Page 25 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
“You've always denied it,” says Arla slowly, “And I've never pushed it because it was a traumatic time in your life but ... something did happen. It doesn't make sense that you'd go to him so late, and then a few days later he brings back your clothes.”
I huff out angrily. “I've told you before. I was soaked. He gave me a change of clothes. We talked. He knew about the situation at home. I used to talk to him about it.”
“And you couldn't talk to me?”
Her refusal to give this up is beginning to grate on me. “He was worried about my grades, and it was just easier to talk to him.” I take a sip of my wine, still thinking about what Lance told me earlier. I take another sip, because his explanation changes the landscape of my past. “All this time I thought it was his guilt which drove him away. I thought he felt guilty about what we’d done—”
“What had you done?” Arla leans towards me, her mouth agape and staring at me with new eyes, as if she’s reassessing everything she’s ever known about me.
“Whathe’ddone,” I say, quickly, scrambling for an answer. “Trying to help me all the time, and always being concerned. After the warning from Principal Fielding—”
“He was warned?”
“There were rumors flying around the school,” I remind her. “Tillie and the other girls—”
“Who all wished he’d noticed them,” adds Arla. “Mr. Turner only had eyes for you.”
“That’s not true. He helped me.”
“He liked you.”
“I was falling apart.”
I shift uncomfortably, then lift my glass to my lips. While it has been liberating to discover the real reason Lance left, my thoughts are once again in more turmoil where he is concerned.
“At least tell me that you shared a kiss that night?” Arla begs, giggling. Her cheeks flush as she clasps her wineglass. “What I wouldn’t give to have his lips on my—”
“Nothing happened,” I state firmly. “He’s a very noble man.”
I should know how far I had to go to break down his resistance. I made it impossible for him to resist me.
“And the clothes?”
“I’ve already explained about the clothes.”
“Did he see you undress?” Arla asks, grinning like a naughty child who’s said something provocative.
“No. Don’t be silly. Can we stop talking about this now? Otherwise I’m going to bed, and you can see yourself out.”
“Are you going to see him again?” Arla breaks off a chunk of chocolate from a huge bar.
“Why?” But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.
The piece of chocolate between Arla’s fingers hovers in mid-air. “You haven’t stopped talking about him, is why.”
I open my mouth in protest, consider my friend’s words, and know that she’s right. I’ve been talking about Lance Turner for most of the evening. So what if he’s fourteen years older than me?
“What are you going to do about it?” Arla persists.
“Nothing.”
“But he bared his heart to you. He told you his tragic story. It should have moved you. Aren’t you moved?”
“I am moved,” I reply, haughtily. “I’d have to be a statue not to be moved, but what am I supposed to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
I’ve been wondering that myself for the past few days. I have something of his to return. The pen he lent me the last time we met. It’s an expensive one, not a Bic which can be easily replaced.
