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Quinn looked closer at the image then, seeing that the woman whom Abby was calling Harriet was wearing a military uniform.

“That’s a Marine uniform.”

“Huh?”

“Harriet is wearing a Marine uniform. I know because my grandpa was a Marine, and so were my aunt and uncle. My dad couldn’t get in because of a health thing. It was the biggest disappointment of his life. But she’s a Marine.”

“She’d have to be something in administration, right? This would’ve been World War II.”

“She could’ve been a nurse,” Quinn suggested. “Marines went to the Pacific, and things were brutal over there. She’s in her dress uniform. Maybe she’s–”

“Leaving for the war?” Abby finished for her.

“Maybe.”

“If I’m right, and thisis42, Pearl Harbor just happened in 41, and it’s possible John David is already gone. Did she volunteer?”

“I don’t know,” Quinn replied. “I guess to find out who these people really were, we’d have to track down the realtor, the house, and the records of who lived there and when. Even then, we still might not find out.”

“Did he tell you anything other than it was a farmhouse? Maybe his name or something?”

“No. He was in a hurry, so he just dropped the box and left. I didn’t think it was important to ask.”

“It’s a small town. There are only so many realtors here. I can probably do a search, and we can pull up their pictures. Where’s your computer?”

“Abby, how does this help with your story?” she asked as she walked back around the desk and sat down. “You’re writing about fictional characters, so you can do whatever you want with the story. You can make her not go into the Marines at all. You can change whatever you want. It doesn’t matter what happened to those actual people.”

“I know,” Abby replied, looking sad all of a sudden. “I guess I just want to know. They all seem real to me. When I think of Deb and Harriet, I see these two women. In fact, when I think of Paul, I see this little boy.” She turned the photo around to Quinn. “How is that possible, Quinn? I’ve been picturing him as a baby, because that’s where I am in the book, but this is him. He would look like this around three or four years old.”

“I’m sure it’s your mind playing tricks on you,” she lied because she didn’t actually believe that.

“Tricks?” Abby shook her head.

“You’re writing a story about your characters based on the people in the picture. It was bound to happen.”

“I guess,” Abby said, not sounding convinced at all.

Then, she turned the photo back around and stared at it some more.

“Hey, can I maybe read what you’ve written so far?” Quinn asked, her heart racing in her chest. “If it’s okay. I’m curious now.”

“Sure,” Abby said without looking up from the photo.

“Would you mind making a copy of the first picture for me, too? I’d like to look at it before I read it.”

“Yeah,” Abby said. “But can I have this one, too? I can make a copy of it and give it back to you, if you want, or just pay for it. I’ll pay you for real, though, not a quarter.”

“Just make a copy of both, and you can keep them if I get to read your story before anyone else.”

Abby looked up at her and smiled.

“I might have my ending now.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I’m not going to tell you.” Abby chuckled. “You can read it when I finish the draft, which won’t be long because I’m ready to go home and write now.”

“Can you tell me something, at least?”