That was why he’d sought her out for breakfast. And kayaking.
And if he were being honest with himself, he’d look for her at lunch, too.
Which…he might want to question that. The more he thought about it, her reactions to him today had been hesitant and careful. He’d practically had to drag her to breakfast and then kayaking. And at the first opportunity, she’d dodged away as fast as she could.
He was getting rusty at reading people. Or maybe he’d never been that good at it, and it hadn’t mattered before.
He took a deep breath and headed to the main lodge. Maybe instead of leaning heavily on Grace for company, he could get some advice on a good, long hike to take. One that might clear his head and give his body some good, clean work to do.
At the activity board, he found hiking maps, and a bright sticker on the front advertised that the kitchen could prepare lunches to take along on the walk. He checked in at the main desk about that.
“Yep, we can do a brown-bag lunch, no problem. They’re ready at eleven, you can come back then and pick yours up then. And in the future, you can put in an early morning pick-up request as well.”
He knocked on the wood counter. That sounded like a great idea. “Can I do that for tomorrow?”
“Sure thing. For one person?”
He flicked a quick glance at the menu example on the pamphlet. It didn’t sound like enough calories for him to do a full-day hike. He assumed most campers weren’t him, though. “Can you make it two orders?”
“Of course.”
He gave the man a grateful smile. “Thanks. I’ll be back in a bit.”
So, he had an hour to kill. He headed back to the activity board. Tennis lessons popped out at him, and he thought of Grace. Had she wanted to take lessons?
Bianca had played tennis four times a week her whole adult life. He’d enjoyed it when he’d had time. Maybe—
No.
He jerked his attention elsewhere on the board. Anything else but tennis.
Except everywhere he looked now, he saw his wife. Cooking classes in the kitchen, swimming races.
Even the Arts & Crafts lesson going on right now—friendship bracelets—reminded him of the embroidery thread Bia had bought for a Navy wives project. He’d thrown out the remnants just last month when he’d finally worked up the courage to clear out her craft room.
“It’s so hard for the spouses, Frank. You’ll never understand. Not really. I know it’s hard for you when you go, but you have a purpose. And it’s not really like you have a choice. I know what it’s like to sit at home and feel…empty. Alone. Scared.”
The thing was, he did understand. Now. Now that it was too late, he knew exactly what his wife had tried to explain all those years ago. He’d been a young commander, full of drive and eager to lead his first overseas command in Afghanistan. It had been the early days of their engagement there. Ugly, chaotic, dangerous.
Back home, his wife had held a lot of scared hands.
He’d brought back all those men. Every single one of them returned alive, which was a miracle. Not every tour of duty was that lucky. Not every commander was able to protect his men, and those that couldn’t weren’t any less skilled at leadership than he was.
And his wife’s doctors couldn’t save her.
Grief welled up inside him and he blindly turned in the direction of the Arts & Crafts building. His legs churned as he stalked away from that pain. Not today, grief. Fuck off.
He was going to make a friendship bracelet or three and think about his wife’s accomplishments.Herleadership,herathleticism,herfriendship. To him, to other military spouses, to everyone she ever met.
She’d be best friends with Grace right now. They’d be taking tennis lessons from Nate together while Frank did a hike on his own. Even if Grace didn’t want to, Bianca would have talked her into it, finding the angle that would please her new friend.
When he got to the class, he yanked the door open.
The space was empty. It was a big room, lit by tall windows on both sides. Tons of sunlight streaming in, and zero people anywhere to be seen, although the back of the room was dark. Maybe it was in another part of the building.
His heart pounded in his chest and his palms slicked with sweat. He swallowed around a lump in his throat.
Damn it, he’d really wanted to make a friendship bracelet. Or three.
