22
Commander Mark Bishop followed the duty officer into Rear Admiral Hardman’s office. “Thank you for fitting me in on such short notice, sir.”
“No problem, Bishop,” Hardman said, in the midst of filling a briefcase open on his desk. “You don’t say ‘urgent’ unless it’s warranted.” The admiral glanced at the map tube Mark carried but didn’t comment. Instead he said, “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“Thank you, sir, but premature. I’m dating Gina Gray and hoping for a yes to a marriage proposal.”
“You’d be a fortunate man.”
“Agreed, sir.”
“And she’d be a fortunate woman.” Hardman didn’t wait for a response. He finished loading his briefcase, locked it, and handed it off to his duty officer. “Set that by my suitcase for the flight. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Yes, sir.”
The admiral waited until the duty officer had closed the door. “You’ve interrupted the beginning of a month of R and R,” he mentioned. “Should I be sitting down for this?”
Bishop smiled at the half-humorous words. “We’ve got an issue, sir, the makings of a new discovery . . . and some inherent problems it presents.” He slid the photo from the tube, unrolled it across the desk. He’d penned notations alongside the objects’ locations and depths, adding as well the sub names Gina had given him.
Hardman’s eyes swept across the photo, then went back again to study the various objects for a few moments before looking up at Bishop. “Gina?” he asked. At Bishop’s nod, he said, “Come with me.”
Mark rolled up the photo and slid it back into the tube. The admiral led the way out of the office, bypassed the elevator, and took the stairs down three levels to the subbasement. Hardman used his palm print and punched in the security code, nodded to the armed security officers on duty, and then proceeded into the Tactical Command Center.
The room’s lights were dimmed to half strength. Theater seats stretched along the east wall for those watching events unfold. Large screens shared data feeds and tracking maps of the worlds’ oceans, coordinating with Kings Bay and the Pentagon on the facing walls. The three-location Tactical Command integrated all known information about subs at sea—the U.S. fleet along with those of allies and enemies—and coordinated plans with Strategic Command and the Battle Surface Groups. This was the place where everything related to operational matters for the American submarine fleet came together, and all tasking orders for the fleet anywhere in the world originated here. This also was where sea rescue headquartered should a sub get in trouble.
Captain John Strong, in command of the TCC, came to meet them. “Sir.” He had commanded the USS Ohio for three years, moved on to command a sub squadron, and now ran Tactical Command at Bangor. When it came to men with operational experience, Bishop felt like he was standing with two of the nation’s best officers.
“You know Commander Mark Bishop,” Hardman said. “I need to see everything we knew about the world’s oceans on November 2nd, 20:17 hours.”
Strong was a professional with too many years behind him to do more than lift an eyebrow. “Yes, sir.” He spun around. “Lieutenant Stacks. Please give me November 2nd, 20:17, on the boards.”
The three men watched the giant screens on the wall scroll back through the stored files and stop at the requested date and time. There were dozens of submarines mapped to areas with varying degrees of certainty. Four blue grids marked boomer patrol boxes for those on hard-alert that evening. A red square with a widening red-dashed circle marked a Russian Akula that with time could have moved from its last contact into a range of ocean waters. Green trails showed the tracks of two British subs being picked up on a seafloor hydrophone line south of Iceland. Several submarines were black-flagged—known to be at sea, away from their home port, but with no data on their present locations.
Rear Admiral Hardman looked over. “Let’s see it again, Bishop.”
Bishop laid out the photo on a nearby table, and the three men huddled around it, made silent comparisons. Gina was not only spot-on with the locations, every submarine unresolved on the board was represented on her photo, signifying both location and depth.
“I’d like to have more of these, sir,” Strong said while studying the image. “It would be a whole lot easier to do my job. That’s as beautiful an image as I have ever seen, even while it makes my heart land up in my throat.”
“Strong, hand off to your lieutenant. I need you for the next hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Strong moved away to do so, Hardman picked up a phone and told his duty officer to reschedule his flight. He then led the way to the adjoining conference room, turned on lights, and pulled out the first chair. “Bishop, your lady is having quite a year.”
“She moved to studying the sun to get away from working on sonar, only to tumble into this. It’s deep-ocean reflections off hulls after a powerful solar flare.”
Hardman half laughed. “You have to love the woman.” He tipped back in the chair and sighed. “All right, talk to me.”
Captain Strong joined them, and Bishop laid out the details in as orderly a fashion as he could. Gina had begged off being here for this conversation, and Mark felt the responsibility to handle this for her and do it well.
“What does she need?”
“She needs to be copied in on a lot of satellite data—in real time, if possible—during the weeks after a solar flare occurs. Computing power. A place to work. She thinks processing time can fall to an hour for a preliminary photo. It’s not going to be in real time, but it’s going to be pretty close and useful.”
Hardman and Strong looked at each other, smiled at the understatement.
“I suggest we give her an office here,” Strong said. “We’re going to want to see the photo as it develops, and, ideally, the data never leaves the TCC. We’re the sink for security purposes.”
“Makes sense,” Hardman agreed. “Find her space just off the floor, even if you have to credential her out of the Pentagon to make it happen.”
“Yes, sir,” Strong replied.
“For the satellite data, Bishop, see what existing hubs at NOAA and NASA can give us, pick up a mirror of the data with them through a research department at DARPA. What they don’t have, let’s figure out how to get without having the Navy’s fingerprints on the final destination. You’ve got the list to work from?”
“Yes, sir,” Bishop said, making notes for himself. “She’d like to see 32 satellites in total, but she doesn’t know about the military ones sniffing for nuclear- and chemical-weapons tests. She might find those instruments helpful as well since some of the data is recording over the oceans.”
“Approved. For computing power, it makes sense to hit the clusters if she can disperse the processing—so tap NSA, DARPA, DoD, and NASA. Once there are a few photos developed and there’s a sense of the capacity needed, we’ll dedicate or shift computing resources as necessary.”
Bishop said, “I’m proposing she put together the paper and video at her home in Chicago, sir, while we set up for her here. She’s been trying to move away from Navy work, and I need to give her the assurance she will have some distance from it eventually. I’m thinking six months into next year, once processing time has been optimized, she’s able to hand off this capability to others.”
“Agreed in principle. We want her next game-changing idea. We don’t need her spending time managing the concepts she’s already discovered. Talk to the Undersea Warfare Group and figure out what names make sense to consider for the technical talent. Strong needs to sign off on them, as they’ll be working here and reporting to him once the hand-off is made.”
“Will do, sir.”
“How soon on the paper?”
“The week before Christmas, hopefully. It depends on the next solar flare. The idea is to develop a second photo as proof this is repeatable, even if it takes several days to gather the data she needs and process it.”
“Agreed.” Hardman lightly tapped his fingers on the table. “The photo gives us actionable intelligence on how everyone is configuring their forces.” He looked at Strong. “Give me a print of our display for this same date and time. I’m taking both ours and Gina’s for a sit-down with the SecNav tonight. I have a feeling tomorrow morning I’ll be showing them to the president.”
Strong rose from his chair. “I’ll get it printed for you now, sir.”
Hardman turned back to Bishop. “Is Gina up for a meeting with the SecNav?”
“She’s going to push back hard on the idea if I ask it of her. I’d prefer not to ask.”
Hardman nodded. “The Nevada goes to sea in May?”
“Yes. I’d like to still be in command, sir,” Bishop added.
“You will be, Mark. I’m merely wondering who we slot to be her buffer when you’re gone. The Seawolf is going to be busy this year with both the Jimmy Carter and the Connecticut in dry dock. I doubt Jeff Gray will be ashore much beyond brief supply stops.”
“Daniel Field, sonarman with the Nebraska. She trusts him.”
Hardman made a note. “When the Nebraska is back in port, I’ll want a conversation with him. Tell me this, Bishop. Is there any way we can get her on the government payroll for more than an idea or two? If she gives us motion video of the oceans next”—Hardman shook his head even as he smiled—“she’s changing this job. Mine and a whole lot of others, and more than any other individual I know. You do realize, don’t you, that she’s got a gold override flag on her file? Meaning she can work on any research project, covering any topic, associated with any government funding grant, and it’s given automatic approval. Her hiring would even trigger additional research funds for the project. She’s got carte blanche—she just doesn’t use it.”
“She likes to drift, sir, rather than do any particular thing for very long. She’s worked on sonar and topology because it makes Jeff safer, on the sun because it’s an interesting data set. Beyond that it seems to be whatever comes along that’s interesting. She doesn’t like to be bored. She’s got some model rockets on a table at her Chicago home with exhaust forms I’ve never seen before. One day I’d be interested to see what she’s thinking about them.”
“For security’s sake, I’d like to see her on this base, with an office here, exploring any subject she wants. We can drop a secure connection to any university in the world if that’s what it takes to keep her in one place.”
“I’m beginning to think long term about something similar, sir. It’s useful to know there are those options.”
Hardman glanced at his watch. “I’m going to be in the air within the hour. Will you be around to take a call tonight if the SecNav wants a word?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hardman smiled. “Tell her thanks, Bishop. The Navy appreciates this.”
“She wanted to burn the photo,” Bishop mentioned, knowing that keeping Hardman in the loop on the details was one of the best assets he could give Gina.
Hardman blew out a long breath. “Scary thought, but I would have been tempted to think the same in her place.” Hardman got to his feet. “Keep me in the loop, Bishop. Anything you need with getting her set up and comfortable here, I’ll clear the way for you.”
“I appreciate that, sir.”
They had been back in Chicago for 10 days. Mark was staying at a hotel nearby and would often walk over to Gina’s home in the morning, spend most of the day with her. He had missed this part of being in a relationship: the lazy walks together holding hands, talking about nothing more important than what they should have for dinner or which movie to watch that evening. She had finished writing the paper, laying out the science behind the photo, and was planning to start work on the video later that afternoon. By unspoken agreement, they were both avoiding any topic related to marriage. They were simply spending time together. He loved walking with her, letting the conversation wander across topics.
Her phone chimed, and Mark paused while she slipped off her glove and pulled the phone from her pocket to look at the text message.
“Promising?” he asked.
“JPL,” she confirmed. “A solar flare happened six minutes ago.” She scrolled through the numbers. “Moderate strength, but it’s edging toward center quadrant, so this will be a glancing hit to the earth. It should be able to generate a photo, but the resolution of sub to class type will be soft.”
“A good step toward finding out where the limits are,” Mark said.
“First data is 60 hours away.”
He looked at his watch, calculating. “We can do a lot in the intervening hours. What catches your fancy? A museum, art gallery, shopping mall, bookstore?”
“Do you have to ask?”
“I don’t mind carrying your books, precious,” he replied with a smile.
“I like that word,” she whispered, glancing over at him. “You’ve used it a few times. Is that your favorite choice of endearment?”
“I never used it with Melinda,” he assured her, understanding what lay behind the question. “I simply look at you and that’s the word that comes to mind.” He took her hand. “Have one for me yet?”
She wordlessly shook her head.
“You can practice if you like, try out various ones.”
She looked at him with a shy smile. “Maybe.”
Over Gina’s shoulder, Mark watched the photo develop. He was looking at the future of submarine operations—being able to see where everyone was positioned. The data was six days old. He’d told Gina to focus not on the speed of developing this photo but simply the steps necessary to generate it, so he could watch the whole process. That had been fine in theory, observing what she did, but after his first contact with the multitasking involved, he’d settled for a general awareness of the process. His arm across her shoulders, he looked at the screen and hugged her. “Nice job, precious.”
“Thanks. Resolution will improve as it processes. But that’s the picture of the world for December 23rd, 14:10 hours.” The subs were becoming distinct forms. “When it finishes processing, I’ll be able to classify most of them by type and give exact locations and depths. The flare triggered more data than I expected.”
He nuzzled her hair. “You smell good.”
“Quit getting distracted.” But she smiled and nudged his chin with her head. “You’ll give this photo to the Navy as well?”
“I will.”
“This means we head to Bangor.”
“After New Year’s Day. I want a bit more time without gold crew able to find me. Can I watch the video this afternoon?” He’d been watching sections of it as she created the computer-generated illustrations, but she hadn’t shown him the opening yet. She’d done at least five recordings that he was aware of, probably snuck in a sixth after he left her last night. She was nervous, and he’d like to help get her past that.
“I’ll show it to you after dinner. I’m going to tweak a few things.”
“After dinner,” he agreed.
She turned in her chair to face him. “When we get to Bangor, when I turn my focus on getting the speed of processing the photo refined, I’m going to get lost in the work, Mark, and you’ll need to let me. I promised you my time, and I meant that. But I can feel the wall of work to be done, and I don’t want to disappoint you over the next few months with how completely absorbed I am in this job.”
He understood her concern, but he wasn’t worried. “I’ve watched you the last couple of weeks, watched your thoughts disappear into a problem you were trying to solve. I’ve got no illusions the job ahead of you is going to be easy or quick. To get that photo to process within an hour, you’re going to have to do some of the most brilliant work of your career. We’ll figure out the balance, Gina. That’s a promise. There will be time for us and for the work.” He tipped her face up to his and smiled. “You’re talking to a boomer captain. I understand the pressures of work. I also know how critical this project is.”
“Thank you, Mark.”
“For what?”
“Seeing me.”
He didn’t entirely understand what was driving her remark, but he understood the emotion in her voice. “I don’t feel like you’re choosing between work and me when you spend time solving a problem, Gina. It’s not a competition between work and a relationship. You’re doing what needs done. I approve, if you need to hear that put in words.”
“When Kevin . . .” She bit her lip and didn’t finish. He waited, but she didn’t say anything further.
“Gina, I think you give work your best effort when you’re dealing with a problem. When you’re with someone, you also try to give that person your best. Maybe you’ve not been as comfortable with people and relationships as you are with science, but it’s not for lack of getting your priorities right. I’m a smart guy—if I need an hour of your time on a busy day, I will tell you so. I won’t leave you guessing. We can fit a good relationship into the tempo of things. I’ll prove that to you over the next few months. Just watch and see.”
She finally nodded. He read in her face the doubt she felt, and wondered at the history she still didn’t talk about. At least this concern he was sure he could fix, showing her over the next few months how it was all going to work out. Their responsibilities were big in both their lives, but a relationship could still thrive in the midst of that.
By mid-February, Mark Bishop knew the routine of the Tactical Command Center as well as he did the functioning of his own gold crew on the Nevada. He could, at a glance, recognize when men were back in the room, back on duty, and when it was not their shift. This was one of those nights. The TCC was busy and on alert, though conversations remained low-key and the lighting subdued.
China was undertaking a major fleet exercise, and a significant number of its 62 subs were at sea. Japan had countered by deploying a number of its surface ships and most of its 20-strong submarine fleet to observe.
A solar flare of moderate intensity had erupted 70 hours ago, giving them a well-timed look at the world. Gina had the processing time down to under four hours now. For a test of a photo, this was as authentic as it would get in peacetime conditions.
Mark watched the photo develop. The stretch of waters from Taiwan to North Korea had always been a volatile part of the world, and China’s military exercise only made it more so. There was a great deal of activity in the East China Sea and the Sea of Japan. It was South Korea and its 14 subs that were the wild card in the deck. They had always made port calls in Japan, but four were now all the way south watching China’s military exercise. It was a recipe for trouble and risked an incident that could spiral into something much bigger.
Farther out in the Pacific, the number of subs dwindled to a handful. Given the overlay they could map from other information, two of those developing smudges in the photo concerned him.
Mark pointed at the screen, with Strong looking on. “These are going to resolve into the Alabama and the Maine.” He marked the two U.S. subs. “This we know is the Brits’ Triumph. But these two over here, at least one is likely to be the Chinese Kilo that put to sea last week, the one we lost track of. I’d recommend we get the boomers out of the way.”
“Agreed.” Strong wrote down the coordinates and passed the note to the lieutenant handling communications. “Send informational EAMs to the Alabama and the Maine, ‘Possible Kilo within a hundred miles of the following locations.’”
The officer nodded and turned to code the messages.
Strong, studying the photo, said, “I’m not sure how this kind of time- delayed photo will play out during a war setting, but for simply keeping two opposing forces apart, it’s ideal.”
“We can guarantee our boomers clear, safe seas,” Bishop agreed, deeply appreciating the security this photo gave them. “Our tabletop gaming of scenarios keeps pointing to the confirmation factor as the most valuable part of these photos. The TCC is plotting locations and movements of submarines worldwide, and now there’s a way to check the work and know if the assumptions on the board about sub type and place are accurate. Those we have lost track of are suddenly back on the board—the photo fills in the question marks. That certainty fades away as time elapses between solar flares, but it all shoots back to high confidence when another picture arrives. Coming every 10 to 14 days isn’t as ideal as every few days, but it’s a workable number.”
Strong nodded. “The smaller-footprint submarine operations—sonar, the addition of a cross-sonar ping, listening for silence—give our boats a good analysis of what’s around them, and they can see the near contacts of more immediate concern. It’s on the big picture where this solar flare photo matters.”
“I think so, sir. If a nation is preparing to go to war, if a threat is more than rhetoric, we’ll see indications of it in the deployments. Knowing one boat location is useful, but knowing every boat location—that’s deep-level intel.”
“A year from now we’ll have collected the pattern of deployments for every nation, be able to map routes they like to use, know patrol days at sea—basically read their playbook. It’s going to be a fun year, Bishop.”
Mark saw Gina, looking relaxed, coming their way with a bag of pretzels in her hand. She’d be around the TCC monitoring the photo processing, but her work was basically done once the photo began to appear.
“A nice job, Gina,” Captain Strong said.
“Thanks, Captain.”
She held out the pretzel bag to Mark and then Strong, offering to share.
“Want to slip away for some dinner?” Mark asked her.
“In another few hours maybe,” she replied, studying the developing photo. “I’m thinking the development time might be directly tied to the solar flare strength. The hotter the flare, the more reflections, the faster the photo processes. It seems like common sense, but I need to run the math to be sure. Should take me about an hour. It’s either the solar flare strength or it’s the orientation to earth. Maybe a coil that pops right toward us provides more reflections than a hot flare that’s at an angle to earth. It would be nice to predict how long this processing would need to run before we can get enough resolution to put a class-type name to a sub.”
“Go tug at the idea. I’ll be around.”
She nodded and disappeared toward her office on the north side of the TCC.
“She’s getting more comfortable here,” Strong noted.
“She is,” Bishop said, watching her enter the office and slide shut its glass door.
“Officially she’s here working on the integration of the new seabed topology maps. That introduction works most of the time, but occasionally someone will narrow his eyes, and you can tell he’s realized that her classified badge is several levels higher than topology maps would warrant. Sometimes they’ll ask ‘Cross-sonar?’—trying to confirm a hunch—but only a couple have asked her directly about the latest cross-sonar upgrades. The number in the know on this photo remains less than 20. It’s confined to the TCC’s chain of command. Gina still has some privacy.”
“That’s good to know.” Bishop felt his phone vibrate and glanced at the message. “Nevada gold final fit reps are in,” he said.
“Looking to be my strongest yet,” Bishop replied, pleased. Nevada blue would be touching the pier in six weeks. Three days later, Nevada gold would have “their boat” back. He understood the crews’ proprietary feelings about it, and he was ready to take over command. He glanced toward Gina’s office, could see her already focused on the computer screen. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, sir.”
“I’ll call if something changes,” Strong told him.
“Appreciate that.”
Bishop gave her two and a half hours, then returned to Gina’s office, saw she was still writing in a composition book. A bag of M&Ms lay open on the desk. He took a handful and settled into the extra chair. When he’d been setting up the space for her, he’d made sure there was an extra chair, bought her a couple of colorful paperweights, added a dozen fiction paperbacks to the shelves for when she needed to fill time while data crunched, and removed the clock so she wouldn’t keep thinking about how she was working late.
He couldn’t fix the fact she worked just off the TCC in a basement without windows, but he’d done what he could to brighten her office with photos and posters, fresh flowers on the desk, music of her choice. He’d tucked a small refrigerator into the corner and kept it filled with apples, oranges, cold drinks, and water bottles. Three large flat-screen monitors dominated the desk space.
The screen showed the emerging photo, and every smudge was now a tightly defined form. Getting the final level of resolution to tell a British sub from a Russian one would be another hour, he thought.
She finally stopped writing and looked over at him. He asked, “So what’s the verdict on a solar flare?”
She swiveled her chair toward his, stretched her arms to relieve the tension in her shoulders. “A loop shooting toward earth is much more important than the amount of energy being released. A small pop at us is better than a wallop that glances by.”
He nodded. “Sounds like common sense to me.”
“Still nice to know now it’s true. I’m going to lower the threshold for assuming a solar flare has useful data. We might actually be able to get a smudged version of a photo every seven days or so—not enough reflections to be able to identify one sub from another, but enough to say one is there.”
“That would still be very valuable and useable data.”
She nodded and found her shoes under the desk. “Are you ready for dinner? I’ll need to come back.”
“I’ll bring you back,” Mark said. “I’m thinking Chinese. I’d like some won tons. How about you?”
“Works for me.”
He was still trying to decide what would be best for Valentine’s Day. She hadn’t dropped any hints, and he wondered if she was even aware it was two days away. He was leaning toward a few dozen roses and a concert he had heard was good, but he might be misjudging that part. He wished Daniel was onshore so he could get a recommendation on the music. Valentine’s Day was up there on the same level as her birthday—days a guy needed to handle with care, and some elegance. He glanced at the ring on her right hand. He wasn’t going to propose again on Valentine’s Day, it was too soon, but he’d like that ring on her other hand.
Gina split open her fortune cookie as they walked out of the restaurant. Evenings were still cool enough to need a warm jacket when they walked at night, and she pushed the plastic wrapper into one of the jacket’s pockets. “Daniel gets back with the Nebraska next month.”
“I’m aware,” Mark replied, interested that she had brought it up.
“Tell me you’re going to be okay if we invite him over for steaks on the grill.”
“He’ll decline.”
“We should still ask.”
Mark nodded. “I’ve got nothing but goodwill toward Daniel. We’ll invite him to dinner, and when he thinks up an excuse, just mention you’re going to invite him again. A long patrol, coming back to find you’re dating me—it’s going to sting even as he adjusts to the reality. Give him a month or two, Gina. He’ll handle the news as graciously as he did your decision. Just for the record, I’m fine with him being around, whether I’m there or you’re on your own. I trust the man. I trust you.”
“That helps, Mark. He’s a friend.” She was quiet for a minute. “I want to show him the photo.”
“I already told Hardman we should bring Daniel in on what’s going on with the photo. If he’s willing to take on the role, I’d like him to be your buffer when Jeff and I are at sea.”
“That would be very helpful. Do you want me to mention it?”
“I’ll talk to him,” Mark said. “I’d suggest leaving it be for a while, let Daniel choose the time and place to re-engage. He will when he’s ready.”
“I’m hoping that’s the case. It was hard, this last year, trying to be fair to both of you.”
“I know.” He felt her look his way.
“I did make the right choice—just in case you’re wondering—to say no to him,” she said. “But it still hurts like crazy that I had to disappoint him.”
He reached over and lifted her hand, kissed the back of it. “Daniel will be fine. Just give him some time before you expect too much, Gina.”
Gina sat in Mark’s living room, idly thumbing through a magazine while the kittens tumbled over her feet. Dating Mark was so different from what she had expected. Given how certain he was that things were going to work out, how sure he was that she would eventually return his love, she had assumed he would continue to press his case. He hadn’t. His proposal was never far from her mind, but he didn’t mention it. They went out to dinners and to movies, took long walks, did the more ordinary things together—grocery shopping and errands and projects around his house. She spent her off-hours with him. He’d had her building bookshelves with him the prior weekend, the puppy and kittens scampering across the boards he’d cut to fit the space. He was showing her his life, inviting her into it, and she appreciated that more than she could put into words.
Most mornings he would pick her up at Jeff’s and drive her to work at Bangor, meet up with her for lunch or an early dinner. She had come to count on his hugs, the way he would smile when he first saw her. He said “I love you” often, and the nonverbal ways he showed her that truth meant as much as the words themselves. He reached for her hand whenever he could. And after an evening together, he would take her to Jeff’s, kiss her good-night on the front steps, not follow her inside. Mark was playing fair.
For Valentine’s Day he had brought her two dozen roses of all colors and arranged a limo so they could travel north into Canada and see the sights around Vancouver. They had talked for hours during the drive up and back, about nothing in particular, but it had been the best date she could remember.
Trying to return the favor, she’d taken the afternoon off and fixed Mark dinner at his house—pork chops with dressing and an apple pie—and since he’d demolished two chops, she concluded the meal had been a hit. Mark had pushed her out of the kitchen; he would do the cleanup since she’d fixed the excellent dinner.
She set aside the magazine and picked up the oversized sack she’d brought in. She knew Mark’s house well enough now that when she needed a pair of scissors to remove the tag from a new dog pillow for Pongo, she pulled open the first drawer of the side table in the living room.
She pulled out the pillow and placed it in the nook by the front door. Pongo had pulled one of Mark’s socks from the hamper upstairs and triumphantly brought it down to play with. Gina rescued the sock and took it into the laundry room. The dog followed, and she picked up Pongo and hugged him.
She would have tossed in a load of laundry for Mark, but it felt like that would cross too far over the line of being a wife. She put Pongo down and did open the dryer, tugging out and folding the towels they’d used after giving the puppy a bath.
She didn’t feel comfortable keeping the animals at Jeff’s place without asking her brother first. She’d offered to get an apartment where she could have the animals, only to have Mark point out that regardless of whether she said yes or no to his proposal, he was going to be gone for 90 days beginning in May, and he’d rather have the pets around the house and someone coming by to feed them than have the house sitting empty during his deployment. While she was at Bangor, he would keep her pets.
If they did one day marry, the man would be easy to take care of, she thought, for he was neat in ways she hadn’t expected. His home was lived in but orderly, and it always felt calm being here. The pressures of his job, of hers, didn’t get to invade this space. She liked being here.
She could hear Mark in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher. He’d take her home soon, back to Jeff’s, kiss her good-night at the door, and whisper “I love you.” She knew him. And what he had hoped for, prayed for, was happening. She could feel herself falling in love with him. She didn’t dare examine the emotion too much, frightened it would disintegrate if she analyzed it further. But she was aware it was there. And it felt really good, if rather tentative. She had felt it growing over the last few weeks.
She joined Mark in the kitchen as he picked up the metal pan at the end of the counter. He’d made Rice Krispie bars earlier in the week. “Last one. Want to split it with me?”
“Sure.”
She opened a drawer and pulled out a knife. He shook his head, held it out for her to take two bites, and then ate the rest. “Love these things,” he said as he licked the sticky marshmallow off his fingers. “Want to go by Gary’s tonight for a game of pool with him and his wife before I take you back to Jeff’s?”
“I’d like that.”
He looked over at her a second time, catching her tone. “What?”
“I really enjoy dating you, Mark.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “Just figuring that out?” he teased.
She laughed. “Want me to make a batch of peanut-butter cookies tomorrow? We need more desserts.”
“Sounds good to me.” He glanced around. “The kitchen is good enough. Let’s go play some pool.” He reached for his keys on the counter, and they walked out to the car. “You didn’t say much about your day over dinner,” he noted as he opened the car door for her.
She shrugged. “Not much to say. I worked on speeding up the shape-detection algorithm this morning, then came over and puttered around to fix dinner.”
He settled in the driver’s seat and backed out of the drive. “Having problems with the work?”
“I’ll figure it out eventually.” She slipped her hand in his so she could divert the conversation.
Jeff’s place seemed very quiet. Gina missed her brother. She wished he was around to talk with on a night like this. She curled up on his couch and tucked a throw around her bare feet, nursing a mug of hot chocolate. She thought about picking up a book. She wasn’t tired, even though it was late. She was still remembering the feelings that came with Mark’s hug good-night.
Love had crept in while she wasn’t looking. She did love him. The realization had come into her life so gently she couldn’t pinpoint when she first knew. “He’s the one, isn’t he, Jesus?” she whispered. There was such a deep peace with the recognition of that fact that it overwhelmed everything else she felt. She was in love with Mark Bishop.
She turned the ring on her right hand. The man was going to be so ecstatic when she told him yes. She felt treasured, cared for, just being with him. Add the words I love you to what she could say to him, and the coming months were going to be a joy for both of them. She smiled to herself, thinking about the next few days, how they might unfold. A personal dream from back when she was a teenager was now becoming a reality.
She sipped the chocolate. She would need to tell Daniel soon, before he found out from someone else. She owed him that much.
Gina knocked and then walked into Mark’s home the next morning, carrying his Saturday paper. “I picked up bagels as promised,” she called.
“Blueberry?” he called back from the kitchen.
“I remembered.” She found Mark at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the kittens’ bowls, then pouring fresh milk. It was so much like him, taking care of the details without being asked. She set the sack she carried on the kitchen table and went over to wrap her arms around his waist from behind. She rested her cheek against his back and whispered, “I love you.”
She felt his body go absolutely still. She’d had no plans to tell him this way, this soon—the words just came out, her heart so full they had to be said. His hands settled across hers, and he slowly, carefully, turned around, not letting her step back from the embrace. She was startled to see there were tears in his eyes. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice husky.
“I love you, Mark Bishop, and I would really like to marry you.”
The joy that filled his face took her breath away. His hug enveloped her. “Thank you,” he whispered, choking up. “When?”
“Soon is good,” she whispered, thinking about how fast May was going to be here. He would be gone on patrol for three months.
Mark rested his forehead against hers, and she felt him relax against her. The last weeks hadn’t been easy on him, she knew. He sighed, tipped up her chin and kissed her. “I love you, precious.” He lifted her hand, slid the ring from her right hand, and gently put it where it belonged on her left. “It looks good there.”
“I love the ring.”
He kissed the back of her hand.
She smiled at the gesture. “Thank you for asking me, Mark. It was a beautiful proposal, and I’m grateful for it, and the ring. I really am honored that you asked.”
He rested his arms across her shoulders. “The honor is mine. Don’t get embarrassed and formal on me now.” She caught his gaze, and he smiled at her, this man who would soon be her husband. “I leave for patrol in May. If we get married soon . . .” He stopped and studied her. “What are you thinking?”
She knew where her heart was. “I’m not sure what you’ll think of this idea, but I was wondering if maybe . . . would you be okay with two weddings? A private ceremony as soon as possible, and a larger church wedding after your patrol—when Jeff’s back onshore and all your family can attend—and maybe have it in Chicago?” She’d thought it all through the night before, and she didn’t want to wait. A quiet marriage ceremony to begin their life together held a lot of appeal for her. She saw the surprise on his face.
He gently ran a hand along her arm as he thought about it. “You’re worried about your words locking up on you.”
She reluctantly nodded. “If I’ve said the vows in a private ceremony, the marriage will already be legal, so if there are problems when we have the bigger wedding with everyone there and watching, I can mouth the words and everyone will think I’m simply speaking too softly for them to hear.”
He traced her cheek with the back of his hand, and she leaned into the warmth of the touch. “That makes sense, Gina. A private wedding here, and soon. Knowing my mom, my sisters, they will be overjoyed to help with a church wedding in Chicago and take over as much or as little of that coordination and planning as we like.”
“We’ll talk it over with them. A date in August might make sense.”
He held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay, my precious.” His voice held so much emotion, Gina felt her own tears fill her eyes.
Mark Bishop was going to be her husband. She could feel the emotions overwhelming her, the impact of all it meant for her to say yes, to wear his ring, the forever-different life ahead of her. Ahead of him. He must have sensed it because his arms gripped her in a tighter hug, and she could feel his chin resting on her head. “We’re going to have a good life, Gina.”
She nodded against his chest. “I know.”
He tipped her chin up again and smiled. His kiss held a promise that was gentle and soft and even kind, which also hinted at the passion that was waiting for her. “I love you. When the doubts come, remember that. You have nothing to worry about,” he promised.
She wiped a tear away even as she smiled. “I know. A good life.”
He nudged her toward the kitchen table, pulled out a chair for her. “Do you have a preference on where you would like to go for a honeymoon? Hawaii sound good? If we get married within a week, I can still find us a few days someplace and arrange leave before the Nevada is back in port.”
The honeymoon that followed the wedding . . . She could feel her face growing warm as thoughts of its intimacy filled her heart—part of why she looked forward to being married, being a wife. But to his question, she hesitated, and finally admitted, “There are going to be enough transitions happening. I’m fine with home—either here or Chicago—and no one knowing where we are. We could have a more traditional honeymoon after the formal wedding.”
“Sounds like a plan. But you’re allowed to change your mind if you decide you’d like to head off somewhere.”
“Okay.”
He brushed a strand of her hair back from her face. “If this Bangor house feels too much like Melinda’s space for you, we’ll buy another place when I get back from patrol. I’m going to be flexible about that, Gina. I won’t mind moving, if that’s what you prefer.”
“We’ll talk about it another time. I like your home.” She settled her hands on either side of his face. “You’re sure, Mark?”
He grinned. “I’m marrying you tomorrow, Gina, if I can arrange it that quickly. I’m sure.”
It took him two days. The courthouse, third floor, was not the most romantic place to seal a promise, but Mark would rather have the words than the setting. He gently kissed his intended bride. “You look beautiful.”
Gina blushed. “You’ve told me that twice today already.”
“And plan to tell you again,” he said. She’d chosen a floral dress, and he’d arranged a bouquet of petite roses to match. He was in full-dress uniform. They’d agreed to mention the news to his friends only after it was official, so they didn’t have a best man and maid of honor for this first ceremony. He could tell she was nervous. “I’m planning to hold your hand through the ceremony, so if you need to pause for a moment, just squeeze my hand and take whatever time you need. It’s not going to bother me. Or anybody else.”
She nodded. He held open the door to the judge’s chamber. “After you, soon-to-be Mrs. Bishop.”
She laughed. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I like getting married,” Mark agreed. He loved her smile.
“Me too.”