“No.” Kennet let the little charms fall onto his father’s heart and he put his palm over them. “No, it isn’t. I like knowing you have us close to you this way. It’s perfect. Really, Paps. I mean it.”

“It helps,” Emil said. “I put it on first thing in the morning. Take it off last thing at night. And I’m not a religious man, but in my own way I say a little prayer, and…” His voice got husky and he shrugged. “It helps.”

“I like it,” Kennet said again. He patted the charms one last time, then Emil tucked the chain back inside his shirt. And at that moment, if Emil had pulled him into his arms, Kennet couldn’t have felt safer.

Emil’s One

It was good to be home, and Kennet caught both himself and his brothers looking thoughtfully, often intensely around the house. Staring at walls and floors and objects and furniture. Taking slow, deliberate time to take detailed inventory and press it into their memories. As well, each of them was carving out time with every family member, making occasions and creating memories they could fold up small and take along in a pocket.

It was too cold for boat rides, and gas was rationed anyway, but Kennet puttered at the marina with Emil, just to be alone and talk. He bartended with Major, jawing away together between customers.

Conscious that the youngsters weren’t so young anymore, Kennet made even more of an effort to cultivate his relationships with Little, Trudy and Kirsten. He’d always grouped them together as one entity, and while the girls were as inseparable as ever, Little had grown into his role of the only boy at home. At fifteen, he possessed a quiet confidence and a sunny disposition that made Emil trust him implicitly with the running of the hotel’s front desk.

“That boy’s got a natural head for hospitality,” Emil said. “I’m a little ashamed to say I didn’t see it coming.”

“Ma said one day Little would surprise us,” Kennet said.

Kennet took Little out alone, just the two of them, wanting to remember his brother as he was now, not a child. Another Sunday, he dressed in his nicest and took Trudy and Kirsten to lunch, where he listened more than he talked. These were no longer little girls to be teased, coddled and petted, but young women on the cusp. Capable at home, competent in the hotel, and well-entrenched in war work. For some inexplicably romantic reason, both girls had pledged not to cut their hair until the war was over. They shrugged in explanation, barely disturbing the thick bellpulls of their braids.

“I’ll be home before you can sit on the ends,” Kennet said.