Page 29 of The Women of Oak Ridge

“You look lovely,” Aunt Mae said, her voice startling me when she arrived in the open doorway to my bedroom and found me peeking out the window curtain.

“Thank you. I didn’t have time to shop for anything new.

” I’d chosen the simple dress I wore to church on Sunday.

There wasn’t anything fancy about the pale-yellow outfit with daisies printed on the material.

I’d added some dangly earrings and a bangle bracelet, hoping to create a casual yet slightly dressy look.

Jonas’s knock and Peggy’s barking interrupted us. I went to greet him then turned to Aunt Mae, who stood watching from the hall doorway.

“Can we bring you something from the restaurant?”

“Don’t worry about me. There are plenty of leftovers in the refrigerator. Have a good time.” She waved as we exited the house.

Jonas opened the passenger door to his vehicle. “You look really nice,” he said as I climbed in.

“You do too.” He wore khaki slacks and a light-blue button-down shirt, the cuffs rolled to mid-forearm.

On the drive to the restaurant, he asked about our afternoon gardening project, and I filled him in on the details.

“What brought you and your dad to the hardware store?” I asked as we pulled into a parking space. The number of cars in front of Fiesta Cantina told me the food must be good.

“Mom’s been after him to fix the leaky kitchen faucet for weeks,” he said with a chuckle. “He thought it best to get it done before she gets home tomorrow since he’ll be in the doghouse for not letting her know about his injury. He still can’t drive, so I gave him a ride.”

Luckily we didn’t have long to wait for a table. The Mexican-themed décor and mariachi music created a fun atmosphere. A handful of customers greeted Jonas as we made our way to a table near a window. He offered polite greetings but didn’t stop to chat.

“This place is great,” I said once we were seated. “We need a good, authentic Mexican-food restaurant in Boston. Don Jose’s is as close as we can get, but I think the owner and chef is Irish.”

Jonas laughed, then pointed to the menu. “So far everything I’ve eaten here is fantastic.”

After the waitress took our order—beef enchiladas for both of us—we settled into easy conversation. Jonas asked about my studies, and I quizzed him on being a cop.

“I have to confess, I’ve never been too keen on cops.”

Instead of looking offended, he grinned. “You’re not alone. I suspect most of the general public feels the same way.”

“Doesn’t that bother you? I mean, they don’t know you personally but make assumptions based on the uniform and the position of authority.”

He squinted in thought. “I think most people appreciate police presence when something goes wrong, like a crime or a car accident, but they don’t like it when we enforce the law, especially laws they would rather not obey.”

“I’ve never been pulled over for speeding, but I admit to going faster than I should when I’m in a hurry.”

“I’m sure we’re all guilty of that,” he said.

“I wish people understood that most cops join the force to protect and help the public, not to make life more difficult. There are some bad apples in the barrel, of course, but I’d wager that most every police officer would do everything he or she could to keep people safe. ”

I couldn’t help but feel proud of him, even though I hadn’t known him long. I raised my glass of water. “Thank you, Detective Tyson. For being willing to do the hard things.”

He clinked his glass with mine. “My dad’s the one who inspired me. He was an MP during the war, then transitioned to the AEC Security Patrol. Here’s to Dad.”

After our food arrived, he asked about my work and why I went into psychology.

“I’ve always had an interest in what makes people do the things they do,” I said.

“Dad calls me a fixer, because even as a little girl, I wanted to fix people. If a schoolmate was angry, I wanted to figure out what was wrong and how to make it better. If someone was sad, I did my best to make them happy again. While I understand fixing people isn’t exactly what psychologists do, I’d like to spend my life offering whatever I can to help them find happiness. ”

“That’s an admirable goal,” he said, his voice sincere.

“It’ll take me a while to finish my doctorate, but I’m excited about the process. The information I’m gathering here in Oak Ridge is fascinating, and I can’t wait to get started on my dissertation.”

Over coffee, I broached the subject of crime and police records during the Manhattan Project.

“I took your advice and spent some time at the library reading old newspapers,” I said.

“That’s great. I’m sure you learned a lot.”

“I did.” I kept my voice casual, even as anticipation rose up within me.

I was determined to discover what happened to Sissy Galloway, but I needed to tread carefully.

Aunt Mae wouldn’t want me discussing her private life or my suspicions that she was holding something back.

“There was an article... well, more like a notice... about a young woman who went missing in November 1944. It made me curious about how things like that would have been handled back then, considering all the secrecy that surrounded Oak Ridge.”

He looked thoughtful. “I imagine cases would have gone through a process in the forties similar to what we use today. We have more technology than they had, but procedures wouldn’t have changed that much.

After I joined the force, Dad told me about the times he had to make arrests and the paperwork he had to fill out.

But you’re right. Secrecy was always a priority.

I doubt information would have been shared with departments from other communities about a crime that took place in Oak Ridge.

Were there any details in the article about the case of the missing woman?

Where she disappeared or who she was with the last time anyone saw her? ”

“It just says she hadn’t been seen in a couple weeks, which was unusual according to her roommate.

The notice was basically a request for information.

” I paused, feeling a bit deceptive by leaving out Aunt Mae’s connection.

I could at least bring some truth to the subject.

“The focus of my research is on how keeping secrets affected people, then and now. It would be interesting to know the outcome of this case.”

He gave a slow nod. “There are boxes of old records in a storeroom at the police station that came from the basement of the Security Forces headquarters over on Bus Terminal Road. If you give me the name of the missing woman, I can poke around and see if there’s a file or some kind of report about her. ”

I held in my excitement. “That would be great, if you have time, of course.” I wrote Sissy’s full name on a scrap of paper I found in my purse and handed it to him.

We finished our meal—everything was as delicious as Jonas predicted—and walked outside to a warm evening.

“Are you up for a little drive?” he asked once we were seated in his Bronco. “I promise it will be worth it.”

“Sure. Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

He steered the vehicle east on the turnpike, in the opposite direction of Aunt Mae’s house, and answered my question with one of his own. “Do you like ice cream?”

I chuckled. “Yes.”

“Good. There’s this great little drugstore in Clinton called Hoskins. It’s been in business since before the Manhattan Project. They run an old-fashioned soda fountain and make the best ice cream sundaes.”

“Sounds perfect.”

We followed the winding Clinch River out of town.

While Jonas told me about fishing trips when he was a Boy Scout, I enjoyed the beautiful scenery beyond the window.

Tennessee sure was pretty this time of year, with green hills, forests, and crystal-blue skies.

Living in a big city was exciting, but I had to admit there wasn’t anything this beautiful in Boston.

It was dark when we finally returned to Aunt Mae’s.

“I’m so full, I don’t think I can walk,” I said, laughing. “That sundae was huge.”

“I’m not gonna lie. I didn’t think you’d be able to finish it. In fact,” he grinned, “I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t so I could swoop in and devour what was left.”

“You looked pretty busy with your own sundae, Detective. Next time we’ll have to try a cheeseburger and onion rings. They looked amazing.”

A pleased expression filled his face. “Are you asking me out on a date, Miss Willett?”

Heat filled my cheeks. “I guess I am.”

“I accept.” He exited the vehicle and came around to open the passenger door for me.

“After my shift tomorrow, I’ll poke around the boxes of old files and see if I can find anything on.

.. What did you say the missing woman’s name was?

” He pulled the scrap of paper from his pocket. “Sylvia Galloway.”

“Thank you, Jonas,” I said as he walked me to the front door. “But if you have other pressing matters, please don’t feel obligated to look into a thirty-five-year-old case. I don’t know if it was even an actual case of a missing person or just a misunderstanding.”

“Welcome to my world. You just summed up my job. Digging into the details, solving the mystery. That’s what I love about what I do.”

Jonas promised he’d call me the next day to make plans for our burger date, then bid me goodnight.

A happy sigh escaped my lips as I watched him drive away.

We lived a thousand miles away from one another. We each had dreams and goals for the future. I had no idea where our friendship would lead, but sometime over ice cream and easy laughter, I’d come to a conclusion.

I wanted to find out.