She was proud to be seen with him around town, as they made the rounds from his family to hers to the end-of-summer parties their friends were having before everyone headed off to the service or college. He was as sweet as ever, though he seemed different from how he had been, too. Before, he had worn his heart on his sleeve, and she could read his eyes like an old farmer reading sky. Now a curtain had drawn over them, and he seemed to be carrying secrets. Still, he made her feel like a princess, and she wished that his two-week leave would last forever. When it was over, he would be leaving for the Army for good, and she would be going off to Minneapolis to start cadet nurse training. Nothing would ever be the same. Still, tho’, she wrote in her diary, I am resolved to make the best of ev’thing these two weeks, for example not talking to him about any of my fears regarding what might occur in the next months (years?), or even speculating out loud when the next time we see each other will be. I am living every moment for itself, and I guess you could say he is, too, because we haven’t had one cross word between us, and, funny tho’ it sounds to say, when we’re together he acts as though he’s standing in a downpour with his head tipped back and his eyes closed and his mouth wide open, just that thirsty for me.

“You look happy,” Muriel said to Elissa when they ran into each other at Pete Schiemmer’s farm two nights before Ty was to leave. Some of the boys—including Ty—were swinging from the rafters of the barn, while Glenn Miller blared from a phonograph and the girls stood in cliques sipping bottled beer. The barn was pungent with the smells of hay, horse manure. “Have you—?” Muriel cut herself off before finishing, but raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

“No!” Elissa said. “Good heavens.”

“Well, I know it’s getting serious with you two. And he’s leaving, what, tomorrow?”

“The day after,” Elissa said.

“Are you going to give him a going away present?”

“Muriel,” Elissa said, clenching her teeth. Actually, she wished she could ask for advice, but she was afraid someone would overhear. It was true he’d gotten her a little riled up, these past few nights, parked out by Heron Lake, the way he had kissed her, held her, his hands fumbling under her blouse, his fingers sweaty and tentative creeping under her skirt, though never roaming farther north than mid-thigh. She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he moved his hand a bit higher. Would she have the strength, then, to stop him?