Twice in a Lifetime (7 page)

Now,
he
had the power.

Eddie poured another drink, this time adding an extra finger’s worth. Raising the glass, he offered a silent toast to his future.

He swore that he would court Clara the right way. He would make her see what she’d been missing all these years. Then, when he officially proposed, offering her a ring adorned with the biggest diamond he could find, she would fall into his arms and tearfully accept, realizing just how wrong she had been.

That day would be the happiest of both their lives.

But then again, if she remained stubborn, if Clara refused to acknowledge what was best for her, Eddie would use the loan on her house against her.

Either way, he would get what he wanted. He was tired of being denied.

This time, when he swallowed down his drink, it felt good.

N
AOMI
M
ARSH CLOSED
her eyes, tipped back her head, and let a moan rise in her throat, enjoying the feel of Tommy’s lips against her skin. She sat on a scarred workbench in his garage, deep in the dark shadows, as the afternoon sun blazed down outside, an unusually hot day for spring. He was sweaty, a mixture of heat and passion. They faced each other, Tommy standing, Naomi’s legs spread so that he could come closer. She twisted her fingers into his hair, fanning his desire, feeling it exhaled in hot, ragged breaths.

“That’s nice,” she murmured.

Tommy’s lustful longing wasn’t surprising; Naomi had taken great pains to make him feel the way he did. She was almost twenty, just three years older than him, but she was far more experienced in the ways of the world, especially when it came to the desire of a man, or in this case, boy, for a woman. Everything she did, every word she said, was calculated to get his attention: the way she batted her dark green eyes; the lipstick that colored her full mouth a candy-apple red; how she tossed her long black hair over her shoulder; the words she whispered in his ear; the rhythmic way she moved her hips when she walked, a sexy metronome meant to hypnotize him. But it was especially in the way she dressed: heels, white pants that hugged her curves like a second skin, a sleeveless black blouse unbuttoned far enough to allow a glimpse of cleavage. Add it all together and Tommy could have ignored his lust for her no more than he could shut off the sun.

“Naomi…” Tommy groaned as he slid his hand up her thigh, across her waist, rising toward her breast.

“Naughty boy,” she scolded, moving his hand away.

“But I can’t stand it anymore,” he complained, his breathing ragged and his face flushed.

“Everything in due time, sugar. Don’t you worry none, the day you want so bad ain’t that far away. For now, just keep on doin’ what you were doin.”

Like a well-trained dog, Tommy went back to kissing her neck.

Naomi smiled. The power that she wielded was potent. She wanted Tommy hanging on her every word, obedient, even a little bit frustrated, bottled up like a volcano ready to erupt. She couldn’t have said why it was this way, not exactly. Tommy was handsome and doting, though immature. The truth was, she had no reason for turning him down. It certainly wasn’t because she was a virgin. At a young age, when most girls were growing into their bodies, she had understood that her looks could get her anything she wanted, so long as she was occasionally willing to give something in return.

So far, with Tommy, she hadn’t had to offer much.

It had become a game to her, though Naomi would have struggled to explain why she played. Because the hold she had on Tommy was intoxicating, she supposed, though she worried that might be slipping a bit.

The night at the cemetery when she’d knocked over the tombstone, drunk from the bottle of whiskey she’d stolen from her father’s tavern, Tommy had been reluctant to cut loose, worried that they were going to get caught.

“Quit bein’ such a goddamn kid,” she had slurred.

“We shouldn’t be here,” he argued.

“Maybe I oughta find me a man who ain’t gonna worry ’bout gettin’ into trouble. There’s plenty who’d be happy to take your place…”

Tommy had protested loudly; it was because they were arguing that they hadn’t heard the sheriff’s car, so when he flicked on his lights, the broken tombstone lying at their feet, Naomi had momentarily frozen. Next thing she knew, she was running. She expected Tommy to be right behind her, but when she burst through the honeysuckle bushes at the wood’s edge, she was alone. Glancing back, her eyes blurry from the liquor, she watched him give himself up. Then she left without a shred of remorse. Fortunately for her, he’d held his tongue and not spoken a word about her involvement. Naomi could only imagine how angry his mother had been to find out that her precious son was in jail.

I sure wish I could’ve seen that…

Petty as it was, a small part of the reason Naomi was still with Tommy was because it drove Clara Sinclair crazy.

She knew little about the woman; as a kid, she’d stood in front of Clara’s bank window when her father made an infrequent deposit. She’d always seemed to be nice enough. Like everyone else in town, Naomi knew that Tommy’s father had been killed in the war and that Clara had never remarried.

But when Tommy had told her that his mother didn’t want him spending any time with her, that Clara thought she was trashy, the gloves had come off.

Naomi figured that Clara was jealous. She had good reason to be; rather than waste her looks, Naomi planned on using them to get ahead. The second she got the opportunity, she was going to go to New York or Hollywood, someplace where she could be as famous as she deserved to be, and become a movie star or a singer. Maybe she would model clothes or jewelry, her face up on a billboard. Wherever she went, rich men would fall all over themselves, desperate to give her whatever she desired. Everything about Sunset, including Tommy Sinclair and his mother, would be faded memories; even their names would eventually be forgotten.

But until then, she’d keep on having her fun.

“Kiss me,” she said; he readily obliged.

But then, just as Naomi began to wonder if she hadn’t been too hasty in keeping Tommy’s hands from roaming, his mother’s truck wheezed into the drive and parked outside.

Naomi stiffened; though she took pleasure in rankling Clara, that didn’t mean she wanted to come face-to-face with her. But surprisingly, when she made to move, Tommy held her in place.

“She can’t see us in here,” he said.

In the end, it didn’t matter; Clara never looked in their direction, but instead headed for the house. Moments later, the screen door banged shut behind her.

Naomi exhaled, embarrassed to find she’d been holding her breath.

“You’d probably better get going,” Tommy said.

“I can stay awhile longer,” she replied, her voice dripping with honey. “Now that she’s gone, we can get back to what we were doing.”

But when she put her hands on his chest, Tommy took them away.

“I haven’t talked to her in a while,” he explained, glancing at the house. “If I don’t show my face now and then, she gets a little nuts.”

“So let her,” Naomi said with impatience.

Tommy chuckled uneasily. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to deal with her guff.”

Naomi watched him closely, her eyes narrowing. Once again, she wondered if Tommy wasn’t going soft on her, if her control over him wasn’t slipping.

She may not have wanted to be with Tommy Sinclair forever, but when the day came for it to end, she wanted to be the one who walked away.

“Fine,” she finally said, hopping down off the workbench. “But I’ll see you later, right?”

“Yeah,” he answered, still distracted.

Naomi grabbed him by the chin and turned his face to hers. “I’d better,” she warned. “I hate being disappointed.”

Tommy said his good-byes to Naomi, pulling her close for one more kiss before she slipped out the garage’s side door. He wiped her lipstick from his mouth, took a deep breath, and then crossed the yard toward the house, steeling himself for another unwanted and unwarranted lecture.

Ever since his mother had gotten him at the jail, Tommy had done his best to avoid her, sneaking into the house late at night after she’d already gone to sleep, then rising before her, even if it meant arriving at school so early that the janitor hadn’t unlocked the doors.

So far, so good, but like he’d told Naomi, he still needed to see his mother every now and again, even if the thought filled him with dread.

Through the kitchen’s open window, Tommy heard a voice; it was his grandmother, surely talking with his mother. He could only imagine what would be said the second he walked through the door…

Where have you been?

Stop throwing your life away!

Naomi doesn’t care about you, not the way you think she does!

What would your father say if he could see you now?

Tommy gritted his teeth. Even the way he carried himself was defensive; his hands stuffed into his jeans, his shoulders slumped as his eyes looked down at his feet. He was sick of all the questions and complaints. His mother’s words, her accusations, stung.

She didn’t understand. He and Naomi were in love. Whenever Tommy was around her, when he stared into her eyes, when he listened to the sound of her voice, and especially when he kissed her, he knew there was no one he’d rather be with. The more time they spent together, the more convinced he was that Naomi Marsh was the girl for him. He had even entertained the thought of proposing, of asking her to become his wife. Sure, they were young, but his own parents hadn’t been much older when they’d gotten married. It could work. Their love would overcome any obstacle.

What about all those other men she’s been with?

The cruelest of his mother’s charges echoed in Tommy’s head. She spoke of rumors around town that Naomi was loose. But he didn’t believe it. If Naomi was so immoral, why had she refused to sleep with
him
? It was just another lie meant to keep them apart.

Maybe Naomi was right. Maybe his mother’s increasingly desperate attempts to ruin their relationship were because she was jealous. For the first time, Tommy entertained the thought that Clara wasn’t just envious of a younger, prettier woman, but of
her own son
. After all, he’d found true love, something she had lost with the death of his father. Maybe it was more than she could bear.

Tommy pulled open the door, the hinges screeching, and entered the house. He braced himself, expecting the worst, but he was surprised to find his grandmother alone, sitting at the kitchen table reading a book.

“Hey there, partner,” she exclaimed warmly.

“Hi, Grandma,” he mumbled as he made his way to the refrigerator, grabbed himself the fixings for a sandwich, and sat down opposite her. As he began to make his lunch, he listened closely for the sound of his mother’s footsteps coming down the hall. But by the time he took his first bite, he’d heard nothing.

“Where’s Mom?” he asked, curious.

“Upstairs, lying down,” Christine explained. “She was complaining about a headache and I thought that a little rest over her lunch break might make it go away.” She sighed. “I keep telling her that she’s working too hard down there at the bank, but she doesn’t listen. But I suppose that’s just the way it is between parents and their children. Everyone’s too darn stubborn.”

Tommy paused midbite and looked at his grandmother. He wondered if what she’d said wasn’t a dig at him; he couldn’t recall the last time he’d taken his mother’s advice. But Christine had already turned her attention back to her book, a dog-eared paperback she’d been hauling around everywhere with her lately. He read the title:
Strangers on a Train
, by Patricia Highsmith. The cover was dark, with a strangely drawn couple.

“Is it any good?” Tommy asked.

“I suppose so,” Christine answered wearily, setting the book down and rubbing her eyes. “The problem is that every time I pick it up, I can’t remember what I’ve read, which means I have to go back and do it all over again. I swear, I’ve read the same twenty pages a dozen times now.”

Tommy nodded sympathetically, but that was all he could offer. His grandmother’s health troubles bothered him. Like his mother, he had noticed their onset slowly, a misplaced item here, a forgotten name there, but now the deterioration was obvious. He wondered if the day wouldn’t come when he would walk in the door, just like this very afternoon, and she would stare blankly at him, as if a stranger had entered the house. He felt helpless, like the child he’d once been, unable to provide comfort, so instead he kept eating as the silence dragged on.

“I suppose it can’t be too bad,” his grandmother finally said as she picked her book back up. “Why else would I keep reading it day after day?”

Tommy laughed uneasily; he was almost thankful when he heard his mother coming down the stairs.

When she entered the kitchen, she stopped suddenly, staring at him; her expression briefly showed relief, but quickly hardened. “You’re home…”

“I got hungry,” Tommy replied with a shrug; his eyes roamed from his mother, down to his plate, across the table to his grandmother, and then he started over again, uncomfortable, unable to settle on anything for long.

His mother looked exhausted, almost haggard. Tommy wondered if he was the reason she looked so out of sorts, even if she was worrying for nothing.

No matter how tired his mother appeared, Tommy still expected her to light into him, to demand to know where he’d been, to ask about Naomi. Instead, she got herself a plate, sat down across from him, and began to make a sandwich of her own. For a moment, Tommy was reminded of better times, summer afternoons when he was a boy, when the three of them, his grandmother included, sat around the kitchen table just like this, laughing, singing songs, and enjoying one another’s company. But then his father had been killed. Ever since that day, no matter what Tommy said or did, he could never completely wipe the tears from his mother’s eyes.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow night?” his mother asked.

Tommy shrugged. “Not really.”

“Well, I was thinking that it might be nice if we went to the movies. There’s a new Lucille Ball picture coming to town. It could be fun.”

Some of Tommy’s fondest memories were of sitting in a seat at the Palace Theater, captivated by the flickering images up on the big screen. If he was well-behaved, he might have gotten a bag of popcorn. It had been a chance for them to get away from their troubles, at least for a while. Maybe it
would
be fun. But before he could agree to go, his mother spoke again.

“Would Naomi want to come along?”

Just like that, Tommy was overcome with anger. He couldn’t believe it; here was his mother, once again sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. He stood up quickly, the legs of his chair scraping the floor as it was forced back, almost tipping over. He was suddenly so furious that he couldn’t even speak. Instead, he glared. For her part, Clara seemed so genuinely shocked by his reaction that Tommy wondered whether he was mistaken, if her suggestion had been innocent. But he shook his doubts away. It was too late to back down now.