When We Were Enemies: A Novel(69)
Before the war, I never would’ve thought twice about construction planning and supplies. But I now go to sleep thinking about where to acquire sand and the proper equipment for crushing blocks.
“I think it’s time for new shoes.” I look up to find Tom standing a few feet away. The two girls at the stop who’ve been chatting about ration recipes and soldiers they have crushes on go silent. They immediately focus on Tom. I’m sure they’ll soon add him to their list of crushes. I’m less impressed. It’s been almost a week, and the bruises he left on my elbow still haven’t faded away.
“I think the time for new shoes was last Friday if I remember correctly.” I dislodge another bit of debris from my heel, avoiding his eyes.
“I know,” he says, regret in his voice. “I was hoping to get these sooner, but . . .”
He holds out an off-white box with red lettering on it reading Styl-EEZ. The blonde behind me, pretending not to listen, lets out a gulp. I stare at the offering, wishing I had X-ray vision.
“Here. Open it.” He passes me the box. The contents rattle inside.
“Is this a joke? Will I lift the lid and find a garter snake in here?” I ask, eyebrow raised. “Because I’m not scared of snakes like other girls.”
“It seems to me there are lots of things you’re not scared of.” Tom chuckles, appearing to find my caution entertaining. “It’s not a snake. I promise. Just open it.”
I lift the lid, and inside, under a piece of tissue paper, I find a pair of medium-heel shoes, black leather, a shaped bow at the toes and a silver buckle on each side. Unexpected tears fill my eyes, and I swallow a few times, trying to make them go away. I must look like a fool to cry over shoes.
“Judy told me your size. I hope they fit.” Even with the pretty girls watching, Tom stays completely focused on me and my reaction.
“They’re perfect.” I finally get a few words out, but they hurt as I say them. “I can’t take them, though. They . . . they’re too much.”
The blonde gulps again, and I want to shoot her a glare, but it’ll have to wait.
“Too much? They’re only a few bucks. Besides, it’d be such a hassle to send them back. My sister ordered them from Marshall Field’s in Chicago; silly thing thought it was down the road. The post would be too slow, so she asked a driver to bring them down.”
“You went through all that trouble?”
“It’s only fair. I’m causing plenty of problems in your life; don’t you think?” he asks, his charm turned to full blast.
“You certainly have a knack.” I place the cover back on the shoebox and hold it out.
“Are they the wrong size?”
“I’ll take them! I think they’re my size,” one of the girls chimes in.
“They’re the right size. I just don’t feel right accepting them. It’s not proper,” I say, hoping the girl will take a hint.
“It’s not improper. Not when I’m the reason behind your tragic shoe loss.” He gently pushes them back toward me.
“Tom,” I say plaintively, finding it harder and harder to fight his charm. I’m sure he knows my resistance is fading. He runs a hand through his dusty blond hair and gives me a mischievous grin.
“There’s a pretty simple way to make this even, you know.”
“No. I don’t know.”
He steps close enough that I can smell his hair pomade and whispers, “Let me take you out to dinner Saturday.”
The same furnace he ignited in me in the back seat of the Chrysler sparks again—his scent, his heat, his clear blue eyes, and the regulation haircut that still somehow looks like it belongs in a fashion magazine. To top it off, he’s making the effort to set things right. His kindness adds fuel to the embers and sends up enough smoke to cloud what is proper and not proper.
“I can’t,” I finally force out.
“Damn it, Snow. Why the hell not?” His eyes narrow. “Do you have a fella already? Where’s he stationed? Has he proposed? What, he couldn’t get you a proper ring?”
His volume increases. I put the shoebox under my arm and place a hand on his chest to calm him.
“Shhhh. No. No one else. Just my job, like I said, at the USO. And . . .”
“And?” he asks, leaning into my touch, his heart racing under my palm.
“And,” I whisper softly, “I don’t want to contribute to your delinquency. If you get caught AWOL one more time, Talbot said you’d face some sort of discipline.”
“Talbot, that dirty rascal,” he says in a way that sounds friendly rather than angry. “Don’t you worry yourself about that filthy gossip. I’m doin’ fine, about to get promoted. Matter of fact, I’m off probation on Saturday, so it’s all on the up and up. As long as I’m back for duty at twenty-two hundred hours. So, if you’d do me the honor—I mean, pay your debt—I’d love to take you out on a proper date.”
I’ve never been on a proper date before, but Tom doesn’t need to know that. He probably thinks I’m a woman of the world because of how I behave onstage. It’s possible he thinks he can take advantage of me once we’re alone—these shoes and his compliments payment for my services.
I’m about to reject him again when he takes my gloved hand and stares at it like it’s made of gold.