by C. E. Murphy
"No, I don't, but I think Dad would in a heartbeat. Like I said, it's him, not you, I was angry at. So I'm sorry. I should have—" He half-smiled, apologetically. "I guess I should have asked you if I could cut in, and snapped at him while we danced. Look, let me come over tomorrow afternoon. I'll take you back to the library and I'll start teaching you to fight. Really fight."
Rosie's glower faded until she had to look away. "Darn it, Hank Vaughn, you make it hard to stay mad at you."
"That was kind of the idea. I really am sorry, Rosie. I'll do better next time."
"Next time I dance with your father?"
Dismay crossed Hank's face. "Are you going to make a habit of it?"
"I don't know. He at least danced with me, which you didn't."
Hank drew a deep breath and offered his hand. "Well, would you like to dance with me now? I'll probably step on your feet. I'm tired and my knee hurts."
"That's all right. You can tell me if you found anything in Toledo. Or did you really go to work this morning?" She hoped not, because she hadn't found anything amiss at the party, even though she'd been convinced she would. At least she wouldn't have to broach the idea that his father was the demon hiding things from him in Detroit.
Hank's face fell. "No. I mean, I did, and found an excuse to drive down to Toledo. I talked to the cops there. No strange marks on bodies, no unusual murders, no centers of bad behavior besides the trouble kids usually get into. I drove all over the place down there, too, Rosie, trying to get any kind of sense of—" He stopped, not wanting to use the word demons aloud, but Rosie nodded her understanding. "There's more sense of it here. I guess I didn't even know that until I went someplace else, someplace that really is clean. I'm on the right track here, Rosie. Maybe they didn't send me astray after all. This is where I'm supposed to be hunting. I just need to figure out what's blinding me." As he spoke, headlights glared in the driveway and he lifted his hand, blocking the light and muttering, "Besides that, I mean. Who's arriving this late? It must be three or four in the morning."
"Probably your friend, Senator Haas," Rosie said dryly. "He seems like the sort to show up late to a party."
"You're right about that," Hank admitted. "But he was borrowing our driver and car, and they're here tonight. Maybe it's one of Dad's friends." He offered Rosie his arm and they walked down the steps together, both of them shielding their eyes against the light. The car pulled up and the driver killed the lights, making the driveway seem suddenly flooded by light from the house washing through the windows and creating soft shadows everywhere. Rosie lowered her hand, smiling curiously, and murmured, "I guess he knows how to make an entrance, whoever it is."
"It'd be more of one if he'd shown up at dawn while everybody was leaving," Hank argued, and Rosie laughed as the driver got out of the car.
Tall, broad-shouldered, in military uniform, he took a couple of steps toward the house, then said, "Rosie?" uncertainly.
Hank looked at her in surprise. "You know him?"
"No. I don't think so? I think—" He looked a little familiar, like someone she'd known in childhood but hadn't seen in a long time. Dark-haired, handsome in the complicated way soldiers just home from war could be: overwhelmed with joy at being home, but older and different from who they'd been when they left, and no longer certain of where they belonged. A sad kind of attractiveness, but not one that made any sense when she tried to pin it to someone she knew.
Not until the car suddenly looked familiar. More familiar than the man: it hadn't changed all that much since she'd seen it in his family's driveway. A little more rust, maybe, and a few extra dings. The soldier, though: he'd been tall but still slim, not yet filled out to a man's breadth, and his jaw had been softer, still a boy's. Now with his dark hair cut short and the uniform emphasizing the trim lines of his body, he looked like someone else, but he was, after all, someone she knew.
"Oh my God. Rich."
SEVENTEEN
"Rosie." Rich took a couple more uncertain steps, then came up the stairs to her at a run, catching her off Hank's arm and into an embrace hard enough to press her breath away. He even smelled different, some kind of new foreign cologne over the sharp, hot scent of traveling a long time. Rosie hugged him cautiously, then put her hand against his chest, pushing him away a little. He went easily enough, taking her shoulders in his hands and looking down at her with adoring, concerned eyes. "Rosie, you're okay. Thank God you're all right. I got back Stateside and somebody handed me a Detroit paper. I saw the whole story about the trouble at the factory and called your parents the minute I got back into town."
"What time was that?" Rosie whispered. Her heart felt like it didn't know which way to go, out of her chest or into her stomach. Either way made her cold with sweat and surprise. "Two in the morning?"
Rich laughed, a nicely embarrassed sound. "I guess it must've been. Your mom sure sounded confused. And I was an idiot to call them anyway, because I have the number at your house. I just forgot. Habit, you know? Your mom didn't know where you were, of course, so I had to call your housemates anyway. God, Rosie, I'm so glad to see you."
"I'm … I'm glad to see you, too, Rich. I didn't even know you were coming home." Rosie's hands were icy and her cheeks were hot, confusion surging through her with every breath. Rich standing in front of her didn't make any sense. She couldn't keep up with the idea of it, like it ran right over her and left her trampled and stunned.
His smile lit up, bright and startlingly beautiful, and Rosie's heart twisted again "I got the orders last week. I thought I'd get here almost as soon as a letter, so why spoil the surprise?"
"Sure. Right. Why … why spoil it." She'd heard women at the factory talk about their surprise when their soldiers came home unexpectedly, how they didn't know how to react. She wanted to be happy—she was happy, she was relieved—but that felt distant from her, cushioned by shock. "How did you … I don't think we even told the girls where were going. How did you know to come here?"
Rich's grin broadened. "Checked the society pages after that girl with the deep voice—Marge?—said you were all dolled up in a flapper dress. You look terrific, Rosie. You look amazing."
Rosie glanced down at herself, then toward Hank, who had fallen back a step or two and watched her with a sardonic twist to his lips. "Thanks." She swallowed and looked back at Rich. "Thanks, I guess it's fun to dress up. You look … you look real handsome, too, Rich. All grown up." A laugh broke from her throat. He did look handsome, and so grown up. Like more of a familiar stranger than she'd ever imagined, and she'd thought she'd imagined it all pretty well.
"That's what they say the army will do for you. There was only one party worth mentioning tonight listed in the papers, so I drove out here and here you are, Ro. Here I am."
"Here we are." Rosie bit her lower lip, head swirling with uncertainty, then took a step back. "Um, party. This is one of the hosts, Rich. Hank Vaughn. Hank, this is Rich Thompson."
"Your soldier, back from the war." Hank took a limping step forward and offered his hand. "Welcome home, Rich. Glad to see you made it back in one piece."
Rich smiled again and shook Hank's hand. "Thanks. I'm glad to see it, too. It's nice to meet you too. You're not just back. Hair's too long."
"March '44. My knee got …" Hank shrugged, and a flash of sympathetic understanding crossed Rich's face.
"Glad you made it home. Hell, Rosie," he said, turning back to her, "I'm glad you made it home. What the devil happened—listen to me. Forgotten how civilized people talk, haven't I? What happened at the factory? God, I'm glad I'm home to take care of you now."
"She's doing a pretty good job taking care of herself," Hank murmured, and Rich's smile didn't exactly fade, but it got stiff around the edges as he looked between Rosie and Hank.
"Is that so?"
"Turns out I'm pretty tough, Rich," Rosie said with a pained smile of her own. "It was awful, at the factory, but I'm okay. Mom and Pop wanted to take care of me, too, but …" She shr
ugged, then, too late, realized Hank had just done that himself. Her shoulders dropped in resignation, and Rich's smile got that much stiffer. Rosie forged on, trying to make it better. "But I'm getting by, honest. I've got plenty of savings to live on while I look for work, and—"
"Look for work, Ro? I'm going to be looking for work, or maybe going to sch—well, maybe while I go to school. I guess there's no sense in keeping an independent-minded woman out of a job while I take advantage of the GI Bill, huh? At least until we have—"
A shiver ran through Rosie, right from her middle all the way out, and Rich broke off at her expression. "Well, this isn't the time to talk about that, is it. It's a party, and it looks like I'm spoiling the fun."
"Not at all," Hank said. "I'm sorry. I should have invited you in. It's a charity ball for the American Legion. A soldier coming home to his sweetheart is just what we need to top off the night."
"Hank," Rosie said quietly. "Hank, don't."
He gave her a smile with a bit of nastiness underlying it. "Come on. Mother will eat it up, and anybody who hasn't written a check already will have his wife crying in his handkerchief and adding a few zeroes. You wouldn't want to deny the Legion that, would you?"
"No, but—"
"Then come on in." Hank took two steps up, backward, then turned and went into the house, his limp more pronounced than it had been all evening. Rosie, mindful of her lipstick, pressed her fingers against her lips less hard than she wanted to as she watched him go, and startled more sharply than she should have when Rich spoke. "You didn't tell me you'd moved on, Ro."
"Oh my gosh, Rich, he's a cop. I met him Friday night, during the mess at the factory. I haven't—he's not—I'm just surprised to see you, Rich. I didn't know you were coming home so soon. I didn't … I wasn't …"
"You didn't what? Want me to? You weren't ready? Rosie, I've been waiting for you for years. I thought you were waiting for me, too."
The only thing worse than the hurt and confusion in his eyes was the twisting and thumping of her heart, choking back all the things she knew she should say to ease his unhappiness. But that wouldn't help her own at all, and might make things worse. Rosie shook her head once, then again, harder. "Rich, can we not do this right now? We can't do this right now. Hank's in there making a fuss over you coming home and we're going to have to go in and smile for them all."
"I don't really think we do have to. I'm sorry I spoiled your fun, Rosie. I should've warned you I was coming home." He moved off the steps, then slipped his hands into his pockets and looked up at her, all handsome shadows and sorrow. "Maybe I'll come by and see you tomorrow, huh? When we've both had some sleep, and we're not springing surprises on each other. Or maybe you'll just give me a call, when you want to see me again."
"Rich, no, don't … don't be angry."
"I'm not angry, Ro. Just … I imagined this going differently. Give me a call, when you're ready." He stopped once more, at his parents' car door, and said, "I'm glad you're okay, Rosie. I really am."
"I'm glad you are too," Rosie whispered, and sank down to the steps to put her face in her hands when he had driven away. Her heart still banged around inside her chest, hurting every time she took a breath, every time she remembered the surprised upset on Rich's face. He hadn't deserved that.
Neither had she. Rosie bit the heel of her hand, trying to keep herself from crying. Rich hadn't deserved that, but neither had she. Heels clicked on the steps behind her and she turned her head as Irene came to sit down, carefully, beside her. "What just happened, Ro? Hank came in like a big deal was going down, said your soldier had just come home from war, and everybody started applauding but you didn't come in. What happened?"
"Rich did come home, and he saw me standing here with Hank, and he got the wrong idea, and Hank—I don't know what got into him, but he got nasty and went inside and did that. He shouldn't have done that."
"Oh, honey. You really don't know what got into Hank?" Irene rubbed Rosie's back. "Where's Rich?"
"I don't know. He went home."
"You let him go? You let him go thinking that—"
"No! No, I told him—but it didn't matter. It was awful. It was awful, Rene. And it wasn't just my fault. He shouldn't have just come back like that, without warning me."
"Why wouldn't he?" Irene said quietly. "You never told him you weren't sure about you two. I told you, Rosie. I told you you needed to tell him."
"Well, I guess he knows now," Rosie snapped. "I don't really need an I told you so right now, Irene. I just—I want to go home." She stood up, shaking her dress so the fringe fell straight again. "I just want to go home."
"I'll call the car for you." Hank Vaughn spoke from behind them, his voice tight. "I'm sure you'd prefer that to me driving you home."
"How could you be so mean," Rosie said without looking at him. "Why would you be so mean?"
"It had been three years, Miss Ransom. A man's a certain kind of fool if he thinks a woman will just wait, no questions asked, for that kind of time."
"Yeah?" Rosie, flushed with anger, looked at him after all. "Were you that kind of fool, library man?"
"Oh, heck, no. I knew I was coming back a cripple. I let Alice go before I even got out of hospital. I knew better."
"But what if you hadn't gotten hurt?"
"Doesn't matter. Didn't happen."
"Sure it matters. Did you ever even see her? Did you ever ask what she wanted? Maybe she wouldn't have cared about your knee, Hank, if you'd ever given her a chance to decide herself. That's all I want, is a chance to decide. Now, after everything's changed. Everything has changed," Rosie burst out. "Not just the war, not just the job, everything has changed for me. And he shouldn't have just come back without warning me, but you shouldn't have been such a jerk!"
"I'll have the car sent around," Hank said again, and limped back into the house. Rosie strangled a scream at the back of her throat that made Irene jump, then frown.
"I gotta hand it to you, hon, you really know how to handle a man. I never saw anybody lose two suitors in as many minutes before."
Heat burned along Rosie's jaw as the muscles there clenched, but she bit back a snarled answer and looked away. Anything she said about Hank would be protesting too much, and Irene had a point about Rich. But she wanted to fight, not be reasonable, and Irene probably didn't deserve to bear the brunt of that.
"Really, Ro? You got nothing to say? What are you going to say to poor Rich?"
"I don't know. I don't know, Irene. Drop it. I don't want to talk about anything right now."
Irene sniffed. "As if that's going to help." She folded her arms, though, and turned away, shutting Rosie out. Rosie slumped, but she'd gotten what she'd asked for. Trying to make up to Irene might mollify her, but it would stick Rosie with a conversation she'd just said she didn't want to have. Everything she said right now turned out to be a disaster. Better to keep her mouth shut. Maybe forever, she thought bitterly.
The car Hank had promised came around, a driver dark enough to be almost invisible in the night getting out to open the door for them. Rosie climbed in with a sense of the absurd. The people she knew didn't have drivers or parties with movie stars or gates on their driveways. The people she knew worked in the factories owned by Hank's kind of people. But she got in the car like she did it all the time, and stayed quiet the whole ride home, not even looking at Irene, who held her tongue until they got into the house, then turned on Rosie with her eyes snapping. "Know what? It's not going to help, and I'm not going to just sit here and let you be all self-righteous when you're wrong, Rose Anne Ransom. You treated Rich awfully, and you should be ashamed of yourself."
"Do you know what, maybe I did. That doesn't make it all right for him to just show up—"
"But why wouldn't he? You never told him you were having second thoughts, and most girls would be thrilled to have their soldier home safe from war!"
"I am glad he's home safe! But my whole life has changed, Irene. I don't want to just
be the little wife anymore. I don't even know if I ever wanted that. I just didn't know there was another choice."
"Not until the war and boys started going off to die so we had to work for them!"
"You say that like I'm glad the war happened. I'm not, I never wanted anybody to get killed, but it did happen, Irene, and I'm not the same person I was before. I'm not even the same person I was last week!"
"Because you're a killer now?" Irene's eyes widened and she steepled her hands over her mouth, so shocked at herself that Rosie blushed.
"Because I'm a Redeemer! Because—"
"Oh, Rosie. Rosie, you can't just go around saying nonsense like that. Honestly, if you want Rich to take you back, y—"
"Who said I want him to take me back? Who says he has to take me back? Why can't it be my choice, Irene? Why shouldn't it be?"
"Well, because what kind of boy is going to want a girl who goes around—" Irene paled this time, silencing herself.
Rosie's eyebrows shot up. "Goes around what, exactly, Irene?"
Irene hissed, "Sleeping around," and her cheeks went from pale to scarlet.
"Oh, gosh, Rene, you're going to have to decide which is worse, sleeping around or killing somebody, or does it all just make me the devil's harlot? Even if I did, so what? Boys do it."
"I bet Rich didn't."
"Are you gonna ask him?"
Irene's cheeks turned redder still, and Rosie gave a sharp little smile. "I didn't think so. And he's not gonna ask me either, because even if he thought there was a reason to, why would he want to know? I don't want to know what he did, over there."
"But he went away! You're still—"
"Still here? Still me? Yeah, but I'm not the same person I was, either, and besides, why should the rules change if you go away? It doesn't count if it's not at home?"