Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington by Tricia Goyer Page A

Let me know when you hear anything.”
    “I will. I love you—”
    The phone clicked, and a dial tone buzzed.
    Kenny hung up and stared at the receiver. His father had lost his leg. Impossible for him to grasp. Memories flooded his mind: football games in the fallen leaves after Thanksgiving dinner. All the living room furniture pushed back to make room for his dad and his sisters, falling over themselves laughing while trying—and failing—to teach him to jitterbug.
    Kenny swallowed hard, and his heart felt heavy. How often had he written a story without understanding the emotion behind it? He was good at focusing on the facts. But the emotion— that’s where the real story lay. It was more than just battles and dates to him now. Much more.
    He breathed in and looked at his watch. 7:54. Less than fifteen minutes had passed since the last time he’d checked, yet everything had changed. He’d be late now for meeting Rosalie, but suddenly, that didn’t seem so important anymore. Maybe he’d axe it and visit the Veterans Hospital instead. Write a story about the men who sacrificed and continued to suffer. He thought of Nick slumbering down the hall. He still longed to tell Nick’s story—now more than ever. If only he could get Bixby to sign off on it.
    Something clicked. Let’s say I did get a fix on the Rosie the Riveter story. If Bixby liked it well enough, couldn’t it open the door to more?
    Rosalie was the key to opening that door.
    One more glance at his grandfather’s watch told him that if he really hustled, he might still make his date.

Chapter Eleven

    A light breeze off Elliot Bay ruffled the burgundy awning of their apartment complex. Two large flowerpots overflowing with fuchsias and petunias welcomed visitors and residents to The Queen’s Garden.
    Pausing beneath the awning, Rosalie tossed a smile to their neighbors, Lanie and Iris, who called their names as she strode up the sidewalk. Iris wore a sporty blouse beneath a pale mint knit cardigan—almost identical to Rosalie and Birdie’s. When she and Birdie weren’t working, they often chose the femininity of a soft sweater and skirt, although many ladies wore slacks even when not at work.
    Lanie wore perfectly clean and pressed work clothes—jeans and a blue shirt like the one from the Rosie the Riveter poster. A bandanna tightly covered Lanie’s shiny blond hair.
    Rosalie grinned. “Aren’t you the eager beaver this morning?” she teased Lanie.
    Lanie nodded and shrugged.
    Then Rosalie looked at Iris. “Birdie said you were meeting us to walk to this sublime greasy spoon she heard about, but it looks as if you two were already out and about.” She strove for a light tone, for Birdie’s sake.
    “Well, I was hoping the fresh air would do me good,” Iris said, wriggling between Rosalie and Birdie in order to chain elbows with them. Together they tromped past the small businesses lined up on Queen Anne Avenue. “Didn’t have the best night last night, to tell the truth, so Lanie and me decided to go for a morning stroll. That’s when we saw the notice.”
    “Notice?” Rosalie echoed.
    “We’re all getting kicked out.”
    Birdie halted. “Honestly? Kicked out?”
    Birdie, already pale as she processed the reality of her husband flying a dangerous mission, now looked as if she might cry. Rosalie unhooked her arm from Iris’s and wrapped it around her friend.
    “When?” Birdie asked.
    “One month. Pretty big of ’em, eh? Giving us a whole month to find a new place to live?” Seeing Birdie’s lower lip tremble, Iris added, “Now, now, don’t you worry. That’s plenty of time to ask around. We’ll find something for sure.”
    Still, Birdie’s shoulders slumped, and Iris pulled her into a hug, then kept an arm over her shoulders as they continued down the hill.
    Trailing Iris and Birdie, Rosalie kept step with a quiet Lanie and wished she could be as positive as Iris. But Rosalie knew that, despite Iris’s confidence,