“So his dead body is really in there?” Stepping out of John Paul Jones’s tomb, Maeve curled her lip.
“It’s no different than in a graveyard,” Lacey noted, linking her hand in Mick’s offered arm as they walked around the side of the Chapel.
“Well, it’s something I could have lived without seeing. What’s with the dolphins on the casket?”
“Symbolic of the sea. He was a great Navy hero, Maeve,” Mick explained with clearly diminishing patience. He gave a salute as a Captain walked past them.
Maeve perked up visibly, giving the passing man an appraisal as she started up the long staircase to the Chapel doors. Letting out a heated breath, she leaned into Lacey’s ear. “What is it about those uniforms? Do they starch them in pheromones?”
Lacey laughed, finally realizing the real reason Maeve had begged for a tour of the Academy. Lacey should have known it had nothing to do with interest in architecture or history. She glanced over at Bess, trailing behind them. “You okay, Bess? You’re so quiet.”
Mick stopped at the Chapel doors and shot Lacey a questioning look.
“Her blood pressure was up a bit at her last check-up,” Lacey explained.
“We can stop here and do the rest of the tour on another day,” Mick offered.
Bess wrapped her coat tightly around her as a breeze whistled through the barren limbs of the tall oaks on the Yard. “I’m just tired. Is there someplace I can get some juice?”
“Of course. We can head to the Officers’ Club.”
Bess glanced down the daunting staircase she had just climbed. “Well, let’s see the Chapel first, since we’re already here.”
Mick swung the door open just as a young man in uniform was leaving the building.
“Sir.” The man offered a quick salute.
“Cadet Griffin,” Mick greeted him.
“Glad to see you, Sir. I enjoyed your class on mixed martial arts last week. I plan to enter Ranger School when I graduate, so was happy for the training by someone in the SEALs.”
“Excellent. I know several Rangers. Stop by my office next week, and I’ll get you some contacts.”
“I’d appreciate that, Sir.”
“Forgive me, ladies.” Mick’s tone was formal. “This is Cadet Tyler Griffin. He is a visiting cadet from West Point for the semester.”
The young man flashed a smile and shook their hands.
“Griffin, this is Lacey Owens, Bess Foster, and Maeve Fischer. Are you headed by the Officers’ Club or steerage?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Mick reached into his pocket and handed the Cadet some bills. “Would you mind bringing back Bess a bottle of orange juice? She’s a little peaked.”
“My pleasure, Sir,” he responded amicably, glancing down at Bess’s belly. “Ma’am, congratulations. My sister is pregnant now, too.”
Bess just smiled weakly in response.
“So how far along are you, Ma’am?”
“Closing in on six months.”
“Wonderful. I’ll be back with some orange juice before the Commander is finished with your tour of the Chapel.”
“Thank you, Griffin,” Mick said, dismissing him with a salute.
Entering the quiet warmth of the Chapel, Bess let out a soft sigh that only Lacey seemed to hear.
“Mick, why don’t you give Maeve the tour? Bess and I can sit down here and catch our breath,” Lacey suggested.
“You’re sure?”
Lacey nodded.
“Just give us the heads-up if you want to go home, Bess,” Maeve said, eyeing her friend.
“No, I’m fine. Go.” Bess said quietly, sitting in a nearby pew. She glanced at Lacey. “You should go too, Lacey. I’m capable of sitting here without a chaperone.”
“Which is more than we can say for Maeve in this place,” Lacey noted, tossing her chin in Maeve’s direction as they witnessed her head turning appraisingly every time a sailor walked by.
Both women shook their heads.
Lacey’s eyes rested on Bess. “You okay?”
“Just tired, like I said.”
“No, I mean, you seem a little down suddenly.”
Bess let out an awkward laugh. Then she quickly looked away, her eyes welling up.
“What is it, Bess?”
“I don’t know. He was probably my age, you know? That cadet. Or close to it.” She paused, reflecting. “And well, he’s really cute, isn’t he? So here I am, wishing a guy like that would ask me for my number—and instead he asks how far along I am. How could I not be depressed by that?”
“You won’t be pregnant forever.”
“But I’ll be a mom forever. An unmarried mom. Let’s face it. I’m not like other people my age. They’re all out meeting people and going to parties and dating. And here I am, hiding out from an abusive ex, scrubbing floors for a living, and worrying about stretch marks.”