"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 shrugged, 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?"
"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 anything 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."