The Story of Us - By Susan Wiggs Page 0,15

wife, I felt the tension of mixed messages. When my husband was gone, I was strong, independent, sure of my ability to deal with things. Upon his return, my role shifted to that of partner and helpmeet.

Small things, really, a pebble in the shoe. For the most part, life was a joy. It was the adventure Gran wanted for me.

I wrote letters to her and to Steve. Sometimes I would lie awake at night and, against my will, I’d find myself imagining the very events a military man is trained for—enemy strikes, explosions, plane crashes, bombings, terror attacks. At those times, I’d pull my pillow over my head, shut my eyes tight and pray.

I’ve never met a Navy wife who didn’t know how to pray.

Chapter Seventeen

Both Steve and I greeted my first pregnancy with a sense of tenderness and awe. This was exactly what we wanted, to bring a child into the circle of love we’d created. Then when we discovered I was carrying twins, I longed for him to beg for a deferment from the next deployment. Having a baby alone was a frightening enough concept. Having twins was, well, doubly terrifying.

However, by then I’d learned the ways of a Navy wife. “We’ll be fine,” I told Steve with a brave smile. And we were, of course.

Brian and Emma were born while Steve’s CO’s wife gripped my hand in the delivery room and encouraged me. Three years after that, back in Pensacola once again, our little Katie joined the family while Steve was in special training to face the terrors of Desert Storm. Did he lose something by not cradling those brand-new slippery bodies in his strong hands and watching our children take their first breaths? Does it matter that he never saw our newborns take on the flush of life and open their eyes for the first time?

Oh, I hope not. Missed milestones and moments have always been our reality. The year the twins were born, we went into debt to get the best videotape recorder money could buy, and we’ve done that several times over the years. I’ve never regretted that investment.

Another acquisition during our second stay in Pensacola was that same old chicken pitcher. I had bought and sold the silly thing when we were first married and, walking along, pushing three children in their doublewide stroller one day, I found it again. I knew it was the same because of its imperfections, and I bought it again, vowing I’d keep it with us from now on, no matter where we went.

It was like a talisman or affirmation of some sort. When you rediscover something you’ve lost, it’s a good idea to take care of it.

Chapter Eighteen

Of all the places we’ve lived over the years, my favorite is the place we moved the summer before the twins’ senior year in high school. We actually talked about letting them stay in Texas for senior year, but they’re Navy kids. They were ready for the next adventure, too. So we moved as a family to Whidbey Island, Washington, a long narrow island in the glittering blue waters of Puget Sound.

As we stood on the deck of the ferryboat from Seattle, I looked at Steve and said, “I’m in love.”

He kissed me, and even after all the years we’d been married, I still had the same reaction.

“Oh, ick,” said Katie, now fourteen and righteously mortified by her parents.

We shared a grin. Steve made an expansive gesture. “What’s not to love, Grace? Look at this place.”

Brilliant white-capped mountains rose straight out of the sea, the sky a dazzling deep blue, majestic evergreens lining the shore.

I’m going to like it here, I thought. No, I’m going to love it here.

That sentiment proved to be small comfort when I made a suggestion Steve never expected. I wanted to buy a house. I wanted to live here on this magical island, not just for this tour but forever. A legacy from my grandmother, combined with income from a small business I intended to start, would make it possible.

He opposed the idea, and when he was deployed, for the first time in our marriage, we parted on bad terms.

We swore we would never do that, but it was, as the Navy would term it, a mishap—an unanticipated disaster. I think every woman imagines a variety of disasters in her marriage. Navy wives in particular. We are, after all, people who have a great deal of time to imagine the worst-case scenario.

Left on my own,