But he walked away quickly and waddled out of sight down the stairs. “Johnnie?” What had she done?

“Put on your new coat…we’re due at the courthouse at eleven o’clock.”

They went to the Los Angeles Courthouse, where Walter led her through an empty courtroom that smelled of institutional polish. A man in overalls was sweeping the floor. Later, along with a young clerk, he served as one of their two witnesses. The ceremony lasted only a few minutes. The judge had distinguished hair and an overly sweetened voice. Annie fought down a powerful wave of laughter that threatened to engulf her, wash her into the street. The witnesses, smiling at her, left. A ray of sunlight streaming through the large window directed its principal blessing toward the judge’s hair. She looked at the dust motes. Her throat still rippled faintly with laughter. Then she realized Walter and the judge were having a heated argument, something about Murmansk…the Murmansk run.

“But how can you leave your young wife so soon?” the judge was asking indignantly. Walter answered him with a constrained patience that implied the judge was mentally deficient. The Murmansk run was so perilous that an extra bonus was given; it amounted to a considerable amount of money. As for his young wife, said Walter, she could damn well take care of herself as women did all over the world. The judge patted Annie’s hand and gave her a pitying glance.

Afterward, as she and Walter walked along the street, she said, “What is Murmansk?”

“Nothing…we’re married! What do you think of that?” She was fiddling with the ring on her finger; it was neither heavy nor tight, but it made her breathless, as if two fingers pressed against her throat.

“Annie Vogel!” Walter said.

No! she cried silently. And then, all at once, she felt a vast ease, unexpected and overwhelming. Walter had stopped to look at the pictures behind the display case of a movie house. He’d slipped his hands into the back pockets of his trousers, and he bent forward to look more closely at the pictures. He looked surprisingly young. She drifted over to him, catching sight as she did so of a man across the street. She was sure it was the one who’d given her the ride to San Diego, Max Shore. She turned away quickly, afraid he might remember her, might feel constrained to come and speak to her. She had often thought of Max Shore, of the way he’d looked at her, his comic irritation with that woman who drove the car. He had seemed so sad to her.

“Let’s go to the movies!” said Walter. She laughed at the perversity of such an act on their wedding day, and said yes.