Page 60 of When We Were Enemies

“Oh, this one? No. I live that way.” I point in the general direction of my house. He glances over my shoulder and then back at me.

“You don’t want me to know where you live?” His brow furrows. “Do I scare you?” He sounds hurt.

“No ... not at all,” I say, though it’s partially a lie. Sometimes he scares me. But that’s not why I don’t tell him where I live. “My father’s old-fashioned. He thinks the only place a young woman belongs is at home or at church. He wouldn’t like to know I was at the USO.”

“He doesn’t approve of your band?” he asks, walking me to the end of the street. Pearl hangs halfway out the car window, watching closely.

“He doesn’t know about it. Any of it.”

“Not even Atterbury?”

“Nope. None of it. Thinks I work at Cummins engine company.”

“What? Is he antigovernment?” He recoils, offended and a bit suspicious.

“No, no. Not at all.” I rush to fix the misunderstanding. “He’s against the POWs being here—at Camp Atterbury. Wouldn’t want me working there.”

“I don’t blame him. How do you think it makes us enlisted men feel when you all fawn over those greaseballs?”

“Greaseballs?” I echo. Tom seems oblivious to the offensive nature of his comment.

“Yeah. The Italians. We’re fighting those bastards, and they’re being fattened up and playing summer camp on Uncle Sam’s dime. Then they flirt with our girls behind our backs, stealing them away while we’re out fighting their brothers and cousins. You can’t blame a guy for getting jealous.” He pauses his rant to take a swig out of the flask he keeps in his breast pocket. I take the opportunity to cut in.

“It’s not like that,” I try to explain defensively. “It’s the rules. There’s a book where it’s all written down ...”

“But maybe you like that,” he interrupts, his breath scented with whiskey. “Is that why you danced with that kid tonight? To make me jealous?”

“No,” I respond immediately. “It’s my job. We’re all just doing our jobs.” I’m angry but getting more frightened by the minute of facing my father’s wrath. “I have to go. My father will be worried.”

“Running away again?” he shouts, reaching for my sore elbow. This time I evade his grasp before he can clamp down or toss me back in the car. Talbot and Ernie coax Tom into the car as I glance around, watching for lights inside the neighboring houses.

“Everything all right?” Talbot asks very officially, like he’s on duty.

I nod, relieved to see Tom settle in the back of the car. He presses his head against the metal frame of the half-opened window and watches me talk to Talbot but doesn’t look upset anymore. More like—sad.

“Will he get in trouble?” I ask, unsure if it’s okay for Tom to return drunk.

“Nah. Don’t worry,” he says, waving away my concerns. “I’ll get him back in. No one the wiser.”

“I can put a good word in—with Lieutenant Colonel. If he needs,” I offer. As strained as our evening has been, he wouldn’t be late if not for my shoe-fixing attempt in the middle of the road.

“Please don’t,” Talbot says. “We’re not out—officially—if you know what I mean.”

I blink a few times, gradually processing the hidden message inside that statement.

“You snuck out?”

He shushes me, putting a finger to his mouth.

“Yes. Tom’s restricted till next week. Everybody does it. There’s a reason they don’t fix that hole out in the west fence line.”

“West? Through Nineveh?” The little town west of Camp Atterbury is known to be friendly to AWOL soldiers sneaking out for a night of fun.

“That location is ‘need to know,’” he says, his slight slur making the declaration sound a touch ridiculous. “I know you don’t give a whit about me, but if you want to keep him safe, you’ll keep quiet about ever seeing us. You good at keeping a secret?”

He looms over me. My joints lock up in fear.

I nod.