She snapped up her toiletries, walked down the hall, and was relieved not to have to wait in line for the communal bathroom. Back in her room, she turned the lights out, laid down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. By now, her mother would’ve found the note in her room, telling her that she was all right, that she had gone away for work, and would be in touch when she could arrange it. She’d noticed a telephone in the lobby. Maybe she should call her.

The more Mary thought about it, the more she liked the idea. That way, if someone from this place did call her mother, she could coach her ahead of time. And tell her what, exactly? You can’t share anything with her—not where you are, what you’re doing, or where you’re living… Still, a phone call might help. It wasn’t yet ten o’clock, so she could make the call before curfew.

She threw on her bathrobe, walked to the lobby, and made a collect call home.

“Hello?”

“Mother?”

“Mary? Is that you? I’ve been worried sick about you. What were you thinking? You quit your job? You broke it off with Samuel? You didn’t tell me where you were going, or, never mind that, that you were going at all? Have you lost your mind? You come home right this minute.”

She waited for her mother to take a breath so she could get a word in edgewise. “I’m fine, Mother. Truly. I haven’t lost my mind. I didn’t want what you wanted for me. I’m safe. I got hired to help us win the war. And the job pays seventy-five cents per hour. I can send most of that home to you. You’re going to be so much better off.”

“Who in their right mind would hire a girl directly out of high school to help us win the war? If that’s the kind of people the government is relying on, we’re in more trouble than I thought and we should surrender to Hitler right now.”

“Mother! It’s not like that.” She knew she needed to get off the phone before her mother pressed her for more details. “Listen, I’ve got to go.”

“Go? Go where? Where are you?”

“Someone’s waiting for the phone, Mother. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. I love you. Tell Daddy I love him in your next letter to him. ’Bye.”

“Mary Elizabeth—”

She hung up the phone.

“Those are always the hardest.”

Mary wheeled around to see a girl about her age sitting nearby smoking a cigarette.

“I’m Doris. I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“It’s my first night.”

“Ah. Welcome to the nuthouse.”

“Thanks.”

“Was that your mother?”