“What’s up with you?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Gus,” she scolded.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He unfolded it with a dramatic flourish then set it in front of her. “I heard back from Dash.”
Her first reaction was envy. After all the letters she’d written after their father’s death, Dot had never received a response. Maybe hers hadn’t meant as much to Dash as Gus’s had.
“What does it say?” she asked quietly. “Read it.”
Dear Gus,
I could never stay angry at you for long. And you’re right: you do have appalling handwriting.
You’re choosing not to mention it, but I’m sure you know I was furious with you, too. You should have come to see my father. You should at least have come to the funeral. The army lets men off on leave, don’t they? So I may forgive you for not writing, but I’m still stewing on that part.
I miss Dot so much. I have no idea where she is, what she’s doing, or anything about her life. She may have broken my heart into a million pieces, but she still makes up most of it. I told her I would never forgive her. I was in pain, and I was angry. I never should have said all those horrible things. Now I fear she willnever forgive me. I’ve been afraid to write to her. I should have done what you and she always told me to do: think logically. I should have calmed down and thought it through and trusted that, like everyone kept telling me, there had to be a reason. But that’s not me, is ii? Gus, I’ve never been so sad as I was watching my father die. I needed my sister, and she wasn’t there. That had never happened to me before.
Maybe you’ve given me the push I need, writing like this after so long. Maybe it’s a wake-up call for me. I will think about what to say, then I will write to her.
I have news I need to tell her, and I suppose I should tell you as well. I’m in love, Gus. I have fallen madly, deeply, irreparably in love with a British flyboy, and he loves me, too. I need to talk with her about it.
Thank you for writing to me, and for so much more. I love you, Gus. Always will.
Dash
P.S. I’ll tell you all about the planes another time. I’m too tired tonight. But that should cheer you up, because it’s a promise that I will write back—as long as you do as well.
“She’s in love,” Dot said softly, her hand over her heart. “And she’s afraid I’ll never forgive her. How can she think that?”
He leaned sideways into her, arm to arm. “It’s time for you to try again. Write to her.”
“I already did,” she admitted. “I didn’t tell her about you and me.” She blushed, then hurried on. “That you and I are both here together in the same place is what I meant. Not that we are, uh, you know, together.”
One corner of his mouth curled up. “Uh-huh. Are we?”
Her entire face felt like it was on fire.
“I’m just teasing, Dot.”
She heard the amusement in his voice, but she knew he was serious. He wanted to mend this bridge because he was afraid he was the one who had broken it. But it was all her fault.
“I know you’re uncomfortable,” he said, his voice soothing. How many times had he calmed her in their lives? She had always felt safer with Gus than with anyone else, including Dash. “I don’t want that. I’m leaving for Europe in the morning. That will give you lots of time to think about things.”
She scoffed. “Lots of time.”
Gus wasn’t the only one going to Europe. Operation Fortitude was almost over, and after that, the door would swing open for Operation Overlord. On the eve of June 5, eighteen thousand British and American paratroopers would be dropped behind enemy lines to create havoc and take out any remaining means of German communication, though many of those would already have been destroyed by local resistance and men like Gus. Once that was done, the focus would shift to the tens of thousands of British, Canadian, and American troops already waiting, strategically hidden from surveillance planes for the next three weeks.
If the grand deception of Operation Fortitude worked like they hoped, so should Overlord. The Allies would land on then capture Normandy’s long string of beaches, then they would proceed inland, on the road to defeating Hitler at last. Then the war would be over, and they’d all go home. But to what?
“I’m sorry,” Dot said. “I don’t know what to do about what I’m feeling. I feel so stupid.”
Gus straddled the bench to face her. “You’re not stupid. You can’t study for this, Dot. You can’t puzzle through it, because there’s no real answer. There’s no absolute right or wrong. I can’t describe to you how I feel when I look at you, but I know what it is.”
She looked away, sick with confusion.
“I’ll be gone in the morning,” he reminded her.
