I came awake to the brilliant glow of the rising sun.

Grimacing against the bright light, I rolled over onto my other side, then tried to escape it by burying my face under the pillow and chase another hour or so sleep.

After maybe ten minutes, I decided I was wasting time and got up.

It was insanely quiet in the house. A look at the clock confirmed my suspicions—it was insanely early.

I’d gotten back from Glenn’s house a little before seven and had retreated to my room without eating dinner, without talking to Florence or Astor and I’d gone to straight to bed.

Now I wished I’d taken the time to shower, because I’d swear I could smell the scent of his skin on me.

He hadn’t said much of anything when I’d left, but I don’t know if I’d really expected him to.

Sex didn’t heal wounds.

And that’s what last night had been. Sex.

There had been none of the teasing, the tenderness—the love—that I’d remembered from before. It hurt like hell, too. Because before for me was just weeks ago. There was no distance of time to soften these wounds, and it probably didn’t help any that I could feel the ever-growing presence of the baby inside me. My belly had taken on an odd firmness. Glenn hadn’t noticed, or if he had, he might have just assumed it was because I’d put on a couple of pounds.

It wasn’t even that I had a baby bump, really. My belly just wasn’t the soft flat plain that it had once been.

But that slight physical change wasn’t the big one—the big one was the emotional upheaval. Every small thing took on the biggest emotional aspect and I found myself shying away from thinking about the hard things. Then I’d realize what I was doing and I’d have to make myself think about the hard things. Because what else was I going to do? Deny everything right up until labor?

Last night, I’d let myself have the denial, but I couldn’t really do it anymore.

Last night, I’d let myself pretend that things were normal between Glenn and me. Right up until his girlfriend showed up.

“Ex-girlfriend,” I muttered as I made my way into the bathroom. Some small petty part of me had crowed about that, but I couldn’t really take a lot of delight in it. It wasn’t like he’d turned to me and declared he loved me.

“Like that would ever happen.” I fumbled out of the oversized men’s T-shirt I’d bought, solely for the purpose of sleeping in. I couldn’t stand the fussy, feminine nightgowns that were the rage in this time and pajamas had never been comfortable for me. I left it hanging on the back of the door and turned to stare at my reflection. I was pale, the shadows under my eyes so dark, they looked like bruises. Last night had been the first solid night of sleep I’d gotten in a while, but I still felt exhausted.

And while my waist was definitely feeling firmer, I’d lost weight, I realized. My hip bones were sticking out and I could see my shoulder bones more prominently than normal. “I need to start eating better.” Cradling my belly, I made a resolution. No more crying. Okay, I was going to cry. But I wasn’t going to cry myself sick over things I couldn’t change. Whether or not Glenn ever wanted me again, I couldn’t help that. But I could help myself and I could help my baby.

Determined, I climbed into the shower and focused on the list I’d made not that long ago.

Ideally, the best thing to do—not just for me, but for the baby—would be return to my time. Health-wise, things would be better then. I was almost certain healthcare for a pregnant mom was better in my time. A friend of mine had been going into nursing school, and had regaled me with one traumatic fact after another about how women in America still died from pregnancy related issues—and that was in my time. I had no idea had bad things were in the sixties.

But I couldn’t go back without finding the diary.

I’d have to focus on tracking down where it might be, but at the same time, I needed a plan in case I never found the diary.

My mind, I started to build on that: a plan.

* * *

“You haven’t talked much.”

Startled, I looked up just as Florence settled next to me at the table in the garden.

She looked almost as pale and wan as I had when I looked in the mirror that morning. I’d been keeping a critical close eye on myself ever since my determination to make a change. That had been three days ago. Since then, I’d eaten meals three times a day and gone for walks.

Exercise and healthy meals were important, no matter what.

It was helping some, because I was actually sleeping a little better.

But I still looked like crap.

Florence looked ethereal and delicate.

It must be something genetic.

I leaned over and hugged her, then went back to studying the classifieds. I’d made a list of jobs to call about, and apartments. I’d already called several places today and had an interview for tomorrow. She probably wasn’t going to be happy about that, but I had to do something.

“I’ve been preoccupied.” With a shrug, I turned to the next page, then put my notepad down to keep the wind from rustling the pages. “You know I’m trying to find a job.”

She nodded, her eyes roaming around the garden. “Astor might be able to help. They are always needing secretaries and help at the clinic, if you think you might be okay with that. This isn’t the one where I was, though. It’s here in the city. I already asked him about it. He told me to talk to you.”

“A secretary at the clinic.” The clinic was basically a psychiatric hospital. If it was anybody other than Astor—via Florence—making the offer, I’d say no. One of the things I’d come across in my crash course on the sixties was an article about their views on psychiatric care—and it had horrified me. But Astor and the men and women he worked with were progressive. I didn’t think I’d leave from there with nightmares. “Maybe. Yes, that might not be a bad idea.”

It was definitely better than the cashier and waitressing jobs. The waitressing jobs were pretty clear that they relied mostly on tips and the cashier jobs…standing on my feet all day as I got bigger and heavier with the baby? I hadn’t even let myself think about some of the other complications I knew were coming my way.

“I’ll let him know you want to talk to him, then.”

I didn’t let myself heave out a sigh of relief. I just smiled and decided even if they had a ‘work uniform of heels, pantyhose and a skirt that came straight to the knee’, at least I wouldn’t be on my feet half the day as I probably would for the other job I was interviewing for tomorrow. Still, I’d go, and I’d keep my smart-ass remarks about why aren’t the men in heels and pantyhose to myself.

Florence lapsed into silence, and it didn’t take anything for me to realize she wasn’t done.

Covering her hand with mine, I asked, “What is it?”

“Something happened between you and Glenn, didn’t it?”

Embarrassed, I looked away.

“Did he…well, you’re okay, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am.” Lifting a shoulder, I gave her hand a squeeze, even as blood rushed to my cheeks. Something had surely happened and no, I wasn’t fine, but I wasn’t going to explain all of that. “He…um…well. Kimberly showed up. After.”

“Oh…oh!” Florence’s eyes widened and she all but jumped off the bench, yanking her hand away as she started to pace. “Honey, that’s…oh, my. She didn’t…well, I’m not trying to pry, but I’ve heard rumors about that temper. Did she…”

“She tried to jump on me. Glenn stopped and got her outside. Then he…” Wincing, I pressed my fingers to my flaming cheeks. “He broke up with her.”

“That’s wonderful!” Florence started to clap, but the look on my face stopped her.

“Don’t. It wasn’t just because of me. That woman is not…” I rolled my eyes. “She’s not exactly the kind of person I’d date if I was him.”

“She’s as mean as a snake,” Florence said bluntly. “I never could see why he was with her, but he was and…well.” She shrugged. “But it’s over now. So…maybe? Did you tell him about the…” Her eyes dropped to my waist.

“No.” I covered my belly and got up, moving over to the roses that climbed up a trellis. “I’m not going to, not right now at least.”

“It’s not like you have unlimited time, honey.”

“I know that.” Biting back a groan, I lifted my face to the sky. If only I could find the answer up there. But there wasn’t even a damn cloud. “But I couldn’t go and dump that on him then. Not after he’d gotten news about Cane. And now…well, I don’t want to drive over there out of the blue and drop this on him, either.”

“The funeral is coming up.”

I jerked around, staring at her.

She had returned to her seat, hands folded in her lap. As our gazes met, she lifted a shoulder. “That’s what I came out here to tell. He’ll be there. So will we. You can come with us. Maybe…” She hesitated a moment, then added, “If things feel right between you, maybe you can test the waters then. Maya, he still has feelings for you, honey. I know he does. You need to give him a chance. For you, for him…for the baby.”

* * *

I’d settled in a seat just behind Astor and Florence.

Less than two minutes after I’d sat down, a hand appeared in my line of vision.

Startled, I looked up and found Glenn standing there at my side.

“Come sit with me.”

As some people started to whisper around us, I glanced around. Face heating, I locked my attention on the front of the church. The casket was closed, covered with a flag. People stared at it in blatant, awkward curiosity and I wanted to tell them all to stop. This wasn’t a zoo or an exhibition.

And Glenn waited for me, still standing there, hand outstretched.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I said quietly.

“Bad ideas pretty much define my life. Why should I change things up now?”

The whispers increased, and I knew if I continued to just sit there, he’d wait—and he’d outwait me, too.

I took his hand, and let him lead me to the front of the church where a couple of seats remained. The church was practically full, which seemed odd. If Cane had no family, who were all these people?

Just as I went to sit, somebody slid into the other seat open next to Glenn. “All these vultures.” A familiar voice.

Peter.

I stiffened.

Glenn kept his hand folded firmly around mine.

“Good to see you and Kim…son of a bitch.”

The woman behind Peter shushed him. “This is a church,” she hissed.

Before anybody else had a chance to speak, a dirge started to play.

I went to pull my hand from Glenn’s.

He tightened his grip.

Resigned, I sat there with him.

And when he got up to deliver the eulogy, I pretended to be invisible while Peter glared a hole through me.

* * *

We were the last ones at the graveside.

Glenn gripped the flag that had been presented to him.

Cane had no living family left, and when Glenn took it, there had been a faint tremor to his hands, and tears in his eyes.

He’d never let them fall though.

I’d cried for him.

I held the flag for him now, clutched to my breasts as he hunkered on his heels by Cane’s grave, staring down at the gleaming wood surface of the casket.

“I’m sorry.”

I stayed quiet.

He wasn’t talking to me.

I didn’t have to ask to know.

“I wrote you a letter apologizing. I was going to call, too. But it was already too late. I should have apologized before you even left—hell, I never should’ve done it to begin with. I’m apologizing now. I’m sorry. And it’s too fucking late.”

Unable to stay still anymore, I reached out and braced a hand on his shoulder.

He didn’t move.

“You stupid son of a bitch. Why couldn’t you have listened to me?” Glenn’s voice broke.

I thought I might, too.

As he lapsed into silence, I stroked my fingers over his nape, over and over again.

I don’t know how much time had passed, but the muscles in the backs of my calves were screaming, my back starting to ache, when he finally stood up.

His eyes met mine, then slid away.

“He got it into his head that he had to serve his country.” Glenn shrugged restlessly and moved away, pacing to the headstone that had already been placed. “I mean, out of the blue, he gets drafted and he thinks he’s been called. Called to what? To die? What kind of purpose was that?”

“People die in war, Glenn. It’s what happens.” I had no other answer for him.

“Yeah. People die in war.” Shaking his head, he stared at the ground, lapsing into another silence.

When he spoke again, though, the abrupt change in topic left me completely off balance—and almost hysterical.

“Maybe I should sign up.” He was looking back at the grave now, staring at it intently, something wild burning in his pale blue eyes. “Cane was willing to give everything for something he believed in. He can’t now. I can take his place.”

“No.” It erupted out of me before I could yank it back, but even if I could, I doubted I’d try. Moving to him, the flag clutched tight to me with one arm, I placed my free hand on his cheek. “Glenn, that’s not the answer…Cane is gone. Do you think he’d want you to risk yourself to just…what, somehow validate his sacrifice?”

“He wanted to fight the country.” Glenn set his jaw stubbornly. “He can’t now, but I could do it for him.”

“People die in war, Glenn!” I didn’t let myself shout the words, but it was a struggle. “And it’s not just the deaths…haven’t you seen the reports? How many don’t come home with all their body parts? And so many are still missing?!”

“The war isn’t over.” He shrugged it off. “Once we win—”

“We’re not going to win this one!” The words ripped out of me before I could stop them. “Over a million people will die in this war and a lot of them are innocent civilians. Children, women. Hundreds of American troops are taken prisoner—”

I snapped my mouth shut as the look on his face hit me and I realized how I must have sounded.

“I didn’t realize you were such a pacifist, Maya.”

“I’m not.” Setting my shoulders, I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away. “But there’s a difference between fighting a necessary war and getting involved in something like Vietnam.”

“So these millions of people you speculate will die…the soldiers you think are going to disappear, you don’t think that’s a reason to fight?”

Groaning, I turned away. I couldn’t explain hindsight to him—not when it was the view from a few decades in the future. “This war isn’t worth it, Glenn. I value our military and I don’t think they get the praise they should. But…please. Think very hard about this. Cane wouldn’t want you doing this. You know he wouldn’t.”

To my surprise, he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me.

We stood there like that until the sun became just a distant memory on the horizon, and in the growing twilight, he asked, “Will you come home with me? I’m not ready to be alone yet.”

Say no. Say no.

Things were so far from settled between us and I knew we needed to talk.

If I went home with him, talking was the last thing that would happen.

But then he pressed his lips to my neck and whispered my name, longing poured into every syllable.

Slowly, I turned in his arms, staring up at into his eyes.

Still holding the flag clutched between us, a barrier, I nodded. “Yes. I’ll come home with you.”