Breeze tousled her hair, bringing with it the sweet ocean scent of salt and sand. She turned to let the wind blow on her face, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. One, two, three deep breaths to center herself. She stood at the edge of the crowd, trying desperately to remain calm.
Just a little while longer, she told herself. A few more moments until she would be able to feel the caress of sand between her toes, and hear the waves roll in. She had been raised on the water, and now the beach was her refuge. The place she ran to when the world became too much. Which was a lot lately.
She ran manicured fingers through her short, dark hair, and with one final inhale, exhale she turned back to the chaos. People and things were strewn everywhere. Families stood in tight circles, hugging each other ferociously while trying to maintain the smiles on their faces. Trying to hide the real emotions from the children running about.
Large duffel bags, all in the same olive drab, lay in a pile that grew larger by the minute as more and more Marines threw their belongings in the mix. It was amazing how much “stuff” was needed for seven months away. And still, every wife present had a list at home of things to send to her Marine as soon as he was settled.
It wasn’t the first time her husband had left, but that didn’t make the deployments any easier. Sure she was more experienced, but she couldn’t shake the thought that fate was being tempted every time her husband shipped out and came back unscathed. She tried to remind herself that her Marine had had some of the the best military training available, but again she found it hard to swallow completely.
“Mrs. Spencer! Maggie! Mrs. Spencer!” A young, clipped voice called her name. When she turned in the direction of the speaker, she didn’t recognize him. It was a junior Marine, no doubt sent off to rustle up the Staff Sergeant’s wife. His hair was cut high and tight, and his baby face was freshly shaven. The sight of the young man (Who was she kidding? He wasn’t much younger than her.) searching the crowd frantically made her wonder if he even knew what she looked like.
A small smile played at her lips, and Maggie decided to put the guy out of his misery. She started to walk toward him. She waved her hand to catch his attention.
“Yes? I’m Maggie Spencer.”
The Marine let out a very loud sigh of relief. He came to an abrupt stop in front of her. “Mrs. Spencer, ma’am, Staff Sergeant Spencer, your husband, (Oh, what had the poor boy done to deserve her husband’s wrath?) would, uh, like to see you.”
“Is that so?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. At the Marine’s startled look, she lowered her brow and smiled at him. “Where can I find Staff Sergeant Spencer?”
Her smile did nothing to relax him. “He’s in the duty hut, ma’am,” the Marine practically screamed at her.
“Thank you, (chevron check) Lance Corporal (name tape check) Torres, I’ll go find him.” Maggie gave the boy a quick pat on the shoulder as she walked passed him toward the barracks. She stifled a giggle as she thought of her husband ordering his men around sending them on wild Maggie chases.
Just a little while longer, she told herself. A few more moments until she would be able to feel the caress of sand between her toes, and hear the waves roll in. She had been raised on the water, and now the beach was her refuge. The place she ran to when the world became too much. Which was a lot lately.
She ran manicured fingers through her short, dark hair, and with one final inhale, exhale she turned back to the chaos. People and things were strewn everywhere. Families stood in tight circles, hugging each other ferociously while trying to maintain the smiles on their faces. Trying to hide the real emotions from the children running about.
Large duffel bags, all in the same olive drab, lay in a pile that grew larger by the minute as more and more Marines threw their belongings in the mix. It was amazing how much “stuff” was needed for seven months away. And still, every wife present had a list at home of things to send to her Marine as soon as he was settled.
It wasn’t the first time her husband had left, but that didn’t make the deployments any easier. Sure she was more experienced, but she couldn’t shake the thought that fate was being tempted every time her husband shipped out and came back unscathed. She tried to remind herself that her Marine had had some of the the best military training available, but again she found it hard to swallow completely.
“Mrs. Spencer! Maggie! Mrs. Spencer!” A young, clipped voice called her name. When she turned in the direction of the speaker, she didn’t recognize him. It was a junior Marine, no doubt sent off to rustle up the Staff Sergeant’s wife. His hair was cut high and tight, and his baby face was freshly shaven. The sight of the young man (Who was she kidding? He wasn’t much younger than her.) searching the crowd frantically made her wonder if he even knew what she looked like.
A small smile played at her lips, and Maggie decided to put the guy out of his misery. She started to walk toward him. She waved her hand to catch his attention.
“Yes? I’m Maggie Spencer.”
The Marine let out a very loud sigh of relief. He came to an abrupt stop in front of her. “Mrs. Spencer, ma’am, Staff Sergeant Spencer, your husband, (Oh, what had the poor boy done to deserve her husband’s wrath?) would, uh, like to see you.”
“Is that so?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. At the Marine’s startled look, she lowered her brow and smiled at him. “Where can I find Staff Sergeant Spencer?”
Her smile did nothing to relax him. “He’s in the duty hut, ma’am,” the Marine practically screamed at her.
“Thank you, (chevron check) Lance Corporal (name tape check) Torres, I’ll go find him.” Maggie gave the boy a quick pat on the shoulder as she walked passed him toward the barracks. She stifled a giggle as she thought of her husband ordering his men around sending them on wild Maggie chases.
The inside of the duty hut was stuffy. The air was heavy with excitement and worry. Men of assorted ages and rank milled about. For some it was old hat; for others the anxiety was tangible. It was a scene Maggie had seen before, each time it became more familiar, and each time she still found it hard to breathe.
Maggie found her husband, Staff Sergeant Brick Spencer, in his office. He was pawing through a file cabinet and talking on his cell at the same time. When he heard the familiar click of his wife’s heels on the linoleum, he hung up the phone to give her a gentle peck on her cheek.
“You summoned me?” she asked her husband, dramatically fluttering her lashes up at him.
Brick grinned and chuckled. At six-foot two, he toward over her, but despite his imposing stature he practically treated his wife with kid gloves.
“How are you doing?” He asked, his tone suddenly deep and serious. “Do you need to sit down? Are you thirsty? Hungry?” He tried to lead her to a chair, but Maggie resisted.
“I’m fine, honey. It’s just the day,” she tried to reassure him. “I’ll lay down as soon as I get home.” Maggie grabbed her husband’s hand, and held it. It was a small concession they allowed themselves in the privacy of Brick’s office. Holding hands while her Marine was in uniform was a major no-no. “This isn’t our first rodeo--I’ve got this.”
“It’s true, this isn’t our first deployment,” Brick agreed, “but this is your first pregnancy. I just wish I could be here for you.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“I’ll be fine, Brick. My family will visit, and I’ve got the other unit wives to help out if I need anything.” Maggie returned their private signal. “Besides, you should be home in plenty of time for the delivery.”
A sharp rap sounded on the door. They both yanked back their hands, as the visitor stepped into the room.
“Excuse me, sir,” the Marine (yet another lance corporal) apologized, “but the CO says it’s time to get the show on the road.”
“I’ll be right there,” Brick replied. The young man left, and Brick turned to his wife. “You ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The next hour was a whirlwind of bags being loaded, men counted, pictures taken, and hugs given. Brick and Maggie managed a moment of privacy in a hidden alcove. He promised to call as soon as he could; she agreed she would seal up his first care package right away. A quick hug and kiss, and Brick was back out making sure his Marines were where they needed to be.
Maggie stood off to the side, the breeze blowing through her hair again. Salt tickled her nose. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear. Brick, standing by the bus door, caught her eye. She blew him a kiss, and he grabbed it out of the air and stuck it in his pocket.
“For later,” they both mouthed. Another deployment tradition. Maggie felt a familiar lump forming in her throat. Just a bit more, and she could beat a hasty retreat.
Maggie dropped her purse on the console in the foyer, and walked through to the kitchen. She’d just arrived home, and already the place felt empty. She poured herself a glass of tea, then headed to the patio.
She stopped abruptly, spilling tea on her toes. There, on the outdoor table, was a massive bouquet of Casablanca lilies. Her favorite, of course. When did he have time to do this, Maggie wondered.
She placed her glass on the table, breathed in the heady scent of the flowers as she plucked the enclosed card. She kicked off her shoes and headed down the few steps to the beach. The hot sand comforted her from the toes up. Maggie was halfway to the water before she stopped to take a seat in the sand.
She opened to the card to find only three words:
You got this.
Maggie drew in a deep breath of beach air. She placed a hand on her abdomen, and thought to herself, yes, I do.
