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Kimberly confessed that the beach where she was stationed was beautiful, but the nurses rarely had time to swim. “And it seemed so frivolous, you know. Putting on a swimsuit and tanning oil and all that. Though we did. When we weren’t too exhausted. We weren’t saints by any means.”

“No one over there could afford to be a saint,” said Ruth. She told Kimberly about running into Ivy, about not being an only child as she’d told her on the trip over. She left out the part about her sister not really being her sister.

Kimberly told Ruth her husband hated her working.

“He wants me to quit. We can afford it. But I can’t do it.

I just can’t. I feel like if I stop working, if I stay home and have babies, I’ll go out of my mind.

We fight about it all the time,” said Kimberly.

“I was glad when they switched him to night shifts. If we don’t see each other so much, we get along better.

Are you seeing anyone? Engaged or anything like that? ”

Ruth knew she had ventured into old maid territory as far as most of Enid was concerned.

Aunt Helen was always trying to set her up with someone from the club.

She seemed to believe Ruth just hadn’t found a good enough athlete to strike her fancy.

“His serve is technical perfection,” Aunt Helen would say, or, “He’s a scratch golfer.

” As if Ruth even knew what that meant. Usually she agreed to a date, because after all, who knew.

If she played her cards right, perhaps someday she’d have a husband of her own to argue with all the time.

“Don’t rush,” said her mother. Ruth had begun to understand that while George looked the part of a middle-aged, upper-middle-class Enid matron (at least before the ravages of the chemo, and if—as everyone did—you ignored her whatever-it-was with Frank Bridlemile), she didn’t fit in with the country club crowd.

This would surprise Ivy, she thought. Her sister probably assumed their mother was the sort who’d pester them for grandchildren, urge them to flirt with single doctors and lawyers, remind them they weren’t getting any younger.

Ruth gamely went on the dates Helen set up.

She smiled and nodded and said the right things.

“You’re so funny.” “You’re so smart.” “Thank you for a lovely evening.” She allowed the men to gloss over her time in Vietnam, to assume that her job was exactly as it was portrayed on television.

She allowed them a demure kiss at the end of the evening.

She told them she was so sorry, when they called to ask for a second date, but she was seeing somebody else.

And yes, it was serious, but no, she hadn’t known that when she said yes to the first date.

The men accepted this excuse without question.

Everyone knew that by the time a woman reached her midtwenties, whether it was serious or not was the man’s call.

“No boyfriend, no fiancé,” she said in answer to Kimberly’s question.

“Can’t say I really like the options.” She nodded at the man with the long hair and then at the man in chinos, who had moved on to explaining that he certainly believed in equal rights for all races.

He just wished “the coloreds didn’t have to get so loud about it. ”

Kimberly sighed. “I try to remind myself that pretty much everyone in this place who’s not on the payroll is here for a sad reason. But it doesn’t always help.”

“You probably have to head straight home after your shift,” said Ruth as they hurriedly cleared their table. They’d lost track of time.

“Not really,” said Kimberly. “In fact, I’d rather not.”

“She’s much better, thank you,” was Ruth’s standard response when anyone asked her about George.

And since her mother was better, there was not, theoretically, anything keeping her in Enid anymore.

She could go someplace glamorous—Los Angeles, Honolulu, even.

Nursing was a portable profession. She could get a job anywhere she wanted. All she had to do was pick.

But although George had improved, she wasn’t the same as she had been. “Oh, I’m hanging in,” she said whenever anyone asked how she was doing. Ruth suspected she was being less than up-front with her doctors about her condition. Anyone could see she was tired and frail.

The doctors themselves were cagey about George’s remission. “How long can we expect it to last?” Ruth asked—because no one else would. George was being a good patient, acting grateful for the healing and time she’d been given, not wanting to seem greedy by asking for more.

The oncologist hadn’t looked at Ruth, had pivoted his shoulders away from her when he spoke—Ruth was persona non grata at George’s appointments.

She asked too many direct questions, pressed for substantive responses, refused to be patted on the head and told not to worry, that her mother was in good hands.

George’s doctors acted as if they’d had quite enough of Ruth.

“We don’t have a crystal ball,” one of them snapped.

“It’s best not to worry about things. You’re better now,” he said to George.

(Not well , Ruth noted, not cured , just “better.”) “That’s what matters.

See your friends, enjoy your hobbies.” He didn’t say while you can , but Ruth felt he might as well have.

She wrote to Ivy. Not apologizing for her lengthy silence, just telling her it was time to come home. If George got sick again, she deserved to have her real daughter with her. Not a stand-in.

Stop moping, Ruth, she heard Adele say. No one likes a moper.

How could she leave Enid when her mother was enjoying life while she could ? How could she leave Enid when Kimberly had only just arrived?

Kimberly worked in cardiology, in a different wing of the hospital. They tried to coordinate their shifts so they could eat lunch together in the cafeteria and go out together after work. Usually to the Jet Way.

Ruth explained her three-to-four drinks rule to Kimberly.

“But look at me,” said Kimberly, who was all of five one.

“I’d better make it two or three, don’t you think?

” And Ruth, who often went home with one of the airmen, leaving Kimberly to make her way home to her husband, found herself in adamant agreement.

Yes, Kimberly should keep her wits about her.

It was upsetting enough to think of Kimberly heading home to her husband.

To Lloyd. Worse to think of her going home with one of the airmen.

Ruth and Lloyd had met only once, when Kimberly insisted that Ruth come to dinner.

“He wants to see who I’m spending so much time with.

He wants to get to know you.” Ruth didn’t reciprocate Lloyd’s interest, but she went.

For Kimberly. Lloyd hadn’t invited her again, and she assumed she’d either passed or failed some sort of test. She didn’t care which, so long as she could still see her friend.

The two of them drank. They flirted and danced with men.

They left Vietnam, hard days at the hospital, sick parents, and irritable husbands behind.

Just for a few hours, in a dark, musty bar, they let everything go and felt, if they didn’t have that one drink too many, themselves again.

Ruth watched Kimberly dance. During slow dances, Kimberly closed her eyes and rested her head against the chest of her dance partner, and Ruth imagined what it would feel like to have Kimberly’s head resting on her own chest. Then she’d find an airman of her own to dance with, to distract herself from thoughts of Kimberly.

One night, when the Jet Way looked too rough, they went down the road to the Control Tower instead. “It’ll be less crowded there,” said Ruth.

“You sure do know your bars,” said Kimberly. Which sent them both into fits of laughter. “Never would have pegged you for a bar hopper when we were on our way to Tan Son Nhut.”

“Oh God,” said Ruth. “I remember practically dragging you through that airport. I thought I was going to have to scrape you up off the pavement and haul you to that bus.” She could have too.

Kimberly was tiny, pixieish—her little hands, her little nose, her little ears, even her elfin hairstyle.

Get yourself together, Ruth told herself.

No need to enumerate Kimberly’s every perfect feature.

(Her delicate elbows, her nipped waist, her child’s feet.)

“What about you? Those flights lasted hours—more than a day! And you hardly said two words to any of us. I thought you might be like my cousin—he’s a touch off when it comes to other people. I didn’t see how you’d possibly last.”

“But I did,” said Ruth.

“Here’s to lasting,” said Kimberly.

“To lasting.”

They clinked glasses and turned to look for a table. Across the room, through the cigarette murk, Ruth spied a woman whispering in a man’s ear. She felt a prickle of longing for someone to whisper in her own ear. She wasn’t quite ready to admit that she wanted that someone to be Kimberly.

Three drinks later, Ruth clung to an anonymous airman who whispered in her ear that he had a truck out back, and did she want to head somewhere else. She was about to say yes, when she felt a tug on her arm. Kimberly.

“Can you excuse us for a sec?” Kimberly deployed her sweetest voice, and the airman relinquished Ruth.

“Don’t leave with him,” whispered Kimberly, her lips soft and ticklish against Ruth’s earlobe.

“Why not?” She glanced over at the airman, who watched them closely from across the room. He didn’t seem any different from the others she went home with. She couldn’t fathom why Kimberly objected to this one.

“Because.” Kimberly ran her hand down Ruth’s arm, and Ruth shivered. “Because,” she whispered, “I thought we might go home together.”