Then again, few shared her flair for the distinction of language. Except for William. And Tom. They would surely appreciate how this represented so much more than a name change.
And now she was being asked, without any preparation, to interview one of the men coming home. One by one replacing the strides the women had made. Though she could hardly deny them the solidity of a job when they had been overseas fighting for two years and more.
She hoped for a day when there might be a more equitable arrangement between the sexes, but for now, she would rise to the hand dealt to her.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” she answered.
She pulled out the standard application that they gave to the women and hoped it would suffice.
A tall young man came in. He was wearing pants that were too short and a shirt that was too tight and a fisherman’s cap on top of his head, pulled down low enough to cast his eyes in a shadow. A gentleman would remove his cap, but perhaps Oliver and his precise mannerisms had rubbed off on her too much. She had to cut this guy some slack. He was likely one of the ones who’d come over on the Cunard vessel today.
“Ma’am,” he said with a deep voice. A shiver traveled from her head to her toes, and she tightened her sweater around herself.
“Hello, soldier.” She hoped he’d see that as an invitation to give her his name, but he did not comply. “Have a seat.”
He was a quiet one, and having skipped lunch, she was too hungry to encourage him if he didn’t want to say more.
He sat down and she handed him a clipboard and pen along with the application.
“You can fill this out. I have some work of my own to do. We’ll look it over when you’re finished.”
“Thank you.”
Goodness, he certainly hadn’t won the war with his loquaciousness. He’d likely be suited for one of the mechanical jobs that didn’t require a lot of conversation.
He took the clipboard from her and his hand brushed hers as she did so. She shivered again, this time as if she’d touched an electrical socket, and pulled back quickly. He sat a little higher than she did and he looked down at her as their eyes locked. His were big and brown, even as they sat beneath his cap and what looked to be a mop of hair underneath it.
He almost looked like—but no, that was a crazy thought.
Still, something about him made her cheeks feel warm.
Hmmm. Cold and warm. How could she feel both at the same time?
She gripped the edge of her desk and decided to leave him to it. She swung her chair around, delighted by its ability to swivel, and returned to her canvas bag where she could hide whatever strange things she was feeling.
She pulled out another framed picture—John’s official military photograph. How dashing he’d looked. How eager to do his part. His would sit right on her desk, just as he had in her former location.
The soldier scratched away as she continued. He seemed keenly interested in what he was putting on there, though it had asked only the most basic of things—name, address, experience, references, and so forth.
She pulled the next one out—a family portrait of George, Dottie, and Joanna. Her niece looked like a cherub in her white eyelet dress. The picture would be outdated soon enough, as Dottie was five months in the family way. Once again, she’d refused the rabbit test, protesting the practice by buying Joanna a bunny of her own.
Then, one of her parents. John had taken it a few months before he went to basic training. It was their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, and he’d wanted to do something special for them as a gift.
And finally, the most precious to her of all. Because except for John, she got to see all the others on a near-daily basis. But these three had only a presence of black and white and gray shades on paper she’d kept protected in glass.
She swiveled again, her back to the soldier, and studied the picture she knew by heart. Her finger traced the outlines of her brother’s face, and then the two others. William and Tom. Tom and William.
Tom—wait. She held it closer to her face and stared at the taller one, as she had so many times since it had been sent to her.
Could it be?
She turned slowly to peer at the soldier and hoped he wouldn’t notice. But when she faced him, he had set the application down and was sitting up straight.
She narrowed her eyes and tried to take him in. The lines of his jaw. The set of his lips.
“That’s a nice picture,” he said, pointing to the one in her hands.
Margaret looked down at it and then back up at him.
Possibly. This man in front of her was more filled out than the one in the photograph. William/Tom was lanky.
Her hopes were deceiving her.
“Are you finished with the application?” she asked. She was embarrassed by the shakiness in her voice.
“All done and ready for your perusal.”
Huh. Perusal. Most people would just say to look at.
The name was blank, eliminating the clue that would have confirmed her suspicions.
Address:
Mount Airy, Virginia
She couldn’t breathe. Tom was from that town.
Occupation:
Farmer
Professional experience:
Sergeant in the 101st Airborne. Recipient of the Bronze Star for Valor in Holland.
Master’s degree from the University of Virginia
Position you’re applying for:
Margaret Jane Beck’s dinner date tonight
Her eyes welled up and she put her hand to her mouth. She was thankful that she’d worn her hair down today—it fell over her face and he shouldn’t be able to see her reaction.
After all this time. After all they’d been through—together, yet apart—here he was. Tom. Tom, the tall one. Tom, friend to John and William. Tom, the man she’d come to dream about, awake and asleep.
She cleared her throat and kept her composure.
“You didn’t state your name, soldier.”
“I didn’t?” He smiled and leaned in. He smelled of Dove soap. Just like the kind her mother bought.
Gosh, it was hot in here. Gladys’s office didn’t have a window.
“You know, someone once lied to me about his name. I’m not sure that omitting it is much better.”
He stood up and came closer until he was hovering over her desk.
“Then that’s a mistake that I’ll never make again.”
His eyes—the eyes she’d longed to see. So near. They were so near. She wanted to close her own but was afraid the mirage would be gone when she opened them again.
She whispered, “And you think you have a reasonable chance of getting the job you’re applying for?”
“Well, now, that’s not totally up to me.”
A smile spread across her face. Even though she couldn’t see herself, she knew it was the crooked one she saved for what made her the happiest. But this was so much better than Coney Island or Cary Grant.
She stood up and leaned forward, over her desk. She was grateful for it. Her legs felt as solid as an ambrosia salad and if she didn’t have the stability of the desk, she might collapse.
He raised his right hand and stroked the side of her cheek and she let the tears fall.
Relief. Joy. Love.
“Margaret,” he breathed.
“Tom?”
He nodded as she whispered.