Similar to how sleep served as an impermanent relief to the Doughertys' troubles, the passage of time also proved itself a short-term remedy to the gaping severances along the couple's home front.

After their contention that August night, Harvey and June had chosen not to speak of its implications again. Instead, the couple had allowed Margaret and Ronald to enjoy the company of their dolls peacefully without further interference. Soon, nearly a year had come and gone like narrow waistlines. During that time, Harvey had picked up a second job at a lumber yard and June had remained employed under Mr. Cain.

With their own respective means of employment, the two saw little of each other which saved their bedroom walls from hearing the meat of any disagreement. This arrangement was much preferred for June who thus felt reacquainted with the independence she had once been hip-to-hip with when Harvey was serving overseas; the same independence that she had suspected she'd never be able to bask in again.

Though that was not to say that June did not like having Harvey home. For her children's sake especially, a man in the house provided the family with an umbrella of security that June otherwise could not simulate herself. Both of Harvey's incomes were also of use, for with them, June was able to send her children to a private school on the Northside likened to the one she had attended as a young girl.

And while June appreciated what a man like Harvey provided from a distance, there had been times when direct interaction between the couple had been unavoidable. The housewarming party Beverly was currently hosting, for instance, forced the family of four to collect their straggler pieces and appear intact.

Which was the very reason why June now found herself hovering over her dressing table in search of her vermeil gold brooch that she had located the night previous and had set out for her convenience for the following evening.

She eventually found the brooch after some rearranging and pinned it above her left breast. The golden finish of the sunburst brooch introduced an elegance to the emerald peplum top dress that clothed June's body. With sleeves that stopped short of her elbows and housed rectangular shoulder pads, a neckline that spelled the letter v, and a flare of a pocket on her right hip, it was appropriate to assume that the dress could use some flavor in the form of an accessory like a brooch.

Other than the brooch, a set of aureate bangles hugging her left wrist also aided in curbing the dress's appetite for fashionable flavor. Bringing a hand to her warm victory rolls that fell down her neck and kissed her shoulders, June let a ghost of a smile slip as she appreciated the control she had exerted in appearing put together, for it seemed that her appearance was the only thing she felt she garnered control over in the past week.

Rumors had begun circulating at her work that her employer planned to make cuts to his employee pool. And due to the known fact that June could not tie the lips of her workplace counterparts though she would if she was allowed, she had no choice but to turn her ear towards the unconfirmed statements.

What's more, Mr. Cain had done nothing to water such rumors nor to let them die as one would annuals at the summer's end. Because of this indifference that seemed out of character even for Mr. Cain, June had begun to doubt her sticking around for the first time since the war considering her securement of her high ranking position had only been possible in the event that Mr. Cain's male accountant was called to serve in '43.

But now that the war was clearly over and the men were home, June knew that Mr. Cain preferred his office to be riddled with cigarette-wielding men who had rhubarbs over baseball plays and who were always up for a game of poker after hours.

Her knowledge of this stemmed from June's first few days as Mr. Cain's secretary, a position she had partook in on the eve of the twins' first birthday. Along with constant misogynistic remarks and expressions of favor for his own sex, her employer's public declaration of her as the office broad that merely did the work his male employees need not to concern themselves with had convinced her that this man's respect for women was as nonexistent as the Nazi Party's chance of ever winning the war.

Naturally, these harsh words from Mr. Cain's own mouth had almost persuaded June to quit. Hence, almost. With two growing babies at home that lived on church donations, June had no choice but to learn to avoid taking his words wholeheartedly.

Those closest to June, like Beverly, had thought June a knucklehead for doing this and had tried to convince her to join her at the Car Company. While intrigued, June had declined Beverly's offer as something about factory work repelled her.

Besides, there was something about taking the bus into the city and sharing the boardwalk with men cladded in freshly-pressed trousers and suit jackets that had made June feel as if she had caught a glimpse of the other side, or the world where male claws were dug so deeply into it.

But this feeling had not lived long above water. For soon June was no longer a visitor in a man's world: she was a resident once Mr. Cain's accountant had went to camp and had left the drawer with the company's books unlocked.

After some three years, June's colleagues (and a reluctant Mr. Cain) may even argue that she had been a better accountant than her employer's brother-in-law had ever been.

Yet such unsaid reassurance did not settle her fears of seeing the world where she had earned her place in the rear-view mirror.

"Momma!"

Leaving her fears momentarily and encasing them in a box in the far depths of her mind, June dropped the sponge that accompanied her powder compact, turned to her bedroom's doorway, and forced her cheeks to tighten.

Standing with his arms at his sides, Ronald displayed a toothy grin and skipped to his mother's side, unaware of the unemployment fears that plagued her peace of mind.

"What is it, Ronnie?" She asked as her eyes washed over the blue and orange stripes on his knit shirt and the navy blue khakis shorts that revealed his bony knees and his slight tan from late afternoons spent lounging in the sun.

Ronald left her question unanswered, and instead, clicked the toes of his shiny black shoes together suggestively with his eyes locked on her powder compact.

June's smile quickly took on more genuinity, for she had a niche for reading her son. Bending down to meet his height that had increased little since his sixth birthday, June handed him the compact and the dropped sponge.

He accepted both gingerly, and June soon felt the sponge be swept across her cheeks, the ivory powder reducing the natural shine on her skin. When he finished, he handed the makeup back to her, the happiness in his eyes apparent.

"Thank you, Ronnie," She said as she closed the compact and set it on her dressing table along with the sponge. "You've made your mother feel quite beautiful."

Ronald beamed at this though he's heard it dozens of times since he was age three.

A sudden cough sliced through their shared moment, and June snapped her head up at the doorway.

With only a view of his head and neck, Harvey spoke abruptly. "You two ready?"

Disregarding the look of disapproval that showed on his limited features, June's response came in a mere nod, and she grabbed her black clutch that she had set on her bed and started out of her room with her son in front of her. Once in the hallway, Ronald disappeared in the twins' room and June was able to catch a glimpse of Harvey's entire being which was clothed in a plaid collared shirt painted hues of soft yellow and a pair of brown trousers secured highly on his waist with a rustic belt.

"June."

Her eyes slowly found his face, and she realized in her moment of bluntly staring that Harvey had replaced his disapproving look brought on by her son's interest in makeup with one of surprise.

This surprise, June supposed, was due to her own appearance, for Beverly's party marked the first time in six years or better that Harvey had seen June decked out.

"Yes?" She asked him.

"You look—" he began but was interrupted by Margaret's sudden appearance in the cramped hallway.

"Ronald ruined my bow!" Margaret cried out with her eyes watery and the left side of her hair unkempt.

"We'll fix it in the car," Harvey responded hurriedly before June could.

Margaret appeared uncertain at his words as confusion and panic remained etched on her face, so she looked to June natch.

Without a misstep or a glance Harvey's way, June's verbal reassurance was delivered with a smile. "Don't look so worrisome, Margaret. It'll be fixed on the way to Aunt Beverly's."

———

As promised, the curls on the left side of Margaret's head were swept back with a dainty, pearl-colored bow during the half hour drive to the Fultons' new home; a bow that bore the same shade of white as Margaret's skirt and the buttons that ran down the middle of her red knit top.

Margaret appeared grateful for her mother's help though June would not be the
least bit surprised if the bow came undone again once Margaret and Ronald caught sight of the Fultons' backyard that made their own look devastatingly small.

Of course, this prediction had only been calculated based on the telephone conversation June and Beverly had shared two weeks ago. While Dale had been attending the closing of a single family home in Park Forest, Beverly had excitedly described to June the looks of their future house and how it differed considerably from the homes offered up in Pullman.

Along with a larger backyard that supposedly put June's to shame, Beverly had said the home featured an eat-in kitchen, a picture window, and a garage. The home's alleged lack of a formal dining room had been the most appalling to June. Who would come up with such a brainchild!

Beverly had must've sensed June's disbelief, for no sooner had she gotten over the odd feature, Beverly had insisted June and the family come down for a visit to see their new home in person.

June had agreed under the assumption that the gathering would be small and intimate with the two families. Unfortunately, she had been proven wrong: once Dale had gotten word of the invitation, he decided to extend it to families other than the Doughertys and make it an official housewarming event.

It was this change (of which she learned just yesterday) that had made June's reluctance to attend grow as high as sunflowers until it was swallowed by the clouds' feathery bottoms.

In such a state, she did not think her distaste in going could become more potent. Yet as Harvey turned down Beverly's street, she realized that her disclination may very well brush the heavens.

Cape cods of identical architecture lined each side of the street. The family did not know which home was Beverly's at first if not for the line of cars parked in front of one of the cookie cutter homes.

Harvey parked her Volkswagen next to a red Chevy Fleetmaster, and the family poured out of the vehicle. With a tray of Toll House cookies on one arm, June warily followed Harvey up to the front door.

No knock was required as Beverly opened the door before Harvey could bring up his free hand (the other held a pack of Coca Cola), for the picture window must've warned her of the family's arrival.

"You came! Come in, come in," Beverly beckoned, stepping aside so the Doughertys could enter the foyer.

Once inside, the Doughertys exchanged preliminary greetings with some of the other guests. Of them June only recognized two, Mr. and Mrs. Engel.

"June, you must come see the kitchen!" Beverly exclaimed, snaking her arm around June's and leading her past the living room and the plywood staircase into the kitchen.

Caroline Engel was right on their heels. "I've already seen it; it is quite lovely."

Beverly shot Caroline a smile and looked to June, who now had a full view of the kitchen. Steel, white cabinetry lined the wall and maroon linoleum countertops mimicked the color of the round kitchen table and chairs casted toward the entranceway. A mellow jade covered every inch of exposed wall and a kitchen window above the sink overlooked the freshly cut yard and the lilac bushes with tones ranging from magenta to white that lined the back fence.

"What do you think?" Beverly finally asked as she stepped back against the T'ang red floor and opened her arms.

Before June could respond, Caroline appeared next to Beverly. "Don't you just love it? I told Beverly that her kitchen makes mine look hairy!"

June mustered a smile. "As it does mine. But Bev, aren't you going to miss your formal dining room and all that counter space at the old house?"

"Not in the slightest, this kitchen is humdinger! This whole house is!"

"It's perfect for a baby," Caroline added as she swept a lock of blonde hair away from her face.

Beverly let out a giggle as her hands grazed her swollen belly that stressed the stitching of her floral dress. "You're right on the nose with that."

"How far along did you say you were?" Caroline asked, her red lips in a smile.

"I've just hit 36 weeks. And yourself?"

Caroline's own hands cradled her belly. "24."

The two expectant mothers—both of whom had fully adopted 1947's New Look with ankle-length dresses that accentuated their hips and bust and casual waves of their hair that contrasted considerably with June's tight, victory rolls—let out a string of excited squeals and neglected June's presence for a beat until she thrusted the tray of cookies in Beverly's arms.

"Oh yes, thank you June," Bevelry said as she adjusted her hold on the tray. "I'll set these on the table for now with the coconut cream pie."

"I brought it," Caroline explained as Beverly set the tray down on the table and began taking pre-made side dishes out from the refrigerator. "It's just an old recipe I used to put together when Alan was off in Europe."

June nodded. "And how is Alan?"

"He's good, excited about becoming a father. He's been taking night classes at the university and working part time at the meat packaging plant," Caroline said with a smile. "How's Harvey? Alan told me he's a foreman now."

Good question, Caroline.

"The ham!" Beverly shouted suddenly as she frantically rushed over to look in the oven. A sigh of relief escaped from her lips seconds later once she saw that the ham was fine and she returned to setting out the side dishes.

Having forgotten her previous question, Caroline continued. "So how are you? Beverly told me you're still working."

June directed a harsh glare at the back of Beverly's head of ginger hair before she answered Caroline. "Things are going well."

"I'm glad. But I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little surprised that you're still employed, considering Harvey's home and your employer sounds like a real pain in the neck."

"He isn't that bad," June said through gritted teeth, loathing the direction this conversation was taking.

"It's just—" Caroline began, tearing her gaze away from her annoyingly clean fingernails and eyeing June with a pair of blue eyes. "Now that the war's over, women don't really need a place in the workforce anymore."

"Is that so?" June asked, her voice in a balance between anger and sarcasm.

Her question must've come as a surprise to Caroline, who shifted uncomfortably under June's challenging gaze. She opened her mouth to say something but must've thought against it for no words came from her lips.

June found this practically ironic, having never seen Caroline Engel rendered speechless. For as long as June had known her (which was closing in on five years), Caroline always had to get a word in, especially if concerning women's work rights.

Believe it or not, but under that petite 5'1 frame was once a daring advocate for workplace equality who had worked up the ranks at the Pullman Car Company and had held a managerial position during the war. Because of Caroline, Beverly was able to secure her position at the factory; however, the Caroline June recalled seemed to have been lost and a stranger now stood before her, a stranger she used to look up to.

"Do you think one of you two could run a spoon through the egg salad?" Beverly cut through the fatal silence as she held out a long, wooden spoon.

"Yes," Caroline answered gratefully, grabbing the spoon and casting a glance toward June. "That's what we were brought in here for, wasn't it? To help Beverly in the kitchen?"

Conscious of her words' double meaning, June's jaw clenched but she said nothing and instead, joined Beverly at the sink where she was currently rinsing off fresh tomatoes from the garden.

Beverly handed June a tomato—a deep red one that was nearly as large as an orange—and looked up at her. "Thank you."

June met her green eyes and forced a smile.

For the next hour, the three women worked to prepare the meal. The tension that initially resided in the small kitchen gradually evaporated thanks to the dope Beverly shared on the neighbors next door (apparently a man's wife and mistress both lived in the home as the mistress was the wife's sister). Whether this was true June could not confirm but it aided in allowing time to pass pleasantly.

The meal was served around 6 o'clock. The men chose to eat outside on the deck under the setting sun while the women and children stayed indoors. As expected, everything was delicious, even the cookies June had almost burnt. After dinner, black coffee was handed out and board games were played.

By 9 o'clock, it was clear that Margaret and Ronald were ready to leave so June walked them out to her car. As soon as they were comfortable in the backseat, she returned to the foyer where Harvey was still saying his goodbyes.

"Maybe the next time you come around, you'll have three little ones running around 'stead of two if you can get that uptight wife of yours out of her unmentionables," June caught the last bit of Dale's statement before she appeared at Harvey's side, something that seemed to cause a moment of silence to fall upon Harvey, Alan, and Dale.

"We should get going," Harvey said with an awkward cough as his hand found the small of her back. June stepped away from Harvey's touch and eyed the two other men that looked utterly sauced with bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks.

"What was that about seeing three kids?" June asked Dale, who, despite the high concentration of alcohol that coursed through his veins, wore a look of surprise which confirmed the fact that what he'd said was not meant for her ears.

"I was just suggesting maybe you and Harvey will have another one pretty soon now that the war is over and all," Dale finally responded, looking between June and Harvey with uncertainty.

So Dale wasn't that sauced, June thought as she watched perspiration trickle down the side of his forehead. He may have been drunk but he knew when he was treading in some choppy waters.

"Bearing more children is no easy feat, Dale," June started prior to Harvey's stern voice interrupting what was likely to be an argument.

"He meant nothing by it," He cut her off, his eyes pleading with her to abandon the subject.

By then, Beverly and Caroline had joined their respective husbands in the foyer and were engrossed in the conversation that was wading toward a line that should not be crossed. At least not in public, anyway.

Alan spoke next. "That's right. Dale was just saying how sweet it'd be if you and Harvey had one on the way at the same time Bev and Caroline did. They'd practically be cousins."

June could spot a liar like a miscalculated checkbook balance.

"But Harvey would have to get me undressed first to make that happen," June spat, directing a glare at each person in the room until her eyes landed on Dale. "Isn't that right, Dale? Of course I'm not as easy as the broads you landed when you were on active duty and stringing Beverly along on the side."

"June!" Beverly hissed while Dale swung an arm around his wife's shoulders. He appeared much more alert, bearing an expression of amusement rather than offense.

Unexpectedly, Caroline took defense on behalf of the group. "June, maybe you and Harvey should leave. You have work tomorrow, don't you?"

June finally took a good look around, eyeing the two women whose hands were on their stomachs and whose husbands had their arms around them authoritatively.

She left without another word with Harvey right on her heels. She only turned around once to take the keys from him for he was in no state to drive.

Sliding into the driver's seat, she started the engine and tapped the wheel impatiently as she waited for Harvey to get in on the passenger side. As soon as he was settled, June sped down the street and out of the suburb, her two children fast asleep in the backseat.

They did not speak until Harvey turned down Sinatra's "All The Things You Are" that had started to hum from the Volkswagen's radio.

"Look June, what Dale said was a drunk man's nonsense," Harvey began, his eyes on June who in turn kept her gaze to the road. "That man never knows when to keep his mouth shut."

She said nothing, at least not right away. After letting Sinatra get a few lines in like that of "someday my happy arms will hold you," words tumbled from her lips.

"You agreed with him, didn't you? That it would be nice for you to have another child around the same age as Dale's?"

"I didn't see it as a bad idea," Harvey replied softly, running a hand over a curl that had escaped the hair gel he had put in before they left. "What do we have to lose? I'm bringing home a guaranteed paycheck and the twins are old enough to help out some."

June felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs as her entire body seemed to ice over. First it was her job. Now Harvey wanted her to give him another child.

She wouldn't—couldn't—have another child. Especially another one of his.

"And someday I'll know that moment divine, when all the things you are, are mine," Sinatra was able to get in the final lyric before June risked a look at Harvey. He was staring back at her intensely, even in the dark.

She knew that look, she had seen it before. It was lust: primal lust that only resided in his orbs before he and June let the sheets engulf their naked bodies on nights where their natural urges spoke before their hearts.

June and Harvey did not make love—noise perhaps on a number of occasions since his return. But their apathetic nights were not the cause of June's refusal as love was not needed to make a child.

It was, though, needed to raise one.

"I don't want another baby," June blurted, looking away from Harvey so she need not bear witness to the disappointment that swept across his features.

"Why?" Harvey asked as she pulled into the driveway, a lump starting to form in her throat. "Is it the timing? I mean, we can wait until next spring."

Desperation emitted from his voice.

"No," June said, shutting off the car and turning to look at the two sleeping forms in the backseat. "Margaret, Ronnie, we're home."

Her children awoke with yawns and stretches and filed slowly out of the car. The porch light led the family to the front door June unlocked and opened so her two children could get washed up. Harvey flipped the lamp on in the living room as the children disappeared down the hallway and turned to June, his eyes wide and forehead shiny from sweat.

"June, talk to me."

June dropped her clutch on the floor and slipped off her Oxfords. "I don't want another child. What more is there to say?"

"But Margaret and Ronald turned out killer diller! Who says miracles can't happen more than once?" Harvey answered.

Miracles?

Harvey must've sensed the offense June took from his words and he quickly began apologizing. She silenced him with her hand. "There is nothing miraculous about the way the twins turned out. They were brought up by a mother who instilled in them to value their lives and the people in it while the world was at war. I will not stand to hear anymore of this and be insulted by your ignorance."

"What are you saying, June?"

Any ounce of patience June had fizzled away, and she snapped.

"I already raised two children on my own. And I'm tired, Harvey. Too tired. I'm sorry but I refuse to have any more, let alone any more under this roof!"

"This roof? This roof that I gave you? It's me," Harvey's fists clenched, and his neck became increasingly red. "You don't want another child with me."

Tears sprang up in June's eyes—not because she was upset by his words—but because she knew they were true. Deep within her chest such a revelation had been drumming against her ribs for months, waiting to be released.

But she didn't realize how badly it would sting once she was free of it while Harvey was stabbed by it.

A ring from the ameche arrived unexpectedly at that moment, and June turned her back on Harvey and darted into the kitchen. She did not expect him to follow her, but he did and she could tell by his heavy footsteps that he was angry.

She grasped the telephone nestled next to the refrigerator and ignored his deep breathing behind her. Once the telephone was near her ear, she turned to him and spoke quietly enough so the caller could not catch her voice. "Walk away."

And he did. With his fists balled and his heart still pounding in his ears, Harvey left the kitchen and walked to the front door. He slipped on his shoes and opened the door, the dry summer air greeting him.

"This is an unusual time for a business call, Mr. Cain," Harvey heard June say as he shut the door behind him.

Now standing on the porch and hearing only the sound of a mosquito's buzz next to the porch light, Harvey let out a shaky breath as he looked out at the dark outline of houses across the street.

No one was up at this hour as light did not escape from any of the homes' windows. He wondered if they were happy, the men sleeping inside those homes. If they had wives that loved them and that wanted to spend the rest of their lives with them as well as children that weren't sheltered from them.

He'd like to think that they were, but Harvey was a realist. He knew that every family had their fair share of problems, for he'd grown up with his old man constantly being between jobs and his mother in constant mourning of her firstborn. His parents had fought natch, had even separated a few times. Yet, they worked through it as his father eventually secured a steady job and his mother engrossed herself into being a parent to her four living children.

His parents had set an example for Harvey, that a marriage could remain intact even in the roughest of times. But his parents had never experienced anything like what Harvey currently was.

Harvey was a stranger in his own home: a man with a wife whose peepers never directed an ounce of love toward him since his return; a man with two children that he never got to see wobble on their legs for the first time and reach out to him before they connected with the floor.

As these thoughts ran through his head and exacerbated his headache, Harvey hadn't realized his feet had carried him to an old bar a few blocks from the Doughertys' home.

Instead of turning back, he pushed open the all too familiar door and made his way over to the bar. He passed a few active poker games on his way to one of the worn stools that matched the color of his trousers.

"Up for a round, Dougherty?" A regular souse at one of the tables asked amid his trek, taking a swig from his bottle.

Harvey shook his head and stumbled to one of the stools. Taking a seat while massaging his temple, he ordered himself his regular—a classic Manhattan.

Soon enough, the blend of whiskey and vermouth was set in front of him. Harvey took a long sip of his favorite cocktail and placed it on the counter, knowing all too well that the alcohol was not the ideal remedy for the ache across his forehead.

Sleep perhaps would do him better. Taking a glance around at the nearly empty establishment with tastefully dimmed lights, he doubted anyone would notice if he nodded off for a while.

But he couldn't. Sleep would only push his problems deep inside his subconscious until they clawed their way back up again when he awoke.

It was a cycle; a vicious cycle that made Harvey long for the days before the war, before his marriage was strained, before he knew what it looked like when life drained from a man's eyes and his skin hardened like rubber.

There were days Harvey felt as if he was living a nightmare where not even sleep could help him escape from it. Some men he's met have said that it was sleep that brought back the memories of war. For Harvey, sleep was merely an intermission in the autobiographical horror film he was forced to play the main character in.

Another taste of his Manhattan and the haziness in Harvey's mind thickened and his headache loudened. Shutting his eyes and hanging his head down so his chin grazed his chest, Harvey felt like shouting.

He just wished it would stop. The headache, the pain in his heart, the guilt in his chest for letting his marriage fall to shambles, the anger for leading his brothers into a storm of gunfire.

Harvey grabbed his half empty glass in the spur of the moment and tossed it at the wall, watching it explode into ragged shards that glistened softly as they laid lifeless on the linoleum floor.

"Hey!" He heard the bar attendant yell but he ignored him and pushed himself off the stool and dragged his feet toward the entrance he'd come through. His hand was nearly palm first on the door when he sensed a presence at his side.

A vision of brown hair and painted lips blocked his vision and all he saw was the woman next to him. Her dress looked to be an emerald color, and when he felt her arm wrap around his, he found himself saying her name. "June."

She didn't turn to him and only pulled him through the door and into the night. He had no guesses as to how much time had passed up until then and merely wished to be back at home and to dispel the poison from his body.

"June, I'm sorry. I never should have forced another baby on you."

She turned to look at him under the pale streetlight on the corner. It took Harvey a few blinks for him to realize that this woman was not the one he had exchanged marital vows with.

Her nose came to too much of a point to be June. Her hair, also, was wavy and bland and appeared much thinner than June's voluminous curls that were always warm to the touch but framed her oval shaped face in such a way that complimented her most subtle features: her cleft chin that she would rub at times of deep thought; the sharpness of her cheekbones that he once feared would slice his lips as he kissed her face; her faint smile wrinkles that deepened whenever Harvey was able to get one out of her.

The woman's dress he swore was emerald turned out to be deep blue and clung to her frame so much that he knew June would sneer at the lack of modesty. He almost smiled at the thought as it reminded him that he indeed knew June Dougherty even if only partially.

Realizing he was staring at the stranger, Harvey looked away from the woman and attempted to pull himself from her grasp. "I must've mistaken you for someone else."

The woman simply smiled as her fingers tightened around his forearm. "That may be so, but I assumed a dreamboat like yourself would care for some company."

In spite of the pounding in his head, Harvey was present enough to react to the woman's forthright comment. "I appreciate the thought though I should be going."

Something flickered in the woman's eyes. "All alone?"

Harvey eyed the woman who looked at him like an eager beaver, the excitement in her dark irises slowly rubbing off on him. When was the last time an attractive woman looked at him like that?

"I suppose you can walk me halfway."

Her arm still around his, the two began the walk toward Pullman. He learned the woman's name was Joyce Thessing and she was a widow, her cookie having perished on the sands of Omaha Beach.

But that was not all. As it turned out, the death of Joyce's husband not only left her without a partner but without another hand to raise their two young daughters.

Harvey expressed his condolences after she shared this, to which Joyce seemed grateful. The mood suddenly as dark as the night, Joyce attempted to lighten it by sauntering in front of Harvey and blocking him from walking any further.

"Are you a jive bomber?"

Harvey glanced down at his shoes and up at the strange woman. "I don't think I have the right stompers on for dancing."

Joyce giggled and motioned to her own. "Neither do I. But fortunately—" she said as she slipped off her heels and now stood on two naked feet. "Mine are not glued to my feet."

Harvey looked at her feet— the nails painted a deep red—and watched them come closer to him until the toes were smashed against the polished tops of his loafers. His throat dry and his nose in direct line with her strong perfume, he dared a look up at the woman who was invading his personal space.

"Dance with me, Harvey," She whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck and swayed her large hips. An unfamiliar melody from the back of her throat compelled Harvey to place his hands on her hips and rest his face between her neck and the strap of her dress.

Onlookers probably thought the two looked cockeyed as they danced in the middle of one of Pullman's quieter streets with the only music being the couple's staggered breaths and Joyce's intoxicating tune. For once, Harvey did not give much power to their judgements as he enjoyed being in the arms of a woman who needed his presence as much as he needed hers.

Joyce's song concluded and a kiss on his ear brought him back to the present. He dug his hands deeper into the extra flesh on her hips and trailed his mouth up her neck and then her jawline until it was on her own red lips.

Joyce's hands tangled themselves in his hair where the gel had long hardened and their lips danced as slowly and intentionally as their feet had moments before. Harvey felt a sudden urge for privacy, so he wrapped his arms around her body and carried her to the alley casted off at the side that had beckoned to them since their first dance.

Now secluded with Joyce's back against one of the brick walls, the two exchanged a mess of breaths, lips, and heat. And as Harvey snaked his hand around her back and his fingertips grazed the metal zipper, Joyce's voice whispered in his ear. "I need you, Harvey."

The fire that spurred in Harvey raged at her words and he almost allowed primal desire to overtake him if not for the last part of Joyce's dialogue. "Save me, save my daughters. We need you."

He pulled himself from Joyce's arms and took a step back. "Come again?"

"Save us, Harvey. Take us to the suburbs, bring us the paycheck, host barbecues, give me babies, prove to us why your life was spared."

Harvey's head was shaking before words tumbled from his lips. "Joyce, I—"

Joyce's eyes ran over his face wildly as she appeared to be preparing to lunge toward him. "Be a man, Harvey. Be a man!"

Harvey put more distance between the two and started toward the alley's exit. Joyce was unfortunately right behind him and dug her claws into his shoulders, her breath hot on his cheek. "Isn't this the life you want?"

Harvey shook his head, his throat feeling as if it was closing as Joyce shifted her entire body on his back and her weight gradually overpowered his own strength. Falling to his knees, Joyce's question repeated itself around him.

"Isn't this the life you want? Isn't this the life you want?"

His head continued to shake as he reached out his hands and tried to stop Joyce from crushing him into the pavement. "Isn't this the life you survived for?"

Shattering glass sounded by Harvey's ear and his eyes opened instantly, his heart pounding in its cage. Wiping away at the sleep in his eyes, Harvey took a moment to let his eyes readjust to the dim bar and the angry bartender that currently stood in front of him with a piece of the broken glass that once harbored his Manhattan in his hand.

Immediately aware that what transpired between him and Joyce was purely a drunken man's dream, Harvey allowed his mind to be flooded with memories of the present day and what had led him to the bar in the first place.

With his headache long gone, Harvey forced himself from his seat and gave the bartender an apologetic look as he realized he must've moved his arm in his sleep and knocked his untouched drink onto the floor behind the bar. Fishing through one of his trouser's front pockets, he pulled out a few greenbacks and set them on the bar in hopes that it would be the last time the attendee would be seeing any money from him on nights when he avoided home.

Home. How the word sounded so refreshing, so comforting. Taking a few purposeful strides, Harvey disappeared out the bar's door and started the walk to his home.

Isn't this the life you survived for?

Joyce's question still rang in his ears as he drew closer to the block where the Doughertys' home stood. Even though it had only been a dream, he knew what his answer would have been if he hadn't awoken.

No.

Every shot Harvey had taken to defend himself in Europe had come with the image of June donned in a simple white dress on the steps of the courthouse on the couple's wedding day. Even though war had hung over their heads and their time together had slowly been slipping away, Harvey knew that war or not, June was the woman he was destined to marry.

And when he had June standing beside him at the front of the courthouse's alter, and the sunlight from one of the windows had illuminated the smile on her face that had been otherwise hidden under his mother's veil, he had concluded then that the prospect of a life with June was all he required to fight like hell in Germany.

Of course, he hadn't known what that life would look like at the time; however, when he had received the telegraph that June had given birth to twins, he was gifted two more reasons to survive the war and return home and build a life with the woman he adored and two children he hoped to get to know.

"So Joyce," Harvey spoke aloud to the woman who had likely come to be as a physical form of his own subconscious, "my incentive for surviving was not for a vision of a life that I now see displayed on billboards and in newspapers and at friends' front doors. Rather, it was for three people and always had been."

Having reached the Doughertys' front porch, Harvey took a final look around at the dark homes that were behind him. He no longer wondered about what went on within their walls and instead, focused solely on his own home.

Nodding at the mosquito whose attraction to the porch light had not wavered in his time away, Harvey pushed open the front door and stepped inside the living room. The lamp he had turned on earlier had gone lightless and the only light source poured from the kitchen, the last place he saw June.

He slipped off his loafers and nudged them next to June's Oxfords and tiptoed over to the kitchen. Sticking his head around the corner, he caught a glimpse of June's back as she stood at the counter with a glass of warm milk in her hand.

Had she been waiting for him? Harvey felt a smile tug at his lips at the idea and took a cautious step forward.

Harvey was not very light on his feet so June heard him natch. Swiveling around, June and Harvey's eyes met and he had to restrain himself from wrapping her up in his arms.

"You're home," June said followed by a delicate sip of milk. He noticed her eyes were red and the skin underneath them looked to have risen. Pain dabbed at his heart at the image of her in tears, and he immediately let words roll from his tongue.

"I never should have acted the way I did when you said you did not want any more children. I was so caught up in what everyone else was doing that I didn't pause to consider our family's needs. Or your needs."

June's hold on the glass faltered slightly as she looked at the man before her who was much different than the one that had nearly charged at her an hour previous. In spite of the wrinkles on his shirt and the smell of cheap alcohol that emitted from his breath, Harvey seemed to be speaking with much more precision and intent.

She wished she could have appreciated this moment more but she could not as her phone call with Mr. Cain had gone quite crummy and had left her feeling down.

Harvey must've taken her lack of response wholeheartedly, for sadness dripped from his voice when he chose to speak once more. "I'm sorry. Do you hear me? If I could go back in time, I'd give Dale a knuckle sandwich."

June set down her glass of milk and stared up at Harvey. His eyes seemed to be searching for something in hers and when he didn't see anything, he pointed to his left cheek desperately, "You can give me a knuckle sandwich if you want. Right here."

"Oh Harvey!" She exclaimed with a sigh. "Stop it."

Harvey dropped his arms and looked down at June with confusion. "I don't know what you want from me, June."

"I want," June felt her voice quiver and loathed herself for it, "to sit down."

Before she could let Harvey say anything else, she disappeared into the dining room and sat in one of the hard, oak chairs highlighted by the wax candle burning silently in the middle of the table. Harvey slipped in the seat next to her and turned to June, resting his hand on the table near her own.

June moved her hand away. "What do you think our family needs?"

"Well," Harvey started, "definitely not another baby." He paused and flashed June a hesitant smile and continued, "I think we need to communicate more, tell each other what we're feeling. I mean, I know we've tried to be open but it's hard sometimes."

Hard would be an understatement.

A beat of silence later, June took a deep breath and eyed the candle's black wick that was engulfed by a thick flame. "You want us to be more open with each other, Harvey?"

She saw his nod out of the corner of her eye and finally turned her body towards his own. This whole thing felt new as if she was walking on the soil of foreign land. But she had to confide in someone. Who better than the man she married?

"Mr. Cain called to tell me that he wishes to see me an hour earlier than usual tomorrow morning."

Harvey stayed silent for a moment until his eyebrows knitted in confusion. "And that is...out of the ordinary?"

"I'm going to get canned," The tears June had tried to blink away were now tumbling down her cheeks, and she wiped at them with her thumb.

"Oh June," Harvey reached out to touch her arm. She didn't shake him off. "It's going to be all right. I've still got two paychecks rolling in so we have more than enough clams to keep sending our children to that private school you like so much."

"It's not about that!" She hadn't meant to raise her voice but she couldn't help it. "It's about me. When you were gone and I started at Mr. Cain's, for the first time in my life I felt completely independent of a man's hold. I was making my own money, raising two children, getting along just fine—"

"But now that's changing and you don't want to be dependent on me again," Harvey finished for her.

June snapped her head toward him, surprise etched on her face. She hadn't expected for him to understand, let alone so calmly. But he was and June found herself looking at him gratefully.

"That's why you've been so guarded about me helping you with Margaret and Ronald, isn't it? You don't want to have to rely on me?" He asked her, his head slightly cocked to the side as he pondered the thought.

June suddenly felt as if she was talking to the old Harvey; the Harvey that had sat with her between hedging the lawn and pruning the rose bushes at her childhood home and listened to her explain Leibniz's fundamentals of calculus. She knew Harvey had trouble understanding the mathematical terminology, but he had tried to understand for her sake.

Just like he was at the present.

"I suppose that's true, yes," June answered. "I've been on my own with the children for so long that it's almost become second nature."

Harvey's hand that had been stroking her arm traveled down the length of her arm and intertwined itself around her hand that had gone limp on the table. "But I'm here, June. You don't have to do it alone anymore. Unless you don't want me to be here?"

June looked up at Harvey, tears threatening to escape the eyelids of both of them.

June had endured pain in her life but nothing compared to the thought of losing Harvey. The word divorce drove a knife through her heart, and though she hadn't shown it, she loved Harvey dearly and felt blessed to have him home in one piece.

And she needed him. Under that clean shaven face and those serious eyes was the young Southside boy who she had been able to shamelessly show all sides of herself since she was little.

"I need you here, Harvey," June said, her hand squeezing his. "But I don't want you to play soldier under this roof or even feel like you have to."

With his free hand, Harvey wiped at his eyes in response to her words. Though his fingers had prevented most of the moisture from falling from his eyes, a few tears coursed down his cheeks. June instinctively reached out her own hand and wiped at them.

Harvey opened his mouth to respond but rather than words, a sob came from the back of his throat. More followed as he reached up and held June's hand that had been wiping at his cheek.

"I think," He managed to say, "this is the first time I've cried since the war."

June felt a new batch of tears blur her own vision at his confession. Still, she remained strong as she reassured him: "Crying shouldn't be seen as a source of weakness, Harvey. Don't ever feel like you can't express emotion over what happened over there."

"I appreciate your words June, but God," Harvey let out a shaky sigh as he looked up at her. "I've done, seen, some horrible things. I'm not the man I used to be."

"You did what you needed to do to survive," June replied, "and though it may not feel like it, the Harvey that used to fight the neighborhood boogers who tried to steal Bev and I's seats at your baseball games is still in there."

"I'm not so sure about that," Harvey shook his head sadly, casting his eyes toward the candle's flame. She hated seeing Harvey like this, so defeated, so lost.

But she was not going to pity him because that was not what Harvey needed.

What he needed was a reminder that he was—and is—a man with a good heart.

"Do you remember the night before our wedding, Harvey?" She asked him, her hand cupping his cheek. Harvey blinked a few times before she went on.

"Well, before we sat down to have dinner with our families, my father pulled me aside and told me a story about a young man who was riding his bike through the city one summer afternoon. The boy ended up with a flat, but fortunately, a store owner was cleaning the windows of his store and came to his aid immediately and even took him back to his home on the Northside. There, the boy would join two young girls for tea and invisible sweets. One of the girls, the store owner's daughter, liked the boy very much and was saddened when the boy retrieved his fixed bike and went on his way. So later that night, the girl cried to her father that she wished to see the boy again and wouldn't have it any other way. His hands tied, her father spent the entire night looking through the telephone directory until he was able to locate the number of the boy's grandfather. A few calls later, and her father had the boy on the other line. He explained the situation, that his daughter wished for him to return to her company. The boy was reluctant at first as the girl was two years younger than him and came from a different way of life. But with a bit more convincing and an excited squeal from the girl in the background, he agreed to meet her and her little friend once again."

"I didn't know he told you that," Harvey looked down at his lap, crimson creeping up his cheeks. June took her hand away from his face and placed both of her hands around his and squeezed. "And not only did that boy selflessly put that little girl's happiness before his own, but decades later, the same young man risked his own life when he crossed enemy lines in the Second World War in order to locate two allies that had been shot down in their DH.98 Mosquito."

Before Harvey could ask how June gathered such information (he had been tight lipped about his war experience), she explained that Alan had told her at Beverly's home earlier that day.

Once she was finished, Harvey sat back in his chair, a grin gradually brightening his features. June's heart swelled at the sight and she felt a smile tug at her own lips.

"So you see Harvey," June began, "you're still the same man. The same good man."

Rather than speak, Harvey unwrapped his hands from hers and leaned forward and cupped June's face. She let him do so, and as soon as he planted a kiss on her lips, she fell into his touch and it almost felt as if they were sharing their first kiss all over again.

When they parted, their eyes were wet with bliss and their bodies remained close.

"Thank you, June," Harvey whispered. "For everything: for taking care of the kids, for listening, for staying strong."

She nodded. "Thank you for coming back home."

Without another word, the couple pulled themselves from their chairs and embraced, content sighs coming from the both of them. Soon, Harvey was placing kisses on her jaw and her neck and June was rubbing his shoulders.

"Let's go to bed," She whispered into his hair, and he obeyed, wrapping her hand up in his and leading her away from the table.

She had to stop him to blow out the candle, but as soon as the oxygen left her lungs and the room went dark, she let him lead her out of the dining room and into the hallway.

"Maybe tomorrow after work I can help you look through the paper at job listings," Harvey suggested, turning his head back to get her reaction.

"I'd like that," June said with a grin, "but our children are staying at the Capples' until dinner so we'll need to pick them up."

Harvey pushed open their bedroom door and pulled her to his chest. "Noted."

June laughed, and the two found each other's lips. They moved without speed which allowed for their lips and hands to enjoy the sensual exploration of their bodies.

Clothes soon a heap on the floor, the two wrapped themselves in the covers, giving one another space for comfort but also room to reconnect.

And there they laid together as husband and wife.

A U T H O R ' S N O T E

The dreaded ending! Though I wanted to make June and Harvey's ending anything but depressing, putting an end to their story was much harder than I could of imagined. "The Doughertys' Home Front" began as a summer project: I had just graduated high school and was looking to dip my toes back into the Wattpad pool before I started as a first year college student. I always knew I wanted to write historical fiction, particularly during the twentieth century, but I was unsure where I wanted my story to land. Then one day while I was browsing through some of the stories featured among Wattpad's Historical Fiction reading lists, I realized that there were not many stories that took place after either world wars. I was surprised by this because so MANY cultural changes took place post-WW1 and WW2. Upon learning this, the seed was planted, and I began writing immediately. The first part took me a month, the second a few weeks, and the third close to twenty days. There were a few times I nearly quit and let this story join my other uncompleted works where it would haunt me for eternity. But it was the love and support I began receiving from other historical fiction writers that encouraged me to complete the Doughertys' story. For this, I am thankful and can now proudly say that "The Doughertys' Home Front" is the first multi-part story I have completed in two years. It wasn't easy by any means (writer's block was the worst) but the end result was worth it.

To all my readers: thank you for sticking with me and this story. My greatest hope is that this story proved to you that even under the most difficult circumstances, there is light if you search hard enough for it.

Until we meet again among book pages,

Stephanie xoxo