Elissa could only shrug. She spooned up a bit of her malt, considering it. She had known Ty forever, of course, but they had never been close. The lines had been drawn in the earliest days of kindergarten, when she had shyly spent what seemed like weeks working up the courage to invite Ty—who even then had possessed admirable long eyelashes—to play in the sandbox with her. Unfortunately, just as she was approaching him, trowel in hand, he became an unwitting participant in Cowboys and Indians when Carl Olsen “shot” him with a loud “BANG!” Ty’s death was so histrionic that he immediately became a favored player, and his acceptance in Carl’s group was sealed for life. He ultimately became the joker of the class, the actor (he had given a heartbreaking performance as Romeo last fall, and was Gloucester in King Lear the year before that). He was the boy everyone felt they could talk to but no one exactly knew. Elissa had always liked him well enough, but she was at as much of a loss as Muriel to explain why he would so publicly take her part in a fight that had nothing to do with him.

“That was certainly interesting,” Muriel said.

Elissa, her sadness flooding her again, just sighed, watching another tiny stream of her malt cascade from her spoon. She thought of her brother, JJ, on Guadalcanal. She knew she was pathetic to feel so sorry for herself as the result of a little romantic trouble, when her brother was living in mud and terrible danger with nothing so comforting as a chocolate malt anywhere in sight. She forced herself to take another bite.

Chapter 33

A house, exactly like a dog, must be loved before it will show the best side of its nature.

—Popular Home Decoration, 1940

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

He had seemed to bring heat into the kitchen with him. Not light, just an intense heat, like campfire embers. Dolly felt a flush rising in her face, and wondered how long he would stare at her before speaking. She could think of nothing to say. What would he do? Call the police? Have her arrested for trespassing? She despaired: If that happened, her children would never achieve Pine Rapids’ upper crust.

Finally, to her relief, he flashed her a small grin. “You have the advantage,” he said. His voice was gravelly, like a movie gangster’s, and sent a little chill up her spine.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Dolly Magnuson.” Only after she said it did it occur to her that she probably should not have given him her real name.

“My dad must have hired you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“To clean the house.”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” That lie came easily, and seemed much simpler than trying to explain what she was really doing there.

JJ looked around the kitchen. “You haven’t done a very good job.”