There had to be a way out of this puzzle, somehow, but he had no idea how … except to put away the vodka that offered so much solace.…
“Mom!” The curl of cigarette smoke rising above Connie Steel’s blond hair had been sure to elicit a cry of exasperation from her daughter, Alycia. “You’re smoking a cigarette.” Her voice carried the high-pitched whine of the TV teenager to a new level of perfection. It was a practiced art form.
“I’m old enough.” Connie made no effort to turn and look over her shoulder, for it would only encourage another obnoxious outburst. She’d been staring down the hill to the harbor at a tall-necked crane lifting crates from a railroad car on the naval-base siding. The Steels’ home was situated in the hills, an older single-story building reminiscent of the Hawaii of mid-century. It was in a location people would have killed for, yet it remained unostentatious, providing a spectacular view of the harbor below and the Pacific beyond. It had been built many years before by someone who intended to keep that view well above the tree line without the necessity of clearing below.
“I never saw you smoke before.” Alicia came around in front of the outdoor chaise and stared grimly at the cigarette before looking down at her mother.
Connie glanced up and smiled unconvincingly. This wasn’t going to be the start of another family argument if she could help it. “I smoked years ago, and I did occasionally when you were little girls.” She looked out of the corner of her eye at the cigarette. They sure as hell didn’t make them like they used to. This one was half filter and tasted like she imagined a cereal box might. “I’m not going to start smoking like a chimney, if that’s what you’re worried about. They don’t taste anywhere near as good as they used to.”
Alycia appeared unconvinced. “They give you cancer. They’ll kill you. It even happens to people who live around smokers without ever picking one up. I can’t stand the thought of that,” she added with another self-serving whine.
“I said this wasn’t going to be a habit.”
“Why’d you start again?” Alycia persisted, flopping down on a beach chair and dropping her school books beside her.
“I had lunch with Myra Newell yesterday. She smokes—”
“And she offered you one. That’s an absolutely awful thing to do to a friend.”
“Don’t interrupt. It’s rude. No, she didn’t offer me one. I asked, she refused, I insisted, and finally she broke down and gave me one.” Connie sighed wistfully and took a tentative puff. “It tasted better yesterday after a good lunch than it does today,”
“She shouldn’t have done it. I’m going to tell Kathy so tomorrow at school.” Alycia and Kathy Newell were in the same class.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind, young lady.” She jammed the cigarette down, where it lay smoldering in the grass. “Her mother had nothing to do with my buying these cigarettes, and you won’t embarrass either of us by doing that.”
Alycia pouted. “She’s a bad influence.”
“Maybe you have some growing up to do,” Connie said in retaliation, regretting it instantly. That was only inviting the teenage mind to react. She sensed hints of that family argument starting, the one she’d intended to avoid at all costs. It was time to retreat a bit. “You don’t like her, do you? I think sometimes you judge adults a little too critically.”
“She’s not so bad …” Alycia began hesitantly. “It’s him I don’t like.” She’d been looking down at her hands. Now her eyes settled on her mother’s face. “He doesn’t like kids, particularly girls.” It was hard to explain something like that to your mother. “Commander Newell is so … so macho,” she decided. “He likes to talk about things that men like, but he doesn’t understand girls. Kathy can’t even talk to him. Half the time he puts her off, or sometimes he just walks away. Besides, he doesn’t even like Kathy.…”
“That’s ridiculous. Kathy’s his daughter. Of course he loves her.” Connie absentmindedly shook out another cigarette and paused to light it. “Where do you get ideas like that?” Irritation once again crept into her voice. “Don’t you have better things to do?”
Greta Steel wandered into the backyard and collapsed into another chair while a large exaggerated yawn was allowed to escape. Then she sat upright and pointed at the cigarette. “Why are you doing that … smoking, I mean?” Her tone was much like her sister’s.
“Because your older sister is driving me to it,” Connie answered sarcastically. Regardless of how good or bad it tasted, she wasn’t about to be harassed into putting it out now. That would be a sign of defeat, and she wasn’t about to let them get the upper hand.
“I wish Daddy was here now. He’d make you put it out,” Greta said, and slumped back into the chair.
“I wish he were here, too, because he’d tell you both to either say something nice or leave me alone.” She took a deep drag and blew it out in a long stream. “Why don’t the two of you go off and do something worthwhile until the three of us can talk pleasantly to each other.”
“I just—” Greta began.
“Now. Please. I’m being nice. Please leave me to myself for a while.” She displayed a practiced expression the girls always understood. It was worth saving that one until she really meant it.
They left, hesitantly, pouting, mad at their mother because she wouldn’t respond the way they expected, mad at themselves because they could tell she wanted to be in another world for a while. They’d attempted to bring her back to their own much smaller one too soon.
If Ben were here, the three of them wouldn’t be picking at each other like this. She wouldn’t have bought a pack of cigarettes either. Somehow there was a different atmosphere whenever he was home. Was he a peacemaker? No, not really. There was no need to make peace when he was in port. They never bickered with each other.
Ben Steel certainly wasn’t a Disneyland dad either. There was discipline when he was there, but it was never hard, never overbearing. It was simply that everyone was expected to do their own job, “their own thing,” as the girls said, without questioning why they did it. It was done in a spirit of Family cooperation and they all enjoyed it. That was why they had so much time for those treasured family trips each weekend. No, he wasn’t a Disneyland dad by any means. He was a family man pure and simple.
So many of the other men — she’d heard the stories from other wives too many times — came back and had trouble if their homes didn’t run like the submarines they’d just left. Everything needed a place, a purpose, a reason, and an explanation if there wasn’t. It was so much easier for them if their homes were organized just like their submarines, so they didn’t have to shift personalities when they came ashore. Wayne Newell was like that; Myra had reaffirmed that yesterday.
But Ben Steel came home to get away from the Navy, He couldn’t get out of his uniform and into his old, rumpled shorts any faster each afternoon. Homework with the girls was a high point of his evening during the week. Dinner was a time for all of them to plan the day trips around the island, especially to Makaha. Alycia and Greta always waited for him to complain about their bikinis, and they’d bring it up if he forgot. Yet he never once criticized them — they’d never done anything on those trips that required a lecture. He used to tease Connie afterward, when they were home in bed on a Sunday night, that the girls acted just like the ones in the old “beach party” movies, all show and no action. They never gave him reason to believe otherwise.
The other thing he liked was their solitary walks, just the two of them. Sometimes it was on a deserted beach while the girls went “trolling for boys,” as Ben called it. Other times, it was just a stroll down the hill from their home at night. He said it was good for the mind and the body, but that his aging body was more demanding recently.