“Oh?”
“Deployed. I don’t know where. My dad does, but he can’t tell us.” She shrugged. “That’s how it is with Rich. He goes places and… does things.”
“Kills people, you mean.”
“I don’t know. But if he does, they’re bad people. Communists and insurgents.” She gave my lips a final check and then smoothed my shirt over my chest as an excuse to gather her thoughts. “Rich is a good person. I know he can be… dangerous.” She looked up at me earnestly. “But he protects us.
Our country. And that includes you.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m glad people like Rich are in the military. My dad and yours too, for that matter.” I took a deep breath. “I guess I’ve just spent the last couple of years learning how not to be violent. Or how to control it, at least. I forget that some people only respond to violence. Or you have to use it to get their attention.”
“That’s what Rich does,” she said. “I don’t always like it, especially when he threatens my boyfriend, but I’m glad he’s the way he is. You know he’d never really hurt you, don’t you? Not for real.”
I quirked an eyebrow— the eyebrow—with a healthy dose of irony.
“Oh, you know what I mean. Besides, you can barely see the scar.”
“Rich would hurt me,” I said, “but only if I hurt you.”
“Then you’re safe.” She looked into my eyes. Hers were so clear and beautiful and blue that I wanted to fall into them and never climb out. “I know you’d never hurt me.”
“No.”
She brandished the lipstick-smudged tissue. “Looks like we’re going to
need this again.”
I bent to kiss her. Then I pulled her close and felt her body mold into mine.
“Ah-ah, none of that,” a voice said from the doorway. “Not till you’re married.” Marianne grinned as we sprang apart. “I’m kidding. But your mother sent me to check on you.”
Christy’s cheeks glowed.
“Don’t worry,” Marianne told her, “your secret’s safe with me. But you’d better fix your lipstick. His too,” she added. Then she smirked at me. “Nice to see you, Paul.”
“Nice to see you too.”
“We’re having cocktails in the living room before dinner. Join us?” She glanced pointedly at her watch, so I did the same. “In a few minutes.”
“Got it,” I said. “A few minutes.”
She left with a flutter of fingers and a sparkling grin.
I laughed in relief and looked down at Christy. “Your mom knows everything that goes on around here, doesn’t she?”
“You can say that again.”
We joined the others a few minutes later, as promised. Marianne officially greeted me with a hug, and Harry stood and shook my hand.
“What can I fix you?” he asked with a gesture toward the drinks trolley.
“Whiskey?”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Wine okay for you?” he asked Christy.
“Yes, please.”
I scanned the others and realized that the ladies were drinking white wine instead of whiskey. So they’re traditional about drinks as well, I thought.
Then I reminded myself that my family wasn’t any better, just different.
I accepted a glass of whiskey and ice and sat in an armchair. Christy perched beside me and sipped her wine. Harold and his son finished their conversation about squadron politics, so I was ready when they turned their attention to me.
“Have you had a chance to consider what we talked about?” Harold asked.
“Joining the Navy?” I said as a placeholder rather than a genuine question.
“I could take you out to the squadron if you’d like,” Harry offered. “Have
you thought about whether you want to request fighters or attack?”
Christy cleared her throat ever so quietly, and Anne’s eyes tightened a fraction. Marianne deftly covered a smile when she realized that her husband and father-in-law were hopelessly outmatched.
“Thanks,” I said to Harry. “I really appreciate it, but…” I shifted my drink to my left hand and extended my right for Christy to take. She gripped it lightly because of the chill, but her expression never wavered. “I gave it some serious thought,” I said and indicated her with a nod, “and we discussed it.”
Everyone heard the emphasis, and Anne’s lips twitched with a hint of a smile.
“I think I’d make a good pilot—”
“A good officer too,” Harold said.
“Especially with people to help your career,” his son added.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. We appreciate it. But we don’t think the military is right for us, for Christy and me.”
“But what do you want?” Harry insisted.
“A happy Birdy,” I said dryly, and Anne had to cover her mouth to hide a grin. Even Harold couldn’t stop himself from chuckling.
“I think he has us there,” he told his son.
“The Navy needs men like you,” Harry persisted earnestly. “It’s not like it was under Carter. Reagan is building up the military, and we’ll need pilots if we square off against the Soviets.”
Anne cocked an ear and said, “That’s the oven. Are we ready for dinner in fifteen minutes?”
Soft power, gentlemen, I thought at them. It’ll win every time, because you can’t fight it head-on.
Harold must have sensed the direction of my thoughts, because he glanced at his wife and then me. Finally his gaze settled on Christy, who pretended not to notice. He eventually looked at me again and smiled. It wasn’t his usual attitude adjustment, but he’d clearly come to a decision.
I wondered if he was a good commander because he didn’t pick fights he couldn’t win. Instead, he dealt with reality. I looked at Christy with a new appreciation. She’d adjusted to being a nudist with surprising ease. She’d wanted something— me, and a relationship—and she hadn’t let a little thing like taking off her clothes stand in her way.
Harold watched me with a wry expression. He probably didn’t know what
I was thinking, but he knew the gist of it. After all, he hadn’t become an admiral by being slow on the uptake. And I could almost hear his thoughts: Son, you have no idea what you’re getting into.
No, sir, I don’t. But I’ll have fun learning.
Anne stood and gathered Marianne and Christy with a glance. Virginia appeared a moment later.
“The timer’s going off, Grandma,” she said. “Do you want us to take it out?”
“Just take the foil off the top, dear. Let it brown for a few minutes.”
The girl nodded and dashed off, followed by the women.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” Harry said after they’d gone.
I started to speak, but Harold beat me to it.
“He’s sure.” He sipped his drink. “You probably don’t remember,” he said to his son. “You were off at the Academy already. But Birdy hated every time we changed station and had to move. I hated making her do it, too. New house, new school, new friends. Every three or four years.”
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Harry said.
“Yes,” his father agreed. “Strong enough to put your foot down—”
I smiled at Christy’s defiant habit.
“—and decide you don’t want to be a Navy wife.”
“But—”
“Leave it,” Harold said automatically, the voice of command. Then he remembered who he was talking to. He added in a kinder tone, “Birdy has a good head on her shoulders, and Paul seems to appreciate that.”
I nodded.
Harold continued to his son, “Would you do something if Marianne didn’t approve?”
“No, I guess you’re right. Still, America needs more fighting men.”
“It needs infrastructure too,” his father said. “We’re the tip of the spear, son. We need power behind us. That means security and stability at home.