I snatch the flask from his hand and unlatch the cap.
Tom looks at me, stunned but entranced, like he’s daring me to do something that’ll surprise him.
I take a long drink, swallowing the burning liquid in one, two, three gulps. It’s whiskey, and it’s strong. I wipe the smudge of red lipstick off the rim and toss the damn-near empty flask into the glove compartment. I take out my compact and touch up my lipstick as a subtle buzz floods my body.
“That was—” Tom starts to say but stops like he can’t find the right word.
“Sweet?” I finish, clicking my compact closed.
“No. Definitely not sweet,” he says, chuckling. He revs the engine, sending a whirlwind in through the half-rolled windows. “Unexpected,” he says, finishing his previous sentence, his lip curling up in a way that could only be rivaled by Rhett Butler himself. “That, my dear, was deliciously unexpected.”
We shoot down Route 31, going faster than I’ve ever gone. I close my eyes and pretend I’m flying.
“I’ve been selected for Ranger training,” Tom says, his head tilted against the headrest in the back seat of the Cadillac.
We have one hour left until Tom turns into a pumpkin, so after a decadent dinner and several cocktails at the Palms Café in Columbus, I said yes when Tom suggested we spend the last of his freedom parked by the river.
My head is heavy and spinning, and I think I’m drunk. It feels great sitting here beside Tom, listening to him talk about his dreams for the future. He hasn’t said it straight out, and I’ll never ask him, but he does indeed seem to have an unlimited supply of money.
His cavalier attitude toward finances is almost more intoxicating than the whiskey he keeps encouraging me to drink or the sweet words he whispers in my ear or the current that goes through my body every time we touch. What would it be like—a life without worrying where our next house payment would come from or how to pay mamma’s hospital bill? What would I worry about if the burden of debt were taken off my mind?
“Ranger training?” I gasp, impressed and partially heartbroken. I remember overhearing Lieutenant Colonel Gammell say the training doesn’t take place at Camp Atterbury. “But isn’t that in Tennessee?” I shouldn’t reveal this bit of information, but I relish the opportunity to seem important to Tom.
“Where’d you hear that? Lieutenant Colonel?”
“Uh . . . I think so?” My head spins as I try to remember the moment clearly. “But I could be wrong. He doesn’t talk much about ‘the other side of the road.’” That’s what he calls the military base side of Camp Atterbury—the other side of the road. Which is the perfect way to describe it—like a reflection in a mirror, the same but opposite. Especially when it comes to who lives on each side.
“They haven’t told us where we’re going yet, but Tennessee is as good a place as any. Only thing I know for sure is—I’m on the list.” He takes another gulp, and I wonder how he can seem so levelheaded after finishing half of the bottle.
“Golly,” I say, my lower lip trembling. I could cry, though I’m not sure if it’s the liquor or the idea of losing Tom just as we’ve finally connected. My tongue loosened by too much to drink, I told him everything about my life at dinner—my dreams of Hollywood, the pressures I face at home; I even told him about mamma and the day Tony died. I’ve never told anyone but Father Theodore the truth about that day or why my mamma doesn’t live with us. But I trust Tom—and now he’s leaving me.
“Oh, doll, no. Don’t do that. You’ll break my heart.” He cups my face and runs his thumb over my bottom lip, around the edge at first and then presses it into the smooth, moist flesh where it meets my top lip. He stares at my mouth like a hypnotized creature. My breathing becomes rapid, and the rear window gathers a film of condensation like it’s granting us an unspoken wish for privacy.
“You’re so perfect,” he says, using his thumb to trace along my cheekbone and down my neck to my collarbone above the neckline of my dress. His caress sends shivers through my whole body and spreads a warmth through my midsection and a strange and delicious tingle between my thighs.
“Mmm,” I mutter reflexively, which is embarrassing but out of my control.
“You like that?” he asks, retracing the trail from my jaw to my collarbone, dipping lower this time, closer to the outline of my brassiere. And then again, this time his fingertips linger only centimeters from the swell of my breasts. I hold back another gasp, licking my lips and squirming in my seat. It feels good, so good, and shockingly—I want more.
But I can’t want more. Even in my intoxicated state, I know this is a sin. Besides, Tom is leaving; he just said so.
His fingers reach my breasts and graze my nipples through the fabric of my dress as he leans in to place a hot, gentle kiss on my neck. The thrill his caress sends through my body brings me back to sanity. I put both my hands on his shoulders and push him away.
“Tom, no.” I’m breathing so fast that I sound like I’ve been dancing the jitterbug at full speed. He pulls back but keeps his hand resting on my right breast like it’s meant to be there.
“No?” he asks, eyebrows raised in confusion. “Why? You clearly like it.”
I do like it. I’m ashamed of how much I enjoy the way he’s exploring my body inch by inch, and I don’t want him to stop. But I’m no idiot. Good girls, drunk or not, don’t fool around in the back seat of a car on a first date. I might not be “sweet,” but I’m also not loose.
“I can’t, Tom. I’m sorry.” I remove his hands from my body, hoping I’ll think more clearly once the magic of his touch has worn off. He hits the seat between us and groans, which makes me jump and makes my heart race in a new way.
“You’re killing me, baby.” Without making contact, he runs his hand over my face, neck, abdomen, and legs, never touching my skin but close enough that his body heat leaves a trail of goose bumps behind. “How’s a guy supposed to be around a girl like you and not fall madly in love? That’s like sitting a starving man in front of a feast and telling him not to eat.”
“Love?” I sit up, pressing my back against the side door, as far away from temptation as possible in the back seat of a Cadillac.
“Damn it, Viv. Yes.” His eyes are glossy with drink. Or could it be with emotion? “Why do you think I go so crazy sometimes?”
I shrug, thinking back on how intensely he’s pursued me, how upset he gets when I give any other man attention.
“Do you love me back?”
Love? I think about the word again. Is this what love feels like? I wonder. It’s what it looks like in the movies. Desire, jealousy, passion, love. I’ve always considered my parents’ story to be the epitome of true love—my father supporting and loving my mother through all her mental anguish and their terrible mutual losses. But what if that’s not real love? What if that’s only endurance?
Who am I kidding? None of this matters anyway.
“I can’t love you, Tom,” I say, knowing it’s the only safe choice.