I gave up tossing and turning and poured myself a cold glass of water, then went onto the front porch, where the air was at least moving a little. I rested my head against the back of the porch swing and closed my eyes.

“Can’t sleep either?” Henry said. He walked along the edge of the porch and took a seat beside me.

“It’s hot in there,” I sighed.

“I’ll wager it’s worse upstairs.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he chuckled, but quickly sobered. “You left the back door unlocked.”

“Did I?” I said, wincing. “Oops.” He’d been checking every night before he went to sleep, and this was the second time I’d forgotten.

“You’re not taking this seriously, Lizzie.”

“I am,” I protested. “It’s force of habit, that’s all. We’ve been here for a year and I’ve never locked that door. And besides…”

“You haven’t seen him,” Henry surmised. “So you’re not as scared as you should be.”

“Haven’t seen him?” I said hesitantly. I shot Henry a concerned look, concerned at his use of present tense. Henry sighed impatiently, then lit a cigarette. He stretched his legs out, settling into the seat, and then drew in a deep breath.

“I checked myself into a VA neuropsychiatric hospital in January after I was here for Christmas. I lied when I said I was working at a fair in Nashville. Christmas was the lowest I’d been for a while.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, startled. My heart ached at the thought of him going through that alone.

“Do you know that in all the time you’ve been married, even after all the shit I’ve put you through in the last five years, I’d never seen you and Cal argue until the last time I visited? I figured if your marriage was in trouble and you were stuck here in backwater Alabama with a bunch of Nazis, you’d need me to have my head right if it all hit the fan.”

“Huntsville isn’t so bad. And me and Cal are fine.” I hadn’t realized he noticed us bickering. Henry was always more perceptive than people gave him credit for.

“I love Cal. I really do. But your husband is a part of all of this. He’s working with them.”

“He’s just doing his job.”

“Isn’t that exactly what half of those bastards at Nuremberg said?” Henry asked. I winced. “Anyway, it doesn’t even matter right now. That’s not what we need to talk about. We need to talk about Bobby.”

“We do?” I asked, surprised. I remembered the friend Henry made in his unit in Europe, even though he’d never told me much about him.