She had been twelve when the war struck, fourteen when Sergeant Cal Sheldon stole her heart, fifteen when her father blessed them and they married. The war was over and she was pregnant. They'd sailed for the U.S. two-days before her parents were killed by a latent, terrorist-bomb, and the government had confiscated everything. Less than eight-months later, Cal had dragged her from a hospital bed in Boston some twelve hours after giving birth to Nadine, and driven them to New York State. She would never forget the expression of fear that warped his face that night, and now, thinking about it, she wondered if it had ever really left him. Somehow, she had held the baby in her arms, nursed her and kept her wits, while her husband raced their automobile through the darkness.

Yes… dear God, yes there were mysteries… but they were hardly of importance now, were they? Cal was dead… DEAD… DEAD!

Nadine made a small sleeping noise behind the screen. It raised a warm feeling of love inside Susan and she smiled tenderly to herself. Her voluptuous fifteen-year old daughter was her whole life… at least, she had been… prior to Jamey Halo… not that there was going to be any change because of Jamey and the uncontrollable feelings she had for him; Nadine would always come first, but she couldn't deny the near-love, or whatever it was, he had set aflame inside her… she could merely resist it, and that she would do.

Susan sipped at her coffee, then dragged on the cigarette. Really, it was ridiculous anyway, given a moment of sensible thought. Jamey Halo was nineteen… nineteen… and she, thirty-one. This wasn't Korea, where such marriages were sanctioned out of experience rather than love.