Page 59 of When We Were Enemies
“Tom?” I squint through the darkness, mortified.
The car—I recognize it finally. It belongs to Pearl’s brother. He drives her and a gaggle of other girls to the dances every other Friday. Too young to join the army and with no reason to be at the USO, Ernie plays cards in the alley behind the Nip and Sip till the dance ends.
So, I’ve been practically run down by Pearl and her gangly little brother with Tom Highward in the back seat. Fantastic.
Tom gets out of the car, slamming the door hard and making it creak on its frame. He staggers a bit, still intoxicated.
“What the hell are you doing out there alone?” he slurs.
“I’m walking home,” I say, chin up, defiant.
“You can’t walk home. It’s not safe.”
“You sound like my father,” I say hotly. “I’ll be fine.” I heft my purse up under my arm and take a wobbly step with only one shoe on.
“You almost got run over.” He grabs my elbow. “You’re not walking.”
I try to yank it out of his grip, but the alcohol seems to give him extra strength. He holds tight.
“Hey!” Embarrassed and angry, I gasp, wanting to run away as fast as my bare left foot will allow me.
“Get in the car, Vivian,” he orders like the military man he is.
“I’ll walk, thank you very much.” No way I’m taking a ride from Pearl and all the out-of-town girls who’ll talk behind my back because I dance with more soldiers than they do, calling me a tramp for singing with the band.
“You get in that car or I’ll put you there,” he says, a fiery twinkle in his eye that makes me wonder if he’s serious.
“No.” I tug at my arm again. He uses his strength to yank me back and flip me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, my legs dangling in the air.
“Stop!” I squeal, outraged and confused.
“Get that door open.” It screeches open, and with very little effort, Tom tosses me into the back.
I land on top of two shrieking girls. I was right—it’s Adelia and Samantha from Columbus. In the front seat with Pearl’s brother sits my least favorite uniformed man—Talbot. He watches the entanglement with amusement.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Pearl yells as Tom wedges himself back into the packed car, helping sit me up, half on the seat and half on the leg of the girl next to me. My upper body presses against his side, my head touching the roof of the car.
“We’re taking her home.”
“We’re doing no such thing.”
“Your idiot brother about flattened her. It’s the least you can do,” he says bitterly, like he suddenly can’t stand Pearl or her brother or anyone in this car.
“Hey now.” Talbot tries to calm the escalating conflict.
“I can walk,” I say.
“Tell Ernie your address,” Tom insists.
Everyone in the car seems to understand Tom isn’t about to change his mind. I give Ernie directions to my street.
As we drive, a warm wind cuts through the stuffy, overheated interior, but it remains unbearably hot and sticky. The others make small talk and shift in their seats to try to access the brief nibbles of a breeze. But Tom doesn’t seem to be aware of much more than me.
Even with my aching elbow and bruised ego, I’m glad he kept me from running away. The only heat that matters is where his hand touches my bare knee and my body presses against his. This heat feels good, and it spreads as I watch him look over every inch of my face and linger on my lips, like he wishes he knew what they taste like. I’ve seen this look from men before. It usually frightens me, or disgusts me, but for some reason it feels different from Tom. His touch and his look make me want to get closer, and I don’t know why.
The mile to my street goes by quickly, and when we pull over, Tom helps me out of the car like a gentleman this time.
“This your house?” he asks, pointing at the Browns’ A-frame at the end of North Holland Street.
