Winter

Sarah had wanted to find Dottie at once to welcome the young woman into the family but she couldn't think of a way to do so without giving away their secret. And while she didn't agree with the secret marriage in the first place, she still didn't want to cause any problems with Dottie's parents. Fortunately, she was saved from the trouble as the young woman showed up at their front door of her own accord, looking nervous.

"John said he told you," Dottie said quietly. "I'm so sorry that we—"

Sarah immediately pulled her into a tight hug, catching the young woman off guard. "I'm glad it's you," she replied.

Later that day, as they all sat around the table, eating dinner, Dottie looked more at ease. "I'm sorry we didn't tell you before it happened," she said.

"Stop apologizing," Sarah responded. "What's done is done." There was no use in making Dottie feel any more guilty than she may have already felt. "So...how did it happen? I know John can be a bit impulsive at times but eloping? I always thought an elopement would be too bold for him."

Dottie smiled. "He did catch me off guard when he brought it up. But, everything he said made so much sense. And this was after my mother had sent out wedding invitations for a wedding I didn't want. I just...I thought it was the only way I would've been able to marry him." She speared a potato on the end of her fork. "It was at a place called the Hitching Post, in Coeur d'Alene. John found it."

"Did you wear a wedding dress?" Eileen asked.

"No, I didn't have time to buy a wedding dress. I wore my yellow one," she said. "But John did pick me some forget-me-nots so I had a little bouquet of flowers to hold. Although they were a bit wilted by the time we made it through the line."

Eileen made a face. "It doesn't sound very romantic."

"I suppose it wasn't very much." Dottie sighed. "John and I have never been one for romance."

"I imagine not," Pat said. "Considerin' it took him years to realize that he loved ye."

She shook her head. "He hasn't been in love with me for years. I would've known."

"No?" Pat exchanged a knowing look with Sarah. "I must say, the two of ye are well-suited for each other."

"I wish I could've been there," Sarah said. She had always dreamed about watching her son, one day, marry and it hurt to know that the moment had happened without her present.

"Maybe when John comes home, we could have another ceremony?" Dottie suggested.

"Your parents would probably like that."

"I doubt it." She set her fork down and pushed her plate back from the edge. "I still need to figure out how to tell them and Jimmy too but I know how it's going to go. Jimmy will be heartbroken and my parents will be furious. They might throw me out."

"They'll come around," Sarah said. "They have to." She couldn't imagine any sort of situation where she would consider the possibility of tossing out one of her children. No matter what they had done or would do, it was unimaginable.


It was easy work, although monotonous. John sat on a metal folding chair, several large bags of potatoes by his side. Methodically, he took a potato, scraped off the skin with a paring knife and dropped the naked spud into a metal bucket at his feet. One potato. Two potatoes. A never-ending supply of potatoes. He hated potatoes. Once upon a time, he enjoyed them. And then there was the moment with the potato soup. But it wasn't even the potato soup, itself, that turned him against them. It was everything else. Everyone had been so unhappy although he never understood why…those were the days his mother had spent so much time in her room, buried beneath her blankets.

As he peeled potato after potato, his mother was all he could think about. Was she sad now? Was he the reason she was back in her room, blankets pulled up over her head? Before he realized it, he found himself wishing he was at home. What was he even thinking? He should never have volunteered. His family needed him.

"You save me any?"

John looked up to see a young man pulling over his own chair.

"I think I've peeled about three hundred of them already so I'd say there's only a few thousand left."

The man laughed as he reached for a potato. "You know, my mother never bothered peeling them. You can eat the skins."

"Are you trying to tell me that the Army's wasting our time with pointless tasks? I'm absolutely shocked."

"At least it beats latrine duty." The man tossed a potato into the bucket. "Don."

"John."

"Where're you from?"

"Washington. You?"

"Indiana," Don replied. "And yet here we both are in Texas." He shrugged. "You'd think the Army could find potato peelers a little closer to home instead of dragging us against our will from all over the country."

"I actually volunteered."

"Did you?" Don eyed him. "Why in the hell would you do something like that?"

It was John's turn to shrug. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." Why had it seemed like such a good thing to do? He had wanted to impress Dottie, her parents, convince them he could live away from his family. But now, it only seemed impulsive and foolhardy.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, you probably would've been drafted anyway. Everyone's going to be at some point."

"There's not that many potatoes." John made a feeble attempt at a joke. He had a horrible feeling that Don was right.

Don laughed. "No, but if we go to war, the more men there are, the sooner it ends and the sooner we can all go home again."

"Wouldn't that be nice?"


Arthur was starting to get good at sketching faces. Half of the time, they looked like who they were supposed to look like. The other half of the time, they merely looked vaguely familiar. But he was practicing as he wished to be good at drawing people. For a reason he couldn't explain, he wanted to draw June and he needed to do her credit or the effort would be wasted. He was in the middle of a sketch—not of June, but of Evy—when the young woman came flying through the front door.

June tried to take her coat off only for it to catch on her hand. She spun around as she attempted to shake it free.

"Hold still." Arthur set his sketchbook aside and jumped up to help her. He carefully freed her arm.

"Can I have that?" June took the coat from him and threw it on the ground with a huff.

"Having a good morning?"

She shot him a look.

He returned to his seat. "What's bothering you?"

"I shouldn't."

"There's no one else around and I promise I won't tell anyone."

"Fine." June sat beside him. "Alice is getting close to walking now. Like she can take a couple of steps but she still needs a bit of help."

"Kate talks about it all the time."

"This morning, she had pulled herself up at the coffee table and was holding onto the edge. I was sitting nearby but not close enough because she lost her balance and fell and hit her head."

"Is she alright?"

June wrapped her arms around herself. "She cried so much and then my mother came in and took her from me and told me I was being irresponsible. I should've been more careful. I clearly wasn't keeping a close enough eye on her." She began to cry.

Arthur immediately looked around for Kate but she had gone to the store and hadn't yet returned. He looked at June crying quietly and tried to think of something to say or do to make it better. For a moment, he started to put his arm around her but quickly pulled it back. "Where's Alice now?"

"With my mother." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "She told me that I clearly need a break." June wrapped her hand around his arm and rested her head on his shoulder.

Feeling a flutter of panic in the pit of his stomach, Arthur abruptly stood up. "I'm going to…would you like some tea? I would like some tea."

June, looking surprised, nodded.

He had watched Kate make a pot of tea a dozen times and it always looked so easy. But as he stared at the stove with its multitude of knobs, he wished he had offered June anything other than tea. A box of crackers, a sandwich, an apple…those he could manage. Still, June wanted tea and he needed to figure it out.

Arthur first filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove. Picking a knob at random, he turned it but nothing happened. He tried a second knob and still nothing. Frowning, he switched them both off.

Matches. Kate always used a match.

He rifled through the drawers until he found a box of long matches. He lit one then held it as the flame burnt down. He couldn't remember what she did with the match once it was lit. Eventually, he held it beneath the kettle but the burner didn't catch. The match put itself out with a thread of smoke.

The knob.

Arthur turned the first knob once again and struck another match. He held it out to the kettle but before he could get close, the burner lit in a massive flame. "Shit." He dropped the match and quickly turned the knob the other way. The burner went out once again.

Feeling too nervous to try again, he abandoned his plan to make tea. Instead, he grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water.

"I couldn't figure out how to turn on the stove," he admitted as he held the glass out to her.

June smiled. "Water's fine." She took a small sip.

Arthur returned to his seat by her side. He struggled to think of something to say. "I'm sorry your mother is…" His voice trailed off as he wasn't sure what her mother was.

"She's only doing her best."

"Is she though? Alice is your child, not hers, and you've kept her alive for almost a year now so you clearly know what you're doing."

June managed a smile but shook her head. "I don't know what I'm doing though. I shouldn't...I shouldn't be a mother."

"I think you're doing fine," Arthur insisted.

She didn't seem to hear him. "Do you know what the worst part is in all of this?"

"Your mother?"

"Tommy," she replied. "He should be here. He told me he knew how to raise a baby and now he's not here and I'm stuck doing it on my own and apparently doing it all wrong."

"June, I'm sure—"

"He never said a word to me. Did you know that?" She set the glass on the end table. "When he left, I mean. I saw his name in the paper and I was there waiting for him to say something to me about it. At the very least a goodbye but I never heard from him and then I come over here and find out he's already gone." She knocked the glass to the floor. It shattered and water went everywhere. "I shouldn't have done that." June quickly went to her knees and began to pick up the pieces of glass. "Please don't tell your mother."

"My mother?" Arthur's first thought was of his own mother and it took him a second to realize she meant Kate. "She wouldn't be upset."

"This is the only place where I feel welcome, sometimes, you know. Ever since it happened, I sort of lost all of my friends. Not all at once, mind you. There were a few at my wedding but slowly in bits and then Alice came and the last one was suddenly too busy to see me." June took a breath and wiped her eyes once more. "I hope you don't mind me being over here all the time," she said. "It's just hard being trapped with my mother all the time."

"I don't mind," Arthur replied. "I like it when you're here."

Her gaze landed on his sketchbook and before he realized what was happening, she had picked it up and opened it. "These are wonderful," she said, turning the pages.

"They are—thank you," he stammered. "Can I have it back?"

She turned to the drawing he had once attempted of herself. A smile slowly spread across her face and she looked at him. "Is this me?"

"It was supposed to be." He could feel his face grow warm. "I've been drawing everyone. So it's not just you. It's everyone. I mean, I didn't single you out or anything."

"Arthur, it's fine." June lightly touched his arm. "Can I have it?"

"You want that? It's not very good."

She nodded. "I like it. Maybe you could teach me how to draw sometime?"

It was Arthur's turn to nod. He didn't know if drawing was something that could be taught but he couldn't bring himself to say no.

Spring

Music drifted from the radio that sat beneath the window. A group of men ping ponged on one side of the room and a game of cards had broken out on the other. Tommy sat somewhere between them, a book on his lap. He had been so against being selected against his will but so far his time in the Army wasn't too bad. Of course, he didn't care for being told what to do and when to do it but, all things considered, it could have been a lot worse.

There was a shout from the ping pong table and one of the men threw down his paddle. Tommy watched as the man took a deep breath, picked it back up, and resumed playing. With a sigh, he returned to his book. He had been hoping the match was over as he wanted to take a turn on the table. Ever since he first arrived, he wanted to give the game a try—never having played ping pong before—but during every down time, the table was always in use.

A letter fell across the pages of his book and he looked up to see John standing over him.

Tommy picked up the letter. "You don't have to write to me. I'm right here."

"It's from June," John said. There was an edge to his voice. "She thinks something terrible must have happened to you because she hasn't heard from you since we left."

"Nothing terrible—"

"Why aren't you writing to your wife?"

Tommy ran his fingers over June's tidy handwriting. She always wrote such long letters. "I don't know what to say to her," he admitted. "I can't tell her that I love her because I don't love her. I like her but no one wants to hear 'How are you? I like you.' And I can't tell her that I miss her because, honestly, I don't. I don't know her well enough to miss her." There were no words for the guilt he felt over such a confession. He wanted to miss June. He wanted to love June. But he didn't. He couldn't. "I think she wants me to pretend to be a loving, doting husband, but I don't know if I can't do that. I don't know how."

"How about you pretend to be a decent human being?"

"How about you mind your own business," Tommy snapped. He didn't need a lecture from his cousin.

"I think your wife writing to me makes it my business," John replied. "What's wrong with you?"

Tommy inexplicably found himself thinking of Hugh. His stepfather would've been more than happy to answer John's question. The man had strong opinions on everything that was wrong with him, opinions that he never hesitated in voicing aloud. "I don't think I can be a good husband."

"It's really not that difficult."

"Maybe it's not for you but…" Once again, an image of Hugh popped into his head. "Never mind."

"No," John pressed. "What do you mean by that?"

Tommy hesitated as he chose his words carefully. "What I mean is that you had a good father growing up. I had…Hugh."

John pulled up a chair beside him and took a seat. "Was he really so bad?" He asked. "I remember how my parents used to talk about him but they always changed the subject when they saw me in the room. And then I remember the time when all of you moved in. I knew it had something to do with him but no one would tell me anything when I asked."

Tommy shrugged. "He used to get drunk and beat on my mother," he spoke quietly. "He did the same to me too but, well, Henry always used to hide from him when he was drinking. I always refused to hide and he didn't like that much." It felt strange to say such things aloud and he almost felt guilty as though he was admitting to some sort of terrible secret best kept hidden.

"Shit. I didn't know. I mean, I had an idea but…I didn't know." John looked put out.

"I always felt like I was waiting for the day he killed her," Tommy admitted. He didn't know why he couldn't stop speaking about it. "I even used to plan out what I'd do if I came home from school to find it had happened. I was going to grab Henry and Bridget and hightail it to your house. I even kept a bag packed, just in case."

"Jesus."

John looked so uncomfortable that Tommy immediately regretted speaking. "You want to play ping pong later?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

"I don't know how to play ping pong."

"Neither do I."

John sighed. "Why can't you just be nice to your wife?" He asked. "What are you so afraid of?"

"I'm afraid…" Tommy hesitated. "What if I'm like him?"

"You're not even related."

"No, but that doesn't change the fact that sometimes I get so angry, just out of nowhere and I know it's terrible but I can't help it and…I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to be like him."

"Then don't hurt her."

"You don't get it," John said.

"Apparently not. Write to your wife." The sound of a bugle playing came from somewhere outside of the building. "At least let her know you're not running off on her," John said, standing up.

Tommy tucked the letter into the pages of his book. He would read it later. "Fine," he agreed. "Just leave me alone about it. Now, if I were to hide the paddles or the ball so no one else could play ping pong…" He suggested as they joined the others leaving the recreation room.

"We can play then. But someone might murder you if they catch you hiding paddles."

"That's if they catch me."

They walked in silence for a time.

"I'm sorry about Hugh," John said softly. "I would've shared my father if I could."

"It's fine," Tommy replied. "Bastard got what he deserved in the end." That moment, his mother on the ground, Evy crying in her playpen, the cold metal in his hand…it had never left his mind. Even years later, he still hadn't figured out if it was a good memory or a terrible one. All he knew was that it was always there.

John gave him a curious look but Tommy kept walking. He had already said enough.


"Kate!" June called out as she barged into the house.

"In the kitchen," Kate responded. She had just begun the process of measuring out flour to make a loaf of bread.

June rushed into the room, Alice in her arms, and made an immediate beeline for her. "Alice has a cough," she said. Her voice broke on the words and her eyes were filled with tears.

"She needs to go to the hospital," June's mother trailed after her. "Now we're just wasting time."

Kate gently placed the back of her hand on the baby's forehead. "She doesn't have a fever," she said. "It's likely only a cold."

"Likely only a cold?" June's mother snapped. "You mean pneumonia."

"It's not pneumonia."

"What would you even know?"

"Excuse me?" Kate turned on the older woman. "I've raised four children. I'm still raisin' children. I know a cold when I see a cold."

"June, give her to me." Her mother reached out her arms. "We're going to the hospital and praying it's not too late."

June looked uncertainly between the two woman. "Kate says it's only a cold," she managed. "I don't want to frighten Alice for no reason."

"You're going to trust the woman who raised a deviant over your own mother?"

"He's my husband."

"I have it on good authority that prior to seducing you, he spent time in jail." The woman cast a sharp look at Kate. "You know for a fact that it's her parenting that did it. Her and that drunkard of a husband."

Kate bristled under her accusation. "Cal isn't—"

"I'm referring to your previous husband. The one who showed up dead in the river." She wrinkled her nose. "He was the second of your husbands to die unexpectedly, am I correct?"

"Get out of me house." Kate spoke calmly but with an undercurrent of anger beneath her words. She knew precisely what the woman was implying.

"Come along, then," June's mother said. "I can't believe I ever let you set foot in this house in the first place."

June moved closer to Kate. "No."

"Don't argue with me. This whole marriage was a mistake." The woman shook her head. "I should've just made you give the child up like I originally wanted."

Kate stepped protectively in front of June. "If ye don't leave me house this instant, I will call the police."

The woman opened her mouth to say something then abruptly shut it. "Fine. June, you can come home the moment you come to your senses." She turned on her heels. "Maybe adoption's still an option," she muttered under her breath as she left.

The moment she was gone, June turned to face Kate. "She's not going to die, is she?"

"Yer mother or Alice?"

"Alice," June replied. "I don't believe my mother's capable of dying."

Kate smiled softly. "I promise ye, it's only a cold. Ye don't need to take her to the hospital unless she comes down with a fever or is strugglin' to breathe. She's fine."

June shifted Alice to her other side. "So…Tommy was in jail?"

"Some time ago, he was foolish and broke a window. He spent a grand total of one hour in jail for it. Me son is not any sort of deviant." Kate recalled the night Tommy had done that, not long after Arthur had arrived. It wasn't even the first time he had gotten himself into trouble, it was only the first time he had been caught. "Tommy's had a…an unhappy childhood. His stepfather—me previous husband—wasn't very kind to him. He just needs a bit of patience and a little understandin' sometimes."

Alice sneezed suddenly, startling herself in the process, and she let out a whimper.

June gently kissed the top of her head. "I believe you," she said. "I know my mother's wrong about him."


Pat found Sarah in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror. He quietly watched from the doorway, entirely entranced, as she carefully took her hair down and spread it around her shoulders. Unlike most other women at the time, she still kept her hair long, although it was usually pulled back into a chignon bun.

Sarah turned her head one way and then the other, a frown on her lips. She let out a sad sigh and began to gather up her hair once more. Her eyes met his gaze in the mirror and she paused. "Do you still find me attractive?"

"Do I still find ye attractive?" Pat repeated as he stepped into the bathroom. He moved her hands from her hair and, brushing it to the side, pressed a light kiss to her neck.

"That doesn't answer my question."

He wrapped his arms around her. "Yer so beautiful that at every moment, I'm half-expectin' to wake up because it still seems so impossible that someone like yerself would ever want to be with someone like me."

"I don't believe you."

"I wish ye could see yerself the way I do," Pat said. He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent. "Ye wouldn't have a single doubt."

"I'm not young anymore," she said softly.

"Neither am I."

"But I have more grays than you." Sarah turned around so she was facing him. "When we married, I warned you that you were marrying an old woman."

"I'm happy with me choices," Pat replied. "I'd make the same ones all over again." He thought for a moment. "Well, no. I'd do one thing differently."

"And what's that?"

"I wouldn't leave yer side from the moment we stepped off that ship." He thought about it often. Six more years that they could've been together. "One day with ye is worth more to me than anything in the world. The thought that I've lost six years' worth of days is nearly unbearable."

A soft smile spread across Sarah's face. She leaned forward and kissed him.

"What's that for?"

"It reminded me of something John once said—my husband, John," she clarified. "He wrote it in a letter, that one day with me was worth more than a lifetime without me." There was a quiver of emotion to her voice.

"Yer husband, John, was a very smart man," Pat said. "He's absolutely right. There is no life without ye in it." It was something he knew so clearly and unmistakably that he couldn't even begin to imagine what his life would be like without Sarah by his side. It was impossible.


John didn't understand Tommy's fascination with ping pong. Neither one of them knew the rules—were there rules? Neither one of them was any good. Half the match was spent chasing the little ball all over the recreation room. But whenever the table was free, John found himself being coerced into playing.

"Are you absolutely sure it didn't come off too sentimental?" Tommy asked while they played. He had finally written to June. "I don't want her to get any of the wrong ideas." He smacked the tiny ball over the net.

John, reacting instinctively, caught it in his hand. "Whoops."

"You have a paddle right there."

"Sorry, I forgot what we were doing." John tried to serve the ball back across the table but it struck the net and rolled back to him. "And as for your letter. You spent two pages talking about rifle practice."

"And a whole page describing the weather."

"I don't understand how that part took up a whole page." John successfully sent the ball back over. "The weather is hot. There. I just described it in four words."

Tommy returned the ball. "It also rained."

"No one would ever mistake you for a romantic," John said. "Or a married man."

"I'll have you know, I've been true to June ever since we married."

John swung and missed the ball. "And I'm sure that's all she ever wanted," he said as he retrieved the ball from beneath a chair.

"Oh, what would you know anyway?" Tommy sniped. "You're not even married."

"Yeah, I am."

"What?"

"Dottie and I eloped almost a year ago."

"The hell?" Jimmy called out.

John spun around to see the man standing behind him. "Hey, Jimmy. Didn't realize you were standing there." He pushed down the panic he felt.

"You and Dottie married?"

"Just a bit. She was going to tell you, I think. We didn't want—"

Jimmy hit him.

John staggered back, surprised more than hurt.

But before he could react, Tommy pushed his way between the two of them. "You can't fight like that here," he said, casting a quick look around the room. Several of the other men present watched them closely, waiting and perhaps hoping for escalation.

"You son of a bitch," Jimmy spat, ignoring Tommy entirely. "Here I am, thinking we're friends, all the while, you're over here making me look like a fool. Were you ever going to tell me?"

"He's not exactly wrong," Tommy cut in.

John shot his cousin a look.

"I'm just saying, Dottie probably should've ended things with her fiancé before marrying another man," Tommy continued.

Jimmy's shoulders slumped and he suddenly looked deflated. "You know what? Just forget it." He started to walk away from them.

"Wait a moment." John quickly caught up to him before he could leave the room. "Could you…we haven't told her parents yet. If you could not say anything until…" All at once, he realized it was a mistake.

"Why the hell should I keep your little secret?" Jimmy snapped. "So you can humiliate me some more?"

"Because you love Dottie?" John's brain screamed at him to stop talking.

A pained expression crossed Jimmy's face. "I do love Dottie." And with that, he turned and left.

"Shit," John muttered beneath his breath as he returned to Tommy. "Do you have any paper left?"

"A bit, why?"

"I should probably warn Dottie before Jimmy can send a letter to her parents."

"You know they have to find out eventually." Tommy tossed up the ping pong ball and smacked it across the room. "Might as well get it over with."

Summer

Since he left Philadelphia, Cal kept in touch with Victor through telegrams and the occasional letter. He hadn't yet needed to return to the city as his son was surprisingly meticulous with his bookkeeping and, Cal hoped, accurate. So it was surprising to one day receive a long distance phone call. Victor had called seeking approval to sign a significant government contract. The contract was confidential and the government representative refused to say what the steel was going to be used for, but it didn't take much sleuthing to know that it was related to the war in Europe. Cal immediately gave his permission. Before they hung up, Victor mentioned an off-hand comment the man had made about aluminum. It was a shame that one of the steel factories wasn't, instead, an aluminum plant. If that were the case, they could've been the main metal supplier of the war.

Long after the phone call, Cal continued to think about it. His father and grandfather had built themselves into steel tycoons through the sweat of their brow—or so his father claimed. They had seen potential and taken advantage of it. So often in his life, Cal wondered if he could've done the same, were he in their place. His father had certainly never believed so.

"What do you think of aluminum?" He asked Arthur one day.

"It's nice, I suppose," Arthur replied. He continued to work in his sketchbook. "I don't really know what it's used in. Why?"

"I've been considering the possibility of an aluminum plant." It sounded foolish to say aloud. His father would've laughed in his face.

"Really?" There was no laughter in Arthur's voice.

"If we could build one quickly enough, before we end up at war—if we end up at war, I mean, there could be an opportunity to make a great deal of money."

"Wars use aluminum?"

"I believe it's used to build airplanes."

"Oh." Arthur looked up from his work. "Do we need money?"

"Not at the moment but it's always better to have too much than not enough," Cal explained. "If this were to work out, would you like to run it?"

"I don't know anything about aluminum."

"You'd learn."

"I don't know anything about running anything," Arthur replied. "I think I'd be terrible at it."

"Please just think about it. Right now, I'm not even sure if it's a possibility."

The idea really did seem absurd. The family certainly didn't need any more money but Cal had lately been thinking ahead to his eventual death. It was no longer just Victor and Arthur who needed to be taken care of after he was gone. Now, he needed to provide for all of his children, step or otherwise, as well as Kate and Sarah and Pat and their children. Plus, he liked to leave a bit for Fabrizio and Lelia and their children—assuming they were still married by then. He had once brought up his concerns to Kate and she immediately walked out of the room. She, at least, wasn't ready to start thinking about anyone's death.

"Probably run it into the ground, but sure," Arthur grumbled. "I'm not Victor. Running some factory really isn't my sort of thing."

"I suppose not." Cal loved how different his children were but he still wished Arthur would find something to do aside from sitting around doodling in his sketchbook. Not that he wanted a son who worked himself to pieces, he simply worried over the fact that after the heartbreak with Doris, Arthur rarely left the house. It concerned him that his son's brief foray into the world of dating had ended so suddenly. The young man seemed to have given up entirely and Cal didn't know how to handle it.


Tommy would be home in a few months and Kate couldn't have been happier. A few months and her nightmares would stop. A few months and Tommy and June could start their married life over again, only correctly this time. Cal had agreed to put the money down on a house for them. June had already picked out the one she wanted, a small house with flower boxes beneath the windows that sat closer to their house than to her mother's. The house, so far as any of them knew, wasn't for sale but Cal felt confident that he could encourage them to sell when the time came. Kate wondered how much that 'encouragement' might cost them but, ultimately, didn't care. Tommy was coming home soon.

With only a few months to go, she put everyone to work on a deep clean of the house. Cal, Arthur, and Henry were sent outside to straighten up the yard—despite the fact that Tommy wasn't coming home until November and the yard had plenty of time to untidy itself with sticks and leaves. Bridget tackled the windows and Evy went room to room with a broom. Even Alice was handed a feather duster and she dutifully toddled around knocking things over and hitting people with it. Meanwhile, Kate and June tackled the kitchen.

"I don't know how well they feed them there, so I'm expectin' he'll be plenty hungry," Kate said. She was deep in the pantry and her voice came out muffled. "Something like a chicken casserole would be easiest but that hardly feels special."

June stood on a chair as she wiped down the tops of the cabinets with a damp towel. "We should have a cake," she replied. "A nice big cake can always make a meal feel special."

Kate laughed. "I might be bakin' cakes a bit too often for them to make anything feel special anymore."

"I'm sure that's not—" June stopped speaking as Arthur came into the room. He crossed to the sink and filled a glass with water. "What's your favorite type of cake?" She asked him.

"Cake?" He stared at the water in his glass. "I don't know. I'm not a cake person, I suppose."

"I find that hard to believe. What was your favorite one when you were a child?"

"I never had cake as a child."

"Your mother never made you a cake?" She gestured as she spoke and the towel slipped from her hands. "Whoops."

"No," Arthur replied, picking it up from the floor. "My mother couldn't have even found the kitchen, let alone bake something in it."

June reached for the towel in his hands but he pulled it back at the last moment. She nearly lost her balance. "Are you trying to make me break my neck?" She laughed.

"You know I would've caught you." Arthur held out the towel once more, this time, letting her grab it.

Kate had paused in her own cleaning as she watched them, her brow furrowed. She knew there was likely nothing behind their friendliness but an inkling of suspicion persisted. From the little she knew about Arthur, the young man fell in love too easily, too quickly. If there were feelings developing, at least on Arthur's part, there was no possible scenario in which his heart wouldn't be broken once again.

"What's Tommy's favorite cake?" June's voice broke through her thoughts.

"Chocolate," Kate replied. "But I've never known him to turn down any type of cake. Except burnt sugar."

"Burnt sugar?"

"It's delicious. Maybe I'll make one of those, just for us to eat," Kate mused. "Tommy can eat the chicken casserole. Arthur, since yer here, could ye move out the refrigerator. It's as good a time as any to sweep behind it."

"Sure." Arthur went to do as he was told.

Kate watched him and wondered if she should say something to Cal but she quickly put the thought from her mind. She was worried over nothing and Tommy was coming home soon. If there were any feelings there, they were sure to fade the moment June was back with her husband.


"I don't know why everyone's always complaining about this," Sarah said to herself. She sat alone at the kitchen table, working her way through a pile of shell peas. Everyone else might've found the work tedious but she genuinely enjoyed the way the little peas would pop out of their pods. It was satisfying to watch the bowl gradually fill, pea by tiny pea. She was lost deep in her thoughts when there came a gentle knock at the door. She went to answer it, a pea pod still in her hand.

Dottie stood on the front porch, a suitcase at her feet. Her eyes looked red and Sarah suspected she might have been crying.

"Dottie?" Her maternal instincts took over and she pulled the young woman into a tight hug. "It's alright. What happened?"

"John must've told Jimmy about us and I suppose he wrote to my parents," she said, her voice muffled by Sarah's shoulder. "They said that since I'm married now, my husband should be the one supporting me and not them."

"They threw you out?" The very idea filled her with anger and it took everything she had to not immediately march over to Dottie's house to confront her parents. How could anyone throw their child out onto the street?

Dottie stepped back and wiped her eyes. "I'm so sorry for putting this on you. I don't want to burden anyone but I didn't know what else to do." There was a thickness to her voice.

"You married my son which makes you my daughter. And I will not throw any of my children out," Sarah said. "We have plenty of room here." She picked up Dottie's suitcase and carried it inside, shutting the door behind them. "You can stay in John's room. I know he won't mind."

"I'm sure it'll only be a few months. John will be home soon and then we can find someplace for just us."

"Stay as long as you like."

Dottie took a deep breath and looked around the house. "Thank you. And if I can help you in any way with anything at all. I want to be useful."

"I cannot believe your parents threw someone like you out. How are you at shelling peas?"

"I've never shelled peas before."

"It's easy," Sarah said. "Now, let's get you settled in and then you can give me a hand."

Dottie managed a smile. "Thank you," she said again.


Tommy was certain that it must've been someone's idea of a joke. Service extended another eighteen months—it was preposterous. It was clearly illegal. It certainly wasn't what he had agreed to. He felt like a hostage. How could they think anyone would willingly go along with it? He desperately wished for an uprising, for everyone to demand that the Army keep to their original word. Twelve months service and not a single day longer.

But there was no uprising. Everyone around him seemed to accept it with hardly more than an off-handed grumble.

"There's just no point in complaining," John said, attempting to balance his pool cue on the palm of his hand. The ping pong table had been taken, leaving them to try a game of pool but neither of their hearts were in it. "You can't change anything so you might as well be okay with it."

"Like hell I will." Tommy kicked over a chair and the clatter echoed through the room.

John shot him a look as he returned the chair to its place. "You have to calm down."

"I have a baby and she's going to be a grown adult by the time I'm allowed to go home and you tell me to calm down?"

"Tommy." There was a note of warning in John's voice.

Tommy could feel everyone's eyes on him. "I could just leave," he said in a lower voice. He could picture his escape clearly. He'd slip out after dark, walk to the nearest train station—he had enough money for the fare—and then, in a few days, he'd be back sleeping in his own bed.

"I doubt you'd get very far," John replied. "They'll send MPs after you."

The image of surprising everyone at home was suddenly replaced by one of being chased by jeeps, searchlights trailing after him, prison. "This goddamn fucking place." He picked up a billiard ball and hurled it across the room. It bounced off the far wall with a loud thud, narrowly missing a window. He picked up another ball but before he could bring his arm back, John wrenched it from his grasp.

"That's enough." John forced him into the chair. "Acting like a jackass isn't going to change a damn thing. Yes, you don't want to be here. Yes, you want to go home. Well, guess what? You can't." He tossed the ball back onto the table. "You are stuck here with the rest of us until the Army decides it's finished with you. So you might as well get used to it. And shut up while you're at it. I'm sick of your damn complaining."

Tommy glared at him, his hands clenched into fists. He didn't want to hit his cousin but he did want to hit something, anything. He wanted to break every window in the building. He wanted to destroy the place until the Army gave up on him and sent him back home. The feeling of entrapment was overwhelming. "Fine," he muttered the word.

"Good." John stepped back. "Now, go write to your mother before she hears it from mine."

"You don't get to tell me what to do," Tommy said as he stood and went to do as he was told. How in the world was he going to tell his mother that he wasn't coming home in a couple of months? She'd be beyond angry. Would she blame him? She had to know that he hadn't wanted any of this. He sighed as he pulled out a blank sheet of paper. Maybe if she was angry enough, she'd come fetch him, herself. If anyone could make the Army let him go, it'd be her.

Fall

Arthur had only meant to drop June and Alice off at Manito Park and then return an hour later to pick them up again. But, as he pulled into the parking lot, June insisted he take a few laps with them. The weather was clearly too nice to spend the day driving around or sitting at home. She could use a bit of adult conversation for a change. And what if Alice tumbled into the pond and a strong swimmer was needed to fetch her back out? June had an endless list of reasons for him to accompany them and Arthur couldn't think of a single reason not to.

They circled the flowerbeds several times while June pointed out all of her favorite flowers: vibrant black eyed susans, massive orange dahlias, and something that looked like a clump of pink fluttering butterflies whose name she couldn't recall, before taking a seat next to the pond. A fat duck waddled by. Alice took one look at it and proceeded to laugh for several long minutes, to the poor bird's confusion, before promptly insisting she was hungry. All Arthur heard was 'alunny,' but June insisted it was baby speak for 'I'm hungry.'

On the way home, he pulled into Ed's Drive In. Inexplicably, he found himself thinking of Doris. She would've hated everything about the diner from the plastic booths inside to the metal trays clipped to the windows of the cars parked outside. She wouldn't have let him even drive past it, let alone stop at it.

"Inside or out?" He asked June.

"Inside," she replied at once. "Don't want to have to worry about spills or this one trying to drive away." She gestured to Alice who was busy tugging on the steering wheel. "Stop that. You don't have a license yet."

Arthur smiled. "Inside it is."

They took a seat in a corner booth, with him on one side and June—with Alice on her lap—on the other. The waitress sidled over and they both ordered: a cheeseburger for him and a melted cheese sandwich for her.

The woman returned with their food and June immediately cut half of her sandwich into small pieces for Alice.

"Is that enough for you?" Arthur asked.

She smiled. "Alice won't eat much and if I do run out of food, I'll steal from your plate."

Alice reached for a piece of sandwich and happily shoved it into her mouth.

"Who says I'll let you steal from my plate?"

"Are you really going to let me go hungry?"

"No, but I may have to charge you."

June laughed. "I see how it is." She picked up her sandwich and took a bite. "Thank you for coming with us."

"I had nothing else to do," Arthur replied. "And, like you said, Alice might've fallen into the pond so I didn't see how I had any choice."

"If she could walk better, she might've chased that poor duck in." She sighed suddenly. "You know, I just keep thinking of all the things that Tommy's missing with him being gone. Alice's first word. Her first steps."

"Her first duck."

She softly smiled. "Right. Her first duck. He won't be getting any of those moments back. They're gone."

"There's always your next child."

"Next child?" The smile was gone.

"I assume you'll have more children." Arthur had the distinct impression that he had said the wrong thing. "I'm sorry if I assumed something I shouldn't. I just assumed you're married so there would be…you know."

"Stop apologizing and stop saying 'assume' so much."

"Sorry."

June handed Alice a french fry.. "Did your life turn out at all the way you thought it would when you were a child?"

"Not exactly. But my mother had a strict plan for me and I think I might have turned a few things upside down by leaving."

"Do you miss your mother?"

Arthur blinked in surprise. It was genuinely something he hadn't thought often about. "I don't know. No," he replied. "Or yes. I don't know. It's like…" He hesitated as he chose his next words. "I shouldn't miss her and I certainly don't like her—pretty sure she never liked me either—but I still sometimes think about her and feel guilty for leaving, like I abandoned her, and then I miss her. But then I remember the time she called me useless and stupid and I don't miss her so much." He picked up his sandwich and stared at it. "Until the next time I do." He shook his head. "It makes no sense." Occasionally, he wished he could bring her up and voice his complicated feelings but his father's own feelings were abundantly clear. With the way his mother had spoken of him–continuously and viciously–he could hardly blame him.

Beneath the table, June's foot lightly pressed against his own. "Regardless of your history, she's still your mother," she said. "I think it makes perfect sense." She took a napkin and gently wiped Alice's face. "Sometimes, I think of how happy I'll be when Tommy comes home and I can finally leave my parents' house but, even with all of my mother's criticism and lectures, I know I'll still miss her…at least from time to time. Maybe not every day." She grew thoughtful. "If Tommy comes home. If he even remembers that I exist."

"I don't know how he could ever forget," Arthur said. "I wouldn't be able to forget if I were married to you. I mean, if I were…not that I want to be…" His cheeks burned and he took a quick bite of his cheeseburger in an attempt to hide his own remarks.

"Arthur." June's eyes bored into him. "I think—"

"Wayee," Alice said suddenly. She reached for June's glass of water, pulling it over and sending ice water everywhere. She abruptly started to cry.

June grabbed a handful of napkins and tried to dry the toddler off. "Hush now. It's only water."

Alice screamed louder, her little face turning red from the effort. Everyone in the diner turned to stare.

"Maybe we should go," June said.

"Alright." Arthur gave this half-touched food a glance as he went to the lunch counter to pay. Why had he made the comment about marrying her? He felt fairly certain that he had ruined their lunch. Everything had been going so nicely until that moment.

Alice didn't quiet down until they were back in the car and she was, once again, tugging on the steering wheel.

"June?" Arthur put the key in the ignition but he didn't start the car. "I shouldn't have said that about marrying you. I'm sorry. It's just…I like you and if I were to have married you, I don't think I could ever forget you."

June took his hand and held it tightly. "Arthur, I like you too. I like you a great deal. And, maybe in another world, I met you first and things could be different but I didn't and they're not. I'm married and there's no getting away from that."

"I wasn't suggesting that we should…that there is…" He stammered. His face grew warm again—why did that always happen when he was around her?

"I mean to honor my vows even if it might be difficult to do so sometimes."

"Tommy doesn't love you." The words slipped out.

"I know." There was hurt in her eyes as she gently squeezed his hand. "Maybe going forward we shouldn't spend so much time together," she said softly. "At least not when we're alone."

He started the car and Alice clapped. "Alright. Fine." His voice came out sharper than he intended and he couldn't explain the sudden irritation he felt, curled up in the pit of his stomach. June was married to Tommy. He had even encouraged Tommy to marry her. What she said was entirely sensible and there was no reason for him to be angry.

"Arthur, please don't be upset with me."

He pulled out of the parking lot. "You're not the one I'm upset with."


They couldn't hear the sirens blaring over the city from where they huddled in the shelter beneath it. But they could still hear the bombs falling over them, each one a muffled explosion. Every so often, one would land closer and the ground would tremble around them.

They hadn't been prepared so the children were without shoes. None of them wore coats but thankfully Lelia thought to grab a blanket from their bed. The three youngest children were wrapped up in it, sandwiched between their parents. Fabrizio held tightly to Caroline, her head buried in his shoulder. Ever since she was a baby, she had been terrified of being underground. If she had her way, she would've preferred to risk the falling bombs over the darkness.

"Are we going to die?" Carlo asked.

"No, of course not," Lelia was quick to answer. "We're completely safe here."

Fabrizio could hear a nearby woman praying softly in Italian and, more distantly, a child crying. It was difficult to believe that anyone was safe as the world seemed to fall around them.

"Caroline," Lelia said gently. "Come under the blanket."

She shook her head and held onto him tighter.

"She's fine," Fabrizio said. "I have her." He looked at his wife who sat as close to the children as possible. She was being so calm even though he knew she must've been afraid. As always, an overwhelming feeling of guilt threatened to engulf him. If he had listened to her during one of the hundreds of times she had voiced her unhappiness, they wouldn't be hiding in a bomb shelter in the middle of the night. Caroline wouldn't be trembling in his arms. Carlo wouldn't be asking if they were going to die.

Lelia looked over and their eyes met.

Fabrizio held out his hand and, after a moment of hesitation, she took it. "It'll be over soon," he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"Until the next time," she replied softly. "Or the one after that."


Tommy couldn't believe that his lie had worked. If he had known how easy it was to get two weeks of furlough, he would've had an imaginary distant relative die much sooner. He had hardly said a word when he suddenly found himself on a train, being whisked away.

He walked home from the train station, wishing to surprise his mother. He felt strangely self-conscious wearing his uniform and could feel everyone's eyes on him. It wasn't his choice to wear it any more than it had been his choice to join the Army.

The walk was longer than he had remembered it being and he arrived home tired and hungry. He briefly considered letting himself inside but then settled for knocking on the door.

Kate opened it. "Tommy?" Before he could respond, she pulled him into a tight hug.

He thought she might've been crying. "Mom, it's not that big of a deal. You don't need to cry. Let me go." He wiggled free from her grasp. "Where is everyone?"

She wiped her eyes. "The children are at school and Cal and Arthur are off doin' something with aluminum."

"Aluminum?"

She shook her head. "It's something to do with the military and makin' money. Ye'll have to ask them about it. I'm not sure I rightly understand it. Are ye hungry? Ye look so handsome in yer uniform."

"I'm starved." Tommy followed her into the kitchen and he took a seat at the table. "Is June here?"

"Not at the moment." Kate was busy preparing a plate of cold chicken and a slice of bread. "It's just me. How long are ye here for?"

"Only two weeks."

"Oh." Her voice was thick with disappointment. "Is John with ye?"

"No, it's only me." Tommy had tried to convince John to lie with him—they could've shared the imaginary relative—but his cousin had refused.

"Sarah will be disappointed." Kate set the plate before him.

"He could've had two weeks too but he didn't want to lie." He picked up a piece of chicken and took a large bite.

"Lie?"

"I told them there was a death in the family."

"Tommy, ye shouldn't have done that."

"It was my Great Uncle Albert."

"Lyin' like that is a terrible thing and ye should never do it again."

"You want me to go back and come clean?"

"Absolutely not." Kate reached across the table and squeezed his arm. "I'm goin' to go call June and see if she's able to come for dinner and bring Alice of course. Ye'll be amazed at how big she's gotten. She's walkin' and everything now. Talkin' too but it's difficult to make out what she's sayin' most of the time."

Rather than waiting for dinner, June rushed over immediately with Alice in her arms. She smiled uncertainly when she saw him.

Tommy hadn't seen her in over a year and felt as though he was seeing her for the first time. Has her hair always been so blonde? He could've sworn she had been taller, her eyes bluer. "Hi June," he said awkwardly.

"Tommy." June set Alice on the ground.

"Is this her?" She hardly looked like the same child he had left behind.

"Alice, this is your father." June tried to give the toddler a gentle push in his direction but the child merely clung to her skirt.

Tommy lowered himself to her level. "Hi Alice." He reached out for her.

Alice looked up at her mother before taking a few hesitant steps toward him, stopping just short. He picked her up and she immediately started to cry.

June took her from him. "She missed her nap earlier so I expect she's a bit overtired, that's all."

He knew that she was trying to spare his feelings. Alice may have been tired but she cried because he was a stranger to her. Thanks to things entirely outside of his control, his child was growing up without him.

"Maybe you can read to her later," June suggested. "She likes being read to."

Tommy nodded. "I suppose I could do that."

June took a step closer to him. "Tommy?"

"What?" His eyes were still on Alice. The toddler had her head down on her mother's shoulder, cheeks still wet from her tears.

"Aren't you going to apologize to me?"

"Apologize for what?" He didn't even make the attempt to hide the surprise in his voice. Nothing about leaving had been his fault. "I didn't do anything."

"Didn't do anything?" June huffed. "How about you apologize for leaving without a single word? Or for never writing to me? And when you did write to me, all you wrote about was rifle practice. You never once asked how I was. You never once asked about your daughter. We might as well have been strangers to you."

Tommy found himself unable to look at her. "June, I wasn't—"

"I'm not looking for excuses," she cut him off. "I'm only looking for an apology and a promise to do better."

"I'm not—"

"Whether either of us like it or not, we're married and there are certain responsibilities that go along with being married...certain expectations...and you cannot treat me like that," she said. "I won't stand for it. And you should look at me when I speak to you."

Tommy was surprised by the emotion in her voice. The June he had left behind hadn't the most forceful. For a brief moment, he wondered if she had been spending too much time around his mother and perhaps her personality was beginning to rub off on the young woman. "Alright," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. You deserved better."

"And?"

"And I promise to do better in the future."

June smiled. "That's all I ask." She stepped forward and kissed his cheek. "I'm going to go put our daughter down for a nap. Why don't you come give me a hand?"

"Alright."

"Oh, and then afterward, I can tell you about the house I picked out. It's not exactly for sale yet but your father thinks if we make a large enough offer, they'll sell regardless."

"Alright," Tommy repeated. He might've promised to do better but the feeling of being abruptly tossed back into married life nearly made him wish he had stayed in Texas. How did anyone ever get used to it?

Winter

"Hello, NBC. This is KTU in Honolulu, Hawaii. I am speaking from the roof of the Advertiser Publishing Company Building. We have witnessed this morning the distant view a brief full battle of Pearl Harbor and the severe bombing of Pearl Harbor by enemy planes, undoubtedly Japanese. The city of Honolulu has also been attacked and considerable damage done. This battle has been going on for nearly three hours. One of the bombs dropped within fifty feet of KTU tower. It is no joke. It is a real war. The public of Honolulu has been advised to keep in their homes and away from the Army and Navy. There has been serious fighting going on in the air and in the sea. The heavy shooting seems to be–"

Pat switched off the radio. The abrupt silence felt heavier than the news.

"Does this mean John's going to be fighting?" Eileen asked. She looked to him for an answer.

They were all looking at him—Eileen, Dottie, Sarah—but he didn't have an answer. He didn't know what was going to happen. "I don't know."

"But he's in the Army and now we're at war," Eileen persisted.

"Eileen, that's enough." Pat's voice was firm. "We don't know anything as of now so there's no point in worryin' ourselves over it."

She sighed. "I wish he would've lied like Tommy so he could come home one last time."

Dottie wrapped her arms around herself. "I've been married over a year now and I've only spent one night with my husband," she quietly mused. "I just wish—"

"Stop it, all of ye," Pat cut her off "John's not dead and we're not goin' to be speakin' about him like he is. I promise ye, the war's not goin' to be lastin' long and he'll be home again before we know it."

Another silence fell over the room.

Dottie reached a hand out to the radio but then thought better of it. "I wish I could enlist," she said.

They all looked at her in surprise.

"I don't want to fight or anything," she quickly clarified. "But I'd like knowing I was close to John. It's better than waiting around on the other side of the world."

"Other side of the world? He's in Texas," Pat said.

"And how long do you expect him to stay there?" She shook her head. "They'll be shipping him overseas soon enough."

"Do you think he'll get to see Paris?" Eileen asked suddenly. "I'd like to see Paris."

Dottie turned to look at her. "Why Paris?"

"We were learning about Marie Antoinette at school and I know I was supposed to be sad or maybe happy—I wasn't paying attention—but all I could think about was how romantic Paris sounded."

"You were learning about Paris during the Reign of Terror and all you could think about was romance?"

"Yes, is that weird?"

"I don't think it's normal," Dottie replied. She nudged Eileen. "But I've known weirder."

While they were talking, Pat watched Sarah. She sat on the sofa, her face pale, and her hands clenched tightly in her lap. She hadn't said a word since before they turned on the radio broadcast. He doubted she had heard a word since.

He reached over and took one of her hands. It trembled in his own and he held it tightly. "It'll be alright," he reassured her quietly.

Sarah rested her head on his shoulder but didn't respond.

"John will be fine, I promise."

"You don't know that."

"I do know it." Pat pressed a kiss to her head, as he silently prayed that he was right.

Everything should've changed the moment war was officially declared. John was so certain things would be different. He had expected to be swiftly packed into a ship, catapulted into the heart of the fight. But, nothing happened. The training remained the same, a relentless routine that never varied from day to day. The only noticeable difference was the conversations. So many men were excited to join the fight. So many believed that the declaration of war was long overdue. John didn't understand. He did well enough in rifle practice but he still wasn't confident in his ability to aim a weapon at another person. He didn't want to aim a weapon at another person.

During one of their free evenings, John found himself among a group of men heading to the theater to see Red River Valley. The movie had originally been his idea but as the showtime neared, he found himself less and less interested in seeing a movie, even one starring Roy Rogers. He wasn't the only one feeling conflicted as Tommy had already abandoned the group to go in search of a stiff drink or three.

They reached the theater door and John couldn't bring himself to go inside. Instead, he hovered outside the door, feeling uncomfortable in his uniform. He might have volunteered but he had never felt more like a fraud.

"John?" Don hung back with him. "You coming?"

"You go on ahead. I'm not feeling much like a movie."

Don furrowed his brow. "You alright?"

"I'm fine." John hesitated. It was so difficult to bring up his worries. "Do you think we're going to have to fight?"

"We're in the Army and the country is at war," Don said matter-of-factly. "Of course, we'll be fighting."

John sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I don't think I want to fight," he admitted quietly.

"You volunteered."

"I suppose I didn't think things through."

"Well, you're stuck so you might as well accept it," Don said. "Now, are you coming in or not? The show's about to start."

John shook his head. "No, go on. Maybe I'll go write a few letters."

"Seems like a waste of a good pass but suit yourself." Don disappeared inside the theater, leaving John standing alone in the fading light of dusk.

He looked down the street and wondered if chasing after Tommy was worth the effort. There was no way of knowing precisely which bar his cousin was currently hiding away in. And, as much as he could use a drink, it wouldn't make much difference. It wouldn't change anything.

After a brief internal debate, he turned and started back to camp. He ardently wished that Dottie was with him. She would've understood his thoughts better than he ever could. She could have made sense of them. But she wasn't there and he couldn't speak to her. The best he could do was write a letter and settle into an eternally long wait for a response.

He reached his barrack and threw himself onto his carefully made bed, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He ran his hands through his hair, releasing a heavy sigh. Why the hell had he enlisted? He thought of Dottie once more. He'd write to her in the morning, a long letter with every one of his conflicting thoughts laid out. He knew she sort it all out for him, the way she always did.


Bombs had fallen a few times but so far their home had been spared. The harbor, the train station and rail lines had not been so lucky. It was enough to keep Lelia always on edge. It was the unpredictability that kept her from sleeping, that kept her jumping at every little noise. She had even begun to sleep with her shoes on so she could grab the children and move quickly if necessary. The worst moments were when they were at school and she couldn't keep a constant eye on them.

Lelia stared out the window, searching for planes that might have been headed their way, when Fabrizio came through the door. It was rare for him to come home for lunch and she gave him a questioning look. "I don't know what you're hoping to eat because there's no food in the house," she snapped at him. She didn't understand why he was so unbothered with everything.

"I want to talk," he replied.

"Do you?" She folded her arms across her chest. "Because you've been talking a lot lately."

"Lelia."

"No, I think I want to talk and I want you to listen. For once."

Fabrizio looked as though he was going to say something but, instead, he nodded and took a seat. "I'll listen."

"I hope you do because you haven't listened to me in years." She took a seat near him but not too close and she clutched the fabric of her skirt. The next words she intended to say were nearly too difficult to get out. "I'm leaving," she said at last. "This city, at least, but ideally, I'm leaving Italy. I don't want to be in the middle of a war. I am...I'm also taking the children with me." She took a shaky breath. Tears were forming in her eyes. "I want you to come with us because you're my husband and we're a family, still. But if you…" Her voice broke. "If you won't come, we'll go without you." She hastily wiped away the tears that tracked down her cheeks.

A momentary silence followed while Fabrizio looked at her. "Lelia," he began softly. "We don't have a car and the trains aren't running. You want the children to walk?"

"If we have to." Even as she said the words, she knew that he was right. Caroline might've been able to handle walking for miles but the younger children could not.

"I am sorry," he said. "I should have listened to you. I'm sorry I did not." He reached for her hand but she pulled away. "I think you're right and we should leave. But we can't walk."

"If any of our children are killed, it will be your fault," Lelia said coldly.

A pained expression crossed his face but he nodded all the same. "I know." He sighed and stood up. "I have to go back to work now," he said. "I'll bring food home and I will think of something. I promise."

"Fine." She turned her back on him, returning to her spot by the window. She remembered the early days of their marriage when they lived in the tiny three room tenement. They were so happy then. So full of love and so full of hope. She missed the days when they played board games during storms, when they all slept in the same room, cuddled up close together, holding each other. Lelia heard the door open and close as Fabrizio left. The moment he was gone, she broke down crying. How had her life turned into such a nightmare? She couldn't think of an answer.


Cal woke in the middle of the night to realize that Kate was no longer beside him. He thought she must've been using the bathroom or fetching a glass of water but after she didn't return, he grew concerned. Ever since they heard about Pearl Harbor, she had withdrawn into a heavy silence. She avoided conversations centering around Tommy, the Army or war altogether. Cal sensed the weight of her unspoken fears growing and knew it was only a matter of time before they spilled out.

Driven by worry, he left their bed and quickly found her in the bathroom, sitting on the cold tile floor, with the lights out. There was a bottle of something tucked in her arms.

"Kate?"

"Mornin'."

"It's the middle of the night." Cal flipped the light switch and she blinked in the sudden brightness.

"Me son's goin' to die," she said. "I can feel it." She brought the bottle of what looked like wine to her lips and took a drink.

"Where did you get that?"

"Hugh," she replied. "Me husband likes to hide liquor all about the house. Don't tell Cal. I don't want him drinkin'."

"I won't," Cal said. "Why don't I get rid of this?" He took the bottle from her hands and brought it over to the sink. He looked at the bottle, still a third full, and hesitated. He had intended to dump the contents down the drain but as he held it in his hands, an unexpected reluctance settled over him. Glancing at Kate, who seemed lost in her own thoughts, he took a hasty sip, nearly choking over the slightly chemical taste—it certainly wasn't wine as he had assumed. Then, summoning a great deal of willpower, emptied the remainder down the drain. A sense of relief washed over him as he dropped the now-empty bottle into the trash.

"Now, Kate," he began, settling beside her. "Why do you think Tommy's going to die?"

"Because he's will…he's a...deviant. A criminal deviant, that's what that woman said," Kate gripped his arm tightly. "It's all me fault, ye know. I never did right by him."

Cal struggled to follow along with her train of thought. "What woman?"

"June's mother."

"Oh, her." He hated that woman. "First, never listen to her. That woman is jealous of how well you raised Tommy. Second, he's not a...what did you call him? A criminal deviant? He's a good young man who's struggled a bit to find his path. And, right now, his path has already been chosen for him."

"He's so reckless."

"Oh, Katie." Cal drew her to him and kissed her head. "I wouldn't even worry about that. He's married with a child and whatever responsibility he might've been lacking, he'll learn it in the Army."

"Ye called me Katie."

"I did. I'm sorry. I know you don't like anyone calling you that except your brother."

"I don't mind if ye do." Kate rested her head on his shoulder. "We need to be keepin' an eye on Arthur."

Cal looked at her in surprise. "What? Why?"

"I think there's some feelin's between him and June."

Cal had noticed his son spending a great deal of time with the young woman—although less time ever since Tommy returned for two weeks—but he hadn't thought anything of it. "They're the only two here close in age. I'm sure they're only being friendly. Arthur's never been great at making friends."

"Friendly is how it always begins."

"I can talk to him, if you like." Even as he said it, he hoped she wouldn't ask. He couldn't imagine what Arthur's reaction might be if he pried, once again, into his personal life.

"No, just an eye will be fine," Kate said, to his relief. "Maybe I'm wrong." She let out a heavy sigh. "I'm not feelin' well."

"That would be the wine."

"I don't think it was wine...I don't know what it was."

Cal smiled. "Why don't we get you back to bed? We can talk more in the morning."

She looked around the room. "Me legs don't work anymore."

"What?"

"I don't know. I can't feel me face either."

He laughed softly. "You've been drunk before, right?"

"Not like this."

"Alright, here." Cal helped her regain her feet and with an arm wrapped tightly around her, he guided her back to their room and their bed. "You are going to feel terrible in the morning," he said, as he gently helped her beneath the blankets.

"Hm." Kate's eyes were already closed.

Before he returned to her side, he set a glass of water on the nightstand within easy reach and a small trash can near her head—just in case. It was only then that he settled back beside her. Almost immediately and without opening her eyes, she shifted closer to him. He wrapped an arm tightly around her and gently kissed her head. She may have already fallen back to sleep but there was no sleep for him. With the weight of the war and Tommy and Arthur and June and Kate and a hundred other worries looming over him—most entirely beyond their control, Cal doubted if he'd ever be able to sleep again.