Mary’s smile was bittersweet. This was her father—the man she’d seen off to war. Thank you for coming back to me, Daddy. “I love and miss you too.”

“Well, you’d better get going. This is costing you a fortune.”

“I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You come home anytime. I know you and your mother don’t see eye-to-eye, but deep down she loves you and misses you too.”

“Okay, Daddy. I’ll call again soon. ’Bye.”

“’Bye, Pumpkin.”

July – August, 1945

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Nora let herself in as quietly as she could. The only light illuminating her way was a side lamp in the living room. She kicked off her shoes at the door and tiptoed to the door of the bedroom. There was her Mary, snoring lightly, her arms wrapped around a pillow that should’ve been her.

She slid her night table drawer open and fished below several books for her journal and pen and then returned with them to the living room.

It was so hard, not being able to talk to anyone about what was going on. Although she couldn’t say much that was specific in her diary, at least she could pour out her heart.

July 22, 1945

Dearest Diary,

It’s been almost three months since the Russians marched into Berlin, a firing squad exacted justice on the Fascist Mussolini, and that most awful of monsters, Hitler, killed himself. It’s been almost that long since the Germans surrendered unconditionally in Reims, France.

Still, even though we Americans won the Battle of Okinawa, the war goes on in the Pacific. And so, we go on with it. G.G. held a meeting with the Select Few here and told us nothing had changed. Our objectives remained the same, and we were to double our efforts.

Honestly, dear diary, my poor girls (including my Mary!) are working themselves to the bone. I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up. I feel horrible for all of them. The hardest part is not being able to share any reasonable justification or rationalization with them for the increased hours and intense pressure. I know I alone must carry this burden, but my shoulders are sagging.

Worst of all is the growing chasm I feel between me and my beloved. I have no words of wisdom to ease her anxiety about the future, for we cannot yet plan for the future without knowing the outcome of our present. I know without doubt that I love her with all my heart, and that I would walk through fire for her if that were required of me.

I cannot say where the path we’re on will lead. Will my future in the scientific community be assured after this? I can neither know nor say. One thing is clear: if we are to make it in this world, I will have to make sufficient income to support us.