The Storm by Shelley Thrasher Page B

I appreciate all you’re doing, but you don’t have to isolate yourself just because I don’t feel sociable. You haven’t even gone back to the church for three weeks.”
    Then he was gone.
    He could be so sweet. That’s one reason she hated whatever was happening. Yet he’d been so irritable lately. She didn’t know how much more she could stand.
    She had to stick by him until he and Angus straightened out their lives. He just needed to readjust after all those years of fighting and now losing his mother. She could spend a while supporting him, even if she couldn’t be his wife in the bedroom.
    She scanned the letter that described some of the adventures Eric’s friend had been having. Sounded exciting, if you were several thousand miles away from the action.
    Being in the air was a whole different thing from fighting on the ground. Eric probably missed being a pilot a lot, though he wouldn’t talk about it anymore. When they’d first met, he’d described one close call after another.
    In closing, Dick wrote, “I’ll always appreciate you taking time out from flying with the Frenchies to teach me how. You gave me the chance of a lifetime. Every time the boys and I score a round of drinks, I hold up my cup to you.” He talked about the other fliers as if they were his brothers. Eric had to be longing for that type of companionship.
    She and Eric were both alone now, but living around people she had so little in common with bothered her. It was like being in a foreign country and not understanding a word of the language. If Molly wasn’t here, she might break her promise and drive back to New Orleans or head straight to Washington and join the suffragists.
    She noticed more than several dirty glasses on the countertop. Eric had evidently brought them downstairs from his room earlier this morning. My God, he’d been drinking more than she’d realized.
    In New Orleans, he’d visited the liquor store every day. And he’d spent most of his time in a bar near her parents’ house. On the drive up, she hadn’t had much room for luggage because of his stash.
    Eric had held his liquor well while he’d stayed those few days with her and her parents. When they’d introduced him to their friends, they’d stressed his wartime service but didn’t mention hers. It evidently embarrassed her mother. And she’d never even mentioned Jaq’s brief suffragist activities.
    She lifted the heavy kettle from the wood-burning stove, poured hot water into the dishpan, and sprinkled in some Ivory Flakes. Eric had bought a box for her when she’d asked and seemed glad to do so. They were a lot easier on her hands than the farmwomen’s harsh lye soap.
    As she swished through the warm soapy water, her shoulders loosened. She’d wanted to go to the church the past three Sundays, but she refused to spend more time with Molly. Molly was so damn innocent, like she’d been before Sister Mary. Hell. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she took advantage of her. Since their shared revelations about the Storm, she just wanted to know Molly at a distance, to remind herself the world wasn’t completely ugly.
    Helen had been different—friendly to everyone but singling out no favorites. And Helen always kept her in check. It didn’t matter that she was in love with Helen. Actually, being able to put Helen on a pedestal had made her comfortable. She could feel as infatuated as she wanted and not worry Helen would take her seriously, like Sister Mary seemed to—that one time. But if Helen had responded at all…
    Molly, though, had practically stood on the running board of her Model T and ridden away with her that Sunday night. Molly seemed to need someone to share confidences with, but damn it—she couldn’t be that person.
    Her life was too complicated, and she was too susceptible to women like Molly,