“No, I can’t have you do that. But thank you. It’s just that it’s been months and months and months and months, and after all that waiting…”

“I understand. If Hank came back and I wasn’t allowed to see him, I’d have a fit! I can’t believe you’re so calm.”

Mother calls up, “May, are you on the telephone? Who are you talking to?”

“Gertie!”

“Oh.” She walks upstairs looking disappointed for me. “I’m going to bed. Your father is sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because, that’s why.”

“Can I stay on the telephone a moment longer?”

“Yes, but do try to keep your voice down.”

I watch her disappear into their bedroom and shut the door. “I think she banished him to the sofa!”

Gertie whispers back, “I heard! Is she really that sore for what he did?”

“Seems like it!”

“Yes, Papa! Oh May, I’m awful sorry but I have to go.”

“Thanks for taking the time to talk.”

“Goodnight! If you hear anything from him tomorrow, promise to call me?”

“As if I wouldn’t!”

We reluctantly hang up from opposite sides of Albany. Though it’s a small town, it sure feels like she’s worlds away.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt this sad.

Trudging to bed in my nightgown, I shut the door. Right now everything feels heavy, even these tucked-in blankets. So I fall on top, and ball myself up.

I truly had anticipated a phone call.

Sure, during those long months I often tried to prepare myself that perhaps his letters were merely the sign of a lonesome sailor searching for hope. I felt I was living in the clouds, and the fall would be awful long if I wasn’t careful. But I could never hold onto that idea. He seemed so genuine. And there were so very many letters.

Perhaps a call tomorrow.

But he said he would see me today.

He wanted to!

I know Father was upset.

He could’ve tried!

He just left.

How could he do that?

And not telephone me.

Hearing a knock, I groan, roll off the bed, and open my door expecting to see Mother checking on me again. She’s been worried, too, that my heart might break.