Going Overboard

Prologue DECEMBER 2002

1 I THINK MELANIE IS TRYING TO SAVE ME

2 THAT'S ILLEGAL OR SOMETHING, ISN'T IT?

3 I SHOULD PROBABLY CALL MY PARENTS

4 A WOMAN WITH JUMPER CABLES

5 I THINK PSYCHOLOGISTS CALL THAT TRANSFERENCE

6 YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO FEEL GOOD ABOUT YOURSELF

7 I GUESS YOU COULD SAY I KNOW MY &%$@ NOW

8 YOUR DOCTOR CALLS YOU BY YOUR FIRST NAME?

9 GOD IS GREAT, GOD IS GOOD; LET US THANK HIM . . .

10 THE GIRL IN A COWGIRL SHIRT AND FLIP-FLOPS

11 TAKE A NUMBER AND SIT DOWN

12 DID I SAY IT WAS A STRAY CAT?

13 SOMETHING HAS HAPPENED

14 YOU'LL DO THE RIGHT THING

15 THANK YOU FOR CALLING ME MRS. SMILEY

16 THIS IS IT, LADIES

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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First published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

First Electronic edition, November 2005
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Copyright © Sarah Smiley, 2005
All rights reserved

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ISBN 978-1-1012-1066-6

Set in Requiem
Designed by Elke Sigal

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For Big Jack,
who always had a trunk full of old books and a writing file with my name on it

This memoir is based on my real-life experiences as a military wife.
However, some names have been changed and details rearranged because, well, because people made me.

Prologue
DECEMBER 2002

C
ourtney was the only one I could call at a time like this, mainly because she was the only one likely to be up at midnight, but also because she has a wonderful way of putting my life into perspective.

I grabbed the cordless phone and snuck into the room where I conduct my most important business: the closet.

Courtney answered on the first ring.

“Courtney, I'm so glad you're awake.” I glanced over my shoulder and closed the door behind me.

“Sarah? What's wrong? Is anyone hurt?”

And then—exactly then—the tears began to flow, reminding me of the way, when I was a child, I could maintain my composure until the moment I heard my mother's voice.

“Sarah? Is anyone hurt?” Courtney asked again.

“Just my panty hose,” I said, sucking in clumps of air.

“Did you say ‘panty hose'? Sarah, what's going on?”

I talked between sniffles and sobs. “I threw . . . my panty hose . . . out the front . . . door . . . and my neighbors saw it all!”

Theoretically, this is the part where a best friend is supposed to laugh or remind you that you really are a beautiful person . . . on the inside. This is when it might have been helpful for someone—someone named Courtney—to tell me I wasn't crazy, but passionate—clever, even!

But no, Courtney was silent.

I bit my lip and picked at a loose piece of rubber on the bottom of my pink bunny slippers.

Then finally Courtney said, “Was it—
control top
?”

At first I lied, because, well, no one wants to admit to heavily stitched undergarments. “I really can't remember,” I said, wiping away tears with the sleeve of my flannel pajamas, and then added, “Oh, all right! Yes, it was control top—and all the neighbors saw!”

Courtney was as calm as ever. That's because (1) I've surprised her too many times before, and (2) Courtney is always polite. But eventually she had to ask: “Sarah, why did you throw your panty hose out the front door?”

“Well, it wasn't just the panty hose,” I said. “I—ah—I kind of threw the entire basket of laundry.”

This was difficult to say aloud, especially to someone like Courtney, who keeps copies of
Miss Manners
on her bedside table.

“I see,” Courtney said. She was tapping her nails on a counter.

It occurred to me that Dustin might be standing on the other side of the closet door, so I crawled farther into the dark curtain of shirttails and dresses and settled behind a white terry cloth robe, hugging my knees to my chest.

There was a thin, feathery wad of Kleenex in the pocket of my flannel pajamas. I took it out to blow my nose, and when I did, a piece of white prescription paper came out with it.

“Oh, honey, listen to you!” Courtney cried, but I was already distracted. I unfolded the prescription and looked at the signature: Dr. D. Ashley.

“Wait a minute!” she said. “I know what this is about.”

I jammed the paper back into my pocket, afraid I'd been caught. But Courtney said, “You saw that helicopter crash on TV tonight, didn't you?”

“What helicopter crash?”

“Oh, you didn't see it? Never mind then.”

“Courtney—”

“So!” she said in a phony upbeat voice. “What time is the Spouse Club meeting tomorrow night?”

“Courtney, you can't say ‘helicopter crash' and then change the subject!”

“I don't want to worry you, Sarah. I mean, you're not in the best mental state right now.”

I held the ball of tissue to my nose. “Just tell me, was it anyone we knew?”

“No, they were from a different squadron,” she said. “Look, you can't focus on these types of things right before the guys leave. You know as well as anyone that accidents happen. It's part of the job, and you knew that the day you married a Navy pilot, right?” She laughed. “My gosh, Sarah,
you
of all people should understand that!”

Pshaw!
So just because my dad was career Navy, I'm supposed to be prepared for anything the military might dish out? I don't think so!

I made a mental note to check the newspaper in the morning for the crash.

“Anyway,” Courtney said, a little too eager now, “the meeting is at Kate's house, right?”

“Yeah . . . No, wait a minute,” I said, shaking my head. She was trying to get me off track. “Are you just going to pretend I didn't throw my clothes out the front door tonight?”

Courtney sighed. “Sarah, is your mother-in-law involved in any way?”

“What? Why would you . . . ?”

“There are only three things I know of that could make you throw laundry out the front door: Dustin leaving, your mother-in-law, or a bug in the kitchen you'll swear is five inches long. Am I right?”

How quickly Courtney had turned my crisis into a joke! I gasped out loud and put a hand to my chest. “Well, I never! What makes you think you know every little thing about me, anyway?”

Courtney laughed and then sighed again. “Have you been reading medical stuff online?”

“No!”

“Have you been talking to that doctor of yours?”

Gulp!

I shot upright, knocking my head into wire hangers, which clanked together and fell in a noisy heap.

“Well!” I said sharply. “It's been nice chatting with you, Courtney. Got to go now. Good night.”

Dustin was already asleep when I crept out of the closet. That's because he has the maddening habit of being able to fall asleep anywhere—on a bus, at the movies, during dinner. He once took a nap on a bench at Disney World. I, on the other hand, have the unfortunate ability to do just the opposite: I can stay awake for indefinite amounts of time, staring at the ceiling, and working myself up into quite a state over the strange lump on my earlobe, the reason one fingernail grows lopsided, or something very serious like that.

In the middle of the room, a wicker laundry basket was upside down next to two piles of clothes. Dustin must have brought them in from the front yard while I was on the phone, and he'd probably heard me crying through the closet door.

Yet—and this is
so
like him—he'd gone to bed anyway.

Hmpf!

But, on second thought, wasn't it just like
me
to cry in the
closet? And in that case, did Dustin have any choice but to ignore my behavior and go to bed? I might as well post a
DO NOT DISTURB
sign on the closet door for all the times I've held telephone conferences in there.

I hung up the phone on its base and the charger beeped, startling Tanner, my sable-and-white Shetland sheepdog curled up next to the pile of darks. When she heard my feet padding across the room, she jerked her head upright, a mass of fluffy white fur sticking out in all directions from her Lassie-like ears, and sniffed at the air.

“It's all right, Tanner,” I said. “Go back to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning.”

She huffed noisily and laid her head back on the floor.

I slid under the covers next to—but not touching—Dustin. He stirred in his sleep and I turned my head to look at him. Tucked in a swath of blue floral blankets, he was lying on his side, with his arms crossed over his chest. Such an aloof posture, I thought, especially for sleeping. But was he really asleep, or just pretending in order to avoid another argument?

“I'll miss you,” I whispered and turned to go to sleep.