“I know,” Jack said, though at the moment he was less worried about his mother than he was about his daughter. It could be said—and was, around town—that Wilma had lost her mind over Chase’s death, but she had been healthy for years. In 1923, when Jack raised the money as commander of the Legion to put the statue of his brother Chase in the courthouse square, Wilma’s pride in it had seemed to help the scar tissue harden over her heart. JJ was born that same year, and Wilma doted on her grandson the way she’d doted on Chase, and seemed the better for it. A few years later, she’d gone with a group of Gold Star Mothers to visit the graves of their sons in France. She’d come back a different woman. Now, having JJ away, with the Marines on Guadalcanal, was difficult for her, but she seemed to be bearing up well, and once again was so involved in war work that she rarely was seen without her knitting. It was Elissa that Jack really worried about. She was so young.

“And Lissa,” John said. “By God, I couldn’t stand to see her heart broken. And you know how these guys rush things. I mean, physically.”

Jack started. Not that he hadn’t thought of it himself, but—shocking to hear it mentioned out loud, and by his father.

“Look what a handsome kid he is,” John went on. “It wouldn’t take much. He’ll ruin her life.”

“Not Lissa,” Jack said.

“Hell, Jack, you know how it goes. You were in the service. It’s war! Everything’s up for grabs. He’ll make her all kinds of promises, and then he’ll meet some dame at a nightclub in New York or some English broad. You know it as well as I do. They won’t keep it going—and that’s if he lives through this thing. This now, it’s just getting her hopes up. Besides, do you want the girls all wringing their hands about another one, with JJ already overseas? You know your mother barely survived it when you and Chase were over there in the first war. And then, when the news came about Chasey. Well, you wouldn’t have wanted to see her then.” He took another puff of his cigar. “Hell, Jack, I haven’t told you this before, but for months afterward, she’d pluck, pluck, pluck at the front of her dress. Just a nervous habit, I thought. But then I asked her about it one day, and she looks at me plain as day with those big eyes of hers, and says, ’Why, I suppose I’m trying to tear out my heart.’”

Jack flinched. He ran a quick hand through his hair. “Christ,” he said.