D E D I C A T I O N
For all those who stuck it out
even when the clouds seemed too thick.

       JUNE OVER BOILED the potatoes.

She didn't need the wisdom of an ace to figure it out: inflated to an abnormal size, the naked potatoes left little space on the porcelain plate June had set out specifically for them.

Turning away from the swollen vegetables, June grasped hold of the recipe card Beverly had loaned her. Scribbled between brown and yellow-hued fingerprints was the recommended boil time.

15 minutes.

Glancing up at the Smith's wall clock left of the kitchen cabinets, the big hand's position enticed June to let a string of profanities escape from her lips. She had boiled the potatoes twenty minutes more than required, a mistake only an unseasoned cook like herself would make.

In her defense, the meatloaf—a dish June had prepared plenty of times even as the need to ration diminished—turned out much better. Perhaps it was the notion that her guest would favor his carnivorous urges over his taste for mashed potatoes that compelled June to reserve more time for the loaf.

Nonetheless, she had to somehow fix her potato mess that held the power to taint her entire dinner menu. Locating a fork, she stabbed the nearest potato only for salt water to pour from its puncture wound. Biting her tongue, she inched her fork in further until the potato was nearly in half. She continued this process with each one until the large potatoes were a much more favorable size.

She moved the potatoes to a larger bowl where she was able to beat them until they were a heap of steaming mush. Fortunately, the butter and milk concoction June had heated in a saucepan did not suffer an unfavorable fate like the potatoes did, so she was able to dump the sauce over the beaten potatoes. She mixed the two with a spoon, and upon realizing that her mashed potatoes were waterier than Beverly's disaster of a peach layer cake at Christmas last year, located her bag of flour and dumped some on top to thicken it.

By the time she was finished stirring and thickening, the mashed potatoes did not look half bad. She dipped her pointer finger in the bowl and brought it to her expectant mouth.

More pepper.

As she grabbed the pepper shaker and watched flakes of black fall onto white, a small voice tore her away from the mashed potatoes.

"Momma."

She abruptly set down the shaker and turned on her heel to face the young child whose height barely reached her knee tops.

"I'm hungry," Ronald said with a hand raised to his eyes that still harbored remnants of sleepiness. June closed the gap between her and her son, her brown Oxfords clicking against the linoleum floor.

"Late afternoon naps can do that to you," June responded as she knelt down to meet her son's eye level. "Our guest should be arriving shortly, so we'll have dinner soon."

Ronald nodded as his brown eyes wandered to the bowl of mashed potatoes June had abandoned moments earlier.

"Don't even think about it, mister. If I let you have a lick, your sister will want one, and there won't be any left for me."

"But Mom-" His bottom lip formed into a pout.

"No, Ronnie. Why don't you go wake up Margaret? Perhaps you two can help set the table," June interrupted what was likely to become another one of her son's infamous tantrums.

Her son was no master at hiding his displeasure at her suggestion, but he turned around and disappeared down the hallway without further comment.

Satisfied, June stood upright on her heels and went to the nearest kitchen cabinet. She opened the red colored cabinet and located her favorite set of china—white plates decorated with pink roses at their centers and gold scrolls around their perimeters—and set them on the green linoleum countertop. She shifted through another cabinet and found silverware that she placed on top of the porcelain plates.

Lastly, she grabbed three glasses and set them next to the inanimate pile of dinnerware. She inched up on her toes and had to dig for a fourth glass, and after moving a few things around, located it behind a couple of teacups and an ancient cheese grater that never found its way back to her mother-in-law's kitchen.

June's eyes found the clock once again, and she knew she had only a little bit of time before her visitor arrived. She untied the white apron from her waist, hung it on a hook by the stove, and took one last look at her mashed potatoes.

She concluded then and there that they were fine and hastily placed the bowl on the countertop opposite of the one it had been on. There, the bowl joined the plate of meatloaf that had been set out to cool.

June exited the kitchen and started down the windowless hallway that led to the back bedrooms. Rather than veer right into her own room, she entered the bedroom to her left.

Amid entering, she narrowly avoided a slinky that had been twisted and discarded at the doorway. She nudged it with her foot which caused it to roll unevenly a few centimeters until it came to an abrupt halt. Casting her eyes away from the poor thing, June eyed the two children responsible.

Sprawled out on their bedroom floor and oblivious to their mother's presence, five-year old twins Margaret and Ronald Dougherty took turns flipping through the latest Ideal Toy Company catalog that must've found its way into the mail delivered that morning.

June cleared her throat and tapped her heel impatiently.

Margaret's head of brown curls popped up first. "Oh, hi Momma."

"Nice to see you up, Margaret. So instead of setting the table after I've got everything down for you, we are browsing the toy catalog?"

"We were just looking, Momma," Margaret said hurriedly as she pushed herself to her feet and pulled up her white socks that had fallen down her ankles and had bunched up on top of her black Mary Janes. "Please don't be angry."

June sighed loudly at her daughter's plea.

"Come here, the both of you."

Margaret skipped over to her mother immediately and Ronald followed closely behind, the catalog still in his hands. June bent down and gave her children a tired smile.

"I'm sorry if I am acting a little mean. It's just—today is very important for our family, and I need the utmost cooperation from you two," she asked, "do you think you can give me that?"

Margaret gave her mother a grin consisting of a missing front tooth and looked down at her brother whose height was just shy of three inches less than his sister's. Sneaking in a final glance at the catalog, he looked up at Margaret before averting his gaze to his mother and nodding.

"Good," June murmured without much movement from her lips and motioned towards Margaret's dresser. "Grab me a brush so I can tame those curls."

Margaret did as she was asked while Ronald stood awkwardly with his right hand fastened around the catalog, its loud, yellow headlines matching his overalls. June ruffled her son's hair or more so flattened it—although there was really no need, for his hair was not nearly as wild as his sister's nor was it disheveled from his pillow—and straightened one of his overall's straps that had folded in on itself and thus covered one of the golden buckles.

Appearing at her side just then, Margaret handed June the brush and turned her back to her mother so June could run the brush through Margaret's thick mane; her mane that was trimmed to stop at her earlobes yet still managed to compliment the young girl's natural curls.

"Do you think our company will like my new dress?" Margaret asked as June guided Margaret's shoulders to face her and combed down her bangs. She let her eyes flicker to her daughter's dress—a hand-sewn, checkered piece painted a soft blue with puffy sleeves and a white collar—and nodded.

"He'll think you look beautiful," she said before turning to Ronald, "and you, very handsome."

Her two children giggled, a sound that loosened the nervous knot that had festered in June's stomach since she awoke at five that morning to tidy the house and hang the linens out to dry.

A knock at the door, however, hailed the return of the knot's tightness as June straightened her legs, nearly dropping the brush onto the floor.

She managed to hand Margaret the brush, who returned it to the top of her dresser. "Alright, children. Go wash up at the kitchen sink, set the table, and wait to open the door until I am there."

Both of her children scampered out of their room, the toy catalog being left as a casualty of their hastiness in the middle of the room. June picked it off the floor and glanced down at the page that the catalog had been turned to only to be met with the soulless eyes and rosy lips of the toy company's latest feature, a doll called Honey who was said to bring sweetness to any young child.

She closed the catalog and walked briskly to her room where she made a beeline for her dressing table. Setting the catalog aside, June shuffled through the disarray of half-full perfume bottles and powder compacts that layered the table until her fingertips grazed a piece of smooth metal.

She clasped her hand around the metal piece immediately and brought it up to the bits of light that snuck past the curtain draped over the window at one corner of her room. She held it there for what seemed to be eternity, letting her skin grow used to the smoothness of the metal and her eyes to the dull shine partially censored by the layer of dust that had settled on it.

June hadn't realized how small her wedding ring was until she pushed it onto her ring finger and ignored the light pinches on her skin, the comfortable nakedness that had prevailed on that finger for two years merely vanquishing and leaving in its wake a joyless ache in her chest.

It wasn't that June did not honor her marital status or keep her ring off for malicious reasons. June Dougherty was a married woman and had been for an upward of five years.

And for her part, she used to wear that ring religiously. As soon as she got word that Harvey wouldn't be returning home after his twelve month training period and instead, was heading to Europe to fight a once-in-a-century enemy, she'd spent hours between breastfeeding their newborns and writing letters curled up among her and Harvey's bedsheets running her finger along her wedding ring and speaking softly to it, practically praying to it.

"Bring him home," she'd whisper to the shiny piece of gold. "Bring my husband home to me, to our babies."

She'd curse at it too, although her curses were usually overtaken by dry sobs that never produced pillow-staining tears from the young lady's face. She often thought that if she hadn't said yes to the blue-eyed charmer that was Harvey Dougherty, she may never had felt such loneliness like that of a widow.

Yet she wasn't alone. It took time, but as her infants matured to toddlers and first addressed June as "mother," her hours spent trapped under her bed sheets cradling her ring finger were replaced by neighborhood walks and dollhouse visits. She still got reminded of her husband's absence though whenever someone pointed to her ring and saw June husbandless with two children in tow.

She knew they were just curious and meant no ill when they asked how her and children were faring without a man in the house. Still, the conversations usually became corrupted with empty sympathy that touched the internal loneliness that June had forced down like an oval pill that scraped her esophagus despite the gulps of water she took to keep it at the back of her throat.

So she stopped wearing her wedding ring.

And almost simultaneously, the questions no longer arose.

Another knock at the door veered June from her own thoughts, and she looked back at the wedding band that seemed to belong to another woman. A much sadder, dependent woman. With reluctance, she brought her hand down and let it hang at her side, and for the first time that evening, caught a glimpse of her appearance in the mirror above her dressing table.

Clothed in a shirtwaist dress dubbed a light rose with large, white buttons that ran down her chest and curved down her right side upon meeting her waist, June's utilization of the simple dress contrasted considerably with the high pompadour rolled above her forehead and the flashy red lipstick that colored her lips. Minimal coverage foundation layered the pale skin of her face giving her some much needed color while her brows were brushed out and colored in, their shade matching her irises.

Her appearance was that of her everyday look, which offered her some comfort.

But like she said, only some.

She balled her fists to stunt the shakes that began from her wrist and ended at her fingertips and attempted to ignore the quicker pace her heart had taken up in beating.

A final glimpse at herself, a shaky intake of air, and June was gone, out of her room and at the front door, her left hand on the knob.

Her two children stood behind her, both trying to see past her body at who resided on the other side of the door. June opened the door quickly and stepped aside, allowing the guest enough space to get himself inside the home.

The first thing June noticed about Harvey was his height. Perhaps it was the broadness of his shoulders that hadn't been there five years ago or his polished posture that made him look lengthier. His height though, was not the only evident change.

When he spoke, his voice, no longer riddled with a tone that made listeners question his seriousness, was stern and unshaken.

"That driver sure was a drip," Harvey set down his suitcase and looked down at June and the children. "Going on and on about his stamp collection."

Realizing that his complaint was supposed to be humorous, she sent Harvey a smile and despite her nerves, closed the gap between the two, wrapping her arms around his neck. He returned the embrace as June welcomed him home.

Once they parted, June got a better glimpse at Harvey. His brown hair, once curly and voluminous, was snipped short under the khaki-colored cap that sat atop his head. The playfulness that used to take up his blue eyes was still present, although something else clouded his irises that she couldn't quite describe. His once clean-shaven upper lip was now home to some stubble; stubble that also appeared more pronounced on his chin and jawline.

She assumed Harvey was looking at her in the same way, and before she could stop herself, let the comment that had been on the tip of her tongue slip out.

"You look old."

Although what June really meant was that Harvey looked like a man.

Harvey chuckled at her comment, a sound that made her cheeks grow warmer.

"You ain't no spring chicken either," he began before leaning towards her ear, "but you're still the prettiest dame these peepers have ever seen."

She gave him a small smile because what woman wouldn't, and Harvey took this as permission to plant a kiss on her cheek before eyeing the two children that remained hidden behind their mother's figure.

"Well, hi-de-ho!"

June quickly stepped away from her two children, exposing them to a man they had never seen before except for in photographs.

"Children, this is your father. Harvey, this is Margaret," June started, pointing to her daughter who was practically a carbon copy of Harvey except for her eye color. Same slanted eye frame, same array of faint freckles throughout her face, same hair volume, same pout-worthy lower lip. "And this is Ronald."

At the mention of his name, Ronald's ear tips grew red, and he rushed back behind his mother. Unlike his sister, Ronald wore little resemblance to Harvey and looked much more like June with small, rounded eyes, a prominent nose, and hair as flat as a freshly ironed blouse.

Despite the five years of separation between them, June recognized Harvey's disappointment at her son's reaction.

She immediately began to apologize but Harvey stopped her.

"No worries, June. I'd be afraid of my old man if he walked through the front door looking like this too," he motioned to his attire that covered his 6 '1 frame.

June nodded as her eyes took in Harvey's cotton khaki shirt adorned with shoulder loops and his matching trousers that had pocket flaps near his rear. Seeing Harvey in his full uniform was almost like seeing something out of a newspaper: one never suspected to see it past the confines of the page.

"Maybe this will make me seem less intimidating," Harvey said as he took a big pack off his shoulders and pulled something out of its side pocket.

Producing a tin with yellow and red hearts, Harvey opened its top to reveal Fannie May's latest creation, Pixies, or chocolate covered candies with salty pecans and hand-poured caramel blended inside.

Margaret rushed over to the tin and squealed in delight at the sweet treats. Her action spurred something in Ronald, who came out from hiding and snuck a look at the candies.

Harvey chuckled at the children's reactions.

"Momma, can we taste one?" Margaret asked excitedly, licking her lips.

"After dinner," June said as she grabbed hold of Harvey's suitcase. "I'll help your father get settled, we'll eat, and you can each have one treat."

With two pairs of groans, she turned away but heard Harvey whisper to the children: "One? I'll let you each have two if you keep this tin safe for me while I change."

She didn't stay to hear their replies.

———

       The Doughertys' first family dinner went as smoothly as it could with a fourth chair no longer vacant. To June's surprise, Harvey remained tight-lipped on the mashed potatoes. Of course, this could've just been a subtle effort to spare her feelings; however, she was relieved nevertheless.

As soon as the main course was cleared, the tin appeared in the middle of the table. She advised her children to each sample one out of fear that too much sugar would keep the two up past their bedtime. Her children obliged to her request in her presence, but she held little knowledge of what transpired when she exited the dining room to start on the dishes.

Regardless of the amount consumed, Harvey's gift did serve its purpose—her two children began to open up to him. Not only that, but Harvey received an exclusive tour of the twins' shared bedroom, their dollhouse, and Ronald's rock collection.

June was happy that her children were getting along with their father, so much that she even let Harvey tuck the two in once the clock hit a quarter past eight.

After doing so, Harvey returned to the couple's bedroom where June was already getting ready for bed.

"How'd it go?" She asked him from her seat at her dressing table, the black comb in her hand undoing her pompadour and the small waves that had framed her neck.

Harvey's back was to June as he shuffled through the dresser drawers where June had organized his clothes. Some were from his suitcase while others had been left unworn during the duration of Harvey's deployment.

At her question, Harvey turned towards her, a grin lightening up his mature features. "It went great, actually. Those two remind me of myself when I was young."

She didn't have a chance to respond as he turned back to the drawers and pulled out a blue-striped pajama set.

"Hopefully these still fit," He held the cotton set up to June before sitting on the edge of the bed and taking off his white collared shirt.

Her eyes went wide at Harvey's sudden lack of clothing and even more so when his trousers were a heap on the floor. Scratching at her hot neck, she excused herself, telling Harvey she had to make sure the stove was off in the kitchen.

Once down the hallway and in the kitchen, a shaky breath came from her lips as she placed a hand on the corner of the sink basin and another on the collar of her pink pajama top. She should have seen this coming, she just wished not so soon.

The last time June saw a man without clothes was the night of her wedding. In spite of the darkness that hung both inside and outside of their bedroom that night, June could recall nearly it all: the awkward limbs that were in and out of the sheets; the flushed skin that only increased the heat between both bodies; the delicate grip Harvey's hands had on her inner thighs.

June's first experience with a man was one of intimacy and trust, two things that could not be replicated in merely a few hours. Far too much time had passed between Harvey and June, and unlike a page in a book marked by its top corner folded in, the two could not pick up where they left off.

They could try—yes—and she knew Harvey wanted to try and expected her to. But part of her had grown so used to laying in bed alone each night that it almost seemed inapt to welcome a man in.

Though she had to consider the fact that Harvey wasn't just any man.

Letting her arms fall to her sides, June took a step away from the basin, her bare feet becoming chilled against the linoleum floor. As she turned her body to face the hallway, she spied the tin of chocolates that had been left on the countertop. Unable to resist, she walked over to the tin and opened its lid as softly as it would allow and peeked inside.

As she suspected, rather than two missing candies, there were four. Carefully setting the lid back on its respective tin, June exited the kitchen and made her way back to her bedroom. The door was still slightly ajar from when she left so she stepped inside.

"It still fits," Harvey said from his spot on the bed with his back against the headboard. June looked over at him and knew immediately he was not talking about the pajamas as the top was discarded on the floor. Instead, he held out his hand, his own wedding band secured around his finger.

She must've placed it on her nightstand the night before and planned to give it to him when he arrived. Realizing that he was waiting for a response, June simply nodded her head, afraid she'll let another comment slip (like the fact that Harvey had taken her side of the bed for the last five years as his).

"Where's yours?" Harvey asked as he pushed himself off the bed and made his way over to June. She took a staggered step back and motioned towards her dressing table, to which Harvey walked over and began shuffling through some of her beauty items (and pausing for a moment at the presence of a toy catalog).

He eventually found her ring—she had taken it off once she changed into her sleepwear—and went up to June. He took her left hand into his large one and slipped the ring on her finger, careful to do so gently.

As soon as it was firmly around her finger, his eyes found June's and he smiled. Before June could return it or mumble some response, he drew his face closer to hers, capturing the intake of air she was about to use as the driving force for her upcoming breath.

June looked away from him, and her eyes eventually settled on the mountains of muscle covering his shoulders and upper arms that flexed as he wrapped his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to his naked chest. She could feel his breath on her cheek and was not surprised when his lips brushed her upper lip. June forced herself to look up at Harvey, and instantly regretted it when she saw the lust that made residence in his irises.

Harvey closed the gap between the two with a kiss, and as his mouth moved against hers, something warm awoke in June's belly and trickled down her mid-section until it stopped at the space between her legs. She ignored this feeling naturally—a feeling that had been dormant for quite some time—and pulled her face away from his.

"You disrespected me."

At her words, the fire in Harvey's eyes dimmed, and he drew his arms away from her, almost acting as if her once warm frame was now iced over with skin-stinging frost.

"I told you that the children were only to have one candy, but you let them each have two," June said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"June," Harvey started, his confusion overtaken by amusement. "They're kids. They can indulge in sweets once in a while. You're not really going to blow a fuse over this, right?"

June's glare directed at the half-naked man before her lessened slightly, yet her stance remained unchanged.

"I just want what's best for them. And maybe it's my tiredness doing the talking for me —" she began before Harvey cut her off.

"Hey, it's all right. I'm a little sleepy myself," he said as he stretched his arms over his head and smiled down at her. "We both deserve some rest."

June hadn't felt more relieved to hear those words, although she wasn't sure if he was only agreeing with her to avoid further disruption. Nonetheless, she turned her back towards him, went over to her new side of the bed, and crawled underneath the covers. Harvey followed suit wordlessly, and the bed dipped as he settled into the clean sheets.

"You've done a good job with our kids, June," Harvey whispered, his fingertips grazing the fair hairs on her exposed forearm before he recoiled his arm.

She flinched slightly at his touch, but managed a hushed thank you before she turned her back towards him, taking some of the covers with her.

And there they laid as nothing more than two strangers with time etched between them.