I love the smell of laundry when it comes off the line. Like sunshine and hope. It makes me smile. I hummed as I ironed my apron, the baby, too, smelled sweet and clean. At ten months, he was fat and healthy and looked like his dad. I picked him up and hugged him, getting sloppy cookie kisses in return. I tied on my apron and headed to the kitchen to do some baking. I would be glad when Lester was back home, I missed him. In the meantime, I figured I'd learn to bake the best bread in the world.

     I kneaded the dough until it was satin smooth and felt like a living organism, responsive to my touch. Baking bread has to be one of the most satisfying things a housewife gets to do. When it's done, you eat it and you have to do it all over again but it's not the same as the dishes or housework. It's not discouraging. It's one of those things no one takes for granted. Housework people only notice if you don't do it. Bread they are always delighted to see. I suppose that was one of the reasons I worked so hard to perfect mine. It seemed to be the only thing I actually got recognition for and it was a lot LESS work than the other things expected of me.

     I plopped the dough in my big, heavy pottery bowl and laid a dish towel over the top. It would rise on its own, filling the whole house with its delicious aroma. Then I tackled the dishes. Adam and I didn't make many so they were done in no time. I dusted and vacuumed and routed the cobwebs from the corners and the ceilings. By then it was time to feed Adam again and change him. Dirty diapers were NOT one of my favorite tasks and the diaper bucket was full. I'd have to wash today so I was hoping no one else was using the wringer washer and that there'd be room on the lines in the basement since it was drizzling.

     I sighed. I would be glad when the war was over. I felt sorry for women who didn't know how to bake. How did their food rations stretch from month to month? I finished nursing Adam and put him to bed already asleep. He was such a sweet baby. Too bad Lester had missed being with him as a baby. I wondered if it would make problems in their lives as Adam got older. They said bonding happened when they were babies, but the babies didn't know there was a war and they didn't wait to be born until their daddies were home. I sat down to unravel an old sweater of mine so I could clean the yarn and knit something for the him. He needed a sweater and some booties and a hat. I looked down at my ruffled apron. I was so thankful to have my own sewing machine. My apron had been a bed sheet that my mother had donated.

     I turned on the radio for some music. I loved to dance. Maybe when Lester was home we'd go dancing sometimes. At least we could listen to the music together if he didn't want to dance. And I suppose it might be hard to find a baby sitter . . . well, at least it might be hard to find enough money to pay one. There seemed an abundance of kids in the housing development, but it took money to hire them. I think the whole world was getting mercenary. My next door neighbor, Ruth, would probably watch Adam for us, though, so we could go out. We could trade off and I'd watch her kids so she and Charlie could get out. When the guys came home.

     "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" started playing and my toe was tapping along to the music. I loved that song. In spite of everything, it was always so peppy and happy. Like war was a grand adventure of some kind. It let me forget the stories of how awful war really was. Adam gurgled in the bedroom and I went in to scoop him up out of the crib. He smelled pretty bad but he didn't care. At sight of me he laughed and held up his chubby little arms to be sprung. I gave him a quick hug and headed to the bathroom with him when the doorbell rang and I changed course.

     "Mrs. Martin?" the uniformed boy at the door asked. At my nod, he continued, "telegram for you."

     My hand trembled as I reached out for the telegram. All I could smell was Adams dirty diaper and the whole world turned a hazy, fuzzy, out-of-focus grey.

     I stood there in the doorway in my ruffled apron with my brown hair brushed into a neat pageboy and my stinky baby on one arm and ripped open the envelope.

     I skipped past the address and went right to the body.

     "REGRET TO INFORM YOU STOP" I stopped breathing. I wanted to stop reading. I didn't want to know what it said. I wanted to throw it back at the young man still standing there and tell him there was some mistake. I wasn't Mrs. Lester Martin. I was someone else. I set Adam down on the floor and forced myself to breath in, in jerky little gasps. My heart was beating crazily and couldn't seem to figure out what it was supposed to be doing. It throbbed in my thumb holding the telegram and then throbbed in my throat. If it would only stay in my chest maybe I could swallow.

     I turned back to the telegram. "PRIVATE LESTER MARTIN KILLED IN ACTION STOP."

     The dream was always the same. The grief I felt was palpable and I always awoke then, with the second "Stop." In a cold sweat. I couldn't sleep. I was sharing someone else's grief even after all these years. I felt it as keenly as if it was my own. I sat up and headed to the kitchen to make a cup of hot cocoa. I wanted that dream to be gone. I was not superstitious, but the dream was beginning to affect my work since it kept me from sleeping well at night. Over and over I dream the same dream. Maybe I'd have to do some research and find out if there WAS a Mrs. Lester Martin and find out what happened to her. And to Adam.

     I finished my cocoa and headed back to bed. Sitting on the edge, I raised first one shoulder and then the other to relax, rolling my head back and to the sides to pop my neck. I flexed my feet up then pointed my toes before curling back up with my pillow. Sleep came slowly. I'd certainly be glad when Gary was back home. Fortunately he'd only be on the drilling rig for another four months. I could live with that. He was making really good money and we were going house hunting as soon as he was back. He was their resident computer specialist and did all of the analysis work and anything else that required reporting. He loved it. I knew when we married that he would be sought by whatever company from whatever country needed just exactly what he could do. It kept his life exciting and mine sometimes lonely.

     My internal time clock notified me it was morning. I felt sick. It was my first pregnancy and although I did not vomit in the morning, I suffered from what I called "terminal nausea." Maybe those dreams were induced by the pregnancy. Pregnant women are SUPPOSED to do bizarre things. I guess I was luckier than some. Although I was tired at work, I didn't have strange cravings or mood swings. I was glad it was Saturday, though, so I didn't have to get dressed and rush around. I thought about Gary getting my E-Mail that he was going to be a father and had to laugh. Neither of us had anticipated the baby so it was probably a BIG shock to him. He seemed delighted, though, and if he had any sense, he should be equally thankful that he was gone for the first few months of the pregnancy.

     I fixed myself a pot of coffee, a bowl of Cheerios and peeled an orange. Not a very good breakfast, but about all I could get down. I was still in my caftan and slippers when the doorbell rang. Well, at least I was decent. I snagged my coffee mug and headed to the door.

     "Andrea Gerber?" asked the young man at the door? My skin prickled and I forced myself to breathe normally.

     "Yes?" I responded. He handed me a telegram. With numb fingers, I ripped off the top of the telegram. I already knew somehow what it would read but there WAS NO war! I skipped over the address.

     "REGRET TO INFORM YOU STOP" I read. My heart stopped as it always did in the dream. I couldn't breath. I couldn't look at the young man standing there. There was no baby to put on the floor.

     I stood in the door in my tacky caftan and slippers with my uncombed hair and a coffee mug in one hand. "SS ZANIMAH INVOLVED IN MID SEA COLLISION STOP" How many times could I stop. If I stopped reading now would this stop happening? "SUNK WITH ALL CREW ON BOARD STOP" "Stop!" my brain screamed back in my mind. "PRESUMED DROWNED STOP" The last stop.

     "Are you OK?" the young man asked. That wasn't in the dream and I didn't know how to answer. Mutely I nodded my head and closed the door. I crumpled the telegram in my hand. There was more to read but I wasn't prepared yet. I wasn't prepared for what I had already read. I didn't want to read more. I wanted to stop, to re-wind and create some new reality. Maybe if I went back to bed I could make a new dream. A happy dream where Lester comes home and they all live happily ever after.

     I sat back down at the table and looked at my bowl of soggy Cheerios. I had spilled my coffee somewhere and the mug was empty. The phone rang but I didn't get up to answer it. In my mind I could hear the strains of "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy." I put my head on my arms and let the tears flow without stopping while the phone rang and rang and rang . . .