by C. E. Murphy
"Well, at least there's nobody to talk about it if it's not at home!"
Rosie folded her arms and gave Irene a flat look. "Who's talking."
"You two are!" Barb flung her bedroom door open and stomped out, Dorothy following wanly in her wake. "My God, Rosie, what is your problem? It's six in the morning and you two are out here screeching at each other like a couple of harpies. Some of us are trying to sleep, you know."
Dorothy fumbled at Barb's nightgown. "Shh, Barb. Stop it. Don't make her mad. She might—"
"I might what," Rosie asked incredulously. Dorothy blushed and wouldn't answer, but Barb lifted her chin.
"Well, you've already killed one person, haven't you? Who knows what you might do. You're some kind of freak, Rosie Ransom. Nice girls don't do that kind of thing."
"I guess nice girls just let themselves get killed," Rosie snapped. "I can't believe you really think I'd hurt anybody."
"You did it once!"
Rosie bit back snarling twice! at Barb, instead stalking past her toward her own bedroom. "Sorry we woke everybody up." She got the flapper dress off, hoping Irene would get one of the other girls to help her out of the starlet gown—they were still out there fighting, although more quietly now—and flung herself onto her bed, pulling the pillow over her head to block out sunlight and muffle her own hysterical gasping. She'd had enough of crying, even if she'd earned every tear that had fallen. Knots twisted her stomach, making breathing hard enough that her whole body felt weak. She curled around the pillow instead, trying to slow her breaths, and didn't notice when sleep took her.
✪ ✪ ✪
Marge's deep voice and a knock on the door woke her what felt like only minutes later. "Phone call, Rosie. It's Jean."
Rosie rolled out of bed, grabbing a robe as she stumbled toward the door. She'd managed to pull it on, if not tie it, by the time she reached the phone, and sat down hard on the couch without really opening her eyes. She hit the arm with her hip, thick dull pain radiating into the bone, and whimpered as she brought the phone up. "Yeah, Jean, are you okay?"
"Are you?"
"Yeah, I just bashed my hip. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. How'd the party go?"
"Great! And then bad. And then awful." Rosie fell sideways into the couch, mashing her face into its cushions. "What time is it? I'll come over and tell you about it. It was … a lot of awful. Rich is back."
"Almost noo— What? But that's good, Rosie, that's— Isn't that good?"
"Of course it's good, but it's awful. Look, I'll explain when I get there, it's too awful for the phone. How are you doing?"
"Okay. Mom and Dad left a couple of hours ago. It was the strangest thing, Ro. Dad cooked dinner last night. Mom didn't think he even knew how to turn the stove on."
Rosie smiled into the couch. "That's great. Okay, look, do you need me to bring food over or anything? I can be there in an hour or so. I don't really know how often the midday trams are. I'm usua …" A pang hit her, and Jean finished what she'd been going to say.
"Usually at work. Yeah, I know. Sorry. I had breakfast, so you don't need to bring anything over."
"Breakfast. Coffee. I should have coffee, at least. All right. I'll be there in a while." Rosie hung up and went to the kitchen to find an inch of old coffee in the bottom of the Chemex brewer. It smelled too sharp to drink, like it had been sitting there since that morning. She poured it out and cleaned the Chemex while the water boiled in a kettle, and, a few minutes later, coffee mug in hand, went to get dressed. Irene hadn't moved from her own bed, a tired lump who didn't stir when Marge called, "Somebody's here for you, Ro," before Rosie had more than changed her underwear.
Rosie muttered, "Who?" under her breath, drank the coffee in three gulps, and pulled on dungarees and a white blouse before leaving her room, still barefoot. Two steps out her bedroom door she realized she hadn't even looked at her hair, and decided maybe she just shouldn't. She backed up for a checkered kerchief instead, tying it around her head as she headed for the living room.
Rich Thompson sat on the edge of the couch, head down, elbows on his knees and big hands dangling. Rosie stopped short at the end of the hall, shooting Marge a look of confusion. The other woman shrugged and went into the kitchen, where the kettle started to roar again. Rich glanced up, then stood, his hands making a nervous motion like he would fiddle with the hat he'd already hung on the coat tree beside the door.
He looked gorgeous in daylight, Rosie had to give him that. He wore a boxy green shirt with slightly darker pinstripes set wide, and trousers so sharply creased they had to be brand-new. So was the shirt, for that matter. Rosie had never seen it before. It struck her that he'd grown, wider shoulders and more height, so probably none of his old clothes fit him at all. Even his shoes were new and shiny. It'd take forever for his hair to grow out of regulation-short, but it looked good now that she could see it better, in daylight and not half-hidden under a cap. He looked more real, somehow, than he had the night before, and Rosie's chest filled with an ache she hadn't felt then. She wanted more, now, to hug him and not let go, but none of her hesitations had vanished with the morning, and that kept her in the hall entrance, one part of her eating him with her gaze and another part confused at his presence. "Rich, what … are you doing here?"
His eyebrows drew down. "You called this morning. Mom said you—" His mouth twisted in sudden understanding, distorting his face before the expression fell away again. "You didn't call."
Rosie, bewildered, shook her head. "I didn't even wake up until twenty minutes ago. I don't know—" She looked over her shoulder, but Irene hadn't gotten up yet either, and Rosie couldn't really imagine her calling Rich, no matter how angry she was with Rosie.
Barb, on the other hand. Rosie remembered the other girl's brazen anger narrowly masking fear, and wondered how much of the early-morning fight with Irene Barb had heard. Enough to figure out that calling Rich would make Rosie's life more complicated, almost certainly. She said, "Barb," under her breath, then went to sit on the armchair kitty-cornered to Rich, a knot of defeat in her stomach weighing her down. "I'm sorry, Rich. I had a fight with Irene this morning when we got home and I think one of my housemates called your mom to get even with me for waking her up. And because of what happened at the factory, and … a lot of things."
Rich didn't sit, only looked down at her. "So I should go."
"No, you're here." Rosie glanced up with a wan smile. "I don't know when I'd have been brave enough to call you, so since you're here, you should stay."
"You were always brave." Rich sat carefully, not quite as much on the edge of the couch as before, though he leaned forward again, hands loose. "I'm sorry I surprised you last night, Ro. I thought …" He sighed. "I thought it would be romantic."
A small laugh escaped Rosie. "Soldiers do. An awful lot of the girls, though, are just shocked. An awful lot of them come back to work—or to quit work—and all they can really say is ‘I hadn't washed my hair' or ‘I was in an old dress.' It's different, Rich. It's different being the one who's been at home the whole time. Even if that was the only difference, it's … not always all that romantic. I'm glad you're home." She reached across the corner of the coffee table to take his hand briefly, and to squeeze it hard. "I really am glad you're home safe, Rich. I'm sorry if it doesn't seem that way."
"But it's different," he echoed emptily, then ducked his head and gave a laugh hardly more than a breath. "Don't know why I didn't think of that. Nobody stays the same over three years, I guess. I haven't."
"Because everything being the same is what we're promised. All of us. It's what you're supposed to come home to. It's what us girls are supposed to be glad to return to. But it's harder than that. I love working, Rich. I love being independent. That's what my life is now."
"And me showing back up means it's supposed to go back to the way it was. And that's what I want, Rosie. I want to get married. I've been thinking about that for the last three years. I know we never said an
ything formal, but we talked about it, didn't we? And that's what's kept me going. I know you love working, you said so in your letters, but I never thought you might love it more tha—" Rich bit the words back and Rosie flinched, sickness in her belly turning to unhappy heat along her cheeks.
"It's not that I don't love you, Rich. It's just … how can I even say I know you anymore? Or that you know me? Because even if I wrote a hundred letters, everything's changed. Even if it was just the job, I've changed, but in the past few days it's gotten so much more complicated."
Rich rolled his jaw. "How much of the complication is that guy?"
"What gu—" Rosie snapped her teeth shut on the question, a flush of anger replacing her discomfort. "Hank? I told you last night, I met him less than a week ago. He drove me home from the police station after they were done talking to me about PFC Goode. None of this has anything to do with him, not the way you're thinking. He's been a pal and is helping me get through this—"
"That's supposed to be my job."
"You weren't even here! And even if you were—" Rosie bit back finishing that sentence, too, because it wouldn't end anywhere happy. "He's seen people go through things like this before, that's all, Rich. He knows … what to do."
"You think I haven't seen someone go through killing somebody, Rosie? You think I couldn't help with that? At least understand a little?"
"You weren't here," Rosie said again, more quietly. "That's not your fault, Rich. It's not mine, either."
"So what am I supposed to do? Start over?" Bitterness filled Rich's face as he offered a hand, voice sharp with sarcasm. "Hi, I'm Rich Thompson, nice to meet you, wanna go on a date?"
Rosie looked away. "That's not how you'd start with somebody new, Rich. You're kinder than that."
"Am I? Maybe I was. Maybe that's changed too."
"You still are. Or you were last night, when you maybe should have been maddest."
"Sometimes a guy has to think about it to build up the right head of steam. Last night I was floored, Rosie. I didn't know what to do. Causing a scene didn't seem right."
Rosie's mouth twisted. "You did cause a scene. Just indoors, where you didn't see it. I was floored too, Rich, but I'm not saying start over. Just … we can't start where we left off. I can't. So we either have to find somewhere else to start or we …" Her heart thumped shockingly hard, taking her breath, and she had to swallow before she could whisper, "Or we call it quits."
"Is that what you want?"
"I really don't know." Tears stung Rosie's eyes and she pushed the heel of her hand across them, trying to get her breathing back to normal. "I just know I can't do what everybody expects, not anymore. So if you still think you want to marry me, Rich, you're going to have to give me time and maybe help me figure out how to make it all work. I'm sorry. I wish it was different. I wish I was different, or the same, or—oh, I don't know!"
"Aw, Ro." Rich sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face, then looked up with a brief smile. "Look, I guess I've been waiting three years, right? I can hold on a little longer." His smile disappeared. "But Rosie, you've got to tell me. I can hang on, but not forever. Don't keep me in the dark. I already feel like I've been blindsided, so … don't keep me in the dark. Fair?"
Rosie nodded, a sharp, jerky motion, and wiped her eyes again. Rich sighed, stood, and took her hand to pull her to her feet, whispering, "Then c'mere for a minute, Ro. Last night was a mess. I didn't even get a homecoming hug from my best girl."
She stumbled coming to her feet and blurted a confused laugh as Rich tugged her into his arms. He felt familiar but not: he was more solid than she remembered, bigger and stronger. Rosie felt herself relax into him, comfortable in a way she hadn't been in a long time. She and Rich had fit so well together, and all of a sudden it seemed like maybe it hadn't been so long ago after all.
Rich chuckled into her hair. "You're like a brick, Ro. A curvy brick. You hug like a stone crusher now. You've changed a lot, haven't you?"
"I was just thinking that about you." Rosie smiled up at him, trying not to let tears overflow. "I guess we've both changed a lot. Rich, I really am so glad you're home safe."
"I know." He pulled her close again, bending his head over hers. "We'll get through it, okay, Ro? It'll be crazy, but I guess everything's crazy these days, isn't it?"
"You always did look on the bright side, didn't you. I'd forgotten. I like that about you." Rosie's smile grew stronger as Rich chuckled again.
"Glad you remember some things you like. Look, you want to go out for lunch? I'd just about kill for one of Big Bob's burgers. I can't remember the last time I had a decent burger."
"That sounds gre—oh, darn it, I can't. I just promised Jean I'd come over. You heard about Ruby?"
Disappointment flashed across Rich's face, but he nodded. "Yeah, and Carol Ann. How's Jean doing?"
"She's a wreck. Maybe I can wash my face and you can drive me over. I know she'd like to see you again. Gosh, I guess it's been since graduation, huh?"
"Yeah. All right, go wash your face. I'll wait." Rich offered another brief smile and Rosie hurried to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face before risking a glimpse in the mirror.
She still looked worse than she'd hoped, too, when she finally did. Puffy eyes, red snotty nose, white tear tracks through hot-colored cheeks. She didn't mind Irene being prettier, but she wished like heck she could cry like Irene did, without swelling up. It took a couple minutes with a cold washcloth to make her coloring start looking normal again, and she took another few minutes afterward to put her makeup on. She didn't dare look at her hair, just left it under the kerchief. Feeling almost able to face Rich and maybe even the rest of the world, she went back toward the living room and, for the second time in a row, stopped short at the end of the hall.
Hank Vaughn stood in the house doorway, glowering at Rich, who asked, "What's he doing here, Rosie?" in a strained voice as Rosie stared in astonishment at Hank.
"Picking her up for a boxing lesson," Hank said shortly. "Or did you forget, Rosie?"
Rosie's shoulders dropped and she turned a helpless look at the ceiling, as if the blue paint up there that matched the living room's accents could save her, and said, "I did forget," in a voice that sounded defeated even to herself. "I completely forgot. Is it one o'clock already?"
"Five 'til."
A string of curses that wouldn't have been out of place at the factory rose to her lips, and Rosie stifled them until she could say, "Gosh darn it," so mildly even the boys could tell she'd rather be saying something else. "Rich, I'm really sorry. I have to go do this."
"Why? I thought you were going to go see Jean."
"Hank is going to have to take me there to see her first," Rosie said through her teeth. "He's teaching me to fight because of what happened with Goode, Rich. I don't feel safe anymore."
"It's not like that's going to happen again," Rich said incredulously.
"Oh, my gosh. You've really put your foot in it this time, haven't you, Rosie?" Irene, voice thick with scorn, spoke from down the hall behind Rosie, who turned to see her roommate leaning in their bedroom door. She'd been awake long enough to pull on a wide-collared print dress that nipped in perfectly at her tiny waist, and to get her hair into soft curls that looked modern and old-fashioned all at the same time, thanks to the styling from the night before. "Two dates at the same time and you're about to blow the wrong guy off. I swear, Rosie Ransom, nobody's going to feel sorry for you when you end up old and alone and sad." She pushed out of the bedroom door, passed Rosie, and offered a hand to Rich. "Hi. I'm Rosie's roommate, Irene."
Rich smiled automatically and shook Irene's hand. "She's mentioned you in her letters. She said you looked like a movie star, but I didn't expect Maureen O'Hara. It's nice to finally meet you."
"You too. Look, let me get you some lemonade, how's that sound, Rich? Rosie, you go do your important world-saving stuff. Rich and I will be fine here."
"I'm not trying to save the wo
…" Rosie sighed and got her purse. "Fine. I'll see you later, Rich. Ready, Hank?"
The blond man smiled sharply. "I was ready ten minutes ago. See you later, Irene. Nice to see you again, Rich. Promise I'll bring your girl back safe and sound."
Rosie muttered, "I swear to God, Hank," and stalked past him out the door.
He followed her out, smirking, to ask, "You sure you're all right with leaving them there together?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Hank smirked. "No reason. Just wondering."
Rosie stared at him, then at the sunlight reflecting off the house's big picture window and obscuring the people inside, then got in the car and slammed the door. "Just shut up and bring me over to see Jean before we go learn to fight."
EIGHTEEN
"Wow." Jean leaned in her own front door, watching Rosie stalk up the steps. "Who snapped your cap? And what's he doing here?" Hank hadn't gotten out of the car and, in Rosie's opinion, didn't need to. She hugged Jean, took a deep breath, and hugged her again, trying to let go of her own anger. Jean returned the hug, then tilted her head at the house. "Come on in. Are you all right?"
"No. Rich showed up and things were less awful and then Hank showed up because I'd forgotten he'd promised to start teaching me to fight—"
Jean sharpened. "Hank's teaching you to fight? I want to learn too."
"Fine by me. So we left and he wanted to know if I was okay leaving Rich with Irene and I was until he asked and I shouldn't have a problem with it now but we had a huge fight this morning—"
"You and Rich?"
"Me and Irene, and she thinks he deserves better than I treated him, and what if she thinks she's better?"
"Doesn't matter unless Rich agrees, and if he does, you're better off without him."
Rosie snapped her mouth shut on another spill of complaints, then barked a laugh and hugged Jean again, harder and more abruptly. "You're right about that."