Pull yourself together. She’s no different than the thousands of other girls here. But Mary was different. It wasn’t that she physically reminded her of Anna—she didn’t. But she had the same kind of confidence, carefree air, and self-possession. Nora often found herself detouring to walk through Beta-2 even when she didn’t have to, just to catch a glimpse of her. She’d memorized Mary’s mannerisms, including the way she unconsciously played with one of the curls at the nape of her neck as she focused on the dials and knobs in front of her.

Nora threw open the front door with more force than she’d intended. What she needed was to sit with her journal, listen to the news on the radio, and read the new novel she’d picked up at the library, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.  She closed the curtains, retrieved the journal from its hiding place in her suitcase underneath the bed, and settled down on the couch.

On the radio, Edward R. Murrow delivered a report from Berlin. Nora turned up the volume as he described a British Royal Air Force nighttime bombing raid. He’d been allowed to ride along with the bombers. Nora wondered whether he was brave, or a fool. Either way, she was grateful for a firsthand account. “Men die in the sky while others are roasted alive in their cellars. Berlin last night wasn’t a pretty sight.”

Nora sighed heavily. She imagined war was never a pretty sight. She snapped off the radio and picked up a pen.

Dearest Diary,

What a day! The difficulties at work persist with faulty equipment to blame, I fear. I do hope we get to the bottom of this, and soon. That’s all I feel comfortable saying about that.

As for life here on the Reservation, I ran into Rosalie and Betty today on my way home. It was wonderful to see them. It’s been far too long, and they gave me an earful about that! They want me to come dancing with them later. Can you imagine? I have two left feet and no social skills, and they want me to come dancing. What could they be thinking? At any rate, it’s ridiculous, of course. But perhaps I could go and watch them cut a rug for a minute or five. It would be something to break up the monotony. Besides, they won’t let me hear the end of it until I agree to do something other than spend my time keeping my own company.

All right, dear diary. If I’m going to accommodate my friends, I’d better fix myself some supper, indulge in a chapter of this engrossing book I started reading last night, and find something to wear.

Ever faithfully yours, dearest diary,

Nora