“That is the definition of faith—acceptance of that which we imagine to be true, that which we cannot prove.”

Dan Brown

Joe pulled into the drive, threw the gear into neutral, and let the Chevy idle. He absently played with the red ribbon Laura Beth had tied to his rear view mirror last Valentine’s Day. His fingers stroked the smooth satin as he watched the house. The late afternoon sun shone against the white shutters, and he could see Mrs. Walters—Shirley, he corrected himself—moving in the kitchen. She looked up and waved at him through the spotless glass, and he knew the house would smell of something mouth-watering when he entered. It always did.

What if he kept the news quiet for a bit? Thanksgiving was the day after tomorrow. He’d tell her after that. Pa would understand and keep it under his hat until then. His mood lightened with the reprieve. He turned the ignition off and swung the key ring around his finger, walking up to the front door.

Mr. Walters greeted him. “Good evening, Joe.”

“Evening, sir,” he answered with a nod of his head and an outstretched hand. The older man took it, strength and authority emanating from the shake.

“Why don’t you come in and have a seat? I’d like to talk to you.” He turned and headed to the living room, leaving no option but to follow.

Joe tried to calm the panic rising in his throat. They’d only had a few private conversations. The first one had been when he pinned Laura Beth that first year of college. Going steady in high school had been fine, but Joe had wanted to stake his claim while he was away. His jeans had been damp from his sweaty palms by the time he’d hightailed it out of the living room.

The second was to ask permission to marry his daughter. Mr. Walters had been reserved, asking questions about his Laura Beth’s future and financial care. Joe had prepared his speech and was ready. In the end, the old man had puffed on his pipe, nodded his head, and said, “Well, son. If you can wait until after you graduate, then welcome to the family.” They had sealed the deal with a handshake, but he still hadn’t asked Joe to call him Glenn.

Now he perched on the edge of the sofa, watching his future father-in-law settle into the wing-backed chair and fill his pipe. The light tap against the round bowl filled the air as Joe nervously cleared his throat. Mr. Walters struck a match, drew in until a glow appeared, and let out a satisfied puff. The streaks of silver in his hair matched the coils of smoke that curled up to the ceiling.

“Just thought I’d let you know, I’m happy to have your family join us for Thanksgiving.” Gray eyes studied him thoughtfully. “As you know, I’m not one to entertain much at home, but you and yours are always welcome here.”

The man could have bowled Joe over with a feather. He sat for a moment, not knowing what to say. Though well respected in town, Mr. Walters didn’t have any close friends. A CPA relied more on a quick, mathematical mind than a personality. Considered a no-nonsense type of guy, but honest and fair, the Walters Financial Services had become the most successful accounting firm in the area.

This was a rare exception for such a reserved man. A sliver of pride poked at Joe’s heart. “On behalf of my family, I’m honored, sir.”

Ridiculous to have a lump in his throat over a dinner invitation. But Joe knew what it had cost Mr. Walters to allow outsiders into his sanctuary. “I’ll ask Shirley if there is anything we can bring.”

“Oh, I doubt it. My wife is more organized than a five-star general, but she’ll appreciate the gesture.” He took another puff and made perfect “o’s” that drifted slowly away. Both men watched the circle recede, uncomfortable in the stillness. “If… Well, if there’s anything I can ever help you or your father with, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Joe blinked. For the second time in fifteen minutes, he had seen a glimpse of the father Laura Beth loved. “Thank you sir, I’m grateful for the offer.” He thought, Can you keep me out of the army? Or tell your daughter for me that I have to leave right after the holidays?

“What in the world are my two favorite men talking about in here?” Laura floated in like a spring breeze and attached herself to Joe’s side. “Man to man without me?” She batted her eyes like a precocious child.

“We were just talking about Thanksgiving.”

“Oh, Daddy. I knew it would all work out.” Laura jumped up and threw her arms around his neck, kissing both cheeks.

“Now, don’t embarrass your old man in front of company.” He chuckled, a lopsided smile on his face. “What movie are you going to see?”

“High Noon, sir, with Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly.” He’d been a Cooper fan since he’d seen Pride of the Yankees as a kid. He always thought Laura Beth was a darker version of Grace.

“I love a good western. You kids enjoy yourselves.” He picked up his newspaper, gave it a snap, and opened the first page.

It had taken three years, but Mr. Walters had finally accepted him.

* * *

They settled into their seats with a Coke, just as the big red velvet curtains parted across the stage. The projector clicked on above, the filtered light spun across the room and a newsreel began. Joe saw the headline and couldn’t breathe.

U.S. ARMY QUARTERMASTER AERIAL SUPPLY OPERATIONS

What did he expect? Of course the war would be the main topic of a newsreel. He sunk down in the seat, leaning his head back and preparing for the images. The first clips were American soldiers manning small cannon and machine guns. The blasts made him jerk. Then a unit in combat, some with rifles and camouflaged helmets, leaned against the man-made trenches; others took chances jumping from cover to throw out hand grenades. Dirt and debris sprayed the air like a mini volcano. Platoons moved across barren land, left open and naked from explosions and battle. The newscast began:

“A battle is being fought… Our men are pushing ahead sure and fast.”

Then the screen showed tanks standing still, machine guns quiet, and men at rest in foxholes. “Why?” asked the narrator. “The answer is distressingly simple. This combat team has run out of fuel and supplies.”

Joe’s stomach lurched, and he swallowed down the sour taste rising in his throat. The film made his letter all too real. He was no coward, but he wasn’t a fool. Nobody wanted to be a casualty of war. He would do his duty just as his father had done. But his family had suffered enough loss and the thought of taking another man’s life turned his stomach. He closed his eyes and tried to picture himself pulling a trigger, another man going down, screaming in pain. Moisture curled down his back.

“Joey, hon, are you all right? You look downright green.” She put the back of her cool fingers to his cheek. “Are you sure you want to stay?”

“It’s just some bad salami from lunch. I’ll be right back.”

The audience watched as parachutes spiraled down with supplies for the stranded troops. He rushed to the men’s room to splash water on his face. Stay here until the newsreel is over and you’ll be fine, he told himself. He returned to the darkened theater just as the movie was beginning. He pasted on a smile, sank into the seat, and put his arm around Laura Beth. She leaned her head against him and snuggled close. Her warmth seeped into his cold skin. His shoulders relaxed. He might as well enjoy this film. It may be his last for a long time.

They strolled out of the theater with fingers entwined. Laura Beth skipped a step to match his pace, singing the theme song of High Noon in a terrible imitation of a cowboy crooner.

“Do not forsake me oh my darlin’, on this our wedding day…”

Her face, turned up to him, looked so kissable that he bent down and touched his lips to hers. She smiled and sighed, the faint smell of peppermint hitting his nose. Would they have a wedding day? he wondered.

“Where do you think we’ll be in another year?” Laura Beth asked, starting one of their favorite games. “I think California would be peachy. Or we could try Chicago and have a white Christmas.”

“Mmhmm. Sure.”

She tipped back her head and peered up at him. “Or maybe we could build a hut in New Guinea and wear grass skirts with no underwear.”

“Sounds keen.” He bit back a smile.

Laura punched his arm.

“Ouch,” he said, rubbing his arm. “What did I do?”

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. What are you thinking about?”

“I guess I’m just tired.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “How about we go for a drive and make out in the backseat?”

She poked him his rib. “How about a cheeseburger and a kiss in the front seat? I have class tomorrow, remember?”

“Your dad actually told me that us McCalls are welcome any time. What magic potion did you put in his coffee?”

She giggled at the thought. “I always said you’d see his soft side someday.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but he definitely came off as more human.”

The diner was loud and packed. High school kids surrounded the jukebox. Two couples in a corner were dancing to “Botch A Me.” Laura acted out the lyrics as Rosemary Clooney sang “You squeeza me and I’ll squeeza you…”

Joe kissed the top of her head and pulled her into a red leather booth. He tapped his foot on the black and white checkered floor while he studied the menu.

“What’s the word from the bird? How was the movie?” Betsy Schroeder slid into the other side of the booth and sighed dramatically. “Gary Cooper is such a flutter bum.”

“It was so intense at the end. The whole town—”

“Ice it! I haven’t seen it yet, remember?” Betsy covered her ears, her long black ponytail waving frantically. “Roger and I are going this weekend. Is your father still agreeing to Thanksgiving?”

Laura nodded. “He even told Joey that the McCalls are welcome anytime.”

Betsy’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. “So you should have Leroy move into the guest room. That’ll show him no good deed goes unpunished!”

Joe rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m hungry and ready to order. Did you want something, Betsy?”

He waved at Nancy behind the counter and hoped Laura’s friend wasn’t staying. Since they’d only shared a Coke at the theater, he still had a dollar left in his wallet. That would be fine for two but stretching it for three.

“Thanks but I’ve got to run. I’ll bring over that magazine later with the dress I told you about.”

The waitress arrived with a pad in hand, her apron smudged with chocolate fudge and mustard. She pulled the pencil from her red hair, put the tip to her tongue, and blew a frizzy curl from her eye.

“What’ll it be, lovebirds?”

“I think I’ll have a toasted cheese and a Coke, please.” Laura handed the menu back to Joe.

“No pie?” Nancy smiled. “We have a slice of chocolate cream left.”

“Goodness, no. I’m saving myself for Mom’s pecan pie. Thanksgiving is in two days.”

Joe added the numbers in his head, thirty cents. He scratched in his pants pocket for some loose nuggets and felt a couple more dimes. With ninety cents left, Joe ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a Dr Pepper. He had meant to eat before the movie but after that epistle from the selective service... Now his stomach growled in protest.

Nancy finished scribbling the order, stuck the pencil behind her ear again then put a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Sorry about your mother, hon. She was a real fine lady.”

“Thanks. It’s been hardest on Leroy.” He elbowed Laura Beth. “She’ll have her hands full with that kid.”

When they were alone again, Joe leaned back against the old cracked leather and watched the ceiling fan swirl in slow motion.

“Joey, did you hear about Harley Fields?” Laura unbuttoned her sweater and slid it around her shoulders. “He’s missing in action. I hope that war in Korea is over soon. That’s the second local boy we’ve lost.”

Her words were a sucker punch he hadn’t seen coming. His tongue was thick; he couldn’t form words.

“Did you hear me? Poor Mrs. Fields, it was her only boy.” She put the back of her hand to his forehead. “You’re sweating again, sugar. I think you may be coming down with something.”

He nodded numbly. “But MIA doesn’t mean dead. They might still find him.”

She snorted. “How often does that happen? But I hope so. I remember him as a kid, all orange hair and freckles.”

“He was head of the track team.” Joe wondered what folks would say about him if he never returned. His heart constricted and a chill went through him. “Let’s talk about something more cheerful, huh?”

She took his hand under the table. “Sure. What would you like for Christmas? You know I hate waiting until the last minute. And I’ll need help with your dad and brother.”

“Of course, but more importantly, what do you want?” The holidays had taken on a whole new importance since this afternoon. He had to make this Christmas perfect for Laura Beth. “Anything your little heart desires, darlin’,” he said, pinching her chin.

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

“You. I want to be Mrs. Joey McCall.”

He opened his mouth, and she put a hand over his lips. “I know, but it’s really the only thing that could make me any happier.”

Joe’s mind whirled with possibilities by the time their food arrived. Maybe he could give her that for Christmas. He knew his girl. She’d rather be the widowed Mrs. McCall than the girlfriend of a dead soldier. And he’d rather sit in a foxhole somewhere with the sweet memories of a wedding night to keep him company instead of backseat Bingo.

Part of the heaviness fell from his shoulders—a relief of sorts, that he could give her a part of him before he left. Offer her some type of comfort for the pain he would cause her in a month. Pa would know what to do.