Ride Home Ch. 03

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No amount of makeup could conceal the dark circles under my eyes or bring warmth to my sickly complexion. I decided to keep it light and tie my hair into a tidy bun at the top of my head.

I tucked my sensible boots under my arm and grabbed my bag from the gold-flecked Formica counter, heading out of the upstairs hall bathroom and holding my head high as I descended the stairs. Most of the people in the photographs along the wall were dead, their opinions worthless. The smell of warm toast and fresh toast made my stomach rumble as I entered the kitchen.

Grandma looked up from her breakfast at the kitchenette table, her green eyes sharp with suspicion and pre-emptive judgment. "Oh, Charlotte, you look awful. Are you ill?"

I sneered, lowering myself down into a chair opposite her and setting my boots and bag on the floor.

Crisp sunlight spilled into her white kitchen from two large lattice windows, her short, curly steel-gray hair brilliant against the cold winter light. Her eyes never left mine as she slid a small, white plate with two perfectly golden brown slices of buttery toast across the tabletop, a saucer of pale, milky coffee all ready to go at my right.

She lit up a cigarette as I bit into my toast, her purple ashtray at her elbow, the only colorful thing she allowed in this room. She took a long drag, studying me through narrowed eyes. I chewed and swallowed my toast, realizing my mistake much too late.

She smirked, blowing smoke through her nostrils and leaning back in her chair. "Busy day ahead?"

Her kitchen was her kingdom and she was its stately queen, dispensing cold justice and wisdom from her uncomfortable throne. By sitting down with her, I had entered her court, opening myself up to interrogation and judgment.

I dropped my toast back onto my plate, brushing crumbs from my fingertips as I cursed myself for being so stupid. "No more than usual. Is Aunt Margaret dropping Michael off this afternoon? I might be later than usual because a classmate and I are going to read each other's Greek assignment."

"Is that why you were up so late last night? Working on your studies?"

The smug expression on her face nettled me. I picked up my saucer and took a sip, cringing and spitting it back out. "This coffee is terrible," I lied. "You can't even hide the watery taste with the cream."

Her laughter was a wet rasp. "Well, if you could get up on time, you could make it yourself. Keep that in mind next time you stay up all night talking on my telephone."

"That must've been some dream you had." I slid my foot into my boot, pulling the laces tight. "Either that or you're going senile."

She tapped her cigarette against her ashtray. "You and Edward keep telling yourselves that. I know more than the two of you put together."

I fell silent, knowing that to be a fact. I put my other boot on and picked up my bag, standing to grab my coat and purse.

"You haven't finished your breakfast," she said, eyes narrowing.

"I have to go Grandma. I can't miss the bus." She took another drag, the orangey glow reflecting in her eyes giving her a menacing look. "Wear a hat and gloves. It's cold enough to catch your death out there."

I pulled my long, dark coat over my shoulders, thick gloves already in the pockets. "Yes, Grandma."

"And don't be too late. I need you to help me with Michael. He's been wild since the weather turned and he's been all cooped up in the house," she said, failing to hide her annoyance at my lack of argument.

I lifted my purse from the coat rack by the door and pulled out the change for the bus fare before shoving it into my school bag. "I'll do my best."

She glanced back at me over her shoulder. "Think about what kind of pies you want on Thanksgiving. We can discuss that later."

"I look forward to it." I pulled open the door, the frigid air making me wince, just catching the sarcastic smile on her lips.

"Have a good day, Charlotte."

"Good-bye." I shut the door and hurried off into the stark morning.

I warmed up as I walked through the streets, puddles frozen solid and lawns frosted white. Neat rows of grim townhouses with dark windows made it seem as if I was the only living creature on the entire planet. I rounded a corner, the bus stop only another few blocks away, the distant sounds of city traffic faint beyond the quiet neighborhood.

The sun hung low in the November sky, the bright expanse deceptive in its summer-like blue brilliance. Joy bubbled up within me despite the cold and my Grandma's suspicions. It was a beautiful day and I was John Corrigan's favorite woman. In that moment, I pushed all critical thought aside and allowed myself to believe that was a good thing.

A shrill whistle pierced the still of the morning, making me drop my bag as my heart seized in my chest.

"Charley!"

I spun around. John Corrigan leaned against the hood of his black Buick at the end of an alley, a self-satisfied grin on his face. "Did I scare you?"

I picked up my bag, throwing it over my shoulder as I strode over to him. "You're lucky you're so handsome."

He laughed. "Stop pretending. You're not angry."

I bristled, but more so at myself for being so transparent. "I am so. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You're smiling, Charley."

"When chimpanzees bare their teeth like this, it means they're being aggressive." I regretted those words as soon as they left my mouth.

John stared at me, brow furrowed and mouth pressed into a thin line. "Last time I checked, you aren't a chimpanzee."

I smiled in spite of myself.

He opened the passenger door, kissing the tip of my nose before taking my bag so I could climb inside the cab, sliding across the dark leather seat as a warm blush crept up to my cheeks. John had come all over my bare breasts the last time I rode in that car.

He shut the door, then walked around to the driver's side, the handle releasing with a loud click as he pulled the door open and tossed my bag in the back seat, climbing in with a smile. He put the car in drive and we rolled out into the street. I wiggled into his side and he put his arm around my shoulders.

I kissed his smooth cheek. "You didn't have to wait too long, did you?"

"Not at all."

"How did you figure out what time I would walk by?"

He kept his eyes on the road. "I heard your uncle once say your first Tuesday and Thursday class is at nine, so I figured your bus probably comes around 7:30."

"How astute."

He glanced over at me. "I got lucky thinking you would come this way."

"What makes you say that? Cutting across McDowell Street is the fastest way," I said.

"That's what I figured."

The car rolled to a stop at a traffic light and he turned his head to kiss me, vehicles on the busy thoroughfare racing past. "You look beautiful all rosy and cold. Like an ice princess or something."

"My grandmother told me I look awful."

He pulled off his cap, running his finger through his thick blonde hair. "That wasn't very nice."

I sighed, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror. "No, but I suppose I do look a little worn out."

"Maybe you should go to bed earlier."

I snorted. "Alright, next time you show up outside my window, I won't let you in."

"You wouldn't be able to resist me."

He was right, but I would've rather walked all the way to school in the frigid temperatures than admit it.

The light turned green and the Buick roared to life. I snuggled against John, safe and warm as we sped toward campus. The steady hum of the engine and the rush of traffic outside my window lulled me into that strange state of consciousness between awake and asleep.

"I'm glad you came to get me," I said. "Thank you."

He pressed his cheek against the top of my head. "I told you. It's too cold to stand outside waiting for a bus."

"You're such a gentleman."

"I told you that, too." He leaned forward and clicked on the radio; two men having a heated discussion about the Philadelphia 76ers dominated the conversation, their voices filling the cab.

I dozed on and off as John drove. If a semi-truck would've blindsided the Buick, I would've died a perfectly happy woman all snuggled up with my favorite man. But what if John was killed? That would be a cruel twist of fate. The world was a better place with him in it.

I forced myself to sit up, rubbing my eyes with my gloved hand. "I'm falling asleep. Can we stop for coffee somewhere?"

"Yeah, there's a little diner up ahead." He put the blinker on and checked the mirror before changing lanes.

I scooted over to the passenger side window and pressed my cheek against the cold window. "Are you pressed for time? I didn't get to finish my breakfast and I'm starving."

"Your uncle isn't expecting me til eleven, but don't you have class at nine?"

I shrugged. "I don't mind missing Child Psyc. The professor is a scrawny little man who despises children in theory just as much as he does in practice. And I can get any notes from my friend, Alice. She owes me."

He smiled. "It's a date."

The diner turned out to be a dumpy little place called "Fiddles", complete with worn-out siding, dirty windows, and a poor vagrant rooting through a dumpster around the side of the building. But it was warm inside and the din of excited chatter and the clinking of silverware against dishes was pleasant. A plume of cigarette smoke billowed over the whole restaurant.

The hostess who led us to the counter was only slightly rude, which, for Philadelphia, was a nice surprise. The upholstery on the stool I lowered myself onto was more duct tape than leather and with no cushion to speak of, but the ashtrays were clean and the coffee was strong, so I had no reason to complain.

John sipped black coffee and smoked a cigarette on my left and a sweaty man to my right read a newspaper and dabbed at the top of his bald dome with a napkin.

John ordered a stack of hotcakes and bacon and I asked for two eggs over easy. When the weary-eyed waitress, her neck chaffed raw from the collar of her polyester dress, took our menus, I asked him what he had to do for my uncle.

"Not much. I know for sure I'll have to head out to the Nicetown and walk through the plant. Make sure everything's running smoothly. Other than that, I don't know." He shrugged his coat off and laid it across his lap. "What's the rest of your schedule like? If you can copy someone else's notes, we could take a long ride together."

I wriggled out of my coat, draping it over my knees and resting my hands on the nicotine-stained counter. "Normally, I'd enjoy something like that very much, but after Child Psyc comes Statistics and I'm too horrible at it to miss lectures. Then I have Greek, and I'm not missing it after I stayed up all night finishing my translation."

"Your work ethic is commendable," he said.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Never. I'm honestly envious."

"Oh?"

He exhaled smoke through his teeth. "I was a sophomore at Villanova when I went into the service. I could go back and finish, but I don't want to."

"Why not? What were you studying?"

"Mechanical engineering. But I only cared about football."

I smiled at the thought of him looking strong and athletic in a blue-and-white Wildcats uniform. "I bet you were good."

He stamped out his cigarette as the waitress poured us more coffee. "I was. I still hold the record for most tackles in a single season with 137." He straightened on his stool and his face lit up with a youthful countenance. For a split second, I got a glimpse of who he must've been before the war.

I thanked the waitress and John nodded at her. She walked away without a word.

"Really?" I asked.

"You don't believe me?"

"I do, but I want to hear you say it again."

He furrowed his brow, a half smile on his lips while he shook his head. "Why?"

"Your face was so sweet when you said it. You looked like a happy little boy."

"You're a strange girl, but I'll humor you." He sipped his coffee, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath. "I still hold the record for the most tackles in a single season with 137."

"I'm sorry I said anything." I shook my head. "I ruined it. Now you look like the cat who got the canary."

He grinned. "In a sense I have. I've got you, Charley."

I leaned closer toward him. "What are you talking about?"

"You're madly in love with me. I can tell." He smirked.

I recoiled, nearly falling off my stool. The waitress pouring coffee a few feet away scowled.

I smoothed the top of my head, checking for any loose hairs. "I am not."

Boyish joy lit up his face all over again and my heart melted. I couldn't help but smile.

"Look at you all flustered. You can't fool me," he said.

A flicker of anxiety flustered me more than his teasing. I bit my lip, almost too afraid of his answer to ask. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

My gaze fell to the coffee rings that marked the counter like the phases of an alien moon. I ran the tip of my finger around a complete circle at my right. "Are you in love with me?"

The waitress brought over our food, the smell of John's smokey bacon making my mouth water. I cursed myself for being vain, any potential weight gain worth the taste of that crispy pork. She set the plates down and walked off without so much as eye contact. I thanked her anyway. That job had to be awful.

John picked up his fork and tucked into his eggs.

Mine were very good, but I was too broken up to enjoy them. I reached for my coffee, revealing a pale brown ring beneath my elbow. "I bet that in a million years, long after we've been wiped off the face of the Earth, alien archeologists will come to study our remains. They'll find this countertop and think it's some kind of celestial map. It'll blow their minds." I took a sip of coffee. "They'll say, 'This solar system only has one moon. What could these rings possibly represent?' The alien academic community will be divided, with some saying humans were actually much more advanced than originally thought; that the rings represent some distant undiscovered planetary system. Others will say Earth originally had many moons, but in their greed and with a complete disregard for nature, humans destroyed the other moons searching for resources."

John swallowed a mouthful of bacon. "Were you always this strange? Or were you hit on the head as a child?"

I didn't dignify such questions with responses, instead finishing my last bite of breakfast and wishing I had a piece of buttery toast to sop up the creamy yolk congealing on the plate.

He held up a strip of bacon. "You want the last piece?"

I patted my stomach. "More than anything, but I don't want to ruin my figure."

He took a bite, chewing and swallowing before saying, "Good thinking. It would be some kind of mortal sin to let that perfect body go to fat."

I bristled. "You know, John, sometimes you say things that make me think you're a real bastard."

He threw his head back, rich laughter making me swoon. "I am. You're absolutely right about me."

I wiped my mouth. "You know, you never answered my question. Are you madly in love with me?"

He didn't have to be "madly" in love with me. I would have settled for "utterly" or "completely". "Passionately" would have also been an acceptable answer. Tense energy pulsed around us, each table its own universe; its occupants oblivious to anything and everything outside of themselves. John and I were no different, twirling around whatever burned between us like Mars and Venus orbiting the sun.

He smiled and leaned toward me, planting a hard peck on my lips. "I told you, Charley. You're my favorite."

Later, John pulled into an empty parking space outside the mathematics building, its ugly gray slab walls and tiny windows more like a prison that an institution of higher learning. The frozen campus stretched out before me, the few students braving the elements all bundled up in dark apparel as they rushed between buildings.

He pushed the gear shift all the way up and turned the radio off with a click, the sudden silence louder than the music. He leaned back with a smile, his arms splayed out over the back of the seat. "You sure you don't want to ride around with me?"

I bit my lip with a slight shake of my head. "What would I do while you go talk to my uncle and inspect the plant? Sit in a running car and twiddle my thumbs while I stress about blowing off my friend?"

He pulled his cap off and tossed it on the dashboard, sliding close to me. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." He ran his knuckles along my jaw. "It wouldn't be fun for either of us if you were stressed."

"Oh, I would have fun with you to be sure, but I just can't not show up for my friend. It would be so rude of me." I scooted closer.

He pulled me close, his arms tight around my waist. "You're very polite. It's one of the things I admire most about you."

I laughed. "What other things do you admire about me?"

He kissed me. "Your pretty mouth and eager tongue."

I parted my lips and he slid his tongue into my mouth, making me shudder and press against him. John had me wrapped around his finger and he knew it.

It wasn't prudent to put my heart into the hands of a self-professed "real bastard", but he was so smart and charming in an aloof, roguish way that I just couldn't resist him.

He broke away from me and left a trail of hot kisses along my jaw and down my neck. I gasped, running my hands through his hair. He held me like that for awhile, kissing and eventually nipping at my throat.

"Don't leave any marks on me," I murmured.

"You don't think it would be insanely sexy to walk around with a hickey on your neck?"

I snorted. "I think that might be the stupidest thing you've ever said to me."

He sat up to smile. "Why? It would drive me wild to send you out onto that campus around all those randy boys with my mark on you. They'd stand around in shock and awe, wondering, 'Who's the fella that pulled that off? He must be some kind of Lothario to have convinced sweet little Charley Donovan to let him suck on her neck."

I stiffened, twisting away from him. "Sexy for you. They'd all think I was a huge slut." The funny thing being that I was. A huge slut for John Corrigan.

He pulled me even tighter against his chest, kissing the tip of my nose. "What happened to 'I would suffer any damage to my reputation for you'?"

Anger rippled through me. "Let go."

He released me and I fell back against the door with a yelp, the bewildered expression on his face only making me angrier. I sat up and turned around, bending over the back seat, and reaching for my bag.

"Oh, Charley, don't be mad. I was joking."

I yanked my bag over the seat and twisted back around, the door handle cold on my fingers.

"I'm sorry. I won't leave any marks on you and I'll never joke about your reputation again. I can tell it's very important to you," he said.

I hesitated, studying his expression for any sign of mockery or deceit. He held my gaze, apparently waiting for me to respond. I fiddled with the zipper on my bag, pushing the handle under my thumbnail so hard it hurt, the pain somehow helping me make sense of myself.

"It's alright."

"No, Charley, it's not-"

"I don't care about what other people think about me, it's just that sometimes you say things that make me think you see me as some silly little girl. Like you don't respect me or something," I blurted.

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I respect the hell out of you. You're the kindest, most thoughtful person I've ever met. I think that if everyone was half as considerate and as understanding as you are, then maybe our species won't get wiped off the face of the Earth, and when the aliens come, humanity can come together and blast them out of the sky."