Susan Wiggs

by The Story of Us (v5)

  He held me and kissed me, and then spoke the word that would make all the difference in the years to come.

  Deployment.

  It’s not in most people’s vocabulary and if it is, it’s an abstract concept. But to a Navy wife, the word is chillingly real. It means she is being left by her husband. Instead of being a married woman, she’ll exist in some strange limbo, married but alone. As a Navy wife, I knew I’d take pride in the crisp uniforms, the ceremonies, the powerful sense of duty that drove my husband. I also knew there would be times of loneliness and uncertainty, and perhaps a heady sense of being completely on my own.

  Gossip was rampant around the base, as it always is before a big deployment. So much secrecy surrounded the mission of Steve’s battle group that I imagined the worst—that his duties would put him in harm’s way. What I eventually came to understand was that in carrier aviation, personnel were always in harm’s way. The very nature of the work was perilous.

  Whenever I confessed those worries, Steve would tell me how rigorously the Navy trains its personnel in every operation, for every eventuality.

  “Promise me something,” he said the night before he left. “Promise you’ll still be here when I get back.”

  I thought he was joking, so I laughed. “Where else would I be?”

  “I mean it, Gracie.”

  I caught a note in his voice I’d never heard before. Some of the more experienced Navy wives I’d met had told me that predeployment was a tense time in a marriage. Tempers wore thin, stressed by the upheaval of preparation and unspoken fears about separation. Perhaps that was why he seemed so intense, I thought.

  “Of course I’ll be here,” I said. “It’s what we signed up for, and we’ll get through it.” I hugged him, pressing my cheek to his chest. Ah, it was such luxury to love this man, to feel his body close to mine. I would miss him every moment. “I swear I’ll be here waiting for you, Steve.”

  And with that, the moment passed. I never thought of it again.

  As Steve packed his gear and laid out his crisply pressed dress uniform for the next morning’s farewell ceremonies, I felt such love and pride that my chest ached. It was terrible and strange and exhilarating all at once. I knew I was watching the person I loved going for his dream.

  Chapter Fifteen

  On the day Steve left for a six-month deployment, the docks were crowded with couples and families saying goodbye. Yes, I felt it, the sense of pride and purpose. How could I not, surrounded by such splendid ceremony? Still new to this military life, I think I was a little stunned. The reality was closing in fast. At the end of the day, the families of these men and women would be faced with long separations—and this was only the first of many to come.

  I watched Steve’s face, tried to figure out the right way to say goodbye. I had already decided he’d hear no complaints from me. In order to come home safely to me, Steve needed to feel confident that things on the home front would be all right. I never wanted him to feel distracted or worried about me.

  And, of course, I had no idea how very much he would worry about his wife at home. But even that did not interfere with his goal. He was off to follow his dream and do his duty, and my duty was to support that. I was fearful and excited for him. For me as well. What sort of person would I be on my own? Although I would miss my husband, I was interested to find out. I’d gone from my parents’ house to the sorority house to this marriage, and I’d never been completely on my own. This was going to be my time.

  Behind him the crowd rolled out, filling the entire area. I saw school-age children clinging and crying, and pregnant women trembling with the knowledge that their husbands wouldn’t be by their sides when they gave birth. Some women seemed to face this farewell with a curious sort of relief. Once he was gone, they’d be in charge again.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked.

  I flushed, realizing my attention had strayed even though I still clung to his hand. “Just…everything. This is all so new to me, and seeing everyone here, well, I suppose we’re seeing our future, aren’t we?” I gestured at the pregnant wives, the kids of all ages, older people saying goodbye to their sons or daughters. “It’s what we’ll become one day, don’t you think?”

  For some reason, that made him nervous. “Is this a problem?”

  I smiled and touched his cheek. Sometimes the terrible childhood he’d endured still haunted him. He hadn’t learned to trust in love for the long term. “It looks exactly right to me. It’s a life that I want, Steve. I can tell it won’t be easy, but it feels right. So that’s what I was looking at.”

  He picked me all the way up off the ground and into his arms, kissing me with intense, abiding passion. Then he set me down and we held each other, and I felt his hands moving over me as though committing me to memory. I wondered how long the imprint of his kiss would last.

  There were whispers that grew increasingly urgent as time ran out: I love you, I’ll miss you, please write to me…but we’d said everything important already, and in the end there was only silence between us, lips pressed together one last time, tears held in with iron-willed control.

  This was to become the rhythm of our years. Steve leaving, me saying goodbye, both of us turning away to hide our anguish from each other.

  In all the times I’ve said goodbye since that first deployment, there are two words I’ve never spoken aloud, not when I was pregnant with twins, saddled with three toddlers or facing a cross-country move by myself. Sometimes, I admit, I had the thought but I held my silence. Despite the fact that the wish was ringing in my head, I never said, “Don’t go.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  When my husband went to sea, there was an almost complete lack of communication. In the early days of our marriage, email, satellite phones and conference calls were unheard of except for communication at the very highest level of command. My only hope of talking to Steve was via ham radio, when we happened upon a friendly, anonymous operator somewhere who was willing to hook us up. There were calls on the few occasions he made port.

  That our marriage survived the stress, excitement and uncertainty of long separations is sometimes a wonder to me. One of the key elements of our survival was something I was never aware of as a civilian—the support system of spouses and families, which is the Navy’s gift to us. During deployment, my life was transformed, not just by my husband’s absence and my new-found independence, but by a special society very few are aware of—the world of the Navy wife.

  When I married Steve, I was automatically inducted into a sisterhood far more intense and real than my college sorority. This was a revelation to me. We were women from all walks of life, balanced upon a single common denominator—the United States Navy.

  I was gratified by the swiftness with which my sisters embraced me. There were welcome coffees and farewell teas, sightseeing and shopping expeditions, baby showers and family socials. We learned to make friends quickly, knowing our time together was limited. These women were my guides through the intricacies of Navy life. I felt as though I had moved not just to another country but to a new plane of existence.

  I quickly made friends with Alicia Romano of San Diego, who was six months pregnant and who was a master of fantastically detailed counted cross-stitch. Her father had been in the Navy, and she taught me the art of shopping on base at the Navy Exchange and the commissary, dealing with gas coupons, red tape and banking. The wife of Steve’s commanding officer was a dynamo named Rachel Weeks, who had four children, and, though barely forty, had appointed herself mother hen of the squadron wives. At Captain Weeks’s Change of Command ceremony, I watched her fasten the Command Pin on her husband, and I finally understood the role the wives—and very occasionally, the husbands—played.

  It’s her job—her duty—to be willing to send him off in the service of his country, even if that meant sending him into harm’s way.

  We junior officer’s wives were a needy lot, many of us away from home for the first time. I
don’t think I could have survived that first deployment without the company of these women, each of whom knew exactly what I was going through.

  As is true for any group of women, we were a diverse bunch. Along with the Alicias and Rachels, there were gossips and back stabbers, women who drank too much and women whose husbands fooled around. Affairs were strictly forbidden—and predictably rampant. Saddest of all were the wives for whom their husbands’ absences were too lonely to bear.

  As for me, I was determined to do more than wait. I wanted to live a rich, full life.

  That’s what I learned from my fellow Navy wives. The ones who suffered and sometimes failed during deployment were those who allowed themselves to be defined entirely by their husbands. They could not imagine any sort of life beyond their role as a wife.

  That, I quickly discovered, is the kiss of death when it comes to marriage. Any marriage, even a civilian one.

  The women who thrived even while their husbands were gone were those who did what my instincts have always urged me to do. They cultivate lives that fulfill them even when their husbands are far away, assuming their husbands tolerate this. I’m sorry to say that some men don’t. They expect their wives to do nothing but wait and hope and worry about them.

  I’m proud to say that Steve always encouraged me to be an independent wife. If he felt threatened by a woman with a mind of her own, he never let it show. Over the years, when he was away for months at a time, I learned foreign languages, taught myself to cook, learned to serve coffee to a crowd of fifty women. Despite the dire predictions of my parents, I finished my degree. I stayed active in the Officers’ Spouse’s Clubs worldwide, a path which has had a significant impact on me. In short, I made a life for myself, one that works whether or not my husband is by my side.

  Sometimes, I admit, there were things I found very appealing about deployment. I was in charge. It was up to me to determine how that day would go, and that sense of control has always felt natural and right. Each time Steve returned, I welcomed him with open arms. But sometimes I struggled to surrender control to him, biting my tongue when he organized the bathroom his way, rehung pictures on the wall, made dates and appointments without checking with me. As a 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, I’m facing changes that, for the first time ever, are starting to scare me. My two older children are leaving the nest. In a few years, Katie will be gone, too. I have to figure out what my life will be when I’m not the mom, the CEO of a busy household. What am I then?

  I think about that adventurous girl I was when I first married. I am not her anymore, but I still want adventure. Not by following my husband around the globe. I’m grateful for that part of my life, but now it’s my turn.

  There’s a dream that I’ve had for a long time, one I never let myself take seriously or pursue because it would mean settling down and staying put. Trying to go for that dream while Steve went for his was a recipe for frustration, since there was only room in our lives for one big career. Still, it must be a powerful dream, because in twenty years, it’s never died.

  Something has happened, a slow and inevitable need has built inside me. I suppose I could keep ignoring it, but why? It’s my turn to take my own shot.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I just turned forty. The flower delivery that should have been from Steve turned out to be from someone quite different, someone I’ve never met but who has become important to me. He’s a client, the first and most important client of my newly incorporated firm, Grace Under Pressure.

  I’ve never been the sort of wife who puts life on hold while her husband is away. It’s certainly true of this deployment. I’ve made some changes: buying a house Steve has never set foot in, joining a gym, changing my image and starting a small business. I’ve found a new sense of purpose and, in a lot of ways, reinvented myself.


  Here’s a paradox. The very thing that helped us survive and thrive during this adventure as a Navy family is in fact the thing that might just be our undoing. However much I anguished and missed my husband, I was also cultivating my independence in his absence.

  Such a trade-off. The sworn duties that prevented Steve from being present at all the children’s milestones, big and small, also enabled us to live a life of rare privilege and adventure. It’s been an honor, not a burden, and together we’ve weathered storms and crises that would tear many families apart.

  After nearly twenty years as a Navy wife, I ought to be prepared for any sort of disaster to come our way. We’ve weathered the storms of separation, upheaval, both Gulf wars and changes that occur at the drop of a hat. Somehow it never occurred to me to prepare for a disaster in our marriage.

  I’ve gotten good at lying awake. I take inventory of the things I know, the things I can trust. And of the things I can’t trust.

  Steve Bennett brought so much into my life. Passion and adventure, the dizzy joy of homecomings and the wrenching pain of farewells, contentment and pride in our children, opportunities most people only ever dream about, perils that civilians never consider. But there are other things he brought, secrets and evasions, a past I knew nothing about.

  I always told myself that our differences were what made our bond of love so strong, but of course, as I’ve come to find out, I’ve been wrong before. When I look back at all we’ve done, all the places we’ve been the past two decades, I feel a profound fulfillment. Yet when I look ahead, the picture isn’t clear to me. It’s like I’ve come to a crossroads with no sign to point the way.

  Chapter Twenty