The day the letter came he borrowed his father's car and 
followed the river road to her.

Her roadster was in the driveway, baby-blue and sleek, and 
through the screened doorway he could hear the distant tinny 
whimsy of music through a small radio. The song was 
incredibly popular, played at all the school dances and 
socials, and he had thought to dance with Nancy to that song, 
someday.

He swallowed hard before he climbed the stairs and knocked on 
the screen door.

Her father was tall, dignified, his face softening when he 
saw Ned. "Hello, Mr. Drew."

"Come in, come in, Ned," and Ned walked in. The room was warm 
but not uncomfortable, and Mr. Drew's favorite ottoman was 
pulled in front of his favorite armchair, and the music was 
louder in here.

"How have you been, sir."

"Well," Carson replied, settling back into his armchair, 
gesturing for Ned to take a seat on the couch. "How are your 
studies going?"

Ned bit back the impulse to reply with the same generic 
monosyllable. "Quite challenging, sir, although it does take 
tremendous effort to concentrate when the weather is so 
nice."

Mr. Drew's eyes were gleaming with humor. "Try being in a law 
office. If you came to see Nancy, as I have no doubt you did, 
she's in the kitchen."

Ned nodded. "I brought my father's car over," he said, as 
calmly as he could manage. "Would you mind if Nancy and I 
went for a drive?"

"If you have her back for dinner, you can even join us for 
it."

Despite himself, a wide smile crossed Ned's face. Despite the 
sinking in his stomach, despite the fact that the Drews 
received the same kind of rations Ned's own family did. 
Hannah could work miracles with a sack of flour and a can of 
cocoa.

"Thanks, Mr. Drew."

Carson went back to his newspaper and Ned pushed open the 
door of the kitchen. The radio played from the corner, and 
Nancy and Hannah were bent over the stove. He watched her, 
reluctant to announce his presence; an apron was tied at the 
back of her neck and at the line of her waist, starched 
canvas over the short baby-soft curls and cornflower-blue 
dress, as she rolled biscuit dough flat and thin. The 
announcer's voice faded into another song and Nancy cried out 
in delight, twirling with the rolling pin still in her hand, 
her skirts swinging just over her knees. When her blue eyes 
finally caught his, her face was flushed with pleasure, her 
golden hair pinned up in rolls above her temples, her apron 
dusted with flour. Immediately she took the rolling pin into 
both hands and held it low at her waist, and the wide grin 
faded to a soft smile, but her eyes didn't leave his.

"Hi, Ned."

Hannah turned around with a sudden jerk, her palm against her 
bosom. "Ned! You nearly scared the life out of me. Dinner's 
not quite done, if..."

Ned shook his head as Hannah trailed off. "I came to see if I 
could steal Nancy away for a little while," he said. "If you 
can spare her for a drive before dinner."

He kept the light smile on his face, and Nancy only hesitated 
briefly before turning to Hannah. "The biscuits are almost 
done," she began.

"Oh, go on, girl," Hannah said, waving her off, reaching for 
the rolling pin. "I'll be fine."

Nancy was smiling when she lifted the apron over her head, 
her heels clicking on the kitchen floor as she hung it on the 
door of the pantry and walked over to him. "We're going for a 
drive?"

"It's a gorgeous day," Ned said.

"Well, we can't drive too far."

"I know," Ned said. "Especially not if Hannah has a pie in 
the oven..."

"Just for you, my boy," Hannah beamed over her shoulder, back 
at them.

They couldn't speak over the wind and she knotted a scarf 
under her chin and her hand rested on the seat, between them, 
her knees tight together. The river road was treacherous 
enough, without her hand between them, distracting him with 
the inchoate image of dying summer grass and smooth golden 
flesh and dancing blue eyes.

"I wanted to talk to you."

He couldn't keep his voice light, now that they were alone, 
and her eyes dropped down as she loosed the scarf, divided it 
into straight crisp squares, and slipped it into her handbag. 
"You don't need to butter me up, you already get to stay for 
dinner," she teased him softly, her eyes dancing.

He reached for her hand and the touch of her skin against his 
was so rare and delicate that for a moment he couldn't 
breathe. "Come with me," he whispered, and before she could 
respond he came around to her side of the car and opened her 
door, and with a brief flutter of lashes and a swirl of 
skirts over tanned shapely legs she stood before him.

Even in low heels, she couldn't take the hike through the 
grass from where he had pulled off the road. He took the 
rough heavy blanket he'd found in the trunk and spread it on 
the patch of brittle heat-stricken grass under an oak, and he 
looked away while she dropped to smooth knees and arranged 
her skirts over her lap. He watched the sunlight shift in 
dappled traces over her gleaming hair, her braced palm and 
splayed fingers on the blanket beside her hip, legs doubled 
and heels tucked beside her.

"You can take your shoes off," he said, all in a rush, and 
the same soft amusement touched her eyes in the hesitation 
before she slipped her heels off and laid them side-by-side 
on the ground.

"Thanks."

Her voice was low, her cheeks faintly brushed with color, and 
he knelt down before her. Her toes wiggled in her stockings 
and he almost laughed, because if he didn't laugh, right now, 
he was afraid of what he would say, afraid that her blue eyes 
would shutter and she would weave the tight lace of eloquent 
denial in that low melodious voice of hers, without any of it 
having been said, without his telling her, without her 
knowing.

"Nan, I."

The words he had bit back so many times were there again, and 
they were words that he could not legitimately speak, not 
until after words like betrothal and engagement and wedding 
were spoken. She shifted and an inch of thigh sheathed in 
peach silk vanished as she tugged her skirt over her knees.

"I'm going to the war."

Sometimes when he couldn't sleep, when he was feeling 
especially unsure, he imagined that she kept him around 
because he was convenient. A convenient car, a pair of strong 
arms, willing and able to tackle a suspect, tie a slipknot, 
decipher a rock formation or rappel down the side of a 
mountain, that he was one in a long interchangeable line of 
men drawn to her for those laughing eyes, that cool 
intelligence, the light endless dance of flirtation and 
desire.

The tears gleaming in her eyes when they met his proved him 
wrong once and for all. Her mouth opened slightly and then 
she was still, one strand of blond hair trembling in the 
wind, and her blue eyes were so wide.

"Ned, you..."

He wanted to touch her fingers again. He wanted to slide his 
fingertips down the alabaster curve of her cheek, wanted to 
rest his palm over peach silk and the warmth of skin just 
above her knee, to comfort her somehow, to run away from all 
of it with her right now, in this golden afternoon, and never 
leave her side again. All from the sight of tears swimming in 
her eyes, confirming all that her light dismissals had tried 
to deny.

"You can't go." At the last of it her breath caught in a soft 
laugh, then the edge of a sob.

"It won't be forever."

They both knew it could be a lie, but they both had to 
believe it. Her nod was slow and she hung her head, the deep 
pink of her lower lip trembling faintly.

"Nan," he said, and when she looked up at him he could trace 
the wet line down her cheek with his gaze, and when the 
impulse came he obeyed it without a second thought or breath. 
He pulled her into his arms and her skirt slipped up around 
her hips, her bare arms joined around his shoulders, and he 
had never been so close to her without some crisis at hand, 
some acceptable explanation, some plausible denial for the 
fact that he could feel her heart racing in her breast. His 
palm traced slow circles over the small of her back and she 
was breathing against his collarbone.

"Why," she whispered.

He produced a handkerchief and handed it to her, and she 
clenched it in her fist, the square of starched white cotton 
with his initials embroidered in black, without moving to 
wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Because they need me."

She shook her head. "There has to be a way," she said, and 
her voice was muddy with tears, her eyes bright in her 
flushed face. "Daddy, Daddy can do something, find a way--"

He slipped his fingers under her chin and tilted her head 
back until her gaze met his. He shook his head slowly. "As 
much as it scares me, I want-- I want to do this," he told 
her. "I want to feel like this is all, worth something, 
Nan..."

She shook her head, but she didn't say anything, and when he 
trailed off he slipped his arms around her waist and just 
held her, waiting, waiting.

He could feel the exact moment she came back to herself, the 
exact moment she started building that wall he hated so much. 
She straightened her spine and slipped away from him, the 
last trail of her fingertips down his arm marked in rising 
gooseflesh, adjusted her skirts, reached for her shoes. The 
breeze was still warm but the horizon had gone bright and 
pale with the sunset.

Once she climbed to her feet she looked almost the same, 
almost, and then she sniffed. "We should get back," she said 
softly, and he took one long last look before he gathered up 
the blanket and stood. He kept his hand loose at his waist, 
between them, drawn toward her by the unspeakable magnetism 
between them, and after a few steps he felt her fingers 
against his, tentative and cool.

The porch light was burning when he pulled up at her house, 
parking at the curb, then turned to her. Her fingertips were 
plucking at the hem of her skirt.

"When do you leave."

He leaned in toward her, his fingers moving over his seat, 
but he couldn't bring himself to test their newfound 
intimacy, not when her father could see them through the 
window.

"I report for my physical on Friday," he said, his voice low. 
"After that I go to training."

She sniffed again. He could hear her fingernails scrape 
against the fabric of her dress. "So we have some time."

He nodded. "We have a little time."

She leaned on his arm and her heels sounded on the walk, up 
the stairs, through the screen door, and they were in golden 
light again and she was bustling around the kitchen with 
Hannah, producing jugs of lemonade and tea and he was left in 
the living room with Nancy's father, wondering belatedly if 
her lips had brushed so close to his collarbone as to leave 
the faint trace of her lipstick there.

--

When he dreamed of Nancy she was in black velvet with her 
hair spilling in golden curls over her shoulders, over his 
cheek, and her inner thigh was bare and pale and smooth as it 
brushed his hip, and that cool blue-eyed gaze was clouded by 
desire.

"Ned, I love you."

He tightened his fist in her hair, gold silk curls between 
his fingers, and kissed her, and kissed her. Red-stained lips 
and the close scrape of teeth and black velvet over the small 
of her back as he pulled her to him.

"Mine, you're mine, say you're mine."

He kissed her until she could only moan her agreement, the 
loose bowl of warm fabric over her lap, her nails against the 
base of his neck, sweeping over his shoulder blades.

"Yours. I'm yours."

He jerked awake with the sheets in a tangle at his feet and 
her name on his lips.

--

They didn't talk about it, and most of the time he was glad. 
To talk about it now would be to ruin the time they had left, 
the dwindling days, the hours he waited until it would be 
appropriate for him to call again. She even drove over to 
Mapleton to see him one Saturday and he bought her a 
milkshake at the drugstore which she slipped, slowly, while 
he wondered what her kiss would taste like. Cream and sugar 
and strawberry and the very idea of her tongue, chilled with 
ice. He cupped his chin in his palm to hide the slight 
trembling.

Hannah packed a basket full of sandwiches and cold pickles, 
potato salad and chicken, fresh fruit and a square of 
chocolate for each of them. After the four of them shared the 
meal, Bess unwillingly followed George to the side of the 
river, swearing she would pick flowers instead of taking a 
refreshing nature walk.

Nancy had just packed up the last remains of their lunch when 
she felt Ned's gaze on her, and turned. "Take your shoes 
off," he said.

She obliged, standing on the quilt in stockings, shading her 
eyes to gaze at him. She was wearing her hair long and 
straight, the skirt of her green dress billowing and rippling 
at her knees.

Without warning he lifted her, effortless and smooth, and 
tossed her over his shoulder. With her stomach against hard 
muscle and her knees joined tight and bent up together, she 
laughed and the wind carried the sound away. "Put me down," 
she cried, her fists beating halfheartedly against his back, 
and he ran with her, as though if he could only run long 
enough and far enough, he wouldn't have to report for 
training the next morning, he wouldn't have to subsist on 
dreams and the occasional postcard.

"I'm going to write you every day."

The moss was cool under her feet and Nancy gazed up at him, 
under the faint canopy of the foliage above her head. She 
linked her fingertips between his, her eyes bright, her 
cheeks still flushed from the excitement.

"I'll write to you too, every day," she said. "I promise."

He leaned down and her eyelashes brushed her cheek, her lips 
parted softly. He hovered just over her, just close enough to 
feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and brushed his 
mouth over her cheekbone. She made a soft noise and her hand 
came up to rest at the back of his neck, over the short soft 
hair there, and the corner of her mouth touched the corner of 
his and they rested that way, only breathing, only ever 
breathing.

Then she took a small step back, just enough, and he could 
think again. But he could only think of black velvet.

"I'm going to miss you so much."

Her eyes grew wet and he blinked in surprise and wonder. 
"Don't say it," she whispered, and her voice was shaking 
slightly, and all this time, all these weeks, save for the 
constant tangle of their fingers they had been as before, 
never mentioning it, never wanting to break the spell of 
this.

He still couldn't believe that finally, now, this was what he 
had half-hoped and half-feared she felt for him, and it was 
all true, all too late. He reached up and brushed his 
fingertips just over the wet trail down her cheek, and when 
she reached up to cup his hand under hers he felt his heart 
like a painful swelled weight for just a moment, just a 
moment.

"I know," he said, and looked down, gathering his strength, 
the strength of her touch. "I know you aren't ready to get 
married, and I wouldn't-- I wouldn't ask you for that. Not 
now."

She tilted her head and gazed at him with those drowning 
eyes, and for a moment he thought she was going to protest, 
but it passed and he felt himself almost visibly deflate, 
just a little. She didn't know that at a single word he would 
drive back to Mapleton, this very minute, and ask his father 
for the family ring. She didn't know that.

"And this is going to sound... ridiculous." He stroked his 
thumb over her cheek.

"What is it," she said, finally, and her fingers laced 
between his to rest against her cheek, and he took a deep 
breath.

His cousins had done it, when he was eight years old. With a 
seriousness only they could muster, with purloined 
switchblades and cowboy hats, still covered in dust and 
peanut butter. Ned had never participated, but he had 
witnessed, fascinated. One slice through the meat of the 
palm, the join of a handshake, and then a bond that lasted 
until the next game of war or broken toy.

He sliced his right arm open, on the pale underside, over the 
web of blue vein, then handed her the blade, his eyes bright 
as they searched hers. She extended her left arm and held the 
point of the knife to her flesh, then shook her head, short, 
brisk.

"I can't," she said softly. "I can't." She handed him the 
knife.

"You do it."

He took her fingers between his, holding her arm steady 
against the faint tremble, and placed the flat of the stained 
blade over her skin. He drew it across, in a smooth shallow 
cut, and she didn't wince, didn't make a sound. As one they 
moved, lacing their fingers together, and she fished out one 
of her handkerchiefs and tied their forearms together. He 
could feel her pulse, feel the wet heat of her blood smeared 
over his arm.

"Now we're together," he said softly. "Now there's part of 
you in me."

She nodded and her fingers tightened between his. Then she 
reached up and pulled him down to her, his face just above 
hers, and they gazed at each other, unblinking, her eyes 
searching his. She closed her eyes and he could feel the warm 
touch of her breath through her parted lips, her fingers 
tight against the back of his neck, her fingers laced between 
his, her blood mixing with his.

He closed the distance between them and brushed his lips over 
hers in the softest kiss.

Her fingers were in his hair. Her fingers. Her lips were 
parted and when they kissed again it was harder, deeper, with 
the rapid sweep of his tongue over her mouth, again, again. 
He wrapped his left arm around her, tight against the small 
of her back, lost in the memory of black velvet and lips 
swelled red from his kiss, and pulled her up against him.

"Ned." Her pulse against his, hard.

"I want you to promise me," he said, and he forced it at all 
out at once, without taking a breath, without giving himself 
time to think. "Promise me you'll wait for me. Until I come 
back or until you know I never will, promise me, Nan..."

She nodded, and then her blue eyes were gazing into his. "I 
promise," she whispered. "I'll wait for you. Ned..."

*I love you.*

He shook his head and brushed his lips over hers again, 
gentle and soft.

After she wrapped her arm in his handkerchief and knotted it 
tight and he took her handkerchief and knotted it tight 
around his arm and they walked back hand in hand, his thumb 
stroking the edge of her palm. Bess was sitting in the shade 
beside the river, a crown of orange flowers resting on her 
hair, and George had waded in up to her tanned knees.

"You two were gone for a while."

Nancy slipped her shoes back on, and smiled, very briefly. 
"Yeah," she said, and tugged on Ned's hand. "Race you to the 
water."

--

She hadn't let him say goodbye to her. When he had begun, on 
her father's porch, she had shaken her head and placed a 
thumb over his lips and silenced him. He was already so close 
to the edge, but she had whispered *not now, not now,* and 
smiled at him, lacing her fingers between his, even though he 
could see the shining trace against her lower lashes and the 
delicate euphoria that was the tremble of her lips. They had 
lingered until the fireflies were out and the neighborhood 
had gone cool and dim, standing motionless, and he didn't 
want to stop touching her, didn't want to break her gaze. 
They would never be in this moment again. Her ruined 
stockings and her handkerchief around his forearm and her 
lipstick carefully reapplied in the car before they had begun 
the drive home.

"We'll see each other again."

He leaned down until his forehead rested against hers, but 
couldn't move any closer, not with her father on the other 
side of the door. "We will," he agreed, his breath against 
her lips.

When he went back to his father's car and looked back at her 
she was standing in silhouette in her father's doorway, 
looking back at him, and it took every ounce of strength he 
had to start the car and drive away when all he wanted to do 
was run back to her.

Her picture was the first thing he packed. He picked up white 
cotton shirts and white cotton socks and dumped them onto his 
bed, and he was just sniffing when he heard a floorboard 
creak behind him.

His father was in the doorway.

"Son."

Ned ran his hand through his hair and managed a smile. "Hi, 
Dad."

"I'm proud of you."

"Thank you," Ned managed. "That means-- that means a lot to 
me."

He didn't dream. He woke blearily to the ring of his alarm 
clock and brushed his teeth and dressed as though still 
asleep, distracted, because he couldn't let himself think 
about it yet. She hadn't let him say goodbye to her. Her 
handkerchief in his pocket was smeared rust-red with his 
blood and he shouldered the duffel bag his own father had 
carried before he had been born.

He couldn't force down anything at breakfast and his mother 
had been crying. He looked down at the fork in his hand, the 
way the apron stretched over his mother's hip. Already in 
pearls and heels, her hair curled, her fingers clenched 
around the thin stem of a coffee cup.

"You have to eat something."

He nodded but he didn't eat, he just watched the sunlight 
slant through the windows and wondered when he would ever see 
her again.

His father walked out with him onto the front porch, the 
strap biting into Ned's shoulder, his thumb hooked 
underneath, and he turned, and he had to still be asleep. He 
had to.

Her roadster was parked on the curb in front of their house 
and she was leaning backward on her elbows against the hood, 
in crisp white with a short jacket in brilliant red, a 
slender gold chain around her neck and a slender watch at her 
wrist and a white cap pinned to her golden hair.

"Nancy?"

Ned's father turned just as Nancy pushed herself away from 
the car, in one smooth impossibly alluring movement, her 
heels clicking as she came up the walk. "I came to give Ned a 
ride," she said. "If you don't mind too much."

Ned's father glanced between the two of them. "Ned? I--"

Ned looked at his father for a long silent moment, and then 
James shook his head and reached for Ned's hand. "Take care 
of yourself," he said, his palm warm, and his eyes, his eyes, 
Ned was made breathless by the expression there. "And when 
you come back."

Ned waited a breath and then nodded. "I'll. I'll miss you and 
Mom."

His father hugged him, brief and hard, and then pulled back 
and nodded at Nancy, who still stood there at the foot of the 
stairs, her skirt fluttering at her knees, her blue eyes far 
calmer than he would ever feel again. She nodded back at him, 
white gloves stretching over the bone at her wrist.

"Thank you, Mr. Nickerson."

"Take care of him, Nancy."

They couldn't talk over the wind but he linked his arm around 
her wrist, once they were flying down the highway. She turned 
to him and the loose strands of her hair were fluttering at 
her cheeks and she smiled, but it was subdued, and if he had 
been driving he would have pulled over and kissed her until 
she was breathless.

"Ned."

He took his bag out of the trunk and rested it against the 
side of her car and then reached for her, pulling her up into 
his arms. The calm he had seen in her blue eyes was nearly 
gone, when her gaze searched his. She tugged her gloves off 
and tossed them into the seat and rested her palms against 
his cheeks.

"I'm going to miss you."

He couldn't speak. He could feel her breath faint against his 
lips and he kissed her, even though they weren't alone, and 
she returned it, her tongue against his, her fingertips 
stroking down the side of his face. When he pulled back for a 
breath she urged him back to her, and he kissed her again, 
again, until her lipstick was smeared over her cheek and her 
lips were swelled from the pressure of his.

"Nancy."

The first tear streaked down her cheek. "Don't tell me 
goodbye," she said. "Don't ever tell me goodbye. This isn't 
the last time we'll ever see each other."

He shook his head. "It isn't."

"You-- you made me promise," she said, and he brushed his 
thumb over her cheek. "Now you have to promise me that you're 
going to come back. We have so much left to do, Ned."

He smiled. "So many mysteries left to solve."

"Yes," she said, and kissed him again, quick and hard. "I 
have something for you."

He kissed her again before he let her go, and she sniffed 
before she reached into her handbag and pulled out a thick 
cream-colored envelope. It felt warm in his palm.

"Don't open it until... until you're alone."

He nodded, and kissed her again. "You know you're the only 
girl I've ever wanted."

She ducked her head and blushed a little, but returned the 
kiss he gave her just as fiercely. "Ned."

"Can you... just go see my parents sometimes," he said. "Make 
sure they're okay."

She nodded. "I can do that," she said. "Ned, I."

He searched her eyes, but she faltered then. He had seen her 
chase down hardened criminals and outwit kidnappers, but he 
had never seen her like this.

"Take care of yourself," she finished with a sigh. "Come back 
to me."

He nodded. "I always will."