Fallon sat in her bouncy chair, content to watch him with the screwdriver and giving a giggle whenever he cursed at the instructions. He’d have to learn to watch his language around her or she’d soon have the vocabulary of a sailor.
He actually said “sugar” when he stabbed himself with the screwdriver once again.
He’d thought about asking his mother for the family crib, but realized it belonged in the house where he grew up to be used by a whole new generation of visitors. Besides there was nothing wrong with starting his own tradition. The crib he’d picked out came in a light finish with matching dresser and changing table.
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it!” He shoved the screwdriver back into his tool belt, which he wasn’t wearing, and pushed the baby into the hall where Hannah could keep an eye on her.
He paid for the pizza, grabbed a bottle for the baby and a couple of beers and headed back up the stairs. “Break time. Hey, this looks nice,” he said, taking in the half white, half shocking-pink walls and the sherbet rainbow border.
“I’ll leave the windows open tonight. Maybe we’ll be able to move her things in after the weekend.” When she didn’t say anything about being in a hurry to move the baby out of her room, he smiled to himself. He’d left her and the baby alone enough this week, and he didn’t intend to leave them alone anymore.
They picnicked out in the hall on the hardwood floor. A breeze from the nursery carried whiffs of paint and pine. To Mike it smelled like a fresh start.
Hannah pushed to her feet. “I’m going to clean up the mess in the nursery and take this box to the trash.”
“I need a shower, then I’ll give this little lady her bath. Just point me in the right direction.”
“You can use the master bath,” Hannah offered. “There should be clean towels and the baby’s things are all in there. Are you sure you don’t want me to bathe her?”
“Nope. I’ve got it covered.”
They went their separate ways. Sometime later he emerged from the bathroom—soaked, shirtless and barefoot. But the baby was clean and dry. Cleaning up the bathroom afterward though had taken him quite a while so he was surprised that Hannah hadn’t been right there knocking on the door.
She wasn’t in her bedroom. Or his. The painting supplies in the nursery had been cleaned up. “Should we go find momma? And see if she wants to take her turn?”
“Buh-buh. Buh-buh,” Fallon answered.
“Da-da,” he started their favorite game again.
The living room was dark, except for what he thought was the TV. Until he discovered an 8-mm movie being projected onto a screen.
“I found the whole box in the trash,” she said, without looking up. But it was pretty obvious by her sniffles that she’d been crying.
He was going to kill Rosemary. What was the woman thinking? He picked up a couple of the empty metal containers and read the hand-printed labels. Hannah’s sixth birthday. Summer BBQs. Fourth-of-July picnic. Didn’t Rosemary realize Hannah and Samantha would cherish these memories of their father?
He watched the grainy image of a little girl blowing out six candles on a cake. It wasn’t hard to tell which of the buzz-cut military men in the background was her father. He was the guy doting on her.
The movie went white after a couple more frames. Then the film started flapping around in the projector.
“How many times have you watched this?” he asked, noting the reels were only about fifteen minutes long.
“Three.”
“That’s enough for tonight then.” He helped her to her feet and turned off the projector. “To bed.”
“But Sammy isn’t home yet.” She gave the feeble protest, even though she was already letting him lead the way upstairs.
“She’s over twenty-one and has her own key.”
While still holding Fallon, he showed Hannah to the bathroom where he had about one hundred candles burning, or at least it had seemed that way when he’d been lighting each one. The steamy bathroom and hot bath had been his stage for a seduction that wasn’t going to take place now.
She was still moving like a zombie and didn’t even close the door when she stripped. So he played the part of the gentleman, turning his back to make up the crib and lay their daughter down in it.
He brushed Fallon’s hair back. “Don’t sweat it, sweet pea. Daddy doesn’t make a move without a plan and a backup. This one has three phases. Co-parenting, co-habitation and co-dependency. We’re working up to commitment. SEALs and Seahawks have a symbiotic relationship—they need each other. But right now, Daddy has to see about a little damage control.”
He left Fallon in the crib. Downstairs, he locked up the house, leaving the porch light on for Samantha. Then he packed up the movies and projector. There were slides and photographs in the box, as well.
He poured Hannah a glass of white wine from a bottle in the refrigerator. Then he hauled the whole mess upstairs just as she was coming out of the bathroom in her robe. Her eyes were still puffy from crying.
“Where would you like me to put this?” he asked.
“The window seat is fine for now.” He set it down and brought her the glass of wine. She clutched at the tie ends of her robe. “The bath, the candles, the wine.” She took the glass from his hand. “I thought we agreed to keep our relationship on neutral ground.”
“Nothing less than total surrender, Han. But we’ll save it for later.”
HANNAH HAD STAYED UP late looking through old photos and had planned to sleep in the next morning. There was the rescheduled HCS-9 and ST-11 picnic that afternoon and she wanted to rest up for the tug-of-war, at least that was her excuse, but Sammy walked in carrying a breakfast tray. “Rise and shine!”
“You’re up awfully early after staying out so late,” Hannah said, sitting up in bed and eyeing her sister suspiciously. “What’s this?”
“Happy birthday.”
“You know I don’t like the fuss.”
“No fuss, it’s French toast,” she said, lifting the lid. “And I got you a present.” Sammy handed over the shoe box and Hannah opened the lid on a pair of white heels with a satin finish.
“They’re from my hope chest, four-hundred-dollar Manolo Blahniks,” Sammy said. “You can consider them something borrowed, or something old since I’ve had them forever and it looks like you’re going to be walking down the aisle first.”
“Sam—” Hannah started to protest.
But then Fallon began to fuss, and Sammy lifted her out of the crib. “Are you singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Mommy? I’ll get her diaper changed, then bring her bottle and cereal right up. Then maybe we could sort through some of those old photos Mac was telling me about.”
“Mornin’, birthday girl,” McCaffrey said, propping up the doorjamb with her morning cup of coffee in his hand.
To quote McCaffrey, today was a pretty damn good day. No bullets.
WHILE HANNAH TOOK Fallon out in the baby jogger, Mike picked up the phone and called Rosemary Stanton.
“Hello?”
“It’s Mike, do you have a minute?” He got straight to the point. “Hannah found some memorabilia of her father in the trash yesterday. She was very upset by it. I think you owe her an apology. At the very least an explanation.”
“You mean his collection of old comic books and baseball cards?”
“No, I mean the box of photographs.”
“I told Buddy to carry that box out to the moving van. And that he could have the box of Van’s old comic books and baseball cards if he wanted them or take them out to the trash. Oh, my,” she said, realizing what must have happened. “Was she very upset?”
“I think she’ll be relieved to hear you didn’t throw them away. I apologize for Buddy’s misunderstanding. You should also know those comic books and baseball cards you gave him are probably worth something. I’ll see that he returns them—”
“Nonsense. I know how much they’re worth, but I could no more bear to sell them than I could
to look at them. Let Buddy keep whatever enjoyment or money he gets from them.”
“Thank you. In the future though, if you find any more of your deceased husband’s belongings could you tell me first before giving or throwing them away? It might be something Hannah or Samantha or even Fallon would like to keep. And we’ll wait and see what they decide about the comic books and baseball cards before I take it up with Buddy.”
“Whatever you think is best,” she agreed.
“We’ll see you at dinner tonight. I thought I’d take Hannah and Fallon on a little outing today…” He filled Rosemary in on the rest of his plan.
CABRILLO MONUMENT PARK
Point Loma, California
“SIX DAYS. SIX NIGHTS. You owe me a kayaking trip,” McCaffrey bragged as he pulled his Jeep Cherokee out of the parking lot of the Old Point Loma Lighthouse on the way home from Cabrillo Monument Park and the HCS-9/ST-11 picnic.
Hannah still wore the mud that proved her Wings had lost the tug-of-war to his Warriors, so she’d insisted on sitting on a towel to protect the upholstery.
This was their first family “outing” and no one from either unit seemed surprised when they’d shown up together with the baby. No apologies. No excuses. McCaffrey had made it clear that her daughter was his.
Exhausted, Hannah relaxed against the seat for the ride home. The peninsula jutted into San Diego Bay. Known for its secluded coves and staggering cliffs, the spectacular view of the city and ocean alone were worth the trip.
“Is this the right road home?” she asked as they followed the signs to Fort Rosecrans Military Reservation. Hannah shifted uncomfortably in her seat. That was where her father was buried. She reached back to the car seat and brushed her daughter’s hair.
“We’ll get there soon. You want to get out and take a look around?”
“Not really.”
“I’d like to stop and pay respects to a couple of my men, if you don’t mind.”
How could she object? She knew ST-11 had suffered causalities just before she’d taken command of HCS-9. So she didn’t say anything. But she didn’t expect him to open up the back door and unstrap Fallon from her seat.
“You coming?” he asked.
The rows of dignified markers ended with fresh graves awaiting headstones. Compelled by something—she wasn’t exactly sure what—Hannah stepped out of the Jeep and followed McCaffrey.
He jostled Fallon to keep her contented and pointed out the numbered graves where his men were buried. “Chief Paul Zahn. His sister was a rescue swimmer attached to your squadron. I think Bell took her place. She took it pretty hard when she pulled his body out of the water, but I spoke to her a couple days ago and she’s doing okay. Calhoun was one of my lieutenants. He left behind a widowed bride. Hadn’t even been married a full year, and we were gone most of that time.”
“That’s so sad for his bride.”
“She’s doing okay, too. Life goes on.”
He pointed to an empty grave. “Normally, the military doesn’t skip over grave sites—the bodies are planted in numbered order. But this one was supposed to be for Nash’s wife. The family put up a fuss so she wasn’t buried here, but under normal circumstances military personnel can choose to be buried with their spouse. One on top of the other.”
Now that he’d pointed it out, she noticed a couple of headstones with two names. And a couple of other grave sites that had been skipped over.
“Those are for military couples,” he said. “A military couple can be buried together or side by side. I want that choice, Han, whether I’m that next one, or buried off somewhere in the distance. I want to spend eternity, and whatever time I have left on this earth, with you.” He stood there, holding their future, looking at her. “I don’t know how to say it any plainer than that.”
“Are you proposing to me in a cemetery?”
“I’m proposing,” he said, drawing her near, “that we take that walk over to your father’s grave.”
The first steps were the easiest because she hadn’t noticed McCaffrey had been dragging him with her all along. But with the last few steps came the painful memories of her father’s flag-draped coffin and a little girl hiding under a table with her baby sister.
“Happy birthday to me,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “They should have buried you on a different day. Oh, God, I’ve hated her for that…for packing. They put you in a box, and she put everything else in there right along with you. You’re not off the hook, either. I’m still mad at you for not coming home when you were supposed to. It’s been twenty-seven years and I still miss you, Daddy.”
McCaffrey pulled her to him. She sobbed into his chest, holding on to him and Fallon, until finally years of untapped memories returned. Sad, bittersweet, joyful memories.
Fallon started to wail. Hannah lifted her tear-stained face to give her daughter a radiant smile. “Come here,” she said with outstretched arms and McCaffrey transferred their daughter into them. “This is just where your grandpa stands watch over the base,” she said, taking in the panoramic view of the Naval Amphibious Base. “And down there, that’s where your daddy works. Promise me,” she said to McCaffrey, “she’ll always be a part of your life, and I promise you no matter what, I’ll never let her forget.”
“Make me the same promise,” he said against her lips.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I’LL GET IT,” Sammy said when the doorbell rang that evening. All four of them were in the kitchen where she’d been helping Mike prepare dinner.
Mike was much more comfortable sharing a house than he’d thought he would be. Of course, this was only day two, the novelty of living with two women and a baby hadn’t worn off yet. He had to make sure it never did.
He removed his apron. “Now would probably be a good time to warn you—” he leaned in to whisper in Hannah’s ear “—you have carrot on your cheek.” He licked it away. “Yum,” he said for his daughter’s benefit. “Just as good as a lactate rigger.”
“That’s warrior Gatorade for the uninitiated,” Hannah said to Fallon. Lactate riggers are Kool-Aid packets dumped into a bag of IV solution. “They taste yucky, carrots taste yummy.” Fallon giggled and Hannah continued the baby talk. “Sometimes when Daddy’s in the desert all he has left to drink are his medical supplies. Isn’t he a silly man?”
“Isn’t he a ‘resourceful’ man? is what you should be teaching her. Right, sweet pea?” he called on his daughter for backup. “Oh, as I was saying before I got distracted by licking you, I invited a few people over for your birthday dinner.”
“You what?” She paused with a spoonful of orange baby mash just out of Fallon’s reach. In her high chair, the baby stretched forward as far as she could. When that didn’t work she batted at the spoon. Mashed carrots went flying.
“Hannah, Mike,” Captain Loring greeted them from the doorway, then set a present down on the table.
“Hannah, you’re supposed to feed the baby those carrots, not wear them,” Rosemary said. “Is that her first solid food? How could you let me miss it?”
MCCAFFREY THOUGHT he was being clever, inviting the captain to dinner. So he could what? Give her the sugarcoated version of how her father had died—that would be about as palatable as a lactate rigger.
The doorbell rang again. “I’ll get it.” Hannah excused herself while her mother took over feeding the baby. She’d been expecting her mother, and not all that surprised to see the captain with her, but when she opened the door to find Webb, Boomer, his foot still in a cast, and Spence standing there, she launched herself into her co-pilot’s arms and kissed him full on the lips. His face was still swollen, and he still had stitches, but to her he looked better than good. “When did they release you from the hospital?”
“I got back Friday.”
“Why weren’t you at the picnic?” She looked to Webb and Boomer, who had been there and hadn’t said anything, before ushering them all inside. Coming up the walk behind them was Russell Parish, his ar
m still in a sling, and his crew, Hunter, Kia Makani and Quinn—all carrying presents. “Come in, everybody,” she said, but before she could even close the door, the Bells—the admiral, Lu and Libby—along with Mike’s XO and the rest of his squad arrived.
When she finally shut the door it was to find her mother holding a cake with seven candles on it. McCaffrey was setting up the projector and screen she’d discovered in the trash the other night. It took a full minute for her to realize that everyone carried gifts and wore retro clothes.
This was some sort of reenactment of the birthday she’d missed. Her eyes locked on Mike and she mouthed the words thank you.
“HANNAH, I’M SO SORRY,” her mother said later as they were clearing dishes. “Michael told me how upset you were when you found those pictures in the trash.”
“Mike explained everything to me, Mother. It’s all right. Buddy didn’t know better. He thought he was doing just as he was told, I’m sure.”
“That’s not why I’m apologizing, Hannah. I let my pain rob you of so many things. I couldn’t even look at those old photographs, but I should have realized you girls needed to. Sammy was just so little. And you…you were always so strong. Back then it was all I could do to keep myself and my family together. I was young, money was tight…. The apartments kept getting smaller—”
“I know, Mom.” Hannah pulled her mother close.
“Oh, look at me, I’m a mess. I need a tissue. In my purse.” She waved Hannah toward her handbag, hanging on a kitchen chair while she composed herself.
“I always thought I’d inherited my strength from him. But I can see I inherited a little from both of you. You did good, Mom,” she said, wanting to reassure her mother. “I’m healthy, and I’m happy. And only a little messed up in the man department.” But McCaffrey was working on that.
She decided to change the subject. “So are you and the captain…” She raised an eyebrow.
The Seal’s Baby Page 19
