An Unlawful Order (The Chase Anderson Series) (16 page)

Molly declared, “I’m going to be a hula dancer for Halloween.”

The woman leaned closer to Molly. “But can you hula?”

Molly began to hula. The child bent her knees, rose onto the balls of her foot, and slowly swayed her arms and tiny hips.

The shop owner beamed. “Where did you learn the
authentic
hula? I’m a kuma hula instructor, and you honor my people.”

“I learned it at my school. Mrs. Kamaka says the hula tells stories.” Molly’s favorite story was about the night marchers near Sacred Falls. According to legend, the ghosts of Hawaiian chiefs and warriors were said to rise each night from their secret burial caves above the Kualoa Ranch in the Kaaawa Valley and march in a ghostly procession to the sea.

“Stories preserve our history,” the woman said to Molly. “Just like the hula.” She demonstrated the hula to Molly, and though the old woman was shapeless, she transformed into fluidity when she danced. Afterward, she said to Chase, “Some say we are one generation away from losing our native Hawaiians. I wanted my daughter to marry a native, but she said she could find no one.” Back to Molly, she said, “To be an authentic hula dancer, you need an authentic raffia skirt. Follow me.”

In the back of the shop, the woman wrapped several skirts around Molly’s waist before finding one that fit. “You’re so tiny,” she said each time a skirt didn’t work. Finally, they located one that wouldn’t slide down Molly’s hips when she walked. “Now, do you have a bathing suit top you can wear with this?”

Molly looked up at Chase who said, “What about your pink bathing suit top with the yellow flowers.” Molly nodded.

“That sounds beautiful,” the woman said and led a skirted Molly and her mother to the displays of multi-colored leis, draping her in fake lavender and white orchids. She led her to the full-length mirror. “You’ll make a very pretty hula dancer. Be sure your mother puts a flower behind your ear, like mine.” She bent to show Molly how she had it pinned. “Only you must wear your flower behind your right ear.”

“Why?”

“Because only married women wear flowers behind their left ears.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon running errands—a stop by the Koolau Nursery to buy nectar for the hummingbirds, a withdrawal for cash at the bank ATM, for Chase had decided she would go to a movie that night after all, and a grocery run for brownie mix Molly said she wanted to take to the sleep-over.

“Miss Paige promised to help us bake brownies,” Molly said, as they headed down the aisle of boxed cake mixes and canned frostings. Paige Abercrombie was the quintessential stay-at-home mom. Her home was decorated with the kind of Martha Stewart attention-to-detail that made women like Chase itch with self-doubt; itch from the awkward sense that at nearly thirty she was still trying to grow into who she thought she was supposed to be; itch from the even more awkward sense that for all these years as a Marine, even after all her accomplishments, Chase was still trying to be the woman, and mother, others thought her already to be.

That Paige would even allow a box of brownie mix in the house, rather than a Martha Stewart bake-from-scratch recipe, surprised and even amused Chase. She and Stone had always been fastidious about the cleanliness and orderliness of their home, she supposed from an orderly military life, but neither of them was particularly concerned with fashionable furniture over functional, let alone pricey over conservative. While they could afford better, newer, they didn’t buy into the act of spending to impress. On this matter, she and Stone were united.

Still, Chase couldn’t help but feel a twinge of uneasiness whenever she stepped inside Paige’s home of stylish furnishings. Paige was a year or so older than Chase, and the elegance of the woman’s home rubbed against Chase’s insecurities about whether she was honestly allowing herself to grow into womanhood. To Chase, however, Paige’s home screamed,
trying too hard.
It seemed to Chase too bold a statement about where Paige expected her husband to end up in a few years. If you were supposed to dress for the job you hoped to land, one day Paige Abercrombie had decorated her home as if she expected to land the general’s quarters.

Molly rang the doorbell. Sara, as blonde and fair as Molly was brunette and tanned, pulled open the door with breathless excitement. Paige, in a neatly fitted sundress and strappy flats, appeared in a cloud of gardenia. She draped a manicured hand across her daughter’s shoulder. “Aren’t you going to invite our guests in?”

Sara yanked Molly inside and the two girls dashed the length of the foyer and disappeared. Paige smiled. “Chase, please come in.”

“I can’t stay but a minute,” Chase said, then remembering she hadn’t a thank-you note for Paige, added, “The quiche and fruit were wonderful. I can’t thank you enough.”

Paige smiled again and led Chase through the vanilla-scented foyer and into the living room where several tea light candles flickered on bookshelves across the room. Candles were the last thing Chase would have put out during a sleepover with three five-year-olds, but then Paige hadn’t put them out for the girls. The effect, though Chase hated to admit it, wasn’t lost on her. The atmosphere was undeniably charming, homey. Though the floor plan was identical to Chase’s and to every other house in their field-grade housing neighborhood, Chase had the feeling among Paige’s plush upholstered chairs and maple end tables, that one could believe the layout of this house to be different from all others, at least different from the one next door. On the square maple and glass tabletop was an expensive looking ceramic bowl that contained an assortment of yellow and orange gourds. Across the room, a lineup of ceramic pumpkins. Paige decorated for the seasons. The day after Thanksgiving, if she did as last year, she’d have her husband on the roof, hanging Christmas lights.

On the bar that separated Paige’s kitchen from the dinette area was a row of three carved pumpkins, all with happy faces. Nothing ghoulish for Paige.

She motioned to a chair.

“I can’t stay but a minute,” Chase said. “I’m going to a movie.”

“Alone? Is that safe?”

“You sound like Stone,” Chase said, and smiled. “Well, he used to say that all the time. He didn’t like me going alone. I think he sometimes forgot he was married to a Marine.” She regretted the latter statement, on two accounts. First, it was the first time since Stone’s death she’d said anything negative about her husband. Second, her comment was nothing short of an insecure way of reminding Paige that while she was Martha Stewart perfect, her imperfect neighbor next door had important duties that extended outside of base housing.

“It’s your own fault, you know—” Paige said, “you just don’t look like everyone’s image of a Marine.” Her sudden bright smile landed like a period at the end of her complimentary comeback. Even at small talk, Paige could be perfect. Their daughters’ high-pitched prattle and combustions of giggles from the other side of the house reached them. Paige looked as if she were about to call after the unladylike behavior when the doorbell rang. By the time she crossed the few feet to the foyer, Sara and Molly dashed ahead to reach the door. Chase heard Paige greet Samantha and her redheaded daughter, Erin. The three girls were a blur of energy as they raced through the living room past Chase and into the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator door open and cups fill with ice.

With her loosely curled, shoulder-length red hair, Samantha reminded Chase of a bohemian princess. Chase had never seen the woman dressed in anything besides ankle-length skirts of normally gauzy material and a peasant-type blouse that she belted with something wide and leathery. Today, the belt was garnished with a large turquoise buckle. Her solid sandals, while perfect for her outfit, looked clunky next to Paige’s refined footwear. If clothes “make the man,” so to speak, what did they say about the woman? How different the three of them were, Chase thought as she rose to greet Samantha, who wasted no time in crossing the room to hug Chase.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m much better, thanks. The whiplash has finally eased up.”

Samantha had once been an attorney with the Navy JAG office until she married and later became a mother. Chase had tried to picture Samantha in a form-fitted uniform, high heels, and with controlled hair. Impossible. Still, the woman maintained her law license, and Chase had noticed the raised eyebrows of other wives, women like Paige, who didn’t approve of any work outside of the home, even the pro-bono work Samantha did as an advocate for the elderly. Since when had it become a status symbol for a woman to stay at home?

Chase gave Samantha a squeeze before the two separated. Everything about Samantha spoke comfort: her softer body, the comfort in the way she dressed, comfort in the way she assumed a hug was forthcoming, comfort in the way she moved in her own skin, comfort in the way she moved around others. Paige, on the other hand, looked uncomfortable, even in her own home.

Chase wondered where that left her. She knew she wanted to be more like Samantha than Paige. Was it possible she was already somewhere in between? She held the image of herself as she was dressed: white denim skirt that brushed against the middle of her knees, a red and white blouse tied at the waist, sensible flats. She supposed she was somewhere in between.

“Is there any word about how Kitty’s doing?” Paige asked Samantha.

“All I’ve heard is that she has the kids already back in school, stateside,” Samantha said, and settled into a large upholstered chair. “Terrible, isn’t it? I feel so sorry for Kitty and the children.” Chase was suddenly aware of how little she knew about most of the wives married to the men within Stone’s squadron.

“I don’t imagine,” Paige said, flicking something from her dress, “Kitty would ever want to return to Hawaii. Not after—”

Samantha shot a glance at Chase. “I’ve been meaning to tell you that I saw you on TV the night of the crash, Chase. What with the wreck and all, it escaped me. I don’t know how you maintain such composure.”

Paige jumped in. “That reporter from the
Current
really put you on the spot about Tony.”

“Everyone’s got a job to do,” Chase said. “He was just doing his.” She was growing weary of defending Paul Shapiro.

At the whirring of a mixer from the kitchen, Paige rose and peered around a wall. She smiled back at Chase and Samantha, whispering, “Brownies.” Then, as she walked back to her chair, “How do you suppose the reporter already knew that Tony was the pilot? I hear Kitty was at a movie with the kids. Remember? It was last Saturday. The Chaplain didn’t reach her until after dinner that night.”

Samantha attempted to change the subject. “Has it only been a week? Seems so much longer, doesn’t it?”

Chase, instinctively glanced at her watch and raised her eyebrows. “Speaking of movies, I’d better hurry.”

Paige leaned over to inform Samantha, “Chase is going to the movies alone.”

Samantha smiled at Chase and slapped an armrest. “Good for you.”

Paige, clearly irritated by the moment of solidarity, switched subjects to the upcoming Marine Corps Ball. “Samantha, have you chosen a gown?”

Samantha scrunched up her nose. “Hell no. I’ll wear the same thing I wore last year, which is the same thing I wore the year before that.”

“You’re kidding!” Paige said.

Chase joined Samantha in a laugh. “Not everyone has it so easy,” Paige added, facing Chase. “All you have to do is show up in a uniform.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Samantha asked. “If I looked as good in a uniform as Chase, I might pull out my uniform from storage or borrow one of Chase’s.”

From the kitchen came a blast of high-pitched girl prattle, reminding Chase that Molly, Sara, and Erin were miniature versions of three women who were discussing how to play dress-up. For one night, November tenth, Samantha, Paige, and the other wives would slip into floor-length gowns, strappy shoes with insanely high heels, and clip diamonds—rhinestones, for most of them—onto earlobes, attempting to recapture something of their lost youth. Now Samantha was a part-time attorney, Paige a perfect homemaker, and Chase a Marine. And the three girls in the kitchen making brownies? What would they become?

Paige turned to Samantha who was tugging at the folds of her gauze skirt. “I hear Colonel Everby’s wife, Amanda, found something lovely at a boutique on Ala Moana. I can ask where if you like.”

Samantha groaned. “No, thanks. The idea of hunting down a pricey gown in the hustling Waikiki shopping district is not my idea of fun.”

Chase rose to leave. She knew Paige had opened the conversation about the Ball for an opportunity to boast about what she’d found to wear, and Chase wasn’t in the mood to placate. After calling out a good-bye to Molly, who came running for a hug and then disappeared back into the kitchen, Paige followed Chase to the door, adding, “I still don’t think going out at night alone is the safest thing for a woman to do.”

Samantha chuckled. “Paige, Chase is a Marine. She can take care of herself.”

CHAPTER 11

C
hase was relieved when the door closed behind her.
Poor Samantha,
she thought, as she walked down the sidewalk to the rental car. She buckled her seatbelt and wondered how long Samantha would have to endure Paige’s gossip about, most likely, gossip about other wives, maybe even more speculation about Kitty White.

A knock on the car door window caused her to jump. She turned to see Samantha’s freckled face framed with concern. Chase lowered the window and whispered, “Looking for an escape?”

Samantha grinned. A breeze swept between them, causing her to brush those wild, fiery curls from her face. With the back of one hand, she held them pinned from her face and said, “I can take her in small doses. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“Me?”

“Are you really feeling okay? The pain from the wreck, I mean—”

“I know what you mean.” Any sudden hint of Stone’s death still caught her off guard, though. “I’m still a bit stiff and sore, but better.”

Samantha draped her freckled hands over the slot of window and door and leaned closer. “I mean
everything
, Chase. Work?”