“Yes.” She turned to the stove. “Quintessa doesn’t know, and you don’t have to worry about me pining away for you. I know you’ve loved Quintessa forever. I’m so happy for both of you.”
“I’m ready, Jim,” Quintessa called.
The smell of chicken soup filled his nose, paralyzing him like a drug. The kiss meant nothing to Mary. He meant nothing to her. Nothing at all.
“Go on.” Mary gave him an eager smile. “The girl of your dreams is waiting for you.”
He spun away, his chest hot.
Quintessa stood in the entryway, twirling in a dark green dress. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful,” he said over his clenched jaw.
She strolled over to him, blonde curls bouncing. “And look at you. So handsome in your Navy uniform. Even more handsome than Mary said. Of course, she was just looking at you with the eyes of a friend.”
His ribs felt like a vise on his heart and lungs. Mary had her back to him again, ladled soup again, oblivious to his presence again. The eyes of a friend indeed.
Jim wheeled to Quintessa, flashed a grin, and offered his elbow. “What are we waiting for? Our evening of dining and dancing awaits. Just the two of us.” Did he sound testy? So what? Mary didn’t want him.
But Quintessa did—brilliant, sparkling, vibrant Quintessa with the golden-green eyes—eyes that saw him as a man, not just a friend.
As she chattered and laughed, he helped her on with her coat, slipped on his coat and cover, took Quintessa’s umbrella, and led her out into the rain to hail a cab.
If his dream had just come true, why did he want to wake up and end it?
30
Sunday, November 2, 1941
Mary bent her head over the music for the closing hymn, “O, That I Had a Thousand Voices.” Her choir robe burned, taunting her to rip it off and flee the church. How could she sing about hope and joy when her heart felt wrung out, when her mouth ached from smiling late into the night as Quintessa related every delightful detail about her delightful date with delightful Jim?
His manners—impeccable. His dancing—lively. His company—attentive to her every word. He was quieter than Quintessa remembered, but then she did prattle on, didn’t she? Thank goodness he wasn’t as gangly and goofy as she remembered. She’d never cared for that about him, but he’d outgrown it. Wasn’t she the happiest girl in the world?
Mary’s voice cracked.
Claudia Richards glanced back at her and smirked.
Mary focused hard on the words. A thousand voices? If only she had one voice that behaved.
Down below her in the sanctuary, Jim sat in the pew in his dress blues, with Arch on one side and Quintessa close, close, close on the other.
This morning’s headline deepened her longing for their friendship. The destroyer USSReuben Jameshad been sunk by a U-boat in the North Atlantic on Friday, taking 115 men down with her, including all her officers. Did Jim know any of the men? What did he think would happen next? Surely America wouldn’t sit idly by after Germany sank one of her warships?
For one heart-piercing moment, Jim looked up over his shoulder and met her eye. Her brain felt fuzzy, woozy. If she wasn’t careful, he’d see her heartbreak. No, she’d chosen the role of a supportive friend, and she’d play it well, for his sake and for Quintessa’s sake.
Bertha nudged her and tapped the sheet music. “We skipped verse two,” she whispered.
Heavens, that was right. Mary furiously scanned to find her place, the words and notes tumbling before her eyes. She waited until they started the fourth verse and joined in, her voice alone among the sopranos. Oh, heavens above. The altos were leading this verse, weren’t they?
Claudia’s shoulders shook in suppressed laughter, and Mrs. Gunderson shot her a concerned look.
Mary’s eyes stung with hot tears. What had she done wrong? What had she done to deserve this pain and humiliation?
Her sails luffed, jangling on their rings, announcing her failure for all to see. Mousy Mary Stirling honestly thought she had a chance with handsome Jim Avery, thought so much of herself that she grabbed him and kissed him as if he’d enjoy it. And she’d joined the choir, parading herself on stage. And the investigation? Putting herself where she didn’t belong, getting an innocent man arrested, and impeding the FBI.
The choir robe—so hot. She wiped sweat off her upper lip and yanked the collar away from her neck.
Why hadn’t she stayed in hiding, in obscurity where she was safe? Oh, that’s right. Pride. Pride lured her out. Mary Stirling could catch a saboteur. Mary Stirling could catch a man. Mary Stirling could publicly display herself in a bright red dress and a choir robe.
