What are you going to do if you don’t marry Sam? As much as she loved and respected Doc, she wouldn’t…couldn’t…spend the rest of her life working behind a drugstore counter. Somewhere out there were jobs for girls like her—jobs that weren’t dependent on her ability to read and write.

Already, she’d crossed the usual suspects off the list. She couldn’t be a secretary or a teacher, and if she were going to take a retail job at a department store, then she might as well stay here at Meyer’s, where she was comfortable and Doc helped her compensate for her shortcomings.

Something will come up. You’ll see. Keep your eyes open. Graduation was next week. She could work here until she had a better option.

In the meantime, she needed to figure out what to do about ever-persistent Sam. She’d been avoiding him for weeks. Finally, to get him off her back, she’d agreed to let him take her out to dinner after graduation. She wasn’t looking forward to it.

She caught the deodorant can as it teetered on the shelf. Pay attention, Mary Elizabeth. You almost made a mess. You can deal with what to do about Sam later.

Pennsylvania Station bustled with boisterous reunions, soldiers and civilians hustling to and from designated tracks, heartfelt goodbyes, and the sound of train whistles. Nora turned in a circle. General Groves’s letter said only that a representative would meet her at the station. She wondered if the general had been to Penn Station. It was enormous. Without knowing her destination, it was impossible to know where to wait.

She readjusted her grip on the suitcase and pushed the purse strap higher on her shoulder. Her feet hurt from being stuffed into high heels she was unaccustomed to wearing, and her hose were slipping.

“Ugh. This is ridiculous.” She’d half a mind to turn around and go home. Instead, she decided to make one last pass through the terminal. She turned left at the flower vendor, and that’s when she saw him. He was a stern-looking gentleman in a business suit and hat, and he held a sign that had her name on it. She broke into a run.

“I’m Nora Lindstrom.” She skidded to a halt in front of him, nearly decking him with the suitcase. She put it down and fumbled in her purse for identification.

He glanced at the ID, nodded, picked up her suitcase, and pivoted on his heel. “Come with me. We don’t have much time.”

Just like that, he was on the move. He hadn’t even told her his name. She jogged to keep up. She couldn’t even get close enough to ask him a question. When he stopped short, she nearly ran into the back of him.