She nodded. “Grandfather had received a call from my mother to pick me up. My parents had sore throats, and they didn’t want me to catch a cold. Three days later, they were in the hospital with pneumonia. Grandfather tried to visit them, but they, as well as hundreds of others, had been quarantined.” She blinked her eyes, suppressing tears. “My father died the following Sunday. Mother on Tuesday.”

Ollie placed his hand on Susan’s arm.

Susan made no effort to move, taking comfort in his touch. “It was a long time ago.”

Ollie hesitated, then slowly returned his hand to his lap.

“As a child, I dreaded the playground. I would often hear children jumping rope and chanting the rhyme about the pandemic.” Susan looked at Ollie. “Do you know the one I’m talking about?”

He shook his head.

Susan fiddled with the needles. “I had a little bird, its name was Enza. I opened the window, and in flew Enza.”

“That’s awful.”

“Precisely why I never learned to jump rope.” She completed several stitches. “I wish I could have been old enough to remember them. All I have are a few photos, letters, and Grandfather’s stories, which he tells often and with endless variations to make them more interesting.”

Ollie rested his arm on the box between them.

“My grandparents gave me a lovely childhood—lots of laughter and lots of birds.”

“Pigeons.”

Susan felt a tug in her cheeks as she attempted to contain a smile. “Yes, pigeons.” She put down her needles. “So, Oliver from Maine, why are you here?”

“To join the fight. The RAF needs pilots.”

“Aren’t you afraid?”

“Of dying?”

Susan nodded.

“There are worse things.”

“Like what?”

“Sitting idle while the Nazis attempt to conquer the world.”

The explosions dwindled, like a thunderstorm losing steam. The candle burned away to a nub; globs of melted wax covered the base.

“Maybe they’re done for tonight,” Ollie said.

“There’ll be another wave.” Susan placed her knitting into the box and slid it under the sofa. “We should rest. Lots of work to do in the morning.”

Ollie nodded. He picked up the candle, the flame flickered out, and the room went dark. “I’ll get another match.”

“No need.” Susan clasped his hand, noticing the warmth of his skin. She guided Ollie to the stairs and gently placed his palm on the rail.

Together, they climbed the stairs to the landing. The hallway was a black abyss from the blackout drapes.

“Can you find your room?” she asked.

“I think so.”

Susan heard the rattle of a doorknob.

“Found it,” he said.

“Ollie?”

He stopped. “Yes.”

“It seems I’ve done far too much talking.”

“I liked listening,” he said.

“That’s sweet. But it was impolite of me to ramble.” She paused. “What happened to your parents?”