Susan Wiggs - Marrying Daisy Bellamy

“Friend of yours?” Daisy asked.

“Sayers is in my detachment.” He was dying to figure out if Daisy was jealous. He kind of wanted her to be, because of what that would mean.

“She calls you Jughead.” She laughed. “I like it.”

“Hey, how about some family pictures before we go in,” Connor suggested.

“I’m on it,” Daisy said.

Julian’s family didn’t resemble anything people pictured when they thought of “family,” but they were all connected, and it meant the world to him that they had come. Daisy took photos of him and the others in every possible combination. They were definitely a picture of diversity. Connor, whose father was white, looked like Paul Bunyan in a new suit. Their mother, who these days called herself Starr, was as blond as Olivia and Daisy, while his aunt, uncle and cousin had the same fine ebony coloring as Julian’s late father. Julian himself was a mixture of dark and light, and was sometimes mistaken for Latino. Which, where he was headed, was not necessarily a bad thing.

He was dying to tell Daisy what he could of his news, to really have a chance to talk to her, but now was not the time. Likely the same thought had occurred to her; she was doing that thing she sometimes did, lifting her camera up, like a shield between her and the world.

“She’s a famous photographer,” Connor told Uncle Claude as she crouched down for a shot of a manicured campus garden with Remy and Mimi in the background.

“Get out,” said Daisy, her face flushed. “I’m not famous.”

“She’s a professional,” Julian explained, happy to contradict her. “She’s one of the youngest photographers ever to be published in the New York Times .”

“Your work was in the New York Times? “ Julian’s mom perked up. Anything having to do with fame and image generally intrigued her.

“It was one assignment,” she said. “I had a lucky break involving a local baseball player.”

“Everybody starts somewhere,” his mom said. “I’d love to see the pictures.”

“You’re going to love this even more.” Daisy positioned Julian and his mom side by side, with Cornell’s clock tower behind them. “The light’s really pretty here.”

Starr glanced back at the tower. “Looks like the set of a sniper movie I was in a few years ago. The shooter was up on the ledge surrounding the clock, and we had to figure out a way to escape.”

“And did you?” Julian asked.

“Yep. As I recall, I set something on fire and created a smoke screen. Who knows, now that you’re going to be a hotshot in the air force, you’ll be doing things like that for real.” She turned her gaze up to Julian, and he recognized a rare flash of pride in her regard. His mom knew so little about his life. In a way, that saddened him, but in another way, it was very liberating. She never had any expectations for him to live up to, so he had no trouble exceeding them.

“Has anyone ever mentioned you look like Heidi Klum?” Daisy asked.

Julian could feel his mom’s gratification in her posture. “You think?”

“Sure.” Daisy took several shots.

“I like this girl,” said Julian’s mom. “Where’d you find her?”

His eyes met Daisy’s, and he read the question there. No, he’d never explained Daisy to his mother. In the first place, Starr was too self-absorbed to actually care. And in the second place, his relationship with Daisy often seemed to defy explanation.

Since Starr had asked him a direct question, he went with the digest version. “We met the summer before our senior year of high school. Remember, the summer I spent at Willow Lake.”

Looking back, Julian now realized he’d been saved in more ways than one that summer. Camp Kioga and the Bellamys had been a revelation to Julian. He met not just Daisy, but a whole group of people who were nothing like the cholos he hung out with in his industrial town east of L.A. The people he’d met that summer saw life as filled with promise, not a dead end, even for a kid like him. He simply had to pick his path and do what he needed to do in order to get where he wanted to be. Despite its simplicity, this was a concept that had not occurred to him before.

“You’ve been together since high school and you never told me? “ his mother chided him.

“Um …” Daisy looked uncomfortable and lifted up her camera again.

“Mom, check it out.” With perfect timing, Connor interrupted, pushing the baby stroller into her path. “Zoe just woke up, and she’s ready to see her grandma.”

The little two-year-old eyed her glamorous grandmother with cautious interest. Absorbed with her life in L.A., Starr had only seen the tot one other time, soon after Zoe was born.

“Of course she wants to.” Starr clasped her hands, beaming at the pretty, yellow-haired child. “But ‘grandma’ sounds so … so old. We’ll have to come up with some alternative, won’t we, Zoe?”

The awkward moment passed, and Julian’s mood was buoyant by the time they reached the imposing, concrete-and-glass auditorium.

He took his place with the other cadets and midshipmen; all service branches were represented. A brass band played a couple of standards, and the glee club sang “America the Beautiful.”

The school president’s address was a balance of idealism and realism. “Today we honor you. Your numbers are few but your commitment is great. The call to serve one’s country is heard and heeded only by a select cadre of individuals, and our nation is fortunate indeed that the likes of you will join the ranks of our greatest heroes. And to the families—we honor you as well, because you are about to let them go now.”

At that, Daisy pushed a wad of Kleenex against her face. Julian winced, feeling her pain echo through him. He wished he could tell her it wasn’t going to be that way, that nobody had to let anything go. But he’d be wrong. The price for this career was steep, in terms of relationships. Damn. He hoped she understood. He needed this. He needed the purpose and the pride of being an officer in the air force. And God knew, he needed the money. His education had not cost him a cent. Now he would repay the debt with a chunk of his life. Back when he’d signed up for ROTC, it had seemed a fair enough exchange.

One by one, the candidates crossed the stage, raised a right hand and spoke the oath that would seal admittance into the military’s most elite class of commissioned officers. Each man or woman stood proudly as family members pinned the rank or bars onto each shoulder. Julian’s mother played her role with gusto, managing to project intense emotion as she stood on one side of Julian, while his father’s brother stood on the other.

Julian earned a citation for physical performance and engineering. It was the engineering prize that nearly did him in, right there in front of everyone.

His father had been a rocket scientist. It had always been a family joke that Louis Gastineaux’s passion for work surpassed his passion for life itself. He’d led an unconventional life, but Julian had always felt safe and protected. Sure, he’d wished for a mom, but his father had explained her absence without bitterness or recrimination. “It’s something she’s called to do,” Louis had told his small son, whenever Julian had asked about her. “Just like me and physics.”

“But you’re with me,” Julian would argue.

“How could I not be?” his dad would gently ask. “Tell me that, honey. How could I not be with you?” That had been before tragedy had struck, before the car accident that had paralyzed Julian’s father and eventually caused his death.

At the podium, Julian held the plaque of commendation. Thanks, Dad, he thought. I love you.

He didn’t know what kind of life his father had dreamed of for him. But today, he thought maybe this might be it.