Nora tore open the paper. The smell of fine leather assaulted her senses. “Oh, my.” She ran her fingers over the soft cover and the embossed gold initials in the bottom left corner, N.L. She swallowed hard and regarded her friend. “This is too much. It must’ve cost you a week’s salary.”

“Pshaw. It’s the least I can do. Consider it my contribution to the war effort.”

Nora laughed. “Well, it’s very thoughtful of you.” She pulled the leather strap free of the buckle and fanned the blank parchment pages. “There are enough sheets in here to last me the rest of my life.”

“I’m planning for your future. I expect those pages to be filled with fascinating adventures. And I want to hear about each and every one when you can tell me.” Anna leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek.

Nora blushed to the roots of her hair.

“Be safe for me. Do great things. Always remember me.”

As if I could ever forget you. “I will.”

Anna sashayed down the street, looked back, and waved. Nora watched after her until she disappeared from sight. She held the journal up to her face and inhaled deeply. Then she held the journal to her chest and hugged it tight. Instantly, it had become her most favorite and treasured possession. She wasn’t positive she was allowed to chronicle the things she’d be doing, but surely she could record her own personal story in these pages. After all, Anna was counting on her.

“Mary, I wanted you to know that they’ve changed the color of the label on the penicillin package. It’s the one with the red outline.”

“Thanks, Doc.” She was grateful that Doc never made her feel stupid for having trouble reading the labels on the medicine bottles. They’d worked out a system. He would tell her what color label or what bottle shape held which medicine, and she would stock the shelves accordingly. “By the way, Doc, we got that cough serum in that you’ve been waiting for.”

“Good. Mrs. Meriweather will be glad to hear. She’s been waiting on that prescription going on two weeks now.”

Mary finished stocking the antibiotics shelf and stowed her lab coat in her locker. She grabbed the duster, unlatched the half door and exited the pharmacy station.

Unlike Mildred, who worked up front, Mary didn’t mind dusting the shelves. In truth, she enjoyed the mindless work. It gave her time to daydream.

Most often, she imagined being one of those big movie stars she saw in the pictures—Ingrid Bergman, or Ava Gardner, Katharine Hepburn, or Gene Tierney. Of course, it was only a dream. After all, she’d never be able to read scripts well enough to play a part.