“Per me?” For me?
“Yes, papà,” I say in English before transitioning into Italian. “I’ll put them in the kitchen, but only one tonight. All right?”
“Yes, Viviana. Yes,” he says irritably, but there’s a youthful gleam in his eye I haven’t seen in a while. “Thank you,” he says to Tom with a grateful tip of his head. Then to me in Italian, “Be good. Be careful. Be back before ten.”
“Arrivederci, papà,” I say with a kiss to his forehead, and then call to my sister who timidly pops her head out from the hallway like she was there listening all along. She gives a shy wave to Tom, and he rewards her with one of his most memorable smiles.
“Help him to his chair, please, Ari.”
She nods, biting her lip lightly.
“And there’s a box of cigars on the table. He’ll try to finagle you, but only one. Okay?”
“Okay,” she says, bouncing on her bare feet before grabbing papà’s arm and escorting him into the back of the house. I turn to Tom, who’s now only inches from my side. He takes my elbow and guides me out the door.
“You’re really sweet with him,” Tom says once we’re in the car he borrowed for our date.
“My father?” I laugh, wondering what he’d think if he could understand everything said tonight.
“Your sister, too, I guess. You’re like the little mother of the house. It’s sweet.”
“You said that before. ‘Sweet.’” I twist my mouth like I’ve tasted something sour.
“Does that bother you?” His eyebrow is raised in mock scandal. “I thought a girl like you would like to be called sweet.”
“I’m not sure. There’s such a thing as being too sweet, I guess.”
“Hmm, I suppose.” I’m leaning forward, considering the statement, when he reaches across my body, his arm grazing my breasts as he opens his glove compartment. He takes out a silver flask and unscrews the top with one hand. Taking a long swig, he offers it to me.
“No thank you.” I push it away.
“That’s what I thought. Sweet,” he says, closing the cap and reaching for the glove compartment again.
Sweet. The way he says it hangs in the air like the heavy stench of a skunk’s spray. Tom Highward—brave, successful, handsome, possibly rich, and most surprising of all—papà likes him. And he thinks I’m some brainless little doll who plays the roles expected of her. As if I don’t have my own mind or make my own choices.
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.