The Military Wife

by Laura Trentham

  “I’m not scared.” With a jolt, she recognized she spoke from a place of truth and not a knee-jerk defensiveness. Like she had in the store earlier, she tempered her words with a smile, this one big enough to use cheek muscles she hadn’t exercised in a while.

  “Just so you know, I’m not a weirdo.” A self-deprecating laugh rumbled from his chest. “I guess that’s what an actual weirdo would say, right?”

  She swung her leg over the seat and walked her bike closer to him. “I trust you.” Her words registered a millisecond after they left her mouth. “I mean, I trust you’re not a weirdo.”

  “My name’s Noah. Noah Wilcox.” He stuck out one of his big hands.

  She bit the inside of her lip and slipped her hand in his. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, his palpable strength was attractive. “I’m Harper Frazier.”

  “Nice to meet you, Harper.” He gave her fingers a squeeze before letting go and tucking his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Stepping aside, he chucked his chin in the direction of the main thoroughfare, and without words they fell into step side by side, the bike between them like a chaperone.

  “So … what did you do the rest of the afternoon?” she asked after too many seconds of silence.

  “I hung out on the beach with my buddies.”

  Of course he did. She internally cringed. Way to go, Ms. Obvious. Making small talk with the opposite sex wasn’t exactly her forte. She’d never even had a serious boyfriend.

  She snuck a glance, but he didn’t seem to be laughing at her. His cheeks were tinged with the beginnings of a burn, his hair glinting even blonder in the sun. “You know what’s strange? Even though I grew up here, I hardly go to the beach. If I’m in the mood, I’ll sometimes walk over to the bay side and watch the sunset.”

  “Most people love the beach.” He raised his eyebrows, and she shrugged.

  “For one thing, I hate sand. It gets everywhere.” She sent him a meaningful glance and was rewarded with another of his rumbly laughs. “Mostly, though, the ocean makes me feel…” She struggled to come up with the right words. “Small. Kind of sad, I guess. And seriously insignificant.”

  Most boys her age were put off by her philosophical musings. That’s the price she paid for being raised by a librarian who didn’t allow a TV in their house.

  “Deep thoughts. I myself prefer the vast wildness of the ocean. I grew up on a soybean farm in Georgia. Thought my roots ran so deep that I’d never get out.”

  She struggled with the same pull and guilt to stay or go. “You somehow managed to rip yourself away, since you joined up.”

  He brushed a hand over his hair with another self-deprecating laugh. “The shorn look give me away?”

  “Among other things. What branch?”

  “Navy SEALs. Or at least, that’s the plan. I leave next week for training in California.”

  Her heart pinched, reminding her not to get attached. “I’ve heard they only take the best and the most badass.”

  “It’s rigorous. Didn’t think I had a shot, but I nailed all the evaluations.”

  Silence fell between them. She should say a polite good-bye and ride off. The crazy bolt of happiness that had flared on seeing him standing in the shaft of sunlight at the mouth of the alley was because she either had read too many books or was looking for a way to assuage her own nervousness. Come autumn and she’d be flying from her own nest.

  Yet, like in the ice-cream shop, she didn’t leave. Something primal and ancient rattled her bones like an earthquake, and she kept strolling along, herding him down a quieter, shaded side street and away from the chaos of the beach. “Are you scared about training?”

  He blew out a slow breath. “Don’t tell my buddies, but I’m terrified. A huge percentage of recruits wash out.”

  “What happens if you don’t make it?”

  “I become a regular Navyman. Which would be fine, but…” His lips pressed tight.

  “You’d feel like you failed?”

  “No ‘feel’ about it. It would be a fact. I’d be a failure.”

  She didn’t know how to respond or alleviate fears of the future she battled on a daily basis as well. What if she flunked out of UNC? What if she had to move home and battle the flaky credit card machine at the ice-cream shop for the rest of her life?

  “Do you miss your family?” she asked.

  “As insane as they make me and as much as I wanted to leave … Yes. So much I’ve thought about quitting and heading home. Dad wants me to take over the farm.” He made a scoffing sound and ran a hand over his head as if it was an old habit to ruffle his now-phantom hair. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this considering we just met, but I can’t talk about it to them.” He thumbed over his shoulder toward the beach. “Okay guys, and we might even be friends, but we’re also competing for SEAL spots. Sometimes, the testosterone is too much even for me.”

  “I don’t mind if you tell me stuff.” Again, she answered not from politeness’ sake but with the truth. His searing blue eyes demanded that of her.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “What about me?”

  “How old are you?”

  “Eighteen. I’m heading to UNC in the fall.”

  “Wow, that’s cool. What are you going to major in?”

  “Business, I think. Maybe minor in marketing.” She gripped the handlebars of her bike a little tighter. “I’m scared about going off, too. Scared about flunking out. I can’t imagine coming back here and living with my mom.”

  “You two don’t get along?”

  “No, we get along fine. Better than fine, actually, but she’s very protective. And a little controlling.”

  “Where does she work?’

  “Mom is Kitty Hawk’s librarian.” She rolled her eyes as she added, “My full name is Harper Lee Frazier.”

  Noah’s laugh burst from his chest, startling a squirrel up the nearest tree. She found herself laughing with him even though living with the name for eighteen years had thinned her skin against teasing. She had dropped the “Lee” on all her UNC forms.

  “That’s awesome. I love it.” He cast still-smiling eyes in her direction. “It suits you, by the way.”

  “I’m afraid to ask how considering she wrote an American classic and then turned into a recluse with like fifty cats.”

  “Harper Lee had fifty cats? Geez.”

  She giggled at his exaggerated grimace. “I totally made that up. But doesn’t she strike you as the cat lady poster child?”

  “Maybe, but she claimed a slice of glory. She’ll never be forgotten.”

  Harper tilted her head to study him. Was Noah Wilcox after a different type of glory? She didn’t ask, only pointed and said simply, “My house.”

  “Hard to get used to seeing all these places on stilts. You ride out storms here or move inland?”

  “Unless an evacuation order is issued, we stay.” She didn’t add that her mom took on storms the way she took on life. Balls-to-the-wall defiant, but with more than her fair share of humor. Her mom was a Character with a capital C. The kind Harper Lee would have written about.

  “You didn’t mention your dad. Does he live here, too?”

  “Messy divorce when I was two. He sends child support, but that’s about it.” Her daddy issues weren’t on the table for discussion. “I have a feeling you left a big family behind. Younger sisters?”

  “Four of them. How’d you know?”

  She wouldn’t tell him it was in the polite, protective way he treated her from positioning himself on the street side of the sidewalk to the way he glanced at her under his lashes as if she was special.

  “Lucky guess,” she said lightly.

  She trailed to a stop across the street from her house under the shade of an oak. The air was oppressive, too far inland to benefit from the water-cooled breezes.

  He faced her, feet braced shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back. “Can I see you again, Harper Lee?”
r />   “For what?”

  “Dinner? A sunset walk on the beach or the bay if you’d rather. Doesn’t matter to me.” His earnestness struck her as sincere.

  “That’s nice, but I guess I meant why? You’re leaving.”

  “For now, but there’s a good chance after training I’ll be stationed at Virginia Beach.”

  “But I’m leaving for UNC in August.”

  He didn’t break eye contact with her. “Okay, so logistics aside, I like you. This afternoon after I left the ice-cream shop, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re … different.”

  She been told that enough by the boys at her high school to know it was true. Yet Noah said it like it was a compliment and not an insult. “Nothing can come of us hanging out.”

  “Maybe not, but I’d still like to see you again.” In a more cajoling tone, he said, “Come on, dinner’s on me. Nicest place along the Outer Banks if you want.”

  His choice of words jolted her. “Maybe not.” Not “definitely not.” She weighed her options. Never seeing Noah again wasn’t one of them. Even if it was only one more time.

  “How about tonight?” Her impulsiveness surprised her. She was more of a pro and con list maker, but urgency stripped away her usual caution.

  “Tonight?” Shock drew out the word and emphasized his accent.

  Had she been too forward? Her experience—or lack thereof—didn’t provide clues. Unable to tolerate a rejection face-to-face, she bounced her bike over the curb, checking for traffic even though her street was deserted compared to the crowds only a few blocks away.

  “You’re probably going out and partying with your buddies. I totally get it.”

  “Not anymore I’m not.” He jogged backward until they were eye to eye. “I’m taking out the prettiest girl in Kitty Hawk.”

  She wasn’t, but the way he was looking at her made her feel like she might be within shouting distance. Then, his expression fell and so did her answering smile.

  “What is it?” Fear that she’d done something wrong made her voice pitch high.

  “I only brought shorts.”

  Relief sent a laugh skittering out of her. “As long as you pair them with a shirt with sleeves, that’s dressing up around here in the summer.”

  She reached the steps leading to her front door, leaned the bike against the rail, and faced him with nothing in between them for the first time. He was a good six inches taller than she was and grew more handsome the longer she stared into his smile-crinkled blue eyes.

  “What time should I pick you up? Does seven give you enough time?”

  It was almost six already and she needed to shower and straighten her unruly hair, but a shot of anticipation had her saying, “Seven would be perfect.”

  He backed away as she took the first few steps to her front door sideways so she could keep him in sight. He reached the shady sidewalk, raised a hand, then turned and jogged away. He moved like an athlete. Maybe he’d played football if he was a Georgia country boy.

  She didn’t have to wonder. She could ask him tonight. A blistering happiness swept through her, and she stayed planted until he disappeared. Sweat trickled down her neck in the hot sun. Once he’d disappeared, the spell he’d cast over her waned, and ordinary worries interjected.

  She’d just met him. His career choice was another strike against him. Not that the military wasn’t a noble calling, but only heartache would result in getting attached to someone who was up and leaving in a week.

  The logical arguments against a date buzzed like no-see-ums, but she waved them away. Nothing could dull Harper’s smile, even though no one could see.

  Chapter 3

  Present Day

  Milk-tinged morning breath and a light poke at her right cheek woke Harper. She opened her eyes and startled back into her pillow. Sophie was nose-to-nose, a blur of messy curls and one big blue eye.

  “I was worried you were under an evil witch’s spell like Sleeping Beauty,” she whispered.

  “If I was then you broke it,” Harper whispered back, forcing the laugh that bubbled up back down. The little girl was so serious, Harper didn’t want her to think she was making fun of her.

  “Do you want pancakes?”

  “Is your mom up?”

  “She’s in the kitchen.”

  “Go tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Sophie’s full weight fell on Harper in a hug before she skipped off. Harper sat up and rubbed her face, sticky where Sophie had touched her. She grabbed her toiletry bag and turned herself decently human in the kids’ bathroom. By the time she emerged, the kids were back upstairs playing in their rooms, and Harper found Allison alone in the kitchen.

  “Morning,” Harper said tentatively. “Where’s Darren?”

  “Out for a run. If he’s not wandering the streets at night or napping, he’s running.” Allison laughed, but it was tinged with irony. “Our crazy was on full display last night, huh?” She held out a cup of black coffee.

  Harper took a sip to buy some time. At the very least, last night had torn back a veil of normalcy. “Crazy doesn’t faze me; you know that.”

  Allison huffed and leaned against the counter, her gaze on her coffee. “It might not faze you, but you know how it is around here.… I’m the one who’s supposed to deal with everyone else’s crazy.”

  “Allison.” The frustration Harper felt was akin to when Ben refused to ask for help before making a huge mess pouring his own milk. “You were my rock after Noah died and when Ben was born, and you’ve been the rock for countless wives on base during deployments and births and deaths. Let me—let us—help you now.”

  Allison swallowed, her chin wobbling. “Everything’s falling apart. It’s starting to affect the kids. Libby’s grades have slipped, and Ryan’s been getting in trouble at school. Sophie seems to be the only one who takes Darren’s moods in stride.”

  “Is Darren talking to someone? Are you?”

  “I’m talking to you, aren’t I?” Allison’s attempt at a laugh fell a yardstick short.

  The pressure to find the right thing to say stalled Harper’s tongue. No one could understand the stress and isolation of being a military wife unless she’d lived it. Finally, she said, “I’m glad you’re talking to me, and I want you to tell me everything, but I have to leave soon. What about the military wives’ support group you started?”

  “They’re a great group of women.” Allison jerked, spilling coffee. “Oh my God, I forgot we have a meeting this afternoon. I was going to get everything ready last night, but I conked out.”

  Her panic bled into Harper. “Are they coming here? What do we need to do?”

  “It’s at the community center, thank God, but what’ll I do for food? I usually bring a homemade cake and petit fours and several dips.” Allison yanked the pantry door open so hard it bounced into the wall and hit her back.

  Harper grabbed one of Allison’s hands and tugged her around. “We are going to hit up the commissary and buy whatever they have that we can open and plop some chips next to.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. We will buy paper napkins and plastic tablecloths and then you’re going to ask for their help.”

  “It’s more of a social group. Or a place to complain about moving—again. Finding schools and doctors and all that. You know the drill.”

  “You need support, and those women can help. No reason it can’t be more than social.”

  Harper held Allison’s gaze and gave her hand a squeeze. In a thin voice, Allison said, “What if they think I’m weak or something?”

  “I don’t think you’re weak. In fact, you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of calling a friend. I’ll be right there with you.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yep. Chowing down on some store-bought french onion dip and Ruffles.”

  Allison’s laughter was sharp and edged with dread, but Harper would take it.

  * * *

  The women didn�
��t seem to mind the picnic-like fare she and Allison had thrown together. The chatter and laughter of ten women filled the room in the base community center. Born of routine, after an hour of gossip and small talk the women shifted metal folding chairs into a circle, everyone quieting and looking toward Allison, their leader.

  Allison cleared her throat. “I managed to introduce Harper around, didn’t I?” Murmurs of welcome and smiles were directed toward Harper. “Does anyone have anything they want to discuss?”

  Harper gave Allison’s ankle a nudge, but another woman with bottle-blond hair launched into a diatribe about her son’s pediatrician that went on for a solid ten minutes broken only by nods and sympathetic muttering.

  The woman finally ran out of gas and the silence was filled by the squeak of women shifting in their seats. Harper caught Allison’s eye and nodded.

  “I don’t know if anyone’s noticed, but”—Allison’s voice cracked—“Darren’s not doing great since he made it home.”

  The women erupted in “oh nos” and “ah, honeys.” The circle of chairs scooted inward so the women could reach Allison to give a pat on her knee or squeeze her hand. Tears sprang to Harper’s eyes, the moment bringing back memories of the outpouring of support she’d gotten after Noah’s death. Among military wives, no matter what branch, when disaster struck one a “there but by the grace of God go I” feeling incited true compassion.

  After Allison’s battle with Darren’s demons poured out, a petite woman named Samantha sat forward on her seat. “I don’t think my husband has slept a full night since he got home two months ago. He won’t talk to me about it.”

  Walls crumbled right and left as one by one the women let go of the façade. Another woman, a plump, pretty redhead, said, “Things can be tough when they’re home, but I struggle when they’re deployed.”

  “We all miss our husbands,” said another woman curtly. “No one is saying we don’t.”

  “It’s not that.…” The redhead dropped her gaze to her lap, her hands reflecting her agitation in their constant movement. “I haven’t been able to find a job since we moved here. I get bored and depressed and sometimes wonder what I signed up for by marrying a military man. Our lives—my life—seems to revolve around his career, wondering when he’ll deploy or what our next big move might be. Sometimes I resent it. Is that terrible?”