She sighed. She craned her head to see the clock. It was almost seven-thirty, only. She had imagined that dinner would be a leisurely affair in which the two of them revealed their innermost secrets, followed by an equally languorous hours-long session in the bedroom. Well, maybe he would be more inclined to talk now that they’d been intimate physically. “Don’t you want to cuddle with me?” she said.

He gave her a crestfallen look. “Doll, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know—The thing is, I’m meeting some guys down at Shorty’s. A couple of buddies of mine and Roy’s from the war. They’re just passing through town, and we haven’t seen them in ages. They live in Chicago, and they’re heading up to the U.P. this weekend to go fishing. It’s a once a year kind of thing, if that, you know? I would’ve told you, but—I didn’t know …” His voice trailed off.

Dolly had begun to steam the minute he started talking, and now she was boiling over. “Fine!” she said, flouncing up off the bed, marching past him out of the bedroom. “Fine! I’ll just take care of the dishes!”

“Dolly,” he said, feebly, from behind her. “You—forgot your underwear.”

“I don’t need it!” she said. “Quicker for you to screw!” She had reached the dining room, and she picked his plate up off the table, whirled, and threw it into the kitchen with all the force of both her arms. It landed on the floor and shattered. Gray sauce, leftover swirls of noodle, and pieces of mushroom scattered to the winds.

“Dolly!” he said, coming out after her. “Dolly, settle down!” He grabbed her wrists. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her face.

“Get your hands off me.”

“It isn’t like that, Doll,” he said. “You know it isn’t like that.”

“No, Byron, I don’t,” she said, then was angry at herself for letting her desperation show in her voice.

“Don’t do this, Doll.”

“I’m not the one doing it, Byron.”

He looked in her eyes for a moment, then let go of her wrists. He looked sideways at the floor. “I’ve got to go,” he mumbled, jingling his keys in his pocket. “Thanks for dinner.” And with that, he was gone.

She stood still until she heard the back door close behind him. Then she lunged across the table for her own plate, and threw it into the kitchen, letting out a terrible scream.

Chapter 73

Superior, Wisconsin
Friday, November 23, 1945

Harry clutched Anne’s ring in his fist as he paced back and forth on Mrs. Hanson’s front porch. Sleet spat through the dusk.

He whirled, pounded on the door, and waited.