Parked on my bed in my old cotton robe, I strain to focus on a borrowed book. The task is near impossible thanks to tenants on the floor above, whose bursts of laughter compete with tunes from their RCA. I have half a mind to climb onto the room’s wooden desk and make my case by pounding on the ceiling.

Rather, I proceed to wait my turn for the house’s lone tub. The group’s gaiety, anyway, isn’t the true problem. It’s the clashing of my thoughts.

Starting with Charles.

His accusation of jealousy is spiteful and enraging. But is it wrong? From the birth of our endeavor, I swore I didn’t need public credit; I just hadn’t banked on feeling invisible. And, worse, disposable.

Now my options are glaring: plod forward together or split off with respective partners.

Or, perhaps, let Charles take the act completely while I embark on a daring new adventure.

To say I haven’t dreamt of one day seeing London’s glorious gardens and palaces firsthand would be a lie. In all fairness, England is a far distance from the front lines, and through the Battle of Britain, its Royal Air Force has proven a formidable defender.

But still—me, recruited for specialized wartime service. What lunacy. That’s to say nothing of being transported in an aircraft, wholly encased while shooting like a cannonball through the sky.

Unless, that is, ship passage could be arranged…

If only my initial fear of being stalked tonight had held. Instead, ultimately nothing about the man rang false. This includes his assertion that, rather than amusing Allied troops, my skills could help save their lives.

Utilized for a greater purpose, he said, echoing an indelible message from my past.

It’s this bit that itches at me most, deep and insatiable, along with thoughts of the sole person able to relate—now in yet another way. The very person I’ve been tempted to contact time and again.

Arie.

Three years ago, well before the nation’s day of infamy spurred fellows to enlist in droves, he joined the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, according to my updates from back in Michigan. Since then, his reassignment to military intelligence, an apt fit for a keen observer with a skill for languages, has stationed him safely in DC. That knowledge has provided me immeasurable relief, especially given the likelihood that my actions were to blame for his unexpected enlistment. One more reason I avoid bookings in his area. Not that this stops me from occasionally mistaking soldiers for him in any number of audiences.

Thank goodness it’s not him, I always tell myself when my instinctual joy dissolves. For what would I say? Casual comments about the weather, the army, our past? Nothing is that simple. Not after what I did.