The Stars and the Cookie Jar

Oberlin, Ohio, 1949

            “Do you suppose real married professors—hullo, what’s that?”

“Unf,” said Mary, retreating beneath the duvet.

“Whoever would knock at this hour of a Saturday morning?”

“Forlorn fresher, seeking department secretary. Oh, Mith Peventhie, are you thure ith too lathe to hand in my etthay?”

“Heartless,” Su pronounced, failing to catch Mary’s lisping tongue and bringing her lips up sharp instead against teeth.

“I am heartless, it’s why you think I’m keen. Will you get the door, Su, since you’ve monopolized my bathrobe?”

“I’m wearing your dressing gown to go and fry up your eggs, you beast.” Susan knotted the belt, but did not stop for slippers; the knocking had grown sharper, more definitely adult. It brought her back to the war, and at home, and without knowing it she did the stairs two at a time. What if Peter, at Sandringham...