Letters From Home Read Online Free PDF

where Liz had woven into the crowd and would presumably emerge.
    “Well, thank you for rescuing me, Morgan.” Betty’s fingertips grazed the small scar on the side of his neck, a permanent reminder of the day he’d saved Charlie from a fatal dive down a grain chute. Man, he wished his brother were here to repay the favor by cutting in.
    Charlie would think he was nuts, of course. Betty had to be the most sought-after girl in the place. Regardless, there was only one woman Morgan wanted to be with.
    Alone in the ladies’ room, Liz felt a new chapter in her life unfolding. She was a six-year-old waking to her first snowfall, a kid in a general store given free rein over the candy barrels.
    Calming herself, she set aside the hand towel she’d used to blot her dress. Looking in the mirror, she tucked in her loose hair. The makeup she’d applied that morning had almost completely faded. She pinched her cheeks and licked her lips. She felt like a starlet standing by for a knock on her dressing room door.
    Five minutes, Miss Stephens, before we shoot the kissing scene with the soldier.
    Suddenly Liz could see the world as Julia did, through a soft cinema lens where boy met girl and all lived happily ever after. Where obstacles fell away like mist, temporary and translucent. Where you were held accountable only for actions wedged between the opening and closing credits.
    She could have that, couldn’t she? A clean slate, a happily ever after?
    Don’t be silly, the skeptic in her sneered. Such a reality only existed in the movies. Her parents had taught her that. And what was she going to do? Jeopardize her relationship with Dalton for a GI she barely knew, one who’d soon be on his way?
    Thank heavens for the sailor’s interference. She could have ruined far more than her favorite summer garb had he not reawakened her sanity.
    Embarrassed by her behavior, and even more by her ridiculous thoughts, she jetted from the lavatory and off to the exit. The doors were in sight when a twinge of guilt slowed her steps.
    The least she could do was wish the soldier well, freeing him to mingle with other girls—available girls—who’d be worth his efforts.
    She grumbled at the call to decency, an ironic notion at this point, and trudged back to their table. Yet there, she found strangers in their seats. She rotated slowly, her gaze circling the room. Another turn, and still no sign of Morgan.
    Perhaps he had sensed she wouldn’t be coming back. Some buddies could have whisked him away, moved on to another dance hall, a late-night diner.
    Perfect, she told herself. An easy way out.
    She ordered relief to take hold, though the feeling refused—until she glimpsed his profile. He had waited for her, after all.
    Or so she thought, before a curtain of strangers divided, and the full scene came into view. Across the dance floor indeed stood Morgan, but with a girl in his arms. And not just any girl. It was Betty —eyes closed, cheek nestled against his neck, the slope of her hair pillowing his chin. Both certainly looked at ease, a natural pair.
    This was a good thing. The best, actually, for them all.
    So why did Liz feel a cinching around her heart? Why was a streak of anger sweeping through her, a sensation bordering on betrayal? The reaction was absurd. Morgan owed her nothing, and even if Betty had seen them dancing, there was no reason for her to question Liz’s intentions, what with her already having a beau. Not that anyone here would have guessed.
    “Elizabeth Stephens, is that you?”
    She swung toward the voice. A tall man approached wearing Coke-bottle glasses, his suit a size too small for his gangly stature.
    “Is Dalt here?” His lenses magnified the enthusiasm in his eyes. His name escaped her, but he was unmistakably a schoolmate of Dalton’s.
    “Um …no. He couldn’t make it.” Shame rushed through her, flooding every limb.
    “Well, tell him I said hi.”
    “Of course.” She smiled feebly. Whirling around,