Cincinnati?—if you’re going that far, I mean.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m not a fugitive, if that’s still bothering you. I just want to get away from here, from this whole part of the country, you know? I’m afraid Athens might not be far enough—or big enough.”
“It still sounds sinister. Look, miss, it’s just my vacation; I’m not James Bond or anyone like that. I just don’t want to get mixed up in something I don’t understand.”
“I’m leaving my husband. It’s as simple as that.”
“And that’s why you have to leave at four o’clock in the middle of a storm?”
“Yes, now, while he’s still sleeping it off from last night I just reached the end of my rope with him, you know?”
I didn’t know, but she was into it now and I figured she would tell me the rest
“He’s just a mean, rotten bastard and I finally had enough. Haven’t you ever known anybody who’s just twisted and ugly inside?”
I started to say no, I never had, but then I remembered Vivian and I didn’t say anything. That seemed to do it for her; I would have to take her or leave her on that basis. I drove through Athens without stopping, and when we were once more on the open road she relaxed and began to breathe easier. Again, a long time passed between words. I watched her occasionally out of the corner of my eye, but if she noticed the surveillance she did not seem to mind it. Soon her eyes closed and her breathing became deep and regular. I thought she was asleep but she said, “What’s your name?”
I told her.
“I’m Amy. Thanks for not putting me out.”
“Sure. I’ll take you to Cincinnati if that’ll be any help.”
“How old are you?”
I found the question surprising, but I answered it: “Thirty-seven.”
“You don’t look thirty-seven. I’m twenty-two.”
I looked at her. “Come to think of it, you don’t look twenty-two.”
“I guess that makes us even.”
I found this new line of talk disturbing, and I decided to pursue it. “Not quite even. Listen, do you have some ID with you?”
“What for? You’re not a cop, are you?”
“No, but I’m getting bad vibrations. There are laws about transporting minors.”
“Oh Christ; look, I’m not a minor.”
“Do you have a driver’s license?”
“No.” She looked at me for a long time, waiting for my reaction. “Goddamn, you’re a worrier,” she said at last. “Do you want me to get out?”
“I might; we’ll see. I will take you to the next big town, anyway.”
“I appreciate that. You don’t mind if I rest now, do you?”
Her voice was cold. She leaned back and closed her eyes; her breathing became very heavy again and I wondered if she was asleep. I adjusted my rear-view mirror downward and to the right, bringing her face into sharp focus with my line of vision. She was nice-looking. There was no telling if she was really of age, so somewhere along the line I would have to make that judgment for myself. In this position she looked all of twenty-two, but then she shifted and the soft dashboard light offered a profile that looked almost babyish. Until she shifted again she might have been no older than my Judy. That illusion, the rain, and the wind vanished almost simultaneously. I turned on the radio, softly, so I wouldn’t wake my passenger, but all I could find was some morning gospel hour and a really crappy country-music show. I turned it off and drove in silence until the sun came up.
We were well past Chillicothe when the girl stretched and yawned. I gave her one last long look, then straightened the rear-view and adjusted it until I could see the road behind me. In that stark morning light I decided with finality that she was at least twenty-two. Like so many of her liberated generation, she wore no bra; her breasts were fully developed and, while you can’t really go by that, she presented an early-morning image of mature womanhood. So she was no kid, and I could forget about
I hesitated. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m not a fugitive, if that’s still bothering you. I just want to get away from here, from this whole part of the country, you know? I’m afraid Athens might not be far enough—or big enough.”
“It still sounds sinister. Look, miss, it’s just my vacation; I’m not James Bond or anyone like that. I just don’t want to get mixed up in something I don’t understand.”
“I’m leaving my husband. It’s as simple as that.”
“And that’s why you have to leave at four o’clock in the middle of a storm?”
“Yes, now, while he’s still sleeping it off from last night I just reached the end of my rope with him, you know?”
I didn’t know, but she was into it now and I figured she would tell me the rest
“He’s just a mean, rotten bastard and I finally had enough. Haven’t you ever known anybody who’s just twisted and ugly inside?”
I started to say no, I never had, but then I remembered Vivian and I didn’t say anything. That seemed to do it for her; I would have to take her or leave her on that basis. I drove through Athens without stopping, and when we were once more on the open road she relaxed and began to breathe easier. Again, a long time passed between words. I watched her occasionally out of the corner of my eye, but if she noticed the surveillance she did not seem to mind it. Soon her eyes closed and her breathing became deep and regular. I thought she was asleep but she said, “What’s your name?”
I told her.
“I’m Amy. Thanks for not putting me out.”
“Sure. I’ll take you to Cincinnati if that’ll be any help.”
“How old are you?”
I found the question surprising, but I answered it: “Thirty-seven.”
“You don’t look thirty-seven. I’m twenty-two.”
I looked at her. “Come to think of it, you don’t look twenty-two.”
“I guess that makes us even.”
I found this new line of talk disturbing, and I decided to pursue it. “Not quite even. Listen, do you have some ID with you?”
“What for? You’re not a cop, are you?”
“No, but I’m getting bad vibrations. There are laws about transporting minors.”
“Oh Christ; look, I’m not a minor.”
“Do you have a driver’s license?”
“No.” She looked at me for a long time, waiting for my reaction. “Goddamn, you’re a worrier,” she said at last. “Do you want me to get out?”
“I might; we’ll see. I will take you to the next big town, anyway.”
“I appreciate that. You don’t mind if I rest now, do you?”
Her voice was cold. She leaned back and closed her eyes; her breathing became very heavy again and I wondered if she was asleep. I adjusted my rear-view mirror downward and to the right, bringing her face into sharp focus with my line of vision. She was nice-looking. There was no telling if she was really of age, so somewhere along the line I would have to make that judgment for myself. In this position she looked all of twenty-two, but then she shifted and the soft dashboard light offered a profile that looked almost babyish. Until she shifted again she might have been no older than my Judy. That illusion, the rain, and the wind vanished almost simultaneously. I turned on the radio, softly, so I wouldn’t wake my passenger, but all I could find was some morning gospel hour and a really crappy country-music show. I turned it off and drove in silence until the sun came up.
We were well past Chillicothe when the girl stretched and yawned. I gave her one last long look, then straightened the rear-view and adjusted it until I could see the road behind me. In that stark morning light I decided with finality that she was at least twenty-two. Like so many of her liberated generation, she wore no bra; her breasts were fully developed and, while you can’t really go by that, she presented an early-morning image of mature womanhood. So she was no kid, and I could forget about
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