Perhaps, she thought, she could live in the Mickelson house. After all, it was the only place she had ever truly felt she could be herself. She could write to JJ and his father. If JJ explained the house’s needs to Jack, they would surely allow her to live in the house in exchange for its care. She could apply to work at Birnbaum’s or Penney’s for spending money. Staying in Pine Rapids wouldn’t be so bad, if she just stopped caring what everyone thought of her.

She warmed to the idea. She would be a career woman! Eat all her meals at the café, smoke just as much as she pleased, work extra hours in order to afford flying lessons, and, someday, buy her own airplane. It was a pleasingly scandalous résumé to imagine: a divorcée/pilot living alone in the “cursed” house on the hill. Forget creating a home for her husband à la Donna Reed. She would be strong-minded and disagreeable like Bette Davis, who, in one movie Dolly had seen a few years ago, had said she’d never talked to a man for five minutes without wanting to box his ears. Dolly had always remembered the secret thrill of that line—and now she could put it to work in her own life.

Leaning back against the cool marble of the fireplace in the master bedroom, Dolly decided: She would love the house as no one else had, and pay it every attention it could desire. She would be known for her tenderness with the gardens, her finesse with paint. She would learn roofing and carpentry, and tame the derelict shingles and porches. And she wouldn’t give a damn what anybody in this town said; she wouldn’t even listen.

Chapter 85

THE MICKELSON COTTAGES
Water Street, Stone Harbor, Wisconsin
Tuesday, August 8, 1950

Even after JJ told Dolly he was going to leave, he had considered staying. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she would leave her husband, and JJ could convince her that he wasn’t all madness and destruction.

But he couldn’t even convince himself, that night. He hadn’t been able to sleep; his grandparents’ old house felt as cloying as the jungle. He decided there was no reason to stay and make a further ass of himself. So, very early Saturday morning, he packed up his few things, left a note for Dolly, and drove out of town, not knowing where he was headed, pressing the accelerator down hard even as his eyes lingered on his rearview mirror, watching the town fade from sight.