by Jan Moran
She tapped her glass to get everyone’s attention. “Now, let’s turn on the lights and start the firepit.”
When Marina flipped the switch for the lights, everyone cheered. The fairy lights created the perfect ambiance. With the ocean waves crashing in the background and the new palm and ficus trees swaying gently in the breeze, the new deck was as lovely as she’d envisioned. All she had to do was to fill it with people.
“Now, I have a surprise for everyone. Gather around the firepit and get it started. I’ll be right back.” Marina hurried inside for the ingredients to make s’mores. She’d baked ginger snaps and bought flavored chocolate squares from a local chocolate shop. And the biggest bags of marshmallows she could find.
While Marina was in the kitchen, her phone rang, and she answered it.
“Hi, Marina, this is Denise again. Your beach picnic basket was delicious, so we wonder if you might have next weekend open for one of your dinners? Jack said you have a new deck with plenty of room on the beach. It sounds like such fun.”
“I think the schedule is open,” Marina said calmly, while silently wiggling a hand with excitement. “Shall I email you some menus so you can decide what you want?”
“Perfect. We’re planning for eight people, but I’ll confirm the number of guests for you.”
Marina made sure she’d hung up before letting out a cry. “Whoop, whoop!” She was on her way, and it felt so good. Even after the disastrous debut at the inn, her food had proven its worth. Next weekend. One week to get ready. Could she pull it off?
Actually, she had little choice.
Chapter 22
Jack was working at his desk when Scout scratched his leg and whined to go outside.
“Again? You just went out. Bored, I’ll bet.” He ruffled the fur on Scout’s neck. “Later, boy.”
Jack had been working on the proposal for a book that his agent had asked for, even though Ginger didn’t want to participate. Yet, he had to produce something. He was still turning over titles in his mind, though he liked The Ace of Codes. Or maybe, Ginger Delavie: A Life Deciphered.
That is, if he ever could decode Ginger’s life. There was still so much missing information. He had researched her husband Bertrand’s diplomatic service and the countries where he’d worked. He’d read about Ginger’s friendship with Julia Child, who had worked for the O.S.S. during World War II—the precursor to the C.I.A. But what he couldn’t make out was how Ginger had made the leap from diplomat’s wife to brilliant code-breaker.
And Ginger wasn’t cooperating with him. She simply didn’t want to talk about it. Plenty of more interesting people, she’d said.
What did that mean? Was she still working?
Ginger was an enigma. And never more so than in the phone message she’d left for him. Enough of that stuffy old book you want to write. I have another grand idea, my dear. Do hear me out. I’ll be on the ridge in the morning.
Jack couldn’t imagine what Ginger had in mind. But he would meet her and listen.
He stood and stretched, and Scout did the same. Ginger had told him that she and her husband once used this cottage as an office. He could just imagine Bertrand Delavie at one desk—maybe even the one he sat at—penning his books, while Ginger sat at another desk, poring over ciphers. In the smaller bedroom closet was a sturdy, standing safe with a date painted on it: 1940. How long had it been since it had been opened? He imagined that was where Bertrand and Ginger might have kept confidential papers.
What was in there?
Ginger was a fascinating subject, but then, so was her granddaughter. Watching Marina transform her life and conjure a new career was inspiring. As he teetered on the edge of a life transformation, he needed all the inspiration he could find.
What he felt for Marina was beyond what he’d ever experienced before. And yet, he couldn’t waver in his commitment to Leo. Vanessa’s health wasn’t improving.
Every time Jack saw Leo, he longed to take the boy in his arms and tell him the truth. But Vanessa wasn’t ready. He had to respect her wishes.
As Jack stretched, he spied a high window above a ledge. A few old books stood on the shelf. If he could open the window, that would help to ventilate the small room. On a whim, he climbed on top of the desk. Reaching toward the window, he spied a binder in a far corner. He slid open the window, then reached for the old book.
Just then, through the window he saw Marina walking toward his door. She’d seen him. He scrambled off the desk and opened the door.
“Hi,” she said brightly. “I’ve made some test dishes and thought you might like to join me for lunch on the deck.”
“What a treat, thanks.” He smiled. Spending time with her was always a treat.
“What are you doing with that?” Marina asked, pointing at the dusty binder he held in his hands. It had a brass, zippered closure.
“I just found it on that ledge up there.”
“If it’s Ginger’s, I’d like to see it.”
“Come on in.” Jack opened the door, and Marina walked inside. After brushing a thick coat of dust from the cover, he unfastened the temperamental zipper. The binder was a relic from another time. As he opened the cover, a black-and-white photograph stared up at him.
Marina reached across him, her arm brushing his as she traced her finger along the edge of the photo. “This is one of Ginger’s old photo albums, but I’ve never seen it. Look how young my grandparents are. And the styles. Skinny ties, beehive hairdos. Judging from that, this was taken sometime in the 1960s.” She turned the page and ran her finger under each photo where someone had made notes. “Paris, April 1961. Boston, May 1962. Look, there she is with Julia Child in the kitchen.”
Marina turned another page. Early color photographs had faded to muted shades of red, green, and yellow. “Some of these are from holidays, and I recognize others taken with dignitaries.”
“Your grandmother was a pioneer in her field,” Jack ventured, recalling the research he’d uncovered. It was a risk, but maybe Marina could help him. He needed to be as prepared as possible for his meeting with Ginger in the morning.
Marina grinned. “You mean as a small-town math teacher, statistician, or a Cold War cryptologist? She’s a chameleon.”
At least Marina wasn’t upset with him this time. “Your grandmother might have called herself a statistician, but when I was writing a story on another person, I found evidence that indicates she did far more than that.” Since he’d come to know Ginger, he’d found her to be self-effacing. “Ginger seems naturally curious about everything around her, but I haven’t heard her talk much about herself or her accomplishments.”
“No, she never has.” Marina tapped a photo. “Look at that hulking computer behind her. They took up entire rooms and floors back then. Kai and I found some old photos online of Ginger with a prominent woman in the field.”
Jack eased into the conversation he wanted to have with her. “In the course of my research for that article,” he began, “I discovered that Ginger was a brilliant mathematician and cryptologist. She was one of the most valued code-breakers of the Cold War era. Ginger was also responsible for creating methods of encoding confidential transmissions from diplomats around the world.”
Marina was quiet. “And you know this how?”
“Not much has been written about Ginger specifically, but I’ve found her mentioned in other articles. It seems she was the force behind many men who took credit for her work. Or perhaps she preferred to remain low-key. Has she told you anything about this?”
Running a hand across her brow, Marina shook her head. “I know what she said the other day, but Cold War codes? Sounds like something out of a movie, and I still find that hard to believe. But then…I don’t.” She stood up. “I want to show you something in the main cottage. And I want to look at this album with Ginger.” She picked up the album and opened the door.
“Stay,” Jack said to Scout, then hastily shut the door and followed Marina, who’d already sta
rted toward the house. He jogged to catch up.
Marina led him into her bedroom, which held an antique armoire and a fluffy white duvet thrown over the bed. It also smelled deliciously feminine of powders and lotions and other soft scents that he’d detected on Marina. He tried to stay focused.
“Look up there.” Near the top of the ceiling was a wallpaper border that ran around the room.
“The border?”
“It was a plain border that Ginger painted by hand. She challenged us to figure it out.”
“It just looks like designs.” Squiggles and curls and shapes in shades of ocean blue, aquamarine, and seafoam green formed a fanciful border.
“Look closer,” Marina said. “See the spaces between some characters—and they are characters. That’s a cipher.”
“You mean a code?”
“No, that is different,” Marina said, turning back to him, her eyes lit with intelligence. “I know this is a little academic, but think of a cipher as Morse Code, which is misnamed. It’s actually a cipher because it operates with symbols, or syntax. The dots and dashes stand for letters and can be transmitted by sound, light, or simply writing. A code affects the word itself, whereas a cipher transposes each individual letter.”
“Wait, I don’t understand.” Jack pushed a hand through his hair, confused not by what Marina said, but by Ginger’s intent behind it all. “Your grandmother taught you this but never told you she was a cryptologist?”
“Merely semantics, I suppose.” Marina gazed up at the border and smiled. “She taught my sisters and me codes and ciphers when we were young. As games. The same way she taught us mathematics and foreign languages, although Kai is better than I am at languages.”
Jack processed these details. “What she introduced was mental flexibility, an understanding that the same concept could be presented in different ways. Through language, code, or mathematical expression.”
“That’s right, though she went even farther, using sound and light, as with Morse Code.”
Jack followed her gaze. “I suppose you can read that?”
“It’s a phrase she used to tell us how much she loves us.” Marina pointed to the symbols above. “As deep as the seas, as wide as the sky, forever through time, my love for you.” Marina quirked her lips. “Although we didn’t figure that out for a long time. I remember one day I was sick and confined to bed. As I stared at the ceiling, it began to make sense. I figured it out on a piece of paper. And do you know what? I felt better right away. That’s the power of love—and being loved. Of course, she was delighted that I figured it out. She loves games.”
Jack nodded slowly. “Are there other examples around the house?”
“I’ve seen some on pottery and needlepoint pillows she made years ago. That was a little game between her and Grandpa, I gathered. Kind of sweet when you think about it.”
“What exactly did they say?”
“They had private ways of telling each other of their love without others knowing,” Marina said. “Symbols and signs, sort of like that comedian Carol Burnett, who used to tug on her ear at the end of her television show to tell her grandmother that she loved her. That probably came in handy during boring diplomatic parties. If you ever saw them together, you’d have no doubt of their mutual love and admiration.”
They spoke a little more, and then Marina suggested they eat on the deck. She served a spinach salad with strawberries and feta cheese, topped with a creamy lemon balsamic dressing she had made, along with baked parmesan crisps. But to Jack, the best part of the meal was simply being with Marina.
He could sure get used to that.
At one point, Marina asked how Leo was doing, and Jack told her that he was taking him fishing in a couple of days.
“You’re going to be a great father,” she said, her voice full of certainty.
Jack appreciated her confidence in him, but he’d spent many sleepless nights thinking about Leo and their future. He’d never experienced that twisty feeling in his gut that left him wondering if he were doing this parenthood gig right. Except that right now, he had only friend-status in Leo’s eyes.
“I’m trying,” he said. “I worry about what Leo will do when we tell him about me. As a kid, I probably would’ve thrown a fit, jumped on my bike, and ridden until I collapsed. I have no idea how Leo will take this news.”
Marina gripped his hands, and her empathy was reassuring. “I know you’ll do just fine.”
Although their conversation centered on Marina’s plans and Ginger’s accomplishments, Jack, unsure of how Marina would react, didn’t tell her than he was pitching a book based on her grandmother.
There would be time for that later, he assumed, if his final proposal was accepted. And if it weren’t, he’d have to find another topic to write about anyway.
They were cleaning up when Scout bounded onto the deck.
“Hey, you,” Marina said. Scout placed a paw in her lap and turned his face up to her with a playful expression.
“I forgot to lock the door.” Jack shook his head. “Guess Scout’s ready for another walk. If I left it up to him, we’d spend the entire day on the beach.” He leaned toward her and touched her hand. “But I want to help you with the dishes.”
She laughed and patted his arm. “Go on. I’ve got this. But I’ll take a raincheck on that offer.”
Jack left with Scout, regretting that he couldn’t stay longer with Marina. He consoled himself with the thought that he had the rest of the summer to get to know her better. Although, given the challenges before him, he might be deluding himself with that thought.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Jack headed to the beach house that Vanessa and Denise and John were renting. Vanessa had called him after his lunch with Marina.
It’s an emergency, Vanessa told him. She asked that he come prepared to talk to Leo.
Jack knew what that meant.
Mentally preparing himself, he stood on the porch and knocked on the door.
“It’s open,” Vanessa answered.
Jack walked in to find Vanessa sitting outside on a chaise lounge overlooking a flower garden. A fountain bubbled to one side, and jasmine and roses perfumed the air. Her eyes were rimmed with redness as if she’d been crying. She clutched a crocheted poncho around her.
Vanessa pointed toward the loft. “Leo is up there.”
“What happened?” Jack asked, kneeling beside her and taking her hand.
“He overheard Denise and John talking in their bedroom. I don’t blame them because their bedroom is just below the loft, and somehow the sound carried up there. These old houses at the beach aren’t that well insulated, and with all the windows open…” She stopped, looking weary.
“It’s time he knew anyway,” Jack said, easing into a chair next to her. “He looks a lot like me.”
“I’ve heard the comments, too,” Vanessa said softly. “Are you ready?”
Jack’s insides churned with anxiety, though he tried not to let it show. Would Leo be upset, angry, or pleased? He didn’t know that much about ten-year-old boys, and it had been a long time since he’d been that age. Nor did he know what it was like to have a mother who was gravely ill.
“I’m ready,” Jack replied. “I think it might be helpful if Leo had someone else he could talk to about all this. A professional.”
“That’s a good idea. We had a child psychologist in L.A. that he visited a few times when I got sick.” She lifted a hand and let it fall. “Would you ask him to come down here?”
“Sure.” Jack left her and climbed the stairs to the loft, where Leo was racing miniature cars on a track he’d created on the floor. Jack had done the same thing at his age. “Hey, Leo. How’s it going?”
“Okay,” he said, not looking up.
“Your mom wants to talk to you. Can you come downstairs?”
Leo sat back on his heels. “I know what she wants to talk to me about.”
“You do, huh?”
Leo
nodded, looking miserable. He picked up a little car, opening and closing its doors. “I heard Samantha’s parents talking. I didn’t mean to listen in on them.” He rocked back and forth a little. “I asked mom about it.”
“Well, she wants to talk to you about that.” Jack swallowed hard. It was time to man up for this little boy. “And so do I.”
Leo looked up at Jack with pure, bright eyes. His lips quivered as he spoke. “Samantha’s parents know who my dad is. They said that my mom should tell me now and not wait.”
Jack knelt beside Leo and picked up a little car. Spinning its wheels, he asked, “Do you have any idea who your dad might be?”
Fighting tears, Leo shook his head. “I’m afraid,” he whispered.
“What are you afraid of, bud?” Jack’s heart went out to this little boy, who was already dealing with so much in his young life.
Leo dropped the car and wrapped his arms around Jack. His tears came fast, wetting Jack’s neck as his little body shook with fear and grief. Jack put his arms around the child and rubbed his back. “That’s okay. Just let it out.”
Sobbing, Leo blurted out, “I’m afraid…that whoever it is…won’t be nice to me. That they won’t be anything like you.”
Jack’s eyes misted, and he nuzzled his head against Leo’s. “What if I could be your dad?”
Leo hesitated, then nodded and cried even harder.
“Hey, hey,” Jack said, rocking the boy. “It’s going to be okay.”
“But you’re not, you can’t be,” Leo said through muffled cries.
Jack wrapped his arms around Leo tightly, just as his father had done when he was a boy. “I’ve got a surprise for you that I think you’ll like. I know I do.”
Sniffing, Leo pulled back and looked up at Jack.
“I’m going to be your dad from now on. There’s no one else, Leo. I am your dad.”
Clutching Jack, Leo broke down with tears of joy, and Jack hugged his son to his chest, his heart so full of love for this young boy—a love fuller and more complete than he had ever imagined it could be.
