“Oh, Ty!” she said. “No! I—I was hoping that I didn’t upset you!”

He slid toward her, holding out his arms. She snuggled into his embrace, not wanting to think that in less than two days he would be gone again. “No, Liss,” he said. “I’m sorry if I—It’s just that you’re so beautiful and—well, I don’t expect you—I mean, if you want to wait—well, I understand.”

She sighed, and held him tighter. He really was a wonderful boy.

He walked her to the door, and gave her a kiss good night that made her knees buckle. “See you tomorrow,” he whispered, giving her hand a little squeeze.

She watched him as he sauntered out to his car, thinking how difficult it was, sometimes, to stay a good girl.

The next morning, just before noon, Elissa was up to her elbows in sweaters and skirts, trying to decide what to bring with her to Minneapolis—she was leaving the day after tomorrow—when the doorbell rang. She ran downstairs to answer it; her father was gone at work and her mother was busy in the kitchen.

“Ty!” she said, when she pulled open the door. He was in his uniform, holding his service cap in his hands, his dark hair slicked back. She was delighted to see him, but horrified at the same time: She didn’t have any makeup on, her hair was held back with a ribbon, and the frayed blue shirt she was wearing untucked over shorts had long ago been relegated to stay-at-home status. “I thought we were getting together this afternoon,” she said, smiling despite herself.

“I couldn’t wait that long,” he said.

She called to her mother that Ty was there. “Is it all right if he comes upstairs with me? I have to get my packing done.”

Mary appeared in the kitchen door frame, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hello, Ty. Yes, I suppose, Elissa. We’ll be having lunch in a few minutes, Ty, if you’d like to join us. Jack will be coming home.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Mickelson,” Ty said, and followed Elissa upstairs.

He had never been allowed into her room before, and immediately teased her about her dolls. Blushing, she cleared a pile of skirts off the pink-cushioned stool so he could sit down. “I’m never this messy,” she said. “It’s just because I’m packing.”

He made a skeptical noise, and when she looked at him, his eyes were sparkling.

“Well, I’d like to see your room,” she rejoined. “I bet you have hockey skates piled in the corner, and stacks of books to the ceiling.” He had no response but an arch smile.

She stepped into her closet, and pulled down another stack of sweaters from the upper shelf. “You have to help me decide which ones to bring,” she called.