Navy Husband. Debbie Macomber

Commander Dillon, startling them both. The commander stumbled backward but caught himself. Instinctively he reached out and grabbed her shoulders, catching her before she lost her balance and toppled sideways. Stunned, they immediately grew still.

      “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, shocked at the instant physical reaction she’d experienced at his touch. It had been an innocent enough situation and meant nothing. Yet it told Ali a truth she’d forgotten. She was a woman. And, almost against her will, was attracted to a man other than Peter.

      He muttered something under his breath, but she didn’t hear what he said and frankly she was grateful. Without another word, they hurried in opposite directions.

      Ali’s face burned with mortification, but not because she’d nearly fallen into Commander Dillon. When her breasts grazed him and he’d reached out to catch her, he could have pulled her to him and kissed her and she wouldn’t have made a single protest. Her face burned, and she knew she was in serious trouble. No, it was just the close proximity to all these men. At least that was what Ali told herself. It wasn’t the commander; it could’ve been any man, but even as that thought went through her mind, she knew it was a lie. She worried that the commander might somehow know what she’d been feeling. That mortified her even more.

      The scene replayed itself in her head during the fire drill and afterward, when she retired to her quarters. Once she was alone, Ali found a pen and paper. It was one thing to send Jazmine an e-mail but a letter was a tangible object that her daughter could touch and hold and keep. She knew Jazmine would find comfort in reading a note Ali had actually written.

      When Ali had first started dating Peter, they’d exchanged long letters during each separation. She treasured those letters and savored them all, even more so now that he was gone.

      On the night of their wedding anniversary last year, while Jazmine was at a slumber party, Ali had unearthed a stack and reread each one. She quickly surrendered to self-pity, but she had every reason in the world to feel sorry for herself, she decided, and didn’t hold back. That night, spent alone in her bedroom, grieving, weeping and angry, had been an epiphany for her. It was as if something inside her—a wall of pretense and stoicism—had broken wide-open, and her pain had gushed forth. She believed it was at that point that she’d begun to heal.

      Oh, she’d cried before then, but this time, on the day that would have been her twelfth wedding anniversary, she’d wept as if it was the end of the world.

      By midnight she’d fallen asleep on top of the bed with Peter’s letters surrounding her. Thankfully Jazmine hadn’t been witness to this emotional breakdown. Her daughter had known the significance of the date, however, and had given her mother a handmade anniversary card the following afternoon. Ali would always love that sweet card. After she’d read it, they’d hugged each other for a long time. Jazmine had revealed sensitivity and compassion, and Ali realized she’d done her daughter a grave disservice.

      All those months after Peter’s death, Ali had tried to shield Jazmine from her own pain. She’d encouraged the child to grieve, helped her deal with the loss of her father as much as possible. Yet in protecting Jazmine, Ali hadn’t allowed her daughter to see that she was suffering. She hadn’t allowed Jazmine to comfort her, which would have brought comfort to Jazmine, too.

      Later that same day, after dinner, Ali had shared a few of Peter’s letters with Jazmine. It was the first time they’d really talked about him since his death. Before then, each seemed afraid to say more than a few words for fear of upsetting the other. Ali learned how much Jazmine needed to talk about Peter. The girl delighted in each tidbit, each detail her mother supplied. Ali answered countless questions about their first meeting, their courtship and their wedding day. Jazmine must’ve heard the story of their first date a dozen times and never seemed to tire of it.

      Once Ali’s reserve was down, not a night passed without Jazmine’s asking about Peter. As a young child, her daughter had loved bedtime stories and listening to Ali read. At nine she suddenly wanted her mother to put her to bed again. It was so out of character for her gutsy, sassy daughter that it’d taken Ali a couple of nights to figure out what Jazmine really wanted, and that was to talk about her father.

      In retrospect Ali recognized that those months of closeness had helped prepare Jazmine for this long separation. Ali didn’t think she could have left her with Shana otherwise.

      Shana. An involuntary smile flashed across her face as she leaned back in the desk chair. These next six months would either make or break her strong-willed younger sister. She’d taken on a lot all at once. Buying this restaurant on impulse was so unlike her. Shana preferred to have things planned out, down to the smallest detail. Not only that, this new venture was a real switch for her after her sales position.

      If there was anything to be grateful for in Shana’s sudden move to Seattle, it was the fact that Brad Moore was out of her life. Ali had only met him once, during a brief visit home, but he’d struck her as sleazy, and she hadn’t been surprised to hear about his duplicity. Ali wondered how he’d managed to deceive her sister all this time, but whatever charms he possessed had worked about four and a half years longer than they should have. She supposed that, like most people, Shana had only seen what she’d wanted to see.

      Before she returned to San Diego, Ali and Shana were able to spend a few hours together. Jazmine was asleep and the two sisters sat on the bed in Shana’s room talking.

      She’d seen how hurt Shana was by Brad’s unfaithfulness. In an effort to comfort her sister, Ali had suggested Shana try to meet someone else as quickly as possible.

      Her sister hadn’t taken kindly to the suggestion. In fact, she hadn’t been shy about sharing her feelings with regard to the male of the species. Shana claimed she was finished with men.

      “You’re overreacting,” Ali had told her.

      “And you’re being ridiculous.” Sitting with her knees drawn, Shana shook her head. “The absolute last thing I want to do now is get involved again. I was ‘involved’ for the last five years and all I got out of that relationship, besides a lot of pain, is two crystal champagne glasses Brad bought me. He said we’d use them at our wedding.” Not that he’d actually given her an engagement ring or set the date. “Those glasses are still in the box. If he’d thought of it, he probably would’ve asked for them back.”

      “You feel that way about men now, but you won’t always.”

      Shana frowned. “You’re one to talk. I don’t see you looking for a new relationship.”

      “Okay, fine, neither of us is interested in men.”

      “Permanently,” Shana insisted.

      Ali had laughed then and said, “Speak for yourself.”

      Funny, as she reviewed that conversation, Commander Dillon came to mind. It was unlikely that she’d see him on a regular basis; with a crew of five thousand on this ship, their paths wouldn’t cross often. Ali wasn’t entirely sure why, but she felt that was probably a good thing.

      Chapter Five

      The next few days were intense for Shana. She insisted on driving Jazmine to school, and every morning she joined the long line of parents dropping off their kids at the grade school. If Jazmine appreciated her efforts to build a rapport between them, she gave no indication of it. The most animation she’d witnessed in the girl had been after Monday’s lengthy telephone conversation with her uncle Adam.

      Shana, her aunt, a blood relative, was simply Shana, but Adam Kennedy, family friend, was Uncle Adam. The uncle part was uttered with near-reverence.

      Okay, so she was jealous. Shana admitted it. While she struggled to gain ground with her niece, Jazmine droned on about this interloper.

      Tuesday afternoon, the school bus again let Jazmine off in front of the ice-cream parlor. Her niece had dragged herself into the shop, as though it demanded all her energy just to open the door. Then she’d slipped onto one of the barstools and lain her head