In the passageway, the JOs and Weed continued aft while Wilson ducked below to his stateroom to check for e-mail from home. The darkened room was illuminated only by the screen saver of his laptop. A note from Mary awaited him.
Dear James,
Derrick rode the bike this morning without training wheels! He did great! I just ran behind him a little and then he took off on his own. He went to the end of the cul-de-sac and turned around. I was praying he could do it. When he got back to the house though he crashed — into the Hopper’s car! Karen had just pulled up and we were standing by the car cheering him on as he rode toward us. He tried to turn away but hit the left front and fell off. He skinned his elbow and cried a little. No damage to the car, but Karen felt awful. Derrick was over it after a band-aid and a kiss. Just another day as a navy wife.
Oh, great…
Brittany was so cute yesterday in her new winter boots. She drew a picture of herself wearing them just for you, which I’ll send to you soon with some goodies. I miss you, my love.
He looked at Mary’s picture on his desk and daydreamed for a few moments. The photo, taken at the Strike-Fighter Ball, was sensational. It caught her beautiful face, her dazzling smile, which generated more wattage than all the sequins on her dress. He dreamed of her feminine shape. Thirty-three years old… and she had not changed since college.
Click, click… weeEEEEeeoowww!
The sound of a Viking recovery above brought him back to his O2 level stateroom and the realization that holding Mary was over five months away. With the Viking aboard, the recovery must be nearing completion. He checked the schedule again and verified his CATCC watch for the next recovery, fifty minutes from now.
Wilson composed a quick note to Mary and headed aft to the ready room.
Thirty minutes later, Wilson walked into Air Ops, amidships on the O3 level. The cool, dark room was illuminated by a few small overhead lights over the work desks. The desks and two rows of Naugahyde-covered benches faced the event status boards.
Wilson was the first CATCC rep to arrive, and he took a spot on the back row. Commander Marty O’Shaunessy, the Air Ops Officer and a career naval flight officer, was hunched over his desk talking on the phone, his usual pose. Wilson knew O’Shaunessy was having a miserable night with this weather. He also knew that, as the sun sank below the horizon, the misery was going to get worse.
