“Are you sure, Doll? The fireworks only come once a year. And Susie’s going to be disappointed not to have another girl along.”

“I know, but—”

Outside, Roy blasted his horn.

“Really, Byron, you go ahead.”

With a mournful look, he squeezed her hand. “Well, if you really don’t want to go,” he pouted.

She watched through the curtains and breathed a sigh of relief when the car pulled out of the driveway. She’d had about all she could take of the Ostrems and their curly-headed cherubs. It had been Byron’s bright idea to invite them over to celebrate the Fourth—“It’s about time you get some friends your own age in this town, Doll,” he’d told her—after he and Roy had had a grand time out fishing on Sunday. Of course, they hadn’t brought any fish home. Byron said they’d thrown them all back, but Dolly doubted whether they’d even cast their lines in the water. Judging from their performance tonight, they had probably been too busy drinking beer and talking about Chryslers and their old buddies from the war.

And if Susie Ostrem was all she had to choose from for friends her own age, Dolly thought she’d rather stick with the older women of the Ladies Aid. The evening had been interminable. While their husbands engaged in enthusiastic debate about the most outstanding features of their Chryslers, Dolly and Susie conducted a faltering conversation about the many uses for hamburger. And when the younger toddler smeared a handful of Dolly’s Sunshine Salad on the kitchen wall, Susie had only laughed and, as she picked up the offending youngster to give him a kiss, said to Dolly, “Oh, you know how it is! If you don’t have eyes in the back of your head—!” Bouncing the child on one arm, she had dabbed at the stain with a napkin, then gestured to the poppies. “Well, good thing you have such busy wallpaper!” It was the final straw.