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were the primary concern.
    “And no flirting,” she admonished before each show. “Not with your eyes. Not with your lips. And certainly not with the rest of you.”
    Mrs. King had nothing to worry about from Joan. The last thing on her list of many things to do was find a man. Especially one considering which lovely or luxurious item to purchase for another woman.
    “The man of my dreams has specifications I have yet to find in Chicago,” she told Evelyn on the first Saturday evening in December as they sat cross-legged on their bed, dressed in thick robes and warm pajamas and signing Christmas cards.
    Evelyn licked a three-cent stamp and affixed it to the envelope. “Which are?” She pulled another card from the stack. “Do you think I should send Hank a card?” she asked, not waiting for Joan to answer.
    “Why wouldn’t you?”
    Evelyn frowned. “I don’t want to lead him on.”
    “It’s a Christmas card, Evelyn, not an invitation to come to Chicago.”
    “I know, but . . . you don’t know Hank. He’ll think for certain that I’ve changed my mind about marrying him.”
    “Then don’t send him one. Really , Evelyn.”
    Evelyn bit her lip. “But if I don’t, he’ll think I don’t care at all .” She grabbed Joan’s hand as she reached for another card. “And I do care, Joan. Just not . . . in that way.”
    Joan picked up a card from her stack with her free hand and waved it between them. “Then send him a card and sign it Your friend, Evelyn .”
    Evelyn sighed as though the idea was beyond brilliant. “Excellent idea, Joanie.” She took the card and opened it. “So?”
    “So?” Joan asked, signing her name to another card.
    “The man of your dreams?”
    Joan looked up. “Oh. Him. Six-two. Blue eyes. And lots of dark hair.”
    Evelyn grinned, her pen ready to sign the card to Hank. “Oh, is that all?” She signed, then peered up. “Do you think you’ll find him anytime soon, Joan?” she asked, her voice whisper-soft.
    “No. But I’m not looking either. There’s a lot to do before Ieven think about settling down.” She chuckled at the thought. “So, what’s been going on around here at night while I’m away?”
    Evelyn’s shoulders slouched. “I really wish you weren’t working two jobs, Joanie. It gets lonely around here without you.”
    “Magda and Betty are here most nights though, right?”
    “Well . . . yeah . . . but . . .”
    Joan studied her friend. “But?”
    Evelyn shook her head. “Magda is always in her room reading and Betty is so . . .”
    Joan couldn’t imagine the end of Evelyn’s sentence. “Betty is so . . . what?”
    Evelyn picked up another card. “She’s so sophisticated, Joan. She must think I’m a complete dunce.”
    Joan started to laugh, then caught herself. “Betty’s not like that. She doesn’t think she’s better than anyone else.” Joan placed a hand over Evelyn’s. “Just talk to her sometime. And stop hiding out in here thinking you’re not worthy of Betty Estes.” She squeezed Evelyn’s hand. “Oh, Evelyn. You’re so much more than you realize.”

Betty looked up from the late-afternoon cup of coffee she had treated herself to as Evelyn meandered into the tiny kitchen of their shared apartment. She jumped, rattling the pages of the newspaper she skimmed. “You’re as quiet as a Christmas mouse, Evelyn. I didn’t hear you walking down the hall.”
    Evelyn held up a slippered foot. “My old bedroom shoes,” she said. “They make for soft footsteps.”
    Betty glanced at the foot and frowned. “Were they . . . blue . . . at one time?” Then she laughed to show Evelyn she meant no harm. “I made us some coffee.”
    “Good,” Evelyn said. “I never knew I could be this cold.” She sauntered over to the counter where Betty had left out a cup and saucer for her. “I think my bones actually ache.”
    “The cold is made colder because of Lake Michigan.”
    “We have cold weather in Portal,” Evelyn