The Ocean Between Us by Susan Wiggs Page A

supposed to keep discipline?”
    “No,” he said, “we’re supposed to throw our unfledged daughters in their paths as virgin sacrifices. Go ahead. Ride your bikes. It’ll appease the gods.”
    Her face fell and her cheeks ignited. Too late, Steve realized his sarcasm had been too harsh. Lately, he seemed to have an uncanny ability to make his smart daughter feel stupid.
    “I’ll take her,” Emma said as Katie studied the floor.
    “Take her where?” Brian demanded, clumping downstairs. In a rugby shirt, khaki shorts and Top-Siders, he looked more J. Crew than United States Navy. But Steve didn’t say anything.
    “You’re going to take me to Brooke’s, and then you’re giving both of us a ride to the movies.” Katie recovered quickly and addressed her brother in a bossy tone.
    “And when it’s over, you’re bringing them home,” Grace added. “Please.” It was the system they had worked out over the summer. The twins were responsible for their sister. It was the price they paid for car privileges. Katie took full advantage of her power over them, particularly Brian. In front of her friends, she liked to sit in the back seat and direct him with a regal “Drive on, James.”
    The customary rush to the door ensued. Whereabouts were verified, curfews set, cell phones confirmed operational. As soon as they departed, Steve headed into the study to check his e-mail—the bane of his command these days. On the desk he found a stack of notes in Grace’s handwriting. He recognized the names of shipping companies and local agencies and clubs, along with women’s names and numbers. She belonged on the Navy’s payroll, considering all she did for its families. That was Grace—helping, always helping. Sometimes she was so busy helping other families that the Bennetts were on autopilot.
    At dinner she had seemed quieter than usual. Sometimes Grace reminded him of the calm, clear water above a reef. Placid on the surface, a lot going on underneath, invisible yet very real. But he was a flyer, not a diver. And he sure as hell wasn’t a mind reader.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    In the wake of the kids’ departure, the house had a hollow air, as though waiting to take a breath. It was funny how houses each had their own personalities, thought Grace. This one was self-consciously cute, with Bavarian-style windows and halfhearted gingerbread trim. It was her least-favorite type of house—a meandering floor plan, boxy rooms, open hallways that amplified noise. The Navy’s idea of officers’ housing was that size matters.
    She wandered out onto the porch to watch the kids drive away. Whidbey Island lay so far north that in summer the sun lingered late, painting the sky with deep shades of pink and gold she’d never seen anywhere else. The sight filled her with wistfulness, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason.
    The tread of a footstep startled her briefly, and she turned to see Steve there. “Hey, sailor,” she said, instantly getting over the brief moment of surprise. Every once in a while, she forgot he was around. A Navy wife either had all of her husband or none of him. There was no in-between time.
    The Bronco’s taillights glowed at the intersection, then disappeared around the corner. A bittersweet feeling swept over her as she watched them go. They looked so independent, heading outinto the evening by themselves. She turned to Steve with a heart full of need. “I hate watching them go.”
    “Brian’s a good driver.”
    “It’s not that. I hate the idea that they’re leaving.”
    “Summer’s not quite over yet,” Steve pointed out, clueless.
    “I don’t mean school,” she said. “I mean for good.”
    “What, do you want them to stay?”
    God. He didn’t get it. She turned to the porch rail, planted her elbows on it and stared out across the yard, a cramped rectangle of beaten-down grass trampled by countless families that had lived here before. Far in the distance rose the mountains in