Mary Jane pushed her chin farther forward over the edge of her forearm.
“El…” she said.
“Why won’t you tell me how he was killed? I swear I won’t tell anybody. Honestly. Please.”
“No.”
“Please. Honestly. I won’t tell anybody.”
Eloise finished her drink and replaced the empty glass upright on her chest. “You’d tell Akim Tamiroff,” she said.
“No, I wouldn’t! I mean I wouldn’t tell any—”
“Oh,” said Eloise, “his regiment was resting someplace. It was between battles or something, this friend of his said that wrote me. Walt and some other boy were putting this little Japanese stove in a package. Some colonel wanted to send it home. Or they were taking it out of the package to rewrap it—I don’t know exactly. Anyway, it was all full of gasoline and junk and it exploded in their faces. The other boy just lost an eye.” Eloise began to cry. She put her hand around the empty glass on her chest to steady it.
Mary Jane slid off the couch and, on her knees, took three steps over to Eloise and began to stroke her forehead. “Don’t cry, El. Don’t cry.”
“Who’s crying?” Eloise said.