She was glad that their sewing tables were positioned as they were. She could easily keep an eye on Dottie from where she was sitting.

The end of their shift was a bittersweet one. Word of their promotion had spread in that mysterious way that it does and the girls they’d sat near for months congratulated them. Promises to keep in touch and meet for lunch passed between them. And even though Margaret acknowledged the words with polite yeses, the reality was that they would have little chance for interaction. Different shifts and different sides of the Navy Yard might as well have had them living on different planets. The Navy Yard employed well over ten thousand people and was a small city in and of itself. It was uncommon to run into people you knew if you didn’t already work together.

Margaret took slow steps on the way to the bus stop to match Dottie’s labored strides. “Are you sure you don’t need to go to a doctor?”

Dottie shook her head and her curls swung back and forth. “I’m told this is normal. Don’t fuss over me.”

“Hey, ladies! What’s cookin’?” Gladys called from behind them, and it took her no time to catch up.

“Dottie isn’t feeling well.”

Gladys lifted Dottie’s chin with her hands. “Good God, Dorothy. She’s not kidding. Let’s get you home. I’ll ride all the way with you and I can walk back to my apartment later.”

Thankfully, Dottie didn’t protest, and Margaret was glad she’d have the extra help if anything were to happen.

They boarded the bus that would take them to East Williamsburg. They were only two stops away from their respective town houses when Dottie slumped onto Margaret’s lap.

Margaret shook Dottie’s shoulders, but there was no response.

“Stop the bus!” she cried. “My friend has fainted.”

The bus came to a stop and Margaret looked out the window. There was the Polish bodega on the corner. That meant they were only one block from Gladys’s apartment.

Gladys sprang up from several rows away and hurried over to them. “Let’s take her to my place. I’ll call a doctor from the hall line.”

A young man stood up in the back row and came toward them. “Can I be of service?” His deep British voice was a surprise, but Margaret had too little time to think about it.

“Yes. Please. Could you help us carry her to my friend’s apartment? It’s just one block away.”

“Of course. In fact, let me see if the driver will bring you right to the door.”

Gladys followed and relayed her address to the driver, who pulled up just shy of her building, blocked from going farther by a garbage truck lingering in the middle of the street.