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She shook her head slowly. “I’d like to go home now.”
His shoulders slumped, but he picked up her case without protest and retraced their steps back to the car.
Jack pulled up to the gate of her base and killed the engine. The silence stretched between them until he finally asked, “Will you still write to me?”
She stole a look at him staring clench-jawed out of the windshield. It would be so easy to say yes, but she couldn’t risk falling any further.
“I don’t know.”
He let out a long sigh, his head falling back against the headrest.
She leaned across the gap between them and kissed him on the cheek. Then she collected her things. When Jack reached for his door handle, she stopped him, saying, “Stay. Please.”
She climbed out of the car and walked up to the gates, refusing to allow herself to look back as the guard examined her pass.
“You still have a lot of leave left,” he said with a nod at her pass.
“Things didn’t turn out as I thought they might,” she said.
He gave a grunt and handed it back to her.
She made her way across camp and back to her hut, her head and her heart warring with every step she took.
What if she was wrong?
What if Sylvia didn’t need her after all?
What if she came to regret choosing the shop over Jack?
She opened the door to the hut and was relieved to find all the bunks empty except for Alexandra’s. Her friend looked up from a magazine and immediately jumped out of bed.
“What’s the matter?” asked Alexandra, rushing up to her.
“Jack’s going away,” she said.
“Away?”
“He’s being sent to Portsmouth.”
Alexandra pursed her lips and then gave her a nod. “It’s not ideal, but it’s perfectly possible for you two to—”
“That isn’t it at all. He wanted… He talked about marrying. One day.”
Alexandra stooped a little to examine Izzie’s downturned face. “You’re not jumping for joy.”
“He had it all planned out. We would marry, and we would build a house in Iowa. I would love his family. They would love me.”
“And you would love none of it because it isn’t what you want,” said Alexandra, understanding her completely.
She burst into tears.
“Oh, Izzie.” Alexandra pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry.”
Izzie sagged against her friend until, finally, her sobs began to subside. Then Alexandra held her at arm’s length and peered at her tearstained face.
“What will make this better?” asked Alexandra.
“I don’t know.” She wanted to be in her bed in the flat above the shop. She wanted to be surrounded by the familiar. To feel the weight of tailor’s shears in her hand. To sketch and sew and be.
