Movies were another thing Maddy and Charlie had in common. They watched hundreds together, with Maddy commenting on the action the same way Nana Norma did.
“God, has there ever been a man more beautiful than Monty Clift?”
Or “I would kill for a body like Rita Hayworth’s.”
Or “Sure, Vincente Minnelli was gay, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he filmed Judy Garland.”
Like Charlie, Maddy thrived on escapism, living in a fantasy world of her making. It was up to others to decide if they wanted to join her there. Charlie went willingly.
“You can tell me what happened, if you want.” Josh gives her a sympathetic look, trying to put her at ease. “I’m not going to tell anyone. And, hell, it’s not like we’re going to be seeing each other after this. There’s no need for secrets in this car.”
Charlie’s tempted to tell him everything. The darkness, the close quarters, the warmth—all of it sustains her confessional mood. Then there’s the fact that she hasn’t really talked about it. She’s said some things, of course. To Robbie. To Nana Norma. To the psychiatrist she was forced to see. But never the whole story.
“You ever do a bad thing?” she says, easing herself into the topic, seeing if it feels right. “Something so bad you know you’ll never, ever forgive yourself?”
“Badness is in the eye of the beholder,” Josh says.
He turns away from the windshield long enough for Charlie to see the look on his face. He’s smiling again. That perfect movie-star grin. Only this time it doesn’t reach his eyes, which are devoid of any mirth. There’s nothing there but darkness.
Charlie knows it’s just a trick of the light. Or lack thereof. She assumes her eyes look equally as black and mysterious. But something about Josh’s dark eyes and bright smile rids her of the urge to confess. It no longer feels right. Not here. Not to this man she doesn’t know.
“What about you?” she says, trying to change the subject. “What’s your story?”
“What makes you think I have one?”
“You’re also leaving in the middle of the semester. Which means you’re also dropping out.”
“I’m not a student,” Josh says.
“I thought you were.”
He’d told her he was a student, hadn’t he? Or maybe she’d inferred that because of the Olyphant sweatshirt he’d been wearing when they met. The same one, Charlie reminds herself, he’s wearing right now.
Josh, apparently sensing her unease, clarifies. “I work at the university. Worked, I guess I should say. I quit today.”
Charlie continues to study him, realizing just how much older than her he really is. Ten years, at least. Maybe fifteen.
“Were you a professor or something?”
“A little less upscale,” Josh says. “I worked in the facilities department. Custodial work, mostly. Just one of those guys mopping the hallways, invisible to the rest of you. You might have seen me and not even realized it.”
Because he seems to expect it, Charlie searches her memory for sightings prior to yesterday, when they met at the ride board. She’s not surprised when she can’t summon one. In the past two months, she hasn’t ventured too far outside the dorm and dining hall.
“How long did you work there?”
“Four years.”
“Why’d you quit?”
“My dad’s not well,” Josh says. “Had a stroke a few days ago.”
“Oh,” Charlie says. “I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Shit happens.”
“He’ll be okay, though? Right?”
“I don’t know,” Josh says, his tone justifiably melancholy. “I hope so. We won’t know for a few weeks. There’s no one else to take care of him, which means it’s back to Toledo for me.”
Charlie’s whole body suddenly tenses.
“Akron,” she says. “You told me you were from Akron.”
“I did?”
“Yes. When we met at the ride board.”
Because it was a possible means of escape, she remembers everything about that moment. And she’s certain Josh specifically told her he was going to Akron. After he learned she needed to get to Youngstown.
She replays that first conversation in her head. Him sidling up beside her, checking her flyer, seeing her destination clearly typed across the page.
Could Josh have lied about where he was going? If so, why?
Charlie can only think of one reason—to get her to agree to get into a car with him.
The thought makes her nervous. Tiny drops of dread spread across her clenched shoulders. It feels like rain. The first few drops before the storm.
“Now I remember,” Josh says, shaking his head, as if he can’t believe his absentmindedness. “I see why you’re confused. I forgot that I told you I’m driving to Akron. That’s where my aunt lives. I’m picking her up and taking her with me to my dad’s place in Toledo.”
It’s a simple enough explanation. On the surface, there’s nothing sinister about it. But the dread doesn’t fully leave Charlie. A small bit remains, wedged like a blade between her ribs.
“I wasn’t trying to be misleading,” Josh says. “I swear. I’m sorry if that’s how it seems.”
He sounds sincere. He looks it, too. When the car passes under the tangerine glow of a streetlight, it illuminates his face, including his eyes. The darkness Charlie saw earlier is gone. In its place is a glint of warmth, of apology, of hurt for being so misunderstood. Seeing it makes her feel guilty for being so suspicious. His dad just had a stroke, for God’s sake, and here she is doubting him.
“It’s fine,” Charlie says. “I was being—”
She struggles for the best description. Unnecessarily worried? Downright paranoid? Both?
She knows it’s not what Josh has said or the way he’s dressed or how he put things in the trunk that’s made her so jumpy. Her nervousness lies in the fact that because something awful happened to Maddy, Charlie thinks it could also happen to her.
Yet there’s more to it than that. The bedrock truth, as Nana Norma would say. A truth that’s beneath the surface, buried deep. A foundation upon which all the lies we tell ourselves is built.
And for Charlie, the bedrock truth is that she thinks she deserves to have something awful happen to her.
But it won’t. Not here, anyway. Not now. Not in a car with someone who seems to be a decent guy and is just trying to make conversation during what would otherwise be a boring drive.