But we also had our hands full getting ready for the dance Major Garrett had said we could hold, to celebrate the camp’s completion. All Monroe would be welcome, old folks down to little kids. Of course we all hoped that whatever families came would bring daughters our own age.

Right after the New Year, on the day the last of the green paint went on the walls inside the rec center, Pops sent a bunch of us into town to post the invitations. They looked real nice, designed by a Delaware boy who got nicknamed Sketch for how he drew musical notes and such on them. The company sergeant, Sergeant Ruffino, ran them off on his mimeograph machine.

The invitations said:

Company 597 of the CCC
invites the community of Monroe
to a dance
Saturday, January 11
7 P.M.
in the new CCC
Recreation Hall
at its camp four miles
east of town

We took them store to store, and just about all the businesspeople we asked gave us permission to put them up.

On the day of the dance itself, steam clouded the shower house all afternoon long, and guys lined up to use the ironing board. We slicked back our hair and polished our shoes. The fellows who had nice civilian slacks and shirts put them on, and the rest of us made our CCC denims look as neat as possible.

I was rummaging in my footlocker for a clean handkerchief when I remembered how Beatty gave me a box of handkerchiefs the first Christmas I knew her. It rocked me back on my heels a moment, thinking that all the dancing I’d ever done had been with Beatty as my date.

Right there on top of my socks, staring up at me, was a letter from her that had arrived the day after Christmas. I didn’t have to take it out to remember what it said.

. . . finally wrote to your mother and she wrote back where you were. Moss, everybody here is so sorry you took off the way you did, though we understand. I’d be angry as spit, too, if I got treated like you were. Uncle Grif has put out calls to see if some other airport might not have something for you, in Texas of course, because we do miss you here . . .

Beatty wasn’t mad at me at all. Not about me leaving without a good-bye, not over them having to find out from Ma where I’d got to.

I still hadn’t written her, which was a thing I couldn’t understand. Sure, at first I’d put it off because I wanted something proud to tell her, but now I had my junior leader position. That was something proud.

Only I was still putting it off.

“Hey, Moss,” Apple said. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve been staring in your locker for five minutes at least!”

“Oh!” I said, startled. “Nothing. I just . . .”