you still bleeding?"
Cathy shook her head. "No, thank God."
Cecilia headed toward the Bremerton Navy base and joined the cars streaming toward the checkpoint at the entrance. It seemed that every spouse, parent and sibling of each enlisted man and woman sought information. A large hangar was set aside for the purpose; hundreds of chairs had been brought in, along with drinks and snacks.
Women, older men and children gathered together in small groups. Cecilia was astonished by the speed with which rumors started to circulate. By three that afternoon, word arrived of five confirmed deaths. Then Cecilia heard ten had died and with every hour the number grew. The truth remained unknown, lost amid all the speculation.
An officer announced that the explosion had been due to human error and was not a terrorist attack as first suspected. Terrorists were prominent in everyone's fears, Cecilia suspected, especially after what had happened to the USS Cole. Australia was a friendly port, but one could never be sure.
Next, they learned that the explosion had occurred in the munitions area, which sent gasps of horror rippling through the room. Three known dead, the officer said, but in such a volatile spot on the ship, that left a lot of uncertainty regarding the number of injuries.
By nightfall they were told that everything was under control. The fires were out; the aircraft carrier was secure. At last came the moment they'd all been waiting for. The base commander moved to the front of the room to read a list of those who'd been injured. "Lieutenant Wayne Van Buskirk. Ensign Jeremiah Smith. Chief Petty Officer Alfred Hussey. First Class Gunner's Mate Gerald Frederickson. Third Class Gunner's Mate Charles Washington. Seaman Janet Lewis..." Cathy and Cecilia clung to one another. Each name echoed through the room like a bombshell, followed by a gasp or a cry of alarm. And then Ian's name was called out. Cecilia heard her own shout of panic; her legs went slack and she slumped into a chair.
"Ian." She wasn't prepared, wasn't ready to deal with this. Cathy gripped her hand and Cecilia squeezed so hard, her fingers lost feeling.
"I'll wait for you here," Cathy told her.
Until that instant, Cecilia didn't realize any other instructions had been given. Cathy hugged her and explained that she was to proceed to the front of the room and speak to the Information Officer.
Weaving her way through the crowd of Navy family and friends, Cecilia seemed to be walking in slow motion. She heard the sounds of conversation and weeping and occasional nervous laughter as though from a great distance.
"I'm Cecilia Randall," she told the officer. She gave him Ian's name and rank, and showed her military identification card.
He directed her to another officer. By then, Cecilia was nearly at the point of passing out. This all seemed so unreal. It couldn't be happening. Not to Ian. Not to her. She'd already lost her daughter. Surely life wouldn't be so cruel as to claim her husband, too. Clenching her hands at her sides, Cecilia held her breath and waited.
"Mrs. Randall?"
"Yes." Instantly alert, Cecilia stepped forward. "I'm the wife of Ian Randall."
The officer smiled reassuringly. "Your husband has sustained cuts and bruises."
"Is - Is he hospitalized?"
"No." He tore off a sheet and handed it to her. "The reason we ask to speak to all the relatives of those injured is to inform you that you can talk to your loved one."
"Talk?" She didn't understand.
"We have a bank of phones in the other room. If you'll go over there, your name will be called shortly. Give the officer this sheet."
She was going to be able to talk directly with Ian. Cecilia resisted the urge to sob with joy and relief. Waiting in the inner room with several other wives, she realized how fortunate she was that her husband had only minor injuries.
It wasn't long before her name was called. She reached for the telephone and cried out, "Ian?"
"It's all right, sweetheart. I'm fine. I really am." He briefly relayed what had happened and said it looked like he had a couple of cracked ribs. "I'm tough, you know that."
"Yeah, right," she joked through her tears.
"How did you hear about the accident?" he asked.
"I had the radio on while I was studying - "
"Algebra, I'll bet," he interrupted.
She smiled. "Yeah. Guess what?" she added. "Mr. Cavanaugh suggested I take an accounting course next quarter. I'd never thought about doing any bookkeeping."
"Does that interest you?"
"I'm not sure yet." But the more she thought