SEAL the Deal(9)

The man was gazing at the woman—his wife, Bess imagined. And the wife smiled at the camera, not in an overly happy way that would make a person think that the smile was for the sake of the photograph. Just a subtle, warm smile as though she always wore that expression. Bess indulged in a brief fantasy that the woman was her own grandmother, who was right now making cookies from scratch downstairs. For a moment, Bess could swear she smelled them baking.

The daydream dissolved with the sound of laughter coming from somewhere in the house. It must be Maeve, talking to her other housemate. Bess wondered if she should introduce herself. She didn’t want to seem rude.

Better not. The less she talked to them, the fewer questions they’d ask.

She stretched out on the bed and felt safe for the first time in days, gazing up at the watchful face of her imaginary grandmother.





CHAPTER THREE




Mick juggled the casserole dish under one arm, fumbling with his keys till he found Mrs. B’s. Funny how he still carried it attached to his key ring after all these years. She and Doc were like family to him, so keeping the key on hand made him feel as though he had a home to return to no matter where he was deployed.

Still, he probably should have called first.

“Mrs. B! It’s Mick,” he called out in the foyer. “Thought I’d surprise you with dinner and…” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw her in the living room among stacks of papers and photos, with tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Mick. You should have told me you were coming. I could have made something.” The old woman blotted her eyes with a nearby tissue.

“Why are you crying?” He sat beside her, putting the Pyrex on the coffee table. Mick rubbed her back. “Sorry. Dumb question. Of course you’re going to cry. I just hate to see it.”

“They are happy tears. We got old and we were too busy to notice. But we had a wonderful time together.” She gazed down at some photos in her hands. “It’s something I hope you are blessed to have one day.”

“It’s a rare thing, what you and Doc had. I think I’d rather just steer clear of love entirely than be disappointed that it wasn’t as real as yours was.”

“You’re cutting yourself off from life then,” she said tenderly as she returned to sorting the photographs. “How ironic. A man who risks his life every time he is on a mission. And you enjoy every minute of it, I might add. But you won’t risk your heart.”

Mick didn’t bother to argue. He picked up a photo of Doc and Mrs. B in front of the Eiffel Tower. “When was this?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

“1966. Maybe ’67. Is there a date written on the back?”

He flipped it over. “No.”

She shook her head. “I always meant to be more organized with my photos. Even back then. But I couldn’t even remember to write the date on the back. That’s why I’m doing this now. I just want to put them in some kind of order as best I can. I want to remember all the places we’ve been and things we’ve seen.” She reached for a photo she had set aside. “And people we met,” she added with a gleam in her eye, handing Mick the photo.

Mick’s jaw dropped an inch. “Is that Nixon?”

“Yes. That came as a surprise to both of us. When Don first began cancer research, he earned some kind of award for the hospital. The President was at the luncheon.” She clucked her tongue. “Look at that. Don wasn’t even wearing his best suit, and he’s all rumpled. But he was always a bit rumpled. I loved him for it. And he knew that. He knew it every day of our life together.” She touched the photo to her lips thoughtfully. “Never let the people you love wonder how you feel. It’s a waste of precious time. You remember that.”

Reaching for another photo, she looked down at her much younger self. Doc’s arm was around her and a cigarette was in his hand, surprising Mick. Everyone smoked back then, it seemed, even Doc.

She smiled. “I was young. You’re so young right now, and you don’t even know it. You’ll only know it when you’re my age and looking back.” She took another handful of photos from a pile. “Well, my, my. Who is this lad?”

Mick laughed at the sight of himself at eighteen, standing on a picnic table pretending to be swinging from a low-hanging branch. He looked like an immature idiot. Of course, that’s what he was back then. Amazing how a war or two can harden someone. “Can I burn this?”

Mrs. B snatched it from him. “Over my dead body. These are dear to me. You—all the mids we sponsored. When we learned we couldn’t have children, we were devastated. But sponsoring midshipmen brought us such fulfillment.” She smiled. “You were always our favorite, of course.”