Just then, a man in an Army uniform and service cap came around the corner of the depot. She looked over her shoulder to see who he was going to meet. But there was no one else. And as he came closer, more quickly now, his face, his deep brown eyes, became clear in the refracted light.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Ty!”

“Lissa,” he said, and then she was in his warm arms. He was real again, surprisingly solid, smelling like cologne and keyed-up nerves. She’d had so many dreams in which he was nothing but dissipating air, and some days she had not felt certain she would ever see him again. Her unbelieving hands hesitated before finally pulling him close to her.

“I—You’re—Surprise!” he said, then grinned, leaned down, and kissed her.

Chapter 51

THE MICKELSON HOUSE
502 W. First Street, Pine Rapids
Wednesday, August 2, 1950

When JJ awoke, he lay still a moment without opening his eyes, peaceful, savoring the lack of pain. Five or ten seconds was all he would get, his body in limbo between sleep and wakefulness, and then it would come on him again, in a quick gradation like someone was turning up the volume on it, turning it up until it screamed.

Sure enough, there it was. His head first, his gut, his goddamn leg. He opened his eyes to slits, reaching for the open bottle on the bedside table. The sky outside was gray; rain dappled the bedroom windows. He didn’t know what time it was. He propped himself up on his elbow to take a swig, then set the bottle aside again and relaxed back onto the pillow with a sigh.

He liked this upstairs bedroom in his grandparents’ house; it had a nice view of the river. It had some bittersweet memories, too: It was the room they’d put him in when he first got home that Thanksgiving in 1945. Yesterday, Dolly had made it up with fresh sheets, and, though they smelled a little of mothballs, the pillows were soft, and the bed was comfortable. Better than sleeping on the couch downstairs, anyway, though he’d had a hell of a time getting up the stairs last night, missing the steps with his crutches, stumbling. He’d been a little drunk.

Hell, who was he kidding? More than a little.

Since graduating college in early June, he’d spun out. All right. Was spinning. Only a matter of time before he crashed and burned.