Free A Distant Melody by Sarah Sundin

Walt and Dorothy.
    “In Walt’s defense,” Betty said, “he wanted to help. Sometimes he tells tales when he thinks it helps, sometimes to get his friends out of trouble, other times to save face. He’s a pastor’s son with two perfect brothers. He can’t stand to be seen in a bad light.”
    Allie frowned and dipped her fingers in the sleek white cream. “I don’t know. He’s told me unflattering stories.”
    Betty’s eyes glinted in the soft electric light. “Did he mention the barn?”
    Allie saw her own eyes grow round in the mirror.
    Betty squealed. “He did? Oh, tell us.”
    “Please?” Dorothy said. “You have to.”
    Allie paused, torn between loyalty to her old friend and her new. “I can’t. I know how I’d feel if Walt repeated the story I told him.”
    “Oh?” Betty sat up taller. “What story? Something you haven’t told me?”
    “Well, yes.”
    “You can tell me. I’m your best friend.”
    Allie’s heart wrenched at the hurt in Betty’s voice, but if she divulged Baxter’s ten pecks, Betty would pry out the horrid truth that they didn’t love each other. She smoothed the cream in cool circles on her cheeks and gave Betty a weak smile. “I’m sorry. Telling the story once was painful, twice would be unbearable.”
    “Oh.” Betty’s nostrils drew up, her mouth drew up, and her chin drew up.
    Allie sighed and massaged the last dollop of cream into her forehead, all too familiar with Betty’s countenance. Betty wouldn’t speak to her for days unless she revealed Walt’s secret or her own.
    Dorothy put her arm around Betty’s shoulder. “Don’t get in a snit.”
    She crossed her arms. “I’m not in a snit.”
    “Yes, you are,” Allie said and laughed when Dorothy echoed her.
    Betty’s chin rose even higher. “What exactly is a snit anyway?”
    “Just like that.” Allie crossed the room, sat next to her friend, and poked her in the ribs. “Snit, snit, snit.”
    Betty’s laugh sputtered out, and she poked Allie back.
    Thump!
    They jumped and turned to the window. “What was that?” Betty asked.
    Clunk!
    Betty scrambled to the window, peeked under the blackout curtain, and gasped. “It’s George. And Art and Walt.”
    Strange musical notes filtered through the window.
    “‘Moonlight Serenade,’” Allie said. “How romantic. Open the window.”
    “Oh no.” Betty dashed for the bed and plopped between her friends. “I’m in my bathrobe, my curlers. I can’t let George see me like this.”
    Of the three, only Allie didn’t wear curlers and didn’t have a romantic interest in the backyard. Then she hesitated at the thought of Walt seeing her in her bathrobe.
    She stood up. Once and for all, she needed to banish these silly fantasies. She rolled up the blackout curtain and raised the sash, careful with her fresh manicure.
    The song stopped. “Hello, Allie,” three masculine voices called up to her.
    “Good evening, gentlemen.” She rested her elbows on the windowsill. In defiance of blackout regulations, someone flicked on the porch light and illuminated George with a ukulele, Art with a kazoo, and Walt cross-legged on the grass behind a toy piano.
    “Where’s Betty?” George asked.
    “Hiding. She and Dorothy are in curlers.” A pillow thumped her backside, and she laughed.
    “Where are your curlers?”
    Allie lifted a lock. “Natural curl. Sometime blessing, sometime curse.”
    “Always a blessing.” Walt ran a tinny scale and grinned up at her. The single curl rested on his forehead, undisturbed.
    Her face grew hot. Why had she touched him that morning? He had to think she was a horrible, unfaithful flirt. Why, she’d never flirted before in her life.
    “You look lovely this evening, Miss Miller,” Walt said with a wink.
    She took a moment to recover from the wink and the compliment. Then she laughed. As always, he was teasing. She had never been lovely in her life, much less this evening. “And you look quite dashing, Lieutenant Novak. I