“I’m pulling your leg, doll. You know I’m not seeing anyone, but gosh, I love your lack of guile. I saved some pennies and bought it with my own money since I don’t have a husband to make me account for every little whim. How long have you known me?”

Margaret sighed. “Until the day I die, Gladys, I’m not sure I’ll ever know when you’re kidding.”

“Keep ’em on their toes. That’s my motto.”

“You have a lot of those.”

“Have a lot of mottos. That’s my motto.”

Margaret rolled her eyes but knew that Gladys wouldn’t see that in the dark. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Is that another one of your fancy words?”

“Yes. From two weeks ago. I just haven’t had the right opportunity to use it. Until now.”

Gladys chuckled. “I know big words, too, you know. You don’t have the corner on the market. You’ll be jubilant to learn that I brought enough chocolate packets to share with you and Dottie.”

Margaret’s cheeks warmed at the image of the rare treat.

“Thank you, Gladys,” she said, mollified.

“You’re welcome. You’ve got a hot plate in there?”

“Yeah. Pops likes fresh coffee while he’s working.”

“And milk?”

“Nope. Mom uses all the milk rations for baking bread. So it’s black coffee for us until the end of the war.”

Gladys frowned. “And watery hot chocolate. Ah, what can you do? Just one more loss to lay at the feet of Hitler.”

“I think there are a few worse things attributed to him than that. Read the paper.”

“No doubt, doll. I pray every night that the bastard gets a bullet right in the heart. And by American hands, if possible.” She folded her arms. “But tonight I can also resent him for ruining the full Ebinger’s experience.”

“Of course you can.”

“Well, we’ll make do. We always have.”

“Hi, girls!”

They turned to see a silhouette of Dottie sidestepping something on the pavement.

“Oh my,” she said as she approached. “They need to repair that hole. Someone could get hurt.” She brushed the front of her skirt with her hands. “Anyway, I brought some yarn like you asked, Margaret.”

“Whatever would I do without you?”

“May you never have to find out.” Margaret knew Dottie was grinning as she said it. It was a familiar exchange between them, an echo of their barefoot days playing on the Brighton Beach boardwalk. Margaret had once splintered her heel running after a stray kite. Dottie, with saintlike patience, had worked with the tweezers, plucking it out in triumph. The first of many incidents in which the banter was apropos.

It was no wonder that Dottie was the first of them to be getting married and having a baby. She’d been a little adult ever since she was half the size of one.