“Every man for himself. Get your own pen pal. But I will let you read anything she sends.”

“Whatever you say. Maybe I’ll start writing one of your sisters.”

“Too late. They’re both engaged. Mom’s over the moon. Double wedding planned for after the new year. You missed your chance, buddy. Though I’d trade you any day for the drip my oldest sister is going to marry.”

The moon had shifted since they first started talking, and its light rested now on the package as the rest of the room sat in silhouette.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked William.

Tom shook his head. “We can’t. It has John’s name on it.”

“What, are you getting lawyerly on me now? You know we share all the goods anyway. John won’t mind. Besides, we have an early day. There won’t be time to properly appreciate it if we wait.”

William was right. He knew John would encourage them to open it. But it still felt funny. And yet, after William’s revelation, this was just the kind of distraction he probably needed.

William picked his army knife off the bureau next to him and leaned over to slice open the top of the box.

“Oh, look at that! My knife slipped. Right through the twine.”

Tom laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “I guess we don’t really have a choice now.”

“I guess we don’t.”

William finished cutting it open in perfect, clean lines. When he removed the top piece, he smiled at what he saw.

Nestled on top of everything else the box contained sat a pair of gray socks with a red border. And in it, another note from Margaret.

William looked it over and then handed it to Tom.

Dear William, she’d written.

I’ve been thinking about how the sun rises for you five hours before it does for us.

And by the time you see the moon, your day has been spent while ours has yet to fully play out.

I have spent much time lately looking at the sky. Its constancy is an anchor when I don’t know what the news of tomorrow will bring. The one gift that the dimout presents to us is that we can see the stars from our windows. Something previously unknowable in a Brooklyn lit at all hours of the day and night by streetlights and headlights and factories that never close.

But even the patient and sharp-eyed observer will learn that the stars change too. The ancients saw pictures in them and turned them into gods. The navigators of old set their courses by their placement.

Tom felt a shiver go through him. William was right. This was no ordinary girl.