His name is Patrick. Patrick Sullivan. And he’s white, he’s white, he’s white! Not Father’s kind of white, nor even Beaufort’s. Poor white. Irish Catholic white. Father would call him trash. He’s 19. His parents immigrated from Ireland. He graduated from high school, the first in his family. The day after, he left home and traveled hundreds of miles on a bus to go to trade school to learn to be a printer. He joined the Navy the day after Pearl Harbor, and the Navy sent him to school to learn mechanics. Now he’s here because he can fix machinery and he can write reports. See, he really wanted to be a reporter, but he spells funny. He puts the letters backward. He admitted he writes stories, too, but he was ashamed to show me until I promised not to laugh. As if I would.

The story was wonderful! Yes, he needs help with his grammar and spelling, but it was about preparing for war: unpolished, rough, full of the contrasts of terror and courage, homesickness and purpose. He doesn’t know it, but I typed up the story, corrected the errors, and sent it to the Armed Forces Magazine.

Now I wait to see if they accept it, and while I wait, I see him every day.

Mother knows. She says nothing.

Hermione knows. She packs us a lunch.

Dear diary, I’m in love.

Patrick sold his story! I told him and he didn’t believe it until I showed him the acceptance letter and the check. Then he still didn’t believe it. He tried to say my father had done it as a favor. I laughed until I cried. Then Patrick asked about my father, and I told everything. His father is hard-working, loud-laughing, loving, so Patrick didn’t believe me at first. Then he realized I was telling the truth, and he held me while I cried. I didn’t even realize I wanted to cry. It was very freeing, like a burden had been lifted I didn’t know I carried. We were out in the redwood grove; there we could be private. He kissed me, so sweet and gentle. He told me he loves me, and I admitted I love him, too. I went home, my feet barely touching the earth. I’ve done a good thing. I’ve given a man confidence in himself. He returned the favor by offering his love. I don’t think I’ve truly ever been loved before.

Mother was waiting on the porch. She didn’t speak or look at me.

Mother must have told Father, for he is home and furious. He told me I could never see Patrick again, that he’s going to speak to General Tempe and have him transferred into the thick of the fighting.