When We Were Enemies: A Novel(23)
“I’m in; I’m in,” I say as I slide into the front seat and slam the door behind me. She stomps her foot on the gas, and the roar of the engine is drowned out by the rush of the wind through the windows, sending my hair into disarray.
“You’re worse than the bus.” I roll up the window on my side of the car before digging through my purse for mamma’s silver compact and the contraband beauty supplies.
“Oh, hush; you know you can’t possibly survive without me,” Mary responds hotly, and I can’t deny that she’s right. Mary was my one link to modern life when I was a girl, and she saw me through all the problems girls usually turn to their mothers for.
Sure, Mary is boy crazy, can stomach hard liquor better than most men, and has been known to slip a thing or two into her pockets at Danner’s General Store, but she’s my best friend. She’s also the reason I have my gig at the USO, my job at the camp, and the only reason I’ve held on to any dream of ever getting away from Edinburgh, as vague and seemingly impossible as that might be.
“I don’t know if either of us will be alive at the end of this trip,” I say after being thrown against the armrest as she takes a hard right turn onto Bryan Street.
“All right, all right, I’ll slow down. You’re beginning to sound like Carl. I swear he’s more scared of me behind the wheel than any blitz.”
As the car slows to a bearable, far more legal speed, I apply the last few touches of lipstick and then I notice she’s watching me more than she’s watching the road.
“What is it?” I ask, examining the color coverage in my mirror. I’m wearing pink rather than red because the lighter tint is far easier to remove at the end of the day.
“So . . . what did he say?”
“He?” I say, acting innocent, not sure if the “he” she’s referring to is the same “he” I can’t stop thinking about. She saw me dancing with Tom on Friday and asked me a few questions on the way home.
“About the roommate thing. What did your father say? If you can’t put in a deposit this week, Dorothy says we have to put an ad in the paper.”
“Oh, that.” I close the compact with a loud click.
“Right after the wedding on Friday, Tammy will be on a train with Doug. It’s a great deal, and if you move in, we can drive to work together every day. Plus, you’ll be close enough to help out your dad and Aria, but you can actually live your own life, Viv. Get those headshots. Go on real auditions. Go on real dates with real men.” She says the last bit with extra emphasis and wiggles her eyebrows. When she told me about the roommate opening last Friday, I, in a moment of dance-induced delirium, said maybe. But now I realize how foolish the idea was.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Vivian!” Mary chastises me, and I can see her glare even through her tinted lenses.
“You know money is tight.”
“I know, but I thought the job would help.”
“It does,” I say, knowing my father would be mortified I’m disclosing our financial difficulties, but if I can trust anyone, I can trust Mary. “But papà can’t go back to work for another month at least, and with his medical bills and everything else . . . they need me at home.”
“They always need you at home, Vivian. If you’re not careful, you’re gonna end up an old maid taking care of your dad instead of doing all the things you deserve to do.”
“You don’t get it. This isn’t how it works in my family. I’m not supposed to move out until I get married, and even then, I’ll always be expected to take care of my parents. It’s just how it is,” I say, knowing she’s right. I hate to hear my greatest fears said out loud. It makes that version of the future seem too real.
Mary slows as she turns down the gravel drive leading to the main parking lot on the military base’s side of the road. It’s practically identical to the side of the camp where I work but without barbed wire and watchtowers with armed guards.
“Listen, sweetie. I get it.” She puts the car into park and rolls up her window, removing her scarf and sunglasses to reveal a tidy and professional look. “My mamma and daddy didn’t want me going away to school or working in an office, and I truly think the only reason they let me do any of it is because they don’t have any boys, so it’s their civic duty with the war and all, but dang it, Viv—I still did it. And guess what?”
“What?” I ask.
“No one died.” She wrestles the rearview mirror toward her and touches up her lipstick again, pressing her lips together with a final smack. “I have Sunday dinner with my parents every week after church, and though my mamma might never forgive me if I don’t settle down in the next few years, I swear she’s a little jealous. Told me just the other week she’s taking driving lessons so she can get her own license.”
Hearing about Mary’s nosy but normal mother makes that scar inside my soul start to itch. To distract myself, I turn the rearview mirror toward my side of the car and check my lighter shade of lipstick.
“I can’t, Mary. I’m sorry. With papà sick and mamma . . . gone . . .” I stop there, unable to say much else. I want to tell her how sick mamma is, that we have to pay for her medicine and her treatments and her room and board and that most of the time when I visit her, she barely remembers my name. But I can’t. Even Mary doesn’t know that mamma is in an institution. Papà told everyone she went to live with her sister after the “accident” because she couldn’t bear to live by the stream where Tony drowned. He taught Aria and me to lie.