As Charlie shifted the car into second gear, her father seemed to shift, too. He leaned back in his seat and let his gaze roam from the windshield to the passenger-side window.
“Your mother would be livid if she ever found out I told you this,” he said, “but sometimes, in real life, you can’t avoid speeding. Sometimes your only choice is to drive like hell.”
Although Josh doesn’t drive like hell, keeping his speed at a legal forty-five miles per hour as they leave campus, it’s good enough for Charlie. After two months of stasis, she’s finally in motion. No, it won’t change what happened. It certainly won’t change her role in it. But Charlie hopes this bit of movement is the first step on the long road to acceptance and forgiveness. And when they pass the brightly lit Olyphant University sign on the way out, she allows herself to enjoy the sense of relief that wraps around her like a warm hug.
Or maybe that’s just the heater, pumping through slatted vents on the dashboard. After standing in the cold for so long, Charlie feels soothed by the warmth and the fact that the car is as clean inside as it is on the outside. No dirt on the floor or McDonald’s wrappers on the front seat, like in Robbie’s car. It even smells clean, making Charlie think Josh came straight here from a full-service car wash. She catches traces of shampoo rising from the upholstered seat beneath her. Mixed with it is the strong, not entirely pleasant scent of pine, courtesy of a tree-shaped air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror. It swings as they turn onto the main road that runs parallel to the university, sending a fresh swath of pine stink Charlie’s way. She wrinkles her nose at the smell.
Josh notices, because of course he does. Although not a compact car by any means, the front seat of the Grand Am keeps the two of them in close proximity. All that separates them is the center console, inside of which comes the rattle of loose change and plastic tapping plastic. Josh steers with his left hand and shifts with right, his forearm coming within inches of Charlie’s.
“Sorry about the air freshener,” he says. “It’s, uh, potent. I can take it down, if you want.”
“It’s fine,” Charlie says, even though she’s not entirely sure it is. Normally, she loves the smell of pine. As a kid, she’d bring her face close to each freshly cut Christmas tree and inhale its scent in lung-filling gulps. But this is something different. Chemicals pretending to be nature. It makes Charlie want to crack open the window. “I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”
It’s a good enough answer for Josh, who nods while staring out the windshield. “I did the math, and I think the drive should take us about six hours, not counting pit stops.”
Charlie already knows this, thanks to similar trips home. It takes a half hour to reach Interstate 80, all of it on a local road lined with hobby shops, dentist offices, and travel agencies. Once on the highway, it’s about another thirty minutes until they cross the Delaware Water Gap into Pennsylvania. After that comes the Poconos, followed by hours of nothing. Just fields and forests and monotony until they hit Ohio and, soon after that, the exit for Youngstown. When Josh told her they couldn’t leave until nine, she resigned herself to not getting home until three a.m. or later. She didn’t have much of a choice.
“You’re welcome to sleep the whole way, if you want,” Josh says.
Sleeping through the drive is not on the table. Josh might seem friendly and nice, but Charlie plans to be conscious during the entire trip.
Always remain alert. Another piece of advice on that Take Back the Night flyer.
“I’ll be all right,” she says. “I don’t mind keeping you company.”
“Then I’ll be sure to make a coffee stop before we hit the highway.”
“Sounds good,” Charlie says.
“Good,” Josh replies.
And just like that, they run out of things to say. It only took two minutes. Sitting awkwardly in the newfound silence, Charlie wonders if she should say something—anything—to keep the conversation rolling. It’s something she’s fretted over since Josh agreed to give her a ride—the etiquette of being in a car with an almost stranger.
She knows it’s not the same as in the movies, where two strangers confined together in a car find endless things to talk about, usually leading to either romance or murder. But in real life, if you talk too much, you’re annoying. If you don’t talk enough, you’re rude.
The same standards apply to Josh. As she packed, Charlie was both worried he’d be too chatty and worried he’d say nothing at all. Silence between strangers is different from the long periods of quiet she’d experienced with Maddy or Robbie. With someone you know and trust, silence doesn’t matter. With a stranger, it could mean anything.
A stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet, Maddy used to say. Ironic, seeing how she was the more judgmental of the two of them. Charlie was merely awkward and shy. It took tenacious prodding to coax her out of her shell. Maddy was the complete opposite. Outgoing and theatrical, which made her quick to tire of those who either didn’t share her flair for the dramatic or failed to appreciate it. It’s why they were a perfect combo: Maddy performed, and Charlie watched with adoration.
“You’re not her friend,” Robbie once said in a huff after Maddy had shrugged off plans with them in order to go to a kegger with her theater major friends. “You’re her audience.”
What Robbie didn’t understand—what he couldn’t understand—was that Charlie knew and didn’t care. She was a willing audience to Maddy’s antics. It gave her quiet life the drama it otherwise would have lacked, and Charlie loved her for that.
But that’s all over now. Maddy’s dead. Charlie’s retreated from the world. And since she’ll never lay eyes on Josh again once they reach Youngstown, she sees no point in turning him from stranger to friend.
Just as she resigns herself to spending the next six hours in awkward, pine-scented silence, Josh pipes up from behind the wheel, suddenly chatty.
“So what’s in Youngstown that you’re so eager to get back to?”
“My grandmother.”
“Neat,” Josh says with an amiable nod. “Family visit?”
“I live with her.”
Over the years, she’s learned that answer requires less explaining than the truth. Telling people that her grandmother technically lives in the house Charlie inherited from her dead parents usually leads to follow-up questions.
“I gotta say, I didn’t expect to find someone to share the drive with me,” Josh says. “Not many people are leaving campus. Not this time of year. And everyone there seems to own a car. You ever notice that? The parking lots are filled. I’m surprised you don’t have a car.”
“I don’t drive,” Charlie says, knowing it sounds like she doesn’t know how.