When We Were Enemies: A Novel(58)

CHAPTER 18


Vivian


Friday, June 4, 1943

Streets of Edinburgh

I walk away from Archie with my head held high, hoping I look like Katharine Hepburn in The Philadelphia Story. When I step off Main Cross Street, just past the last streetlight, onto our pitch-black road, a chill runs up my spine.

If papà finds out I walked home alone, he may never allow me to leave the house again. But the greatest danger in this darkness isn’t my father’s fury—there are real threats out here, too—the kind that make fathers overprotective.

I hug my torso. It’s hard to navigate in the darkness, and I’m not surprised when a rock catches my heel. My ankle turns, and the strap on my shoe snaps. I stumble onto the road, my shoe half-off. I rub the sore spot on my foot and try to inspect the damage to my only pair of presentable show shoes.

“Dang it.”

Headlights rushing down the road blind me. A horn blares. I slap my hands over my ears and jump off the pavement with a squeal, leaving my damaged shoe behind. A Chrysler runs over my abandoned footwear, shredding it into a mangled bit of leather and cork.

“You okay?” a young man’s voice calls from the inside of the dark car, sounding as frightened as I feel.

“Keep driving, Ernie. She’s probably drunk,” a woman’s voice, high and judgmental, orders.

“You don’t know that,” he scolds. “Hey, you. You all right?” he asks again. I clear my throat, not sure if I can find my voice.

“I . . . I’m fine,” I say, my cheeks burning, more embarrassed than traumatized by the near miss.

“What in heaven’s name were you doing in the road?” the woman asks as though I’ve committed a crime equivalent to murder. A rush of giggles trickles out of the lowered windows. Likely, they’re just girls leaving the dance and heading home to Columbus with a brother or friend playing chauffeur and bodyguard.

“My strap broke on my shoe . . . ,” I try to explain.

“Vivian?” From the back of the car, a deep and familiar voice interrupts my explanation.

“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.