Violet knew when the seed of this dream was planted: Katie Ruth telephoned one afternoon last week. Her husband, Roger, was a big, hairy army sergeant from Kentucky who’d been stationed at Fort McClellan during their whirlwind courtship; Violet and Tolly had attended their wedding in a chapel on base eight years ago. Roger was a likable guy who adored his three children and fussed over Katie Ruth like a movie star when he was home; cooking, cleaning and changing diapers more often than his wife did. She was struggling while he was away for three months of battle training and called Violet at least twice a week. After a long session of reading excerpts from his letters—during which Violet painted her nails and made appropriate noises—she said, “Oh, and there’s one more thing. I saw Johnny having lunch with Dr. and Mrs. Perkins downtown. He’s married and working as an attorney in Montgomery, at a big firm that does a lot of state government stuff. He has a daughter named Caroline who’s about four. She and the kids played together on the floor while the adults caught up.” She paused to see if Violet had any comment, then blathered on, “His wife is pretty; not as pretty as you, of course, but she kinda looks like you. He met her at the University of Alabama. I think she’s a teacher. Anyway, I thought he couldn’t have children?”

“Apparently,” Violet answered, “he can.” She waited a beat to see if Johnny had asked about her, but Katie Ruth filled the silence with a lengthy monologue about My Favorite Martian, urging her friend to watch, then yelling at her five year old and explaining she’d have to hang up.

“Wait,” Violet had said. “What’s her name?”

“Johnny’s wife? It’s Rose. That’s weird, huh, a flower like you? I have to go fix supper. I’ll call you soon.”

She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, knowing she’d never get back to sleep without help. Violet reached for the pills Tolly gave her for pain. It didn’t really matter if it was her battered face or her battered heart, did it?

Violet woke at ten o’clock, her mind blessedly blank. She heard her mother and Corinna talking downstairs, lots of shh-ing and shushing, voices lowered and then raised for her to hear what they deemed appropriate. “Oh, wait until you see her,” Alice exclaimed, “the wreck bruised her a bit, but she’s beautiful as ever.”

She selected a dainty dress, knowing her mother would love the pink rosebuds embroidered on white cotton. Violet took extra care with her make-up and smiled at the result: it would be hard to see the marks on her face, and the long sleeves covered her arm damage. She swept her hair into a ponytail and hurried to hug Corinna and thank her for the cookies.