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face to the doily collar. “This sweater suits you.”
    I sewed it! I wanted to shout. Don’t you recognize your mother’s handiwork? Instead, I forced a smile and said, “Isn’t she, though?”
    “Smart, too,” Toby added, keeping his eyes on Roylene. He wrapped his hands around her narrow face. “Did you bring it?”
    Her skinny hand dove into the front of her dress, and she pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from her nonexistent bosom. “It’s not that good?” she whispered.
    “Good enough to earn my girl her high school diploma,” he murmured, then briefly turned his bright eyes to me. “She wrote an essay about how to make potato soup for the high school equivalency.”
    I should have complimented her, but my brain froze after the words my girl. I was supposed to hand my boy over to her? Oh, Glory, I’ve always been protective of Toby, overly so, to be honest, but I don’t think you’d have blamed me if I pushed her back on that train and sent her off to Timbuktu. Before I knew it, he’d thrown his arm over her shoulders and they were walking down the platform, away from where I stood. “Come on, Ma,” Toby called, and I scurried to catch up.
    Today we spent most of our time wandering the city, playing tourist and ignoring the inevitable. I didn’t feel like a third wheel so much as a souvenir, a postcard from a past life.
    And here I sit, alone. I was mistaken about Toby’s leave—he doesn’t have a full forty-eight hours. His train leaves in an hour or two. He said goodbye to me last night, told me not to bother getting up to see him off, that it was too early and I should get my beauty rest.
    I’m not going to sleep through his departure. I’m going to get dressed and walk over to the train station. Then I’m going to kiss him on the crown of his head and imagine his fine, golden hair tickling my nose.
    I’m going to say goodbye to my son.

    Rita

  
    June 5, 1943
    ROCKPORT, MASSACHUSETTS
    Dear Rita,

    How my heart ached for you when I received your letters. I can only imagine my Robbie all grown up and walking down the street in front of me, hand in hand with another girl. Right now I’m his best girl...and I don’t want that to change anytime soon. I suppose it’s good that Toby has a girl. And perhaps it wasn’t as scandalous as you think...their night together. Couldn’t it be that they were taking a walk under the stars? I wonder if having another person waiting for him won’t give him even more reason to make it home unharmed? I know I’m waxing enthusiastic, but I’m turning into quite the optimist lately!
    I must admit, after I read your letter I pushed back the coffee table in the living room and put on the radio. I held my Robbie close and danced with him. How I cried. I whispered into his ear, “Stay just the way you are.”
    And I do want him to stay how he is. I’d like a little snapshot of this time to keep in my heart forever. The only thing missing is Robert. Like a throbbing hollowness that won’t go away. A splinter I can’t find. A toothache. His absence is always right behind me.
    Anyway...my life has become one big whirl of busy. It seems like I go from the garden to the tub and then pull on some stockings (Do you have any left? I’m completely out of silk but have some nylons stocked up if you want me to send you some. Shh! Don’t tell!) and run out the door and down the road to Mrs. M.’s so we can go to one of her meetings. I run so fast the hairpins come out and I have to wear my hair wild. Claire Whitehall would KILL me. Marie has been kind enough to stay home from the meetings and stay with the kids. She said, “I’ve had my turn, now you go have yours.” I swear I’m falling more in love with Mrs. M. and Marie every day.
    I feel like a sparrow flitting around landing here or there. It feels good. Weightless.
    The kids are doing well, though I’ve noticed that Robbie isn’t asking for Robert anymore. He’s taken to calling Levi “Papa.”