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“It really was silly.”
This time, when he looked up at her, all confusion was gone, replaced by the boyish smile that had once won her heart. “Should I turn the shower on, do you think? To remind us of the time we got caught in that awful storm?”
A laugh bubbled out of her. “I’d forgotten all about that. All my careful makeup smeared. I was a mess.”
“You were still beautiful.”
The unexpected compliment made Avis look away. My, Russell had been gone a long time if this was all it took to send her back to the days of her stammering teenage crush. “All we need now is that postcard I gave to you.”
“You mean this one?” He fished his wallet out of his trouser pocket, thumbing past a few bills, and drew out a silver dollar-sized paper heart. Flipped over, the source became obvious: the corner of a Ferris wheel overlapped with the white text from the postcard’s motto:Where lovers meet.
The sight of it made her take in a little breath. “You kept a piece of it all this time?”
He placed his hands around the smooth bathing-suit material on her waist and pulled her in for a kiss. “A man’s got to remember his honeymoon, doesn’t he?”
A splash of water spoiled the moment, and they both turned to the lobster in the sink, putting up a fuss at being forced to remain as a witness, and Russell laughed. How she’d missed that comforting sound! “I still can’t believe you did all of this.”
“I had help.”
More, in fact, than she’d expected or wanted at the time. As soon as they’d seen the note on the library door, the book club members had started calling and visiting, concerned for her. With only a day to put her plan into action and months of neglected housework to make up for, Avis was forced to call in favors.
Ginny had picked up the lobster, proudly bringing it in a bucket instead of properly dead like Avis had expected, and insisted it would be better boiled alive. Mrs. Whitson had lent her record player, Freddy had helped mow the lawn, and even Hamish had quietly volunteered to drive to the train station in Miss Cavendish’s car to pick Russell up. All of them claimed to be happy to do it—except Delphie, of course, who had merely shoved an unrequested basket of fresh bread at her without comment.
Despite the fact that none of Avis’s books on homemaking included a section on asking friends for help, it hadn’t been so painful after all.
“I thought we might want to continue this conversation over dinner.” That is if she had the heart to boil poor Long John. Naming him really had been a mistake.
“By candlelight?” Russell grinned roguishly.
“Of course. Blackout regulations, you know,” she said seriously.
“Sure thing.” Russell wrapped his arms around her again, and this time, she rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “I’m glad to be home. With you.”
And when they let go, for the first time in months, Avis felt as though the war were thousands of miles away.
thirty-three
MARTINA
SEPTEMBER 4
Martina watched as Gio slid the library key into his pocket, trying to look businesslike, though a hint of his bucktoothed grin slipped through.
“Don’t lose it,” Avis warned sternly, guiding him to the checkout desk, where he’d just learned how to sort the cards in the charging tray.
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Good.” Avis nodded, her smart navy hat perfectly pinned in place. “Now see if you can find the Dewey decimal numbers for the nonfiction categories requested for the Victory Book Campaign.”
Gio bent over the work with more eagerness, Martina noted, than he’d ever given to schoolwork. She’d come with the children to the library this morning to make sure Avis’s offer of a job at the library was genuine and not just charity. To her surprise, Gio had demonstrated that he already knew many of the library tasks, from shelving books to using the Royal typewriter stationed behind the desk. Those young eyes took in more than she realized.
“He’ll do a fine job as a page,” Avis reassured her. “At twelve, he’s the youngest we’ve had but not by much.”
The title of page made Martina smile every time, as if Giowas a court attendant out of one of Rosa’s fairy books. “I’m surprised Miss Cavendish agreed to this.”
“Oh, she didn’t. Gio’s wages are coming out of my paycheck.” A protest sprang to Martina’s lips, but Avis shook her head firmly. “Don’t say a word about it. It might be short-lived, with the library closing, but with Miss Cavendish’s astonishing list of tasks, I need the help more than ever. Gio’s worth twice the pay I’m giving him.”
She hummed a cheerful tune, her plaid skirt swinging widely as she danced more than walked to a cart of books, taking a stack that nearly reached her chin. When Martina had complimented her on her new shade of lipstick, she’d admitted that she’d taken extra care today because her husband was home on leave for the week.
