The Ocean Between Us. Susan Wiggs
Читать онлайн книгу.
learned to adapt and settle in fast, or you died the slow, excruciating, life-scarring death of the social outcast.
The life of a Navy brat was not for wimps. By the age of six, she and Brian had learned to reconnoiter a place, move in and make their mark in just a short time. The system wasn’t flawless, but it worked pretty well. To this day, she still kept in touch with a handful of kids all over the globe, kids she’d met and brought into her heart, shared a warm but temporary bond of friendship with before moving on. It was frustrating sometimes, because every once in a while, she really clicked with someone, only to have to leave just when it felt comfortable to share her life with that person. Each time she moved away, the goodbyes were filled with heartfelt promises: I’ll never forget you. I’ll write every day. I’ll come back to visit each year. Even though delivered with absolute sincerity, the pledges were never fulfilled. Not even once. Emma figured that was life for you, an unending strain of farewells and false promises.
“I guess it is pretty weird,” Brian said as he drove toward the waterfront county park. It had a boat ramp, a dock and a fire pit on the beach. Over the summer they’d learned it was the favored hangout for a sizable group of kids. “The thought of no more school, ever.”
“Except college,” she reminded him.
“Right. College.” His voice sounded flat and glum.
“Quit pouting,” she said. “You’ll be playing baseball and running track. How bad can that be?”
“Dad wants me to go to the Naval Academy.”
Her brother would be offered an appointment, of course. He was a shoo-in. But getting the appointment was only the first hurdle. Getting through was the harder task. Unlike Brian, Emma had always been fascinated by the process. It took everything you had, and more. It took a willingness to give up your whole life, to surrender everything that made you unique. You had to make yourself over in the image of the Navy. A warrior with a spine of steel. And a degree in engineering.
“It’s not such a bad idea, Brian.”
“Geez, not you, too.”
“It’s a hell of a deal. You get an education and a job, guaranteed. An awesome job, by the way.”
“And Dad gets his son in the Naval Academy,” Brian said. “That’s what it’s all about, and don’t pretend it isn’t.”
“Well, sure it is, but so what?”
“He wants it for him, not for me. He never got to go to the Academy, and he thinks sending me there will fix it.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“I could run off and join the circus.”
“Right. You could call your act World’s Dumbest Brother.”
“Well, hell, Emma. I’m eighteen years old—”
“Really? I never would have guessed.”
“Very funny. What I’m saying is, when does it get to be my life? When do I get to do all that Goethe shit about going confidently in the direction of my dreams?”
Although she had the urge to laugh at him, Emma was caught by what he said. “You should be doing that now.”
He was quiet for a while as he drove. The night swished by, a streak of stars above the treetops. Finally Brian said, “I am.”
“You are what?”
“Going for what I want, not what Dad wants.”
“Art school, you mean.” Emma felt a grudging admiration for him. He’d wanted that forever.
“I need to take my shot.”
“I know. But Dad will say it’s not practical, that you’ll never make a living doing art. And maybe he’s not so wrong, Brian.” She thought about her brother’s magical drawings. He created new worlds, whole universes with such clarity of vision that sometimes she believed they were real places. “But then again,” she added, “maybe he just doesn’t want you to be a starving artist.”
“It’s my choice to make it work or fail, not Dad’s. Being a starving artist is a lot more appealing to me than the Navy.”
Emma said nothing, but she knew one thing for sure. Brian would never go to the Naval Academy. His hero was Robert Crumb, not John Paul Jones.
“So have you told Dad yet?” she asked.
“Idiot. Of course not.”
“Are you going to tell him before he goes on deployment?”
“Hey, how about worrying about your own plans for a change?” Brian asked, parking the truck.
“I don’t have any plans, so I’m not worried.”
He shook his head. “You’d better start playing the lottery, then.” He grabbed a jumbo bag of Chee-tos—his contribution to what was loosely termed a “party”—and took off without waiting for Emma. That was fine with her. Brothers and sisters didn’t go to parties together.
All their lives she and Brian had struggled with this. On their fifth birthday, they had thrown themselves into a jealous row that didn’t end until Emma sank her teeth deep enough in Brian’s arm to draw blood. After that year, they’d always had separate parties, one supervised by their mother, one by their father unless he was at sea. In that case, someone else would step in, usually another Navy mother.
Their rivalry was typical of twins, according to the experts. Emma knew this because her mother had read everything ever written about twins. Parenting Twins. Educating Twins. Raising Twins as Individuals. There was a whole body of literature out there, it seemed, to enable twins to feel normal.
It was dumb to pretend there was nothing unique about twinship, she thought, putting on lip gloss while studying her mouth in the visor mirror. Being a twin wasn’t normal, but it didn’t have to be a problem if you didn’t feel like making it into one. Now that they were practically through high school, it wasn’t such a big deal. But that still didn’t mean she felt like showing up at a party with her brother.
The action was in full swing already. A group of kids sat around a big bonfire, and music roared from someone’s car stereo. Bottle rockets left over from the Fourth of July whined and popped. A few grocery sacks and ice chests hinted that the foray for beer had met with success. The last of the daylight lingered on the water, flickering with the motion of the waves.
The sight of her friends gathered around a beach fire lifted her spirits. The glowing logs gave off a peculiar aroma, and the lively yellow flames illuminated about a dozen kids, mostly seniors. They were a mixture of Navy kids and locals who knew their way around.
Driftwood logs, smoothed and bleached by storms, lay like giant pickup sticks along the rack line of the beach and provided seating around the fire. Brian had already eased into the group and was sitting between two varsity cheerleaders. Girls were nuts for her brother’s goofy charm, his looks and the offhand kindness that was second nature to him.
As she stepped into the circle of light Cory Crowther stood up to greet her. She liked that. He was also sports-hero handsome, with big shoulders, a great smile and probably an ego to match, but he seemed to genuinely like her. Although he’d been away most of the summer, everyone knew him—captain of the football team, son of a Carrier Air Group commander.
“Hey, Emma,” he said in a good-natured drawl, perhaps elongated by a hint of beer. He patted the spot beside him. “Come sit with us. You know Darlene Cooper, right?”
“Hey, Darlene.” Emma smiled at the girl beside Cory.
“Hey.” Darlene was a heavyset girl in a tie-dyed T-shirt, with multiple piercings and multicolored hair. She was extremely cool, Emma thought.
Darlene pushed a cooler toward her. “Beer?”
“Thanks.” Emma took a can of Rainier, even though