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LILY MADISON GRANT, the daughter of Rex Grant, a Texan oil magnate turned conservative senator eying a run for the presidency in eight years, had an I.Q. that put most of the student body at Stanford to shame. Lily, however, was more interested in—as she called it—living the Dolce Vita. She was petite with a tiny upturned nose and large almond-shaped eyes. She had the type of curvy figure with a tiny waist that turned men’s heads and got on every woman’s nerves.
Lily and Francesca met the first week of school. Both looking lost, Lily introduced herself and told Francesca she at least find her way to a great milkshake and fries. After some coaxing, Lily led Francesca to The Malt Shop, where Francesca spent the rest of the afternoon watching Lily introduce them to every boy that walked in and by the end of the introduction had them sitting at their table.
The moment Francesca heard Lily’s heels tap on tile, she wiped her face dry and tucked Tommy’s letter under her pillow. In the five months Francesca had known Lily Madison Grant, she’d told her now best friend everything about herself, her life, and Tommy. Lily knew everything there was to know about Francesca, but for Tommy’s letter. That was something that was hers.
“I knew I’d find you in here, hibernating as usual,” Lily said in her Texan drawl, sashaying into Francesca’s bedroom with her usual flounce.
“I thought you had cheerleading practice.” Francesca heard the tears in her voice, and she cleared her throat to disguise them.
“Postponed until tomorrow.” Lily looked past the dewy eyes Francesca tried to blink dry. The last time she’d made a big to-do about Francesca’s teary eyes, she’d jeopardized their friendship, and she didn’t dare risk it again. Lily had grown to love Francesca like the sister she didn’t have. “So, I’ve come to rescue you from this dark hell hole.” Lily rolled blinds up and opened windows to let the sunlight and air flow. “You need to get out of this place, Frankie. Come to The Malt Shop with me. Right about this time, it’s full of those hunky football players with the rippling muscles and the oh, so tight behinds.” Lily walked to the dresser, turned off the transistor radio that lately, in her opinion, only spewed nonsense of war.
“Is boys all you ever think about?”
Lily’s brows slammed together. “Sugar, what else is there?”
Francesca turned the radio back on. “There is so much going on in the world, Lily. Dark war clouds are hanging over Europe. People are dying over there. Have you no interest in what Hitler is doing?”
“No, and neither would you if you weren’t constantly filling your head with thoughts of Tommy and driving yourself into a depressed state, you become like a heat-seeking missile for misery.”
“I’m not feeling depressed,” Francesca said soberly, and when Lily gave her a raised brow added, “Okay, maybe a little, but I have a right to feel miserable. I haven’t heard from Tommy in months. He promised to write and call.”
“I know you’re missing him, but from what you’ve told me of him, I suspect there’s probably an excellent reason why he hasn’t. For now, you have to snap out of it. It’s not healthy. Worse, it’s making me sad.”
“And God forbid that happens.”
“Exactly.” Lily dabbed cherry-red lipstick on her lips, surveyed herself in the dresser mirror. “What do you think?”
“Looks great on you,” Francesca said, to the dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty when she turned an extended pout her way.
“Red is me. I’m keeping this lipstick.” Lily tossed the tube into her Hermès bag. “Now, enough of listening to horrible war nonsense. Throw on a pair of tight hugging jeans and a sexy top that exposes your assets. We’re getting a chocolate milkshake and rounding me up a man.”
“I need to study for a history exam.” Francesca turned the radio back on as the newscaster quoted from Winston Churchill’s speech that there was no chance of a speedy end to the war except through united action. What united action meant Francesca wasn’t sure, but the words shot a shiver down her back.
If Lily heard the newscaster’s report, she chose to ignore it because all she said was, “Both you and I know that’s a load of cow doodle you’re giving me because you’ll ace the test. You always do. You have this intrinsic need to hole up in this bedroom because you feel a need to remain loyal to Tommy even though you haven’t heard from him in months.” Immediately regretting the hurt her words inflicted, Lily ran to Francesca’s side. “I’m sorry, sugar, I didn’t mean it. My mouth sometimes runs off without processing first. Forgive me, Frankie?”
A momentary silence hung in the air before Francesca said, “I can never stay angry with you. Besides, by now, I’m used to your mouth running off without thinking.”
Exhaling a breath of relief, Lily wrapped Francesca in a hug. “I know you are. Still, I need to think more and talk less. Daddy says God gave me two ears and one mouth for a reason. I would have preferred two mouths and one ear.” Lily gave Francesca a wink, and Francesca couldn’t help but smile.
“You don’t need to change for me. Your honesty is what I love about you.”
“That being the case, I’ll tell you you need to make friends.”
“I have you.”
“You do, but you need more sensible friends than me, and not necessarily of the male species,” Lily added, anticipating Francesca’s rebuff. “The fewer boys you attract, the more I have to entertain, and you know how much I love entertaining.”
Francesca let out a snorted giggle. “No one can deny you an A-plus for initiative.”
“And performance.” Lily flashed Francesca, a wicked grin. “Now, all I’m saying is you need to get a bit of excitement in your life. But all you ever do is study, study, and study some more. I fear you’re turning into a nun.”
The sound of a riding lawnmower sounded off in the distance. In seconds the smell of freshly cut grass flooded the bedroom.
“I don’t think a non-virgin can qualify.” Francesca pointed out.
Lily waved a finger. “No. We’re not going into the detailed account of the fantastic four days of memorable lovemaking you and gorgeous Tommy had by the creek. Now, how wrong would it be if you came down to The Malt Shop to keep an eye on me? You know how I have a tendency to get out of hand when surrounded by the male species, and how it usually ends up not favoring the governor’s image.” Lily fell back onto Francesca’s bed. “God, I wish daddy would have chosen a line of work that didn’t require me watching my every step. It’s why I need you there. You’re the conscience I lack.”
“Whether I’m there or not, when your eyes latch onto a guy, you’re like a tornado ready to strike. There’s no stopping you when it happens. But you’re right.”
“Honey, when haven’t I been? Although I’m not sure what I’m right about in this instance.” Lily ran a sterling brush through dark curls.
“You’re right about Tommy not having written to me and me having to get on with my life. He probably has.” Pain swam into her eyes. He’d told her he loved her to infinity.
It had been five months since Francesca had moved to California, and just as long since she’d heard from Tommy. Francesca never thought after giving herself to him, after everything he’d said to her during those four days, during the months they were together, he’d walk out of her life without a second thought.
Francesca wondered if Tommy already had another woman on his arm. She couldn’t bear the thought of her sitting with Tommy on the hood of his truck watching the stars, walking hand in hand down the boardwalk, or sharing a hamburger at Nick’s. Francesca stopped short at the notion he was making love to her and saying the things he’d said to her.
She hated to admit that her father might have been right. Tommy was only after one thing—her money. With the thought gnawing on Francesca’s nerves, she pushed off her bed, walked to her closet, pulled a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a tailored poplin shirt off their hangers.
“That’s the spirit, sugar. Now, let’s get those waves of yours brushed, and your pretty face made up.” Excitement lifted Lily’s voice and rummaging through Francesca’s makeup drawer said, “Boys brace yourself for Lily and Frankie. Tonight they’re painting the town red.”
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“IT’S GREAT TO HEAR YOUR VOICE, Mrs. O?” Francesca said, over the telephone line.
“It’s nice to hear from you, Frankie. It’s been ages since you’ve called home.”
“I’m sorry, but school’s keeping me busy.” And I have no reason to call if Tommy wants nothing to do with me. “Anyway, I got your wedding invitation. I was over the moon when I saw it. You and Mr. Scott sure don’t mess around.”
“At our age, every minute counts. Besides, we’re too old for all the courtship nonsense. We thought we’d jump into it feet first.” It pleased Mrs. O’Sullivan to hear Francesca’s laughter over the telephone line.
“Did you and Mrs. Scott get my wedding present?”
“Yes, we did, darling. Mr. Scott says he will keep your Baccarat vase filled with red roses.”
“Your favorite.”
“The man does like to spoil me.” Mrs. O’Sullivan’s smile echoed over the telephone.
“I’m so happy for you and Mr. Scott. You make a lovely couple, and you both deserve much happiness and love. I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it back for the wedding, but there’s so much going on in school, and Daddy thinks any time off will distract from my studies.”
“More like it will keep you away from Tommy,” Mrs. O’Sullivan murmured between clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. O, this connection isn’t very good. What did you say?”
“I said your father knows best. You need not worry, darling. It’s a simple affair at our church and a small reception. Not worth the trip. I’ll send you loads of pictures.”
“Yes, send me loads. Where are you going on your honeymoon? I hope it’s somewhere romantic. Tell me everything.”
“This is a long-distance call. It will cost a mint.”
“I don’t care. I miss talking to you, Mrs. O.” Francesca hesitated for a moment. “I guess I should start calling you, Mrs. Scott.”
“I won’t be Mrs. Scott for another two weeks.”
“All right, Mrs. O, tell me everything.” Francesca settled in her bed, legs crossed in the air, and Mrs. O’Sullivan settled at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee.
Mrs. O’Sullivan caught Francesca up, ensuring to skirt Tommy’s name and anything to do with him. Unless Francesca asked about Tommy, Mrs. O’Sullivan wouldn’t mention him.
Talked out, Mrs. O’Sullivan let the air hum long enough to give Francesca one last chance to ask about Tommy, although she doubted she would. Not after she’d found the stack of Tommy’s letters in Peter’s office desk, intercepted by his brother. Mrs. O’Sullivan could only imagine the hurt her girl was feeling thinking Tommy had abandoned her. Guilt smothered her at the thought she couldn’t tell Francesca of her discovery, not after Peter forbade her to speak to her to his daughter about Tommy.
Mrs. O’Sullivan couldn’t bring herself to tell Francesca her father’s narrow mind couldn’t see past the person Tommy used to be or that he was the reason she was thousands of miles from home. Worse, Mrs. O’Sullivan had to lie to Tommy when he asked about Francesca, but telling him, Peter considered him an undesirable, undeserving of his daughter wasn’t an option. She refused to make her soon to be son feel unworthy.
Mrs. O’Sullivan damned Peter Thompson to hell. She wouldn’t have invited him to her wedding, but it might have raised suspicion had she not.
“I love you, Mrs. O, and I’m so happy for you.” Francesca ended the telephone conversation without so much as the mention of Tommy’s name, and Mrs. O’Sullivan could only ask God for forgiveness.
