11
They settled into the rhythms that had defined their lives prior to the disruptions of holiday plans and demands. Brooke followed no particular schedule. She spent some afternoons at the restaurant, with Jodie confined in the foldaway playpen in the sunny entry, doing off-season maintenance tasks—painting, dusting, polishing the brass—for nominal wages between the lunch and dinner hours. Other days she’d do her shopping at the general store while carrying Jodie on her hip, always pausing to gossip with the “girls” (most of them twice her age or more) gathered around the toiletries counter or flirting with the “guys” (all old enough to be her grandfather) seated around the potbelly stove. Everyone loved the gregarious Brooke and fawned over the generally cheerful Jodie, one of the few infants currently on the island and the only one of Howard lineage and its associate public persona.
But unlike last summer and fall, when she was caught up with caring for and showing off her newborn, and last winter and spring, when the fatigue and back pain from her pregnancy kept her largely indoors and preoccupied with a cast of well-meaning visitors, this winter Brooke began seeking, and finding, solitary time, leaving Jodie with the ever-willing Lil. On clear days, she’d spend this time walking, sometimes in town (having to fend off frequent invitations to coffee or “island tea”—a shot of rum in warm lemonade) but usually on the uninhabited end of the island, never tiring of the ocean-side expanses and finding on the marshy sound-side quiet nooks to explore. She even ventured into the wild horses’ mix of thicket and clearing, and once got almost close enough to Daphne’s Ruby to brush her nose before the filly snorted and cantered off.
On the frequent wet days, with their numbing mix of fog, drizzle, rain, and sometimes wet snow, she started going to the school library, which was open to residents as well as students. She occasionally checked out contemporary novels to read at home, but mostly she borrowed textbooks on computer science (a new field of study) and calculus (her specialty at Center) that could only be used in the library. Against all prior training and inclination and as a complete surprise, she took pleasure in reading the dense and dry textbooks, taking notes and doing the exercises in a spiral-bound, multi-subject notebook. When Daphne stopped by during one of the school’s recess periods (for all grades) and saw the fat texts Brooke was reading, she called her “Einstette” to which Brooke asked “Meaning ‘little’ or ‘feminine’?” and Daphne replied “Both” and Brooke said “Thanks, I guess.”
When she’d first mentioned to Onion the idea of going part-time to Coastal, it was an impulsive suggestion born of a vague unease. It was her way of alerting her husband—or affirming to him: he’d already been alerted—to the existence of new needs and hopes for her life and theirs. But further reflection indicated that such a plan was—well, a virtual impossibility. First of all, the two-hour ferry trip each way would be grueling even if the water was calm, which it rarely was in the winter. Then there would be the challenge of getting from the ferry dock to Coastal’s campus thirty miles away, another forty-five minute car ride minimum, assuming she could get someone to take her or borrow a vehicle from the island and pay the added ferry charges each way (though she could probably save money by leaving the car at the mainland’s ferry station, if she could find someone willing to give her indefinite use of their car and risk having it vandalized at the unguarded parking lot). Finally, as she confirmed with a phone call the next day, registration for spring semester was already closed, and in any case transferring her credits from Center would require reapplying and being accepted to the university system, as her one-year leave of absence had expired last summer and she’d had to officially withdraw.
For some reason these obstacles to her near-term enrollment didn’t curtail her planning. They only encouraged it, at least in her own mind, which was where the idea remained for some time. In her mind, she realized that going to school while living on the island would be too great a burden for everyone. Furthermore, the idea of returning to school part-time seemed unnecessarily tedious and slow. Why take four or five years to finish two years of school? She should just go back full-time and get her degree.
That is, if she could afford the time and the money to go full-time, and if she could get reaccepted into the university, and if she could live somewhere close enough to one of the campuses to keep the commute manageable, and if she could find someone to take care of her child nearly full-time, and if she could convince her husband to leave the place that he’d never left except for doctor’s visits. Yet all these ifs only deepened her commitment to find a way, presented the sort of seemingly insurmountable obstacles that had, once upon a time not so long ago, been Brooke’s favorite brand of challenge.
One night a few weeks into the new year, Onion came home in the early evening, one of his two nights a week not working the dinner shift. He carried with him a paper sack holding foil-wrapped fried flounder and hushpuppies left over from lunch along with a paper cup full of fresh-made slaw and a paper bowl containing two servings of peach cobbler.
“A couple beers to drink and some ice cream for the cobbler and you have a complete dinner,” he said proudly as he unpacked the bag on the kitchen table.
Though Brooke had planned a meal of spaghetti and already started the sauce, she summoned a broad smile and said, “All my favorites.” She pushed the pot of sauce off the burner before hugging her husband from behind and kissing his neck.
“Bringing home the bacon!”
“And don’t forget the cobbler!”
“Never,” he said.
Jodie was already in her high-chair at the table, making idle designs with the Cheerios on her tray and watching her parents in a moment of happy cavorting.
Brooke quickly laid out two place settings, opened a jar of baby food for Jodie and two bottles of beer, then sat opposite her husband at the table. He looked at her with that innocence of hope and expectation that had charmed her from their first meeting. She wondered where that look had gone these past months, or if it had been there all along and she’d simply missed it.
“We should bless the food,” he said.
Brooke shrugged. Blessing the food was a habit reserved for large gatherings and special occasions, but she wasn’t opposed. “Bless away.”
He nodded and folded his hands and closed his eyes, but before starting he opened one eye a crack and saw Brooke grinning indulgently at him. “No peeking!”
Brooke laughed. “That isn’t much of a blessing.”
“No peeking during the blessing, or it won’t take.”
“Won’t take us where?”
“Brooke!”
“Okay, okay. My eyes are closed. Let the calling forth of the Spirit commence.”
“Brooke!”
Jodie said, “Book!”
Brooke giggled but kept her eyes shut and her voice still. She did reach out and clutch Jodie’s tiny hand without looking.
Onion said quietly and reverently, “Dear God, let this food make us whole in your image and in your sight. Please keep our family happy and healthy, this night and always. Amen.”
“Amen,” Brooke said.
“Men!” Jodie shrieked and slapped her tray, making the Cheerios bounce.
“My thoughts exactly,” Brooke said, leaving the subject of agreement—her daughter or her husband or both—ambiguous.
Onion, who’d kept his eyes closed for a moment as if in silent prayer beyond the spoken one, opened them now and with a glowing countenance announced, “Let’s eat!”
“Meat!” Jodie said, though her dinner was split pea soup in a jar.
Halfway through the meal, Onion said, “I’ve got some news.”
“What?”
“I’ve been accepted by the Coast Guard for seaman’s training.”
Brooke was stunned. “When did you apply?”
“Last week.”
“And you’ve heard already?”
“Uncle Berg is the station commander, Brooke, and Dotty’s his secretary. Let’s say they gave me the
inside track.”
“That’s great! I didn’t know you were interested in Seaman’s School.”
“It was always my goal as a kid and in high school. Then this mainland girl came along and started waiting tables in the restaurant, and I kind of forgot about everything else.”
“Mean old waitress.”
“Beautiful young waitress—and wife and mother of my child.”
Brooke stared at him and felt a void open in her stomach but said nothing.
Onion continued. “But that same girl reminded me of the importance of having goals greater than running a restaurant. So the next day I got the application and turned it in.”
Brooke reached across the table and brushed his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, and so excited.”
Onion blushed but managed to hold her gaze. “Thanks.”
“So when do you start?”
“Well, I haven’t officially accepted. I wanted to talk to you first, and of course Miss Polly. But if I accept, the next class starts in the spring.”
“You’ve got to accept.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“And when do we move?”
“Move where?”
“To a Coast Guard training center.” Brooke had known several Coast Guard recruits, all of whom had gone to training school for at least six months.
“That’s the best part—we don’t have to move! Uncle Berg will oversee the training here, at the station and on the launch. He said I might have to take the final written test on the mainland, but that would require only a day away. I would never have applied if we’d had to move.”
“Why not?”
“This is my home, Brooke.”
“Not even for six months or a year?”
“No way! It’s crazy out there.”
“Out where?”
“The mainland. The city.”
“And me?”
“You came out here. You said you never wanted to leave.”
“And Jodie?” Brooke said, nearly a whisper.
“She’s a Howard. She’ll grow up here same as all the Howards.”
“Then what?”
“Then what?” Onion repeated.
“For Jodie.”
“When she’s grown she can choose what she wants—same as me, same as you. And she’ll choose to stay here, with her family.”
Brooke stared down at what was left of the dried out fish on her plate.
Onion stood and walked the two steps to the fridge. “Beer?” he asked.
Brooke nodded without looking up.
Jodie said, “Ear!” and pointed to the side of her head, mimicking the new word and gesture Brooke had taught her just that morning.