Page 7 of Survive the Night

Josh smiles again, and Charlie notices that it’s absolutely perfect. The smile of a matinee idol, intimidating in its full glory. It might be sexy. It might be sinister. Charlie can’t decide which.

“We’re all set,” he says. “Ready to ditch this pop stand?”

Charlie doesn’t immediately answer. She’s distracted by the idea that these all could be warning signs. The trunk. The clothes. They’re exactly the kinds of things she’d sworn would make her turn around and go straight back to her dorm.

It’s not too late for that. She could easily inform Josh she’s changed her mind and that he should just take her things out of the trunk. Instead, she tells herself to stop being so suspicious. This isn’t about Josh. Or what he’s wearing. Or how he loads the trunk.It’s about her and the fact that, now that she’s on the cusp of leaving, she’s suddenly seeking out reasons to stay.

And therearereasons. She should get an education. She loves her major. Then there’s the simple fact that it would make Robbie happy.

But would she be happy?

Charlie doesn’t think so.

She could pretend to be, for Robbie’s sake. She could go through the motions, just like she’s been doing since September. And maybe—just maybe—the storm cloud she’s been living under would eventually lift and she could go back to being a normal college student. Well, semi-normal. Charlie has enough self-awareness to know she’ll never be exactly like everyone else. There always has been and always will be an aura of eccentricity about her. And that’s okay.

What’s not okay, at least to Charlie, is remaining in a place where she’s miserable. Where she’s reminded daily of a deep, painful loss. Where memories sting and guilt lingers and not a week, day, hour goes by in which she doesn’t think,I shouldn’t have left her. I should have stopped him. I should have saved her.

She looks at Josh, still patiently waiting for an answer.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she says.

INT. GRAND AM—NIGHT

Charlie learned to drive in the car her parents would later die in.

It was her father who taught her, his patience thinning with each lurching spin around the high school parking lot. He insisted Charlie learn how to drive stick because, in his words, “Then you’ll be able to drive anything.”

But the manual transmission baffled her. Three pedals instead of two, like in her mother’s car, and all those steps she had to follow. A dance she didn’t know and thought she’d never, ever master.

Left foot clutch.

Right foot brake.

Neutral. Ignition. Accelerate.

It took an entire afternoon of practice before Charlie could drive a single lap around the lot without stalling or grinding the gears in a way that made her father break out in a cold sweat. It took two more weeks before she truly felt comfortable behind the wheel of that maroon Chevy Citation. But once that happened, the rest came quickly to her. The three-point turns and parallel parking andslaloms through traffic cones her father had borrowed from a buddy who worked construction.

She aced her license exam on the first try, unlike her best friend, Jamie, who needed three attempts before she passed. Afterward, Charlie and her father went out for celebratory ice cream, her behind the wheel and him continuing his lessons with advice offered from the passenger seat.

“Never drive more than five miles over the speed limit,” he told her. “Cops won’t bother you. Not for that.”

“And over five?” Charlie asked, taunting him with the idea that she intended to be a speed demon.

Her father gave her one of thoseExcuse me?looks that had become common during her teenage years. “Do youwantto use that brand-new license of yours?”

“Yes.”

“Then stick to the speed limit.”

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 ventson 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.

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