“They’re so small,” I whisper.
“I know. The mama will be back soon. But she’ll attack us if she finds us here.” He reaches up, slipping his fingers into mine. “Let’s go.” He tugs me forward and we walk toward the picnic.
“My daddy’s going on a mission soon,” Peter says.
“I know.” I squeeze his fingers in mine. They’re sticky and warm.
“He’s a big war hero.”
My throat feels tight. “He is. A big war hero.”
The lawn is covered with people. “Look.” I point into the crowd. “There’s your mother. I think she’s lost her baby bird.”
“I’m not a bird, Lydia.” He sounds highly offended.
“Really? These aren’t feathers?” I rumple the dark spikes of his hair.
He giggles, pulling away. “No!”
“Here comes your dad,” I say as Dean breaks away from his walk with Dr. Bentley and starts walking in our direction.
Peter lets go of me, running forward until he reaches his father.
“Where have you been?” Dean places his hand on Peter’s head.
“I found a bird’s nest.”
He smiles, though his tone is gruff. “You can’t go wandering off like that. Your mother was worried.”
“Sorry.” Peter grinds the toe of one leather shoe into the grass.
Dean looks at me. “Thank you for bringing him back.”
“No problem.”
“Can I go now, Dad?”
“Find your mother.” Dean lightly nudges Peter forward. “She’s looking for you.”
Peter scampers down the hill. Dean and I stand there awkwardly. He crosses his arms over his chest and stands with one leg out to the side. It’s a pose I’ve seen my father take a thousand times.
“How are you, Lydia?” he asks, his tone overly polite.
“I’m well. I really like staying with the Bentleys.” It’s difficult to get the words out.
“I’m sure you heard I’m leaving soon?”
“Yeah, I heard.” I open my mouth, then shut it again. Is this the right moment to tell him? Will there ever be a right moment?
“I don’t know when I’ll be back, so I won’t be around to keep an eye on you anymore. Let’s hope you are who you say you are.”
I look at him and am shocked to find that he’s smiling at me, that he’s joking around. He’s always so serious that it’s hard to think of him in any other light. “You can trust me,” I say. “I’ve started to think of them as my own family.”
He stares at me for a moment, taking in the red hair curling out from under my hat, my green eyes, so similar to his own. “You look like Mary.”
“I do?”
He nods, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes. “You could be sisters.”
“That would make you and me related too, you know.”
He smirks a little, lights the cigarette, and inhales deeply. “Now, let’s not get carried away.”
I smile.
“Take care,” he says. He starts to walk away.
“Wait!” I reach out, my hand hovering in the empty space between us. He pauses and turns slightly. “Where you’re going, it’s dangerous, right?”
He doesn’t say anything, squinting at me in the sun.
“Be careful. Please. It would hurt your family if something happened to you. And if you have the option of not doing it, then don’t. Do it, I mean.” I mentally cringe, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to tell him the truth.
He takes a drag of the cigarette. “Good-bye, Lydia.”
I watch him walk down the hill to where Elizabeth and Peter wait for him near the Bentleys’ blanket. Mary talks rapidly to Dr. Bentley as Mrs. Bentley stands to hand Peter an apple. Dean joins them, his arm curling around Elizabeth. Mary says something and they all laugh. They’re a family, connected by love, by affection. They’re my family.
I had a chance to tell Dean the truth, but I didn’t take it. I only have one more day to make things right. Tomorrow I can’t fail. I won’t be a coward.
That evening, Susie and I sit in Mary’s bedroom, watching as she does her hair. She’s still in her slip, and the lines of her girdle press into her skin. Susie is dressed already, in a slim black dress with a high neckline and short sleeves. Beads dangle from the hem, making a clinking noise as she moves. She looks pretty, her light hair pulled back in a soft swirl around her face.
Mary helped me get ready a little while ago. My hair is twisted up on one side with pins. The rest falls in heavy curls around my shoulders. Mary insisted on doing my makeup, and now my eyes are heavily lined, my cheeks tinted pink, my mouth a deep burgundy. It makes me look less like a high school girl and more like a young woman. She even covered my scraped cheek with a thick foundation, and you can barely see the cut. I’m in a slip, waiting until the last minute to put the blue dress on.
“Here, let me do that.” Susie takes the bobby pins from Mary’s hand. Mary expertly applies bright red lipstick, then makes a kissing face at her reflection. Susie giggles.
“Are my legs dry yet?” Mary turns to examine them in the mirror. They’ve been painted with something called “Stocking Stick”—a cakelike makeup that’s supposed to look like stockings.
“I think so,” I say. She tried to put it on me, too, but I resisted the heavy texture of the stuff.
Susie hands Mary her red dress and helps her zip up the back. The fabric hugs Mary’s curvy frame, with a narrow waist and full skirt. She slips into the matching jacket. Her hair is a dark enough red that it doesn’t clash with her dress, and her lipstick perfectly matches the bright fabric. She looks like a pinup girl.
“You look amazing!” I tell her.
“Oh, hush.” She waves her hand, dismissing my comment. “So will you once you put your dress on.”
I smile, overwhelmed by my affection for her. Mary has made this past week so much easier.
“So.” Mary blots her lipstick with a tissue. “Is your beau going to be
