“Aren’t you going to get dressed?” Dash asked. Dot bent down to scribble in an answer, oblivious. “Hello?”
Dot looked up, her eyes slightly out of focus. “Hmm?”
“Birthday dinner, remember? Are you going to get dressed?”
Dot glanced down at the grey dress with black flowers and matching belt that she almost always wore. The dress did nothing for Dot’s fair complexion, Dash thought for the hundredth time.
“What do you call this?”
“Come here,” Dash replied. Her sister never paid much attention to her appearance, but occasionally Dash liked to remind her how pretty she was. “Let’s doll you up.”
“Un minuto, per favore. I want to finish this.”
Dash peered down at the page. “Umbrella,” she said, unable to resist. “Thirteen down.”
“That’s an easy one,” Dot grumbled.
“Do the rest later. Please?” She sniffed, inhaling the scent of cloves and cinnamon from downstairs. “Smell the cake? Come on. Let’s get ready.”
“All right, all right,” Dot relented. “Do with me what you will.”
Dash loved that invitation. She flung open the wardrobe doors and went straight to her favourite emerald-green dress. The one with the most darling sweetheart neckline.
“First of all, your dress.”
Her sister gave her a look. “Are we trying to impress someone? It’s just Aunt Lou and Uncle Bob, isn’t it?”
“Come on. We’re eighteen! Let’s dress nice. Try it on.”
Dot slipped the dress over her head then let her sister paint colourson her cheeks and lips. Ten minutes later, Dash declared Dot was just as gorgeous as she was.
“You’re biased,” Dot said, but Dash could see how pleased her sister was by the discreet smile she gave the mirror. She pretended not to notice Dot straightening up the vanity behind them, making sure the lipsticks were on one side, the mascara on the other, and the two little dolls their mother had sewn for them years ago stood at the back, leaning against the mirror.
Both sisters had things they wanted to fix.
“Here they are!” Uncle Bob announced as the girls came downstairs. “I thought we were going to have to celebrate without you.”
“You can’t have a party without us!” Dash declared, making everyone laugh.
“You both look beautiful,” their mother said. “Happy birthday, girls. I made your favourites.”
Dash glanced at her father. He and Dot had a lot more in common, but Dash had her own way of communicating with him. He smiled at her and nodded in his quiet way, filling her heart.
“Mmm,” Dash said, privately winking at Dot as they went to the kitchen to retrieve the food. “Corned beef fritters. Welovethose.”
“Now, now.” Her father was awfully good at reading sarcasm. “There’s cake for after.”
Really, Dash didn’t mind fritters. At least there was no parsnip or carrot pudding tonight. They brought the food to the table, then Dash sat beside her uncle.
“What’s the news from Fred?” she asked him. “Where’s he flying? He’s with the RAF now, right?”
Dot frowned. “RAF? You mean RCAF.”
“Quite a few of our boys are flying for the Brits now,” her uncle explained. “Fred wrote a while back that most of their pilots are from here. Last I heard, he was in Malta, but he can’t really say much. Everything has to be kept quiet, for obvious reasons.”
“Where’s Malta?” Dash whispered to her sister.
“Little island south of Sicily,” Dot replied quietly. “East of Tunisia.”
