very hard moment—for the both of them.