“I’m sorry,” she said. She looked up into his eyes again, wondering if he suspected what had happened. Had JJ confessed? She had to believe that he had not. “Harry, I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to marry you right away. As soon as possible.”

He smiled, looking in her eyes as though to divine whatever truth was there. “All right, sweetheart,” he said finally. “I’ve got your ring at my apartment.”

He kissed her. She was shaking, and would not have kept to her feet had he not been holding her.

Chapter 78

All kinds of wonderful qualities needed in marriage may seem to be conspicuous in oneself chiefly by their absence, but one can always play for time. Even if infatuated with another person, one can hang on to what one knows is right until Time, the mighty leveler of passion, comes to one’s help.

—The Good Housekeeping Marriage Book, 1939

Pine Rapids
Friday, August 4, 1950

“Look, Dolly, I didn’t mean that, honest,” JJ told her, breaking the silence, as they sped down the dark gravel road, headlights sweeping ahead of them around the curves, lighting the trees along the roadside. Dolly kept having to blink to clear her vision; she had unrolled her window, and leaned her chin on her elbow as it protruded into the night. The fresh air blowing in her face felt good, cleansing. When he spoke, she looked over at him for the first time since they’d gotten in the car. His desperate grin shone white in the darkness. “It kind of just happened,” he said.

Dolly kept quiet. She didn’t know what to say.

There on the beach, looking at him, she had disregarded the warmth and pity pulsing in her, folded her arms, and said, “I need you to take me to my husband.” She’d felt the need to redeem herself, to get her feet back on even ground. Resolving things with Byron had seemed the only way.

JJ had actually looked like a man reprieved, rushing to fold the blanket, holding the car door open for her.

But she was still shaken by the thought of what had happened.

He looked back at the road, his grin fading. “Let’s just forget it,” he insisted. He dug in his shirt pocket for a cigarette and his lighter. His face glowed in the flame for an instant as he lit up. “I just—I guess it got to me, being alone, and you were—I didn’t mean—” He took a drag of his cigarette.

A moment passed. Dolly had the sense that he was driving much too fast. Her stomach was queasy—whether from the speed or the liquor or from what his kiss had stirred, she couldn’t tell. Her mind swirled, but kept falling back on the one incontrovertible fact she knew: I am married to Byron. Whatever else may be, I am married to Byron.