Dottie had patiently listened to her woes on the subject over a few afternoons spent at the Beck home while Margaret’s parents played with Joanna.

Margaret could hear her whisper to Gladys, “She hasn’t heard from William in a while.”

“Still? Geez, Mags. That’s rough.”

Margaret shrugged.

Gladys leaned over and put her hands on Margaret’s shoulders.

“This might be an unpopular opinion, but my vote is that you don’t turn yourself into a nun. I’m not saying to ditch him. But if another boy crosses your path, don’t pine for something that might be an illusion.”

“Gladys,” Dottie said in an admonishing tone.

Gladys tilted her head. “What? You’re thinking it. But I’m saying it.”

“Just because you have Oliver live and in the flesh doesn’t mean that you know everything about love.”

Margaret stood up and placed her hands on the top of her desk. She hung her head down and her hair brushed its surface, a smile emerging on her face despite her sour mood. She straightened herself and crossed her arms, looking at both of them.

“I have the two best friends in the world, you know. Can we just focus on that?”

Gladys came around the desk to pull Margaret into a hug. “I know, doll. You’re right. I’m just defensive when I see my friends feeling hurt. You know I love a good cause.”

“I don’t want to be your cause. I just want…”

“What?” asked Dottie softly.

“I just want to know he’s okay.”

*  *  *

“What the hell are you doing, Powell? Take cover!”

Tom felt himself being dragged through the snow and was pulled into the foxhole. He looked down at the grenade he was still holding. The grenade! He tossed it out toward German lines, as far as he could. It landed on the ground. And did nothing.

A dud.

He’d expected to die.

Why had everything gone black?

“What kind of nut are you diving on a grenade like that?” asked the solider who’d yanked him into the foxhole.

“I didn’t want it to get you guys.”

“That’s some guts, man. Thank you. You hit your head pretty hard when you landed. I think on a rock that was hidden in the snow.”

That explained it. The ache in his head. And in his stomach. He winced as he touched that spot and opened his jacket to check it out.

Blood. He’d been cut on something that tore through the fatigues. But when he checked his skin, the wound was superficial.

He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. The only thing that seemed to offer certainty right now was death.

“Incoming!” someone shouted before someone could call for a medic.

The soldier grabbed Tom by the shoulders until he was fully belowground.

A bomb exploded so near them that Tom’s ears went silent.

*  *  *