The restaurant was long and narrow with a counter and stools up one side and five oak booths down the other. The walls were barely visible behind a profusion of framed photographs: school teams from all the way back before Elissa’s father’s time, fishermen with their prize-winning catches, mill crews and railroad crews, summer baseball teams, portraits of all the boys in the service. Somewhere there was a picture of the parade the town had had for Elissa’s father when he’d arrived home from the Great War, the huge banner hanging over First Street declaring, WELCOME HOME, JACK.

Elissa and Nick removed their coats at the door and hung them on the coat tree, then settled into the center booth.

“This is something else,” Nick said, indicating the engravings of initials and numbers that covered the wooden tabletops, benches, and wainscoting throughout the restaurant.

“Yes, it’s a tradition,” Elissa explained. “Everyone carves their initials and class year when they graduate. My dad says he was the one who started it, but I don’t know if I believe him. Look,” she said, pointing to a JJM ‘42 in the wainscoting. “That’s my brother, JJ. He didn’t actually graduate, but they let him do it just before he left to join the Marines. My dad’s right there by your elbow.”

Nick quickly moved his elbow, making Elissa giggle. Then he found the carving. “This must be him. JJM ‘16.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Where’s yours?”

She knotted her hands atop the table. “Well, I have to wait until I graduate this spring.” She sighed. “You probably think I’m such a kid. I didn’t know you were twenty-three!”

“I did.”

“Well, yes, I know, but—Oh, it’s this war, isn’t it? Doesn’t it make everything seem crazy? Here I never would have met you except for the war, and yet because of the war—I don’t know if I’ll see you again. How could something be so lucky and so unlucky all at once?”

“Aw, Lissa. I think you’ll see me again. I don’t think I’ll be that easy to get shed of.”

Then Mrs. Emory was there, standing at the end of the booth. “Didn’t see you kids sneak in,” she said. Mrs. Emory was one of the more glamorous fixtures in Pine Rapids; people said she looked like Hedy Lamarr, and she was originally from Minneapolis. She was modest, though, and always looked out for everyone. “How are you today, Elissa? Who’s this with you?”

“This is Nick,” Elissa said, smiling, her eyes locked with his.

“Just look at the sparks fly between you two!” Mrs. Emory said. She scrutinized Nick. “You look like you could be a local boy, but—you aren’t from here, are you?”

“No, ma’am.”