Exit Plan

“Fisherman’s Wharf, say six-thirty?”

“Absolutely. Where should we go?” she asked. Jerry was sure he saw her eyes welling up.

“How about Crabby Jim’s?”

“My favorite! It’s a date!” Her face darkened immediately after she spoke, as if she regretted that last sentence.

There was an awkward silence as Jerry helped Emily collect the rest of her papers and books. His stomach was doing barrel rolls.

“Thank you,” Emily whispered. “It’s good to see you.” Those eyes again.

Jerry nodded his head. “I’m sorry that I bowled you over. Not very gentlemanly of me.”

Emily hesitated, then leaned over and gave Jerry a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you this evening. Now, you’d better get to class, Mr. Mitchell.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a mock salute. Jerry watched as she walked down the stairs. Dazed and confused he wandered off to class.

Jerry was hard-pressed to remember anything from that first day. His class notes were minimal, little more than the contact data for the instructor and a few scribbles on the syllabus. His thoughts were elsewhere — in the past — and they were haunting him.

At his apartment that afternoon, he struggled through his homework and reading assignments, but managed to complete them, sort of. He still had an hour before his dinner with Emily, so he plopped down in a lawn chair on the apartment’s balcony and forced open Pandora’s box.

Everything had seemed to be going so well between them. Emily Davis and Joanna Patterson were on the pier when USS Memphis returned to New London in July 2005. And after unloading Davis’s precious remote operating vehicles, they stayed for Jerry’s dolphin pinning ceremony and the party afterward. With Memphis in the dry dock for repairs, Jerry had plenty of opportunities to drive up to Boston and spend time with Emily. Those were good times.

The cracks in the relationship first showed up at Patterson’s and Hardy’s wedding that October. Emily was the maid of honor, and that seemed to throw a switch in her head. She began to talk about the two of them being more than just a couple, and even though she didn’t mention the word marriage, it was abundantly clear that was what she had in mind. Initially, Jerry didn’t see any harm in her talking about the idea. He wasn’t against the concept in principle; he just felt it was a bit premature. The two of them needed more time to figure out who they were as individuals, before trying to make a marriage work where the priorities weren’t necessarily about oneself.

The following year was more turbulent, with more than the occasional hard conversation about the future. Jerry was trying to figure out where he wanted to go next in his submarine career, while Emily gave mixed signals about moving on to academia or the corporate sector. She wanted them to be together, but she also wanted to keep her highly successful career going. Jerry appreciated her desires, but made the mistake of being blunt in telling her that he didn’t see how they could work all of the “wants” out.

In November 2006, at the victory celebration for Lowell Hardy’s election to the House of Representatives, the tectonic plates of their relationship suffered a major quake. Jerry told her that he had submitted a request for his next set of orders. He planned to skip the traditional shore tour and go straight to the Submarine Officers Advanced Course, and then back to sea. This would allow him to completely catch up with his peers and put his career back on a proper course. He added that his first choice was a Seawolf-class attack submarine, so he would hopefully be staying in the New London area. Emily seemed to take the news well, and said she was happy for him. But thereafter things never seemed to be quite the same.

By February 2007, the relationship was strained to the breaking point. Emily wanted everything. Jerry just couldn’t see how that was possible. He believed he had an obligation to the Navy leadership to pay them back for their investment, even if it had been forced. Emily had attractive offers from academic institutions across the country, none of which were near a submarine base. Jerry saw their situation as a classic design problem; you have three parameters to maximize, choose two.

The vexing part of it all was that he truly loved Emily, and wanted to make her happy. He analyzed the “data” and concluded that her career seemed to be more important at the time. Jerry was fine with the idea, they could wait until she had established herself academically, and he encouraged her accordingly. Unfortunately, Emily interpreted his willingness to put her career ahead of their relationship as a sign that he was no longer interested in a relationship. Frustrated, confused, and angry, Jerry lost his temper and suggested that they both might be better off with some time apart. His bad choice of words, coupled with unbelievably poor timing, Valentine’s Day, reinforced Emily’s belief that Jerry wanted to move on. They broke up a couple of days later; and while the parting was amicable, that didn’t do anything to soothe the pain.

Now, two-and-a-half-years later, Emily Davis had suddenly popped back into his life. It was clear from their collision that morning that she still had strong feelings for him — the enthusiastically spoken word date echoed in his head.

With a deep, resigned sigh, Jerry reached for the phone and called his sister, Clarice. For fifteen minutes she listened to her younger brother as he poured out his heart. When he finally asked what he should do, she encouraged him to not try and solve the problems, but to just listen. And, she added, to listen to the voice behind the words, as much as the words themselves. With his confidence shored up by his elder sibling’s wise counsel, Jerry quickly ran a brush through his hair and grabbed his jacket.

* * *

He paced impatiently back and forth at the foot of the wharf; stopping only to look at his watch, it read 6:43. She was late — again. Jerry took an odd solace from the fact that Emily’s lack of punctuality hadn’t been affected by the years. Or had he been stood up? He quickly dismissed the thought, ashamed that he had even considered Emily was capable of such cruelty. He had just purged his brain of that notion, when he heard her call out to him.

“Jerry!”

He turned to see her almost running down to him. She was modestly dressed, almost business casual, but it didn’t hide any of her physical charms. He had forgotten how beautiful she was.

“I am so sorry to be late,” she gasped. “The staff meeting went on forever, all we talked about was the budget and the impact the continuing resolution would have on our department. It just dragged on and on. I thought I’d never get out of there.”

Sounds just like my classes, thought Jerry. But there was no way he would say that. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with the fiscal planning process of our government,” Jerry remarked cynically. “It’s pure frickin’ magic as far as I’m concerned, and requires a bubbling cauldron and a pointy black hat to even begin to understand it.” He offered her his arm; she gladly took it.

“I don’t want to understand it. I just want those politicians to do their job, that’s all.”

“Be careful, now. You know one of those politicians personally,” admonished Jerry as he mimicked her tone.

“True,” Emily agreed tersely. But before she could say another word, an audible grumbling sound came from her midsection. She blushed with embarrassment.

Jerry laughed as they walked up to the restaurant’s entrance. “Now, that problem I do know how to take care of. And the solution is right here.” He opened the door and gestured for her to enter first.

They took a table by the large windows that overlooked the harbor. The view was impressive. A group of sea otters were frolicking in the water right in front of them, while on a nearby dock, sea lions were napping between expensive yachts. The tide was coming in, bringing with it the heady aroma of the sea.

Jerry ordered a bottle of white wine and two cups of Crabby Jim’s world-renowned clam chowder as an appetizer. He then lost himself in the menu. Like most of the restaurants on Fisherman’s Wharf, there was an abundance of choices. So much food, so little time.

“So what are you going to have?” inquired Emily. She was starting with the obvious small talk.

“I think I’m going to go with the chicken piccata tonight.”

“What!?! Chicken!?!” Emily appeared shocked. “Jerry, this is one of the best seafood restaurants in town, and you’re going to have chicken?”

“Emily,” Jerry replied defensively, “my household goods only arrived this last weekend. I’ve been eating out ever since I reported to NPS and I’m up to here,” he put his hand up to his neck, then moved it over his head.