Jack wished he was a praying man, and indeed he tried to pray for JJ, but in truth he mostly went to church to keep up appearances. Unable to find peace enough to sleep at night, most nights he’d sit up doing crossword puzzles, drinking hot cocoa, leaving the pan with its scorched-on milk on the stove for Mary to find in the morning when she came down in her pink bathrobe to make the coffee. She would look at him with sleep-mussed honey-blond hair and those exasperated blue eyes he so dearly loved, one arm folded across her stomach, the other hand holding the pan out for him to see. “Jack,” she would say. “How many times do I have to tell you? Just soak it, at least.”

“Sorry, hon,” he’d say, and suddenly he’d be unable to keep from smiling. Though every morning his reflection in the mirror looked older, the hair another shade grayer, he was at his happiest in such moments of pure domesticity with Mary. He was happiest, until the inevitable wave of guilt came that it was he and not his brother who was sharing this life with her.

Mary told him he was foolish to think that way; she had made her peace with God. But she was never truly angry with Jack; she knew his nightmares, his grief, his fears. She knew because she shared them. She knew that sometimes he couldn’t bear to stay in the house, that he would go out and walk up and down every street in town. He liked Pine Rapids at night: It was peaceful, and he could pretend that no one knew him. But sometimes the cops out patrolling would stop and chat for a half hour, and he had to oblige them. Others up too late would see him go by, and recognize him by the shape of his old hat. He knew the gossip was that Mary and Jack had made a mistake, marrying each other. That Jack left the house at night because he couldn’t stand to be in bed with a woman who would rather have married his hero brother, Chase. That they really didn’t love each other at all.

That told you how much people knew, Jack thought, stepping out of the car to look for Elissa and Nick as people started to emerge from the movie theater. Some of the crowd were laughing, but a few had tears glistening in their eyes.

Chapter 30

THE MICKELSON HOUSE
502 W. First Street, Pine Rapids
Wednesday, July 26, 1950

How silly of them to use a key! Dolly thought first, clutching her rag against the stove top. Don’t they know it isn’t locked?

Then, suddenly, realizing she was about to be discovered, she panicked. Looked around for someplace to hide. The door was opening. There was nowhere. And a man came in.