The Passenger

by Lisa Lutz

  “Some weather we’ve been having,” Blue said.

  She nodded her head in the direction of a camera mounted in the corner. We were likely being recorded.

  The police officer, the one at the front desk who’d sent me away, brought us both a cup of coffee.

  “You don’t look like her. Not like any of the pictures I’ve seen. That’s why I sent you away.”

  “People change,” I said.

  “You changed a lot,” he said as he departed.

  A few minutes later, Jason Lyons walked into the room followed by Chief Hendricks. Jason wore what looked like a new suit and carried a battered old briefcase. He looked nothing like the boy I remembered, and yet I could still see that boy somewhere inside of him. He wasn’t lost completely like I was. He looked like a prosecutor. I can’t say why, but it fit him. It was hard to gather my thoughts with my past and present clashing as they were. I remembered Jason’s clumsy kisses in his bedroom, but now his expression was implacable.

  “Is this her?” Chief Hendricks asked.

  “Hi, Nora,” he said.

  “Hi, Jason.”

  “Glad that’s finally settled,” Chief Hendricks said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  Hendricks left. Jason sat down across from me and opened his briefcase. He glanced over at Blue, silently hinting for her departure.

  “Nora, when you’re done, meet me at the Sundowners,” Blue said. “I have a few more questions before I can turn in my article.”

  “I’ll see you later.”

  As soon as she was gone, Jason said. “Why did you run?”

  “Because I didn’t want to go to prison for something I didn’t do. I was eighteen. I wanted to be free.”

  Jason slid a document in front of me. “That’s a signed statement from Ryan Oliver corroborating your story.”

  “When did he do this?” I said.

  “He called me last night. He said you were coming home and it was time to tell the truth. I took his statement this morning. We had a very interesting conversation.”

  Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my cheeks. In the last twenty-four hours I’d cried more than I had in the last decade.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  I had nothing else to offer. For the first time in years, I thought about Melinda. Not about what Melinda’s death had done to me, but the life lost. I’d started running so soon after her passing, I never had the chance to mourn it. The things people said, some of it was true. I was jealous of her. She was better than me—not just a better swimmer or student, but a better person. If the tables had been turned, I knew for a fact she wouldn’t have run.

  “Thank you,” Jason said. “I remember you were close for a time.”

  “What happens now?” I asked.

  “We’re dropping all charges. I also talked to the authorities in Waterloo. They’d like you to go home in the next few weeks and answer a few questions. But the warrant has been withdrawn. You’re a free woman. You can do whatever you want now.”

  I have to admit, it was a bit of a letdown. Running so hard for so long only to learn I was free. It was like gearing up for a championship fight only to have your opponent take a fall. I still wanted to fight. I had lived for so long with my options narrowed into a foxhole, I wasn’t sure how I would proceed now that the real world was open to me.

  “What about Logan and Mr. Oliver?” I asked. “Have you made any arrests?”

  “We’re reviewing the old case for any physical evidence. A man like Roland has every kind of lawyer on speed dial. I’m not bringing them in until the case is airtight.”

  “Three witnesses isn’t airtight enough for you?”

  “Never underestimate your enemies.”

  “I don’t,” I said.

  “There’s one thing I don’t understand. It’s been nagging at me,” Jason said.

  “What?” I said.

  “Your mother. Why did she keep quiet all of these years?”

  I had debated whether I should shield my mother’s memory and keep her secrets intact. But there had been so many lies already, I didn’t see a problem in speaking the truth. Besides, the woman had sold me out for ten years.

  “Because she was in love with Roland Oliver,” I said. “They had a thing for as long as I can remember.”

  Jason remained still. I could see his brain putting pieces of a puzzle together in his head, only there was still a piece missing.

  “So she chose him over you?” he said, not quite buying my theory.

  “Yes, she chose him.”

  “I think there’s more to it than that,” Jason said.

  “Maybe,” I said. But I figured we’d never know.

  “You’ve led quite a life in the last decade,” Jason said.

  “You have no idea.”

  Jason and I hugged awkwardly as we said our good-byes. As I walked out of the police station a free woman, I thought I might feel different, released. But, really, I felt even more like an impostor answering to a name that was no longer mine. I put on my sunglasses and strolled to the Sundowners.

  Blue was sitting at a table in the corner. She waved me over with a cheery smile.

  “Tell me everything,” she said, like we were two gossiping schoolgirls.

  I noticed she had a giant rock on her ring finger.

  “You’re married?”

  “Just for a few months. I normally go by Laura Bainbridge, but I use my maiden name for my literary career.”

  “You work fast,” I said.

  “It was a quick courtship, I must admit. But he’s running out of time.”

  “Is he sick or something?”

  “No, nothing like that,” said Blue. “What are you drinking? Gin?”

  She smiled wickedly, as if she always knew that drink order was a disguise.

  “Whiskey,” I said.

  Blue went to the bar and got our drinks. It was kind of like old times, drinking with Blue. Only she refused to cut out that Southern drawl no matter how many times I asked.

  We exchanged travelogues and compared notes about our relative successes being each other. As Amelia Keen, she’d managed to bilk twenty grand out of Roland Oliver before he closed the bank. She moved to Colorado and met Eugene Bainbridge. She didn’t offer too many details on that engagement; I didn’t ask. There were some things that I felt better off not knowing. I regaled her with a few stories from my teaching stint in Recluse. She liked the idea of my geography lessons revolving around road maps. I wondered how Andrew was doing.

  “Did you know that I always wanted to be a writer?” Blue said. “You’re like my good luck charm.”

  I couldn’t quite say the same for her, although she did right by me this one time.

  We ordered another round. Blue held her glass of whiskey aloft in a toast and said, “To Naomi Glass, rest in peace.” She looked me right in the eye.

  “What was she like?” I asked.

  “She was your mother. You should know better than me.”

  “I hadn’t seen my mother in ten years. What was she like in the end?”

  “The way most people are at the end. Scared and full of regret. The way you are all of the time.”

  I felt like she was digging tiny graves in my conscience. I couldn’t look at her. The town of Bilman had turned me into a fake criminal, but Blue had turned me into a real one.

  Blue smiled. Not the way most people smile, when prompted by laughter or joy or a fond memory. She smiled with satisfaction. She knew more about me than she had five minutes ago. She asked me when I decided to come home, and I told her about Reginald Lee.

  “You blew up his entire home?”

  “It was either that or let him murder dozens of innocent people.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Did you take any video?”

  “Of the explosion?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Not even a picture?” The light in her eyes faded just a bit.

  “N
o.”

  “Oh, well. I’m still proud of you.”

  “What’s next for you, Blue? Are you going home?”

  “Not until I write the last chapter of the Nora Glass story.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said.

  She was.

  BLUE DROPPED ME off at my childhood home and said, “See you tomorrow?”

  Time had lost some meaning for me. When you’re not sure what the future holds, you choose to stay in the present.

  “Tomorrow?” I said.

  “Your mother’s funeral.”

  “Right,” I said.

  It felt odd knocking on the front door of 241 Cypress Lane yet again. I wondered if the key was still hiding under the fake rock.

  Pete opened the door. He smiled nervously. “Welcome home,” he said.

  All those years I wanted to hear those words. Now they just got under my skin.

  Pete cooked me a meat-and-potatoes dinner, which we ate in awkward silence. He made a ceremony of giving me the keys to my mother’s two-year-old Toyota. Naomi had left the house to Pete, since he’d paid off the mortgage, but there was some money in a bank account. Pete gave me the paperwork.

  “I know you don’t have any family left. You can think of me as family, if you want.”

  Pete was a nice man, but I didn’t have the same notions of family that other people had. It wasn’t something I was looking for.

  I excused myself from the table and went to bed. I fell asleep fast. I slept in that deep careless way that children do, as if I were making up for all of those years I spent on guard.

  At some point in the night, I woke. Someone was rapping on the window outside.

  I OPENED the window and there he was. My best friend, the man I loved for far too long, and the person who betrayed me more than any other. Seeing him made me happier and sadder than I could ever remember. I climbed outside. We stood there just looking at each other. We didn’t hug or shake or anything.

  He’d changed over the years. Lost a bit of hair, put on a few pounds. Worry and sorrow had burrowed highways on his brow.

  “You don’t look like you,” Ryan said.

  “I wasn’t allowed to be me.”

  “I mean, you don’t look like I thought you’d look.”

  “It’s the hair,” I said, hoping he wasn’t seeing right through to my conscience.

  “Are you planning on staying?” he said.

  “I’m not planning anything.”

  “I have a family,” he said, taking a few steps closer.

  “I know.”

  “I have a daughter.”

  “I heard.”

  He closed the distance between us. Up close I could only see his eyes, the same eyes I had stared into thousands of times. They were sad now, but they were still Ryan’s and they still made me ache.

  He kissed me. His lips felt more familiar than my own reflection. I felt seventeen again, as if anything were possible. And then he pulled away, and I was reminded of every cruel trick that the world had in store for me.

  “You ruined my life,” I said.

  “You ruined mine,” he said.

  “I’m not staying,” I said.

  “Good. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  He never did.

  Chapter 30

  * * *

  THE morning of my mother’s funeral, I decided to dye my hair back to brown. I was growing tired of the stares that my bleached, chopped locks were drawing. After I rinsed out the dye and dried my hair, I looked half-normal again, even if I didn’t feel it inside. I picked an old dress from my closet to wear to the funeral. It hung loose on me. It was the same plain black dress I’d worn to my grandma Hazel’s funeral. Only three people had attended Hazel’s service.

  My mother drew a bigger crowd—or rather her notorious daughter did. Half the town seemed to have packed into Bronson & Sons mortuary to get a glimpse of the infamous Nora Glass. It was a closed-casket service, so there wasn’t a whole lot to look at besides me.

  When Edie came through the door, I averted my gaze. She approached me cautiously, like I was a stray dog. Then she hugged me. Not tight, like a real hug, but a tentative hug you might give a fragile old relative.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have known you didn’t do it.”

  “I’m glad you left him,” was all I said.

  Pete stood by the door and welcomed the guests, even the ones he knew were attending just for the show. He shook everyone’s hand until Roland and Logan Oliver arrived. Pete turned away from the door as if they were invisible. An audible gasp came from the crowd and then a quiet murmur, like a still ocean.

  Guilt hadn’t aged Logan as it had his brother. He was still lean, handsome, and looked like he could fool you into believing he was a good man. As Logan sat down in a pew, Roland walked right up to me.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.

  “Which loss are you referring to? My mother’s life or mine?”

  “I tried to help her, you know. I put her in rehab. I gave her money whenever she asked.”

  “You’re good at paying people off.”

  “You may never understand, but I really thought we were doing what was best for everyone.”

  “If it’s absolution you’re after, I’d see a priest.”

  Roland retreated and took a seat in the back row. As the service was about to begin, Blue stepped inside. She was wearing a sleek black dress, pumps, and a veil.

  “You’re a bit overdressed,” I said.

  “Nice turnout,” she said. “Oh good, the Olivers are here.”

  “Why are they here?”

  “I suggested that if they didn’t attend the funeral they’d look guilty,” she said.

  “They are guilty.”

  “That’s neither here nor there, Nora. Excuse me, I can’t finish my book until I get an exclusive interview with Logan. I’m going to try to steal him right now. I doubt he wants to sit through a boring funeral service.”

  From a distance, I watched Blue work her wicked charm on Logan. After just a few words passed between them, Logan was following Blue out the front doors of the mortuary. I swear that Blue could talk her way out of a lion’s den.

  Pete gave a lovely eulogy about redemption and tried to convince the cynical crowd that Naomi had truly made amends for a life riddled with misdeeds. I stood in the back of the mortuary, hoping to keep as many eyes off of me as possible, but I still caught rubbernecks trying to catch a glimpse. I wondered if people were hoping for tears. They would have been disappointed. My eyes were dry as the desert. I had lost my mother ten years ago. I’d shed all of my tears back then.

  I slipped out of the mortuary as the service came to a close. I didn’t need any more false mourners paying me their respects. Outside, sulfurous clouds loomed low in the sky. A light drizzle began to fall. I spotted Blue and Logan chatting intimately in the parking lot. They were standing by a black Range Rover.

  As I walked over to them, Blue clocked me out of the corner of her eye and said something to Logan. He looked in my direction and opened the passenger door for Blue. Then he got into the car and drove out of the lot.

  MY MOTHER’S TOYOTA was parked at the far end of the lot. Blue and Logan had a head start, but it didn’t matter. I knew exactly where they were going. I started the engine and pulled out of the lot. I turned right on Buckwheat Lane, made a left on Route 47, and took the exit for Skyline Road. The speed limit was forty; I was going sixty.

  After ten minutes on a two-lane road, I had the Range Rover in my sights. I hadn’t been on Skyline since the night Melinda died. We were at least four miles from Lyons Bridge. I remembered reading years ago that they had named the one-mile viaduct after her. I picked up my phone and dialed Blue’s number. She answered after the third ring.

  “Now’s not a good time,” she said.

  “I know what you’re doing, Blue. Please don’t. It’s not what I want.”

  “I’ll call you
when I’m done interviewing Logan.”

  “Blue—” I said.

  But she had already disconnected the call.

  I was driving seventy miles an hour, just to keep them in my sights. We were only two miles, less than two minutes, from the bridge. But time had lost all meaning. I was in the past, the present, and the future all at once.

  I saw Logan’s car swerve, right itself, swerve again, and then jump the rail of the bridge, bending steel. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see what happened inside the car, but I knew that when the Range Rover jerked wildly to the right, Blue had her hands on the steering wheel. There was no skidding or braking. The Range Rover barreled into the guardrail and dove twenty feet down, right into Moses Lake.

  I hit the brakes, put on my hazard lights, and jumped out of the car. The black SUV was slowly being swallowed by the lake. I sighed in relief as I saw Blue climb out of the passenger window. I couldn’t see Logan through his window tints, but I knew Blue wouldn’t help him escape.

  I threw off my shoes and coat and dove off the bridge into the murky water. I swam past Blue, dove under, and climbed through the open window into the car.

  Logan was still alive, struggling with his seat belt. His face was bright red from holding his breath. I reached for the belt and pressed down on the button, but the buckle wouldn’t release. I tried again. It wouldn’t budge. I was running out of air. I tried the belt one more time. I needed oxygen.

  Logan watched the bubbles rise as I expelled the last air I owned. He grabbed the collar of my shirt and held it around my neck like a noose. I tried to pull him off me, but I guess he had decided that if he was going to die, so would I.

  My lungs felt primed to explode. I looked Logan in the eye, silently begging for mercy. I should have known that he didn’t have any. Then he took a breath of water, convulsed, and released his hold on me. I turned around and dove out of the car, kicking to the surface, where my lungs were finally able to feast on air. I treaded in the cold lake as I got my fill of oxygen.

  I spotted Blue on the shore. I swam over to her and climbed out of the water, still gasping for breath.

  “He’s gone,” I said.

  “That’s what I figured,” said Blue, shivering, blue-lipped, but calm. “I was worried he was taking you with him.”