“I’m taking you for a cup of coffee,” he said. “Beach coffee, remember?”
“Yes,” she said, still wiping her eyes. She had forgotten. Plans were easily lost in tears.
She took a deep breath and tried to look a little less forlorn, knowing there must be a Marine regulation against it.
There were a number of cars in the parking lot when they arrived at the restaurant—the late breakfast, early lunch crowd. When they got out, Kinlaw reached under the seat again and got out a thin, rectangular package that had been wrapped in brown shipping paper and tied with twine.
He carried it inside without explanation, and as soon as they had ordered their coffee, he handed it to her. “I don’t know what it is,” he said. “I’m guessing it’s a book.”
She took the package and turned it over. She could just barely make out a sentence written on it in pencil.
“Give this to Gracie,” she read out loud.
“I’ve been cleaning out Chuck’s trailer. He left that on the kitchen table.”
Grace held the package in her hands for a moment, then she took off the twine and carefully unwrapped it. It was indeed a book, a two-toned blue one with gilded stripes and lettering: Gift From The Sea.
It was written by Ann Morrow Lindburgh, and it was full of little slips of paper—places Chuck Dodge had bookmarked, she realized when she opened it. She thumbed through the pages, spot read, admired the pen and ink and watercolor illustrations of shells and water, driftwood and sea birds at the beginning of the chapters.
“For a kindred, beach-loving spirit, I think,” Kinlaw said. “Even if you won’t eat fish.”
Grace laughed softly. “It’s a wonderful book,” she said, thinking suddenly of the man’s lonely funeral.
“Don’t,” Kinlaw said. “He wouldn’t want you to be sad.”
“No,” she said after a moment. She looked at him. “You’ve been lucky in your friendships.”
“Damn straight,” he said. “Still am,” he added, looking into her eyes. “What did you do back there?”
Grace knew immediately what he was asking. He wanted to know why she’d wanted to see Angie.
“I broke my word,” she said simply. She told him about Josh’s request if something happened to him.
“Life’s too damn short,” he said. “People need to know they’re loved. Did you tell her he’s finally stable and they’re looking for him to wake up soon?”
“Yes,” Grace said, and she was still giddy from the news that the doctors were now “hopeful.” Sandra Kay had called early this morning to tell them.
More people were coming into the restaurant—her people. Lisa and Allison and Elizabeth, the walking wounded from Maxwell Hall, Joe-B, Muley—who was carrying a video camera, a roll of duct tape, and a big piece of poster paper attached to a yardstick. Spur-of-the-moment entertainment for one wounded marine.
A waitress was already showing the crowd to a corner where two tables had been pushed together. Muley taped the sign into an empty chair. There was a big head and shoulder stick figure drawn on it in magic marker, one that would have been anonymous but for the block lettering at the bottom: SERGEANT JOSHUA CAVEN.
Everyone reacted to the “guest,” laughed and took their places, with Muley earnestly recording the process.
“Come on, Mrs. J,” Joe-B called. “You and Sergeant Kinlaw sit over here.”
Grace and Kinlaw went to join the group, and Elizabeth decided she wanted Kinlaw to hold her as soon as she saw him. She grinned constantly, totally entertained by all the activity.
“Give Daddy a kiss right there so we can send it to him,” Allison said as Muley came close with the camcorder, and Elizabeth dutifully kissed the vicinity of the lens.
“Outstanding!” Muley said.
Encouraged by her success, Elizabeth decided to kiss Grace as well. She leaned sideways, still in Kinlaw’s arms, to plant a wet kiss on her forehead.
“Good idea, Elizabeth,” Kinlaw said. “Let’s kiss Gracie.” And he did so, causing the expected response from the crowd around the table, and all the while Muley kept recording.
“I love you, Grace,” he said, quietly and just for her, despite the cheers and whistles.
“I love you, too,” she answered.
He smiled suddenly and rested his forehead against hers. “Don’t worry. We’ll get used to it.”
The End
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Author Bio
Cheryl Reavis is a former public health nurse and an award-winning published author of short stories and book-length contemporary and historical fiction. Her literary short stories have appeared in a number of “little magazines” such as THE CRESCENT REVIEW, SANSKRIT, THE BAD APPLE, THE EMRYS JOURNAL, and the Greensboro Group’s statewide competition anthology, WRITER’S CHOICE. Her contemporary romance novel, A CRIME OF THE HEART, won the coveted Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award for Best Short Contemporary Romance the year it was published and reached millions of readers in GOOD HOUSEKEEPING magazine. She has won the RITA award four times, and she is a four-time finalist. PUBLISHERS WEEKLY described her contemporary novel, PROMISE ME A RAINBOW, as “ . . . an example of delicately crafted, eminently satisfying romantic fiction . . .”
The Marine (Semper Fi; Marine) Page 22