I flash him my angriest look while my stomach sinks like it’s full of concrete. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t knowanything. You’re just bitter because... because you lack emotional fortitude.”
Even as I say it, I wonder if Hollis is right. What if I’m the one who’s too afraid to process the world around me and come to a new conclusion? Maybe thisisa ridiculous and presumptuous thing to do. “I promised Mrs. Nash I’d find Elsie,” I say, refusing to confess to even an inkling of uncertainty. “That they’d be together again, in some way. If she lived, if I found her before—” Tears well up behind my eyes. I groan, the effort to keep them corralled making my nose burn. When the feeling subsides, I continue. “The point is, true, lasting, romantic love exists, whetheryoubelieve in it or not. I know it does because that’s what Mrs. Nash had with Elsie. And that’s that.”
Except I know, deep down, that that’snotthat.
Of course I’m doing this for Mrs. Nash, both because I promised before she died and because I loved her. She was my best friend in the whole world. But now that I’ve had a moment to process, to slow down and analyze... I have to admit that I might be doing this for me too. Because if I could be so wrong about Josh, what else could I be wrong about?
What if I’ve been a naive fool my whole life, putting my faith in things like happily ever afters and humanity’s overall inherentgoodness? I need reassurance that it isn’t stupid to believe that two people can love each other and keep on loving each other as long as they live, no matter what obstacles get thrown into their path. That hoping I might find someone who will never give up on me isn’t as pointless as it’s sometimes felt lately. As pointless as Hollis seems to think it is.
“You look like you want to punch me,” Hollis says, glancing over.
The thought honestly hadn’t crossed my mind. But now that he mentions it, I do. I really do. “Well, you’d probably deserve it.”
“Probably. But keep your weapons holstered while I’m driving. We’ll have to stop for gas at the next exit. You can take a swing at me then if you want.”
The uncharacteristically violent urge is eclipsed by others by the time we pull off the highway and up to the pump at a Wawa somewhere west of Fredericksburg. I was actually dancing before, but now I do have to pee something fierce. When I come out of the convenience store, Hollis is leaning against the car. He hooks his fingers together and reaches his arms toward the sky. The stretch makes the striped T-shirt under his open black hoodie ride up, exposing a few inches of skin and a trail of dark hair that presumably continues both northward and southward. No matter how grumpy and rude he is, I cannot deny that Hollis is an attractive guy.
He’s exactly my type, physically. In fact, now that I think about it, he looks a little like Josh. Only a better version. Like Josh was an artist’s first attempt at figure drawing and Hollis his hundredth. Which is probably one of the reasons they’re frenemies and not friends; I learned too late that Josh can’t truly like another personunless he’s certain he’s superior to them in every way. And considering Josh could be the poster boy for white male mediocrity, that leaves very few people for him to like.
Hollis pulls his phone out of his pocket and types something quick. Probably letting his friend with benefits in Miami know he won’t be there as scheduled. Part of me wonders what Hollis’s muse is like. But most of me wants to know absolutely nothing about her. Because if I know things about this woman, I’m going to start forming an opinion about her. I’m going to start comparing us, because that’s how being a human being works. And if I wind up having negative feelings about her that have nothing at all to do with her, that’s not exactly fair. Not to her, and not to me.
Anyway, Miami Woman is no doubt disappointed that Hollis won’t be in her bed tonight. Well, sister, honestly? Same. Not that I actively want to do that, it’s just... well, like, if things were different. And he weren’t such a weirdly kind jerk. And if he wasn’t already planning to fuck another person’s brains out as soon as he possibly can. And if he didn’t know Josh. And if, and if, and if. Then I would. I definitely, definitely would.
Hollis’s eyes are focused directly on me. How long has he been watching me stare at him in this weird half-ogling, half–mind-completely-somewhere-else state? Awkward. I flash him my brightest smile because I’m not really sure what else to do, and get his exaggerated frown in return.
“Hello. Sorry to bother you, miss.”
I turn and find a man standing beside me. So maybe Hollis’s frown wasn’t for me after all. This guy is older, mid-sixties maybe. Probably not aPenelopefan (though you’d be surprised).
“Hi,” I say. “Can I help you with something?”
“I hope so, miss. I must’ve lost my wallet at the rest stop about twenty miles back, but I don’t have enough gas to get back there, and my phone’s dead. I just need—”
I pull my wallet out of my backpack. “I think I only have a twenty. Will that be enough?”
His eyes widen and his thin mouth falls slightly open. I wonder how many people refused to give him anything before he found me. He smiles as I hand him the cash. “Yes. Oh yes. Thank you so much, miss. You’re a kind soul. Thank you truly.”
“No problem,” I say. “I hope you find your wallet.”
“God bless you,” he says, then turns and goes inside the convenience store. I notice then that Hollis is beside me, frown still in place.
“He swindled you.”
I rock back on my heels to see around a window display. “He’s paying for his gas at the register.” I look back at the gas pumps. “I bet that’s his truck parked over at three.”
Even though it’s not possible to see exactly what the man is doing at the counter from where we’re standing, Hollis says, “Or he’s buying cigarettes, beer, and a nudie magazine, all on your dime.”
I shrug. “So what if he does? Twenty dollars isn’t going to make or break me, but if it’s the difference between a shit day and a happy day for him, well, whatever.”
He runs a hand over his face in clear exasperation, his round tortoiseshell glasses pushed temporarily askew when his fingers slide under them. “I have met babies more worldly than you, Millicent.”
The man comes out with a can of Arizona iced tea tucked under his arm. He gives us a nod and another quick thank-you. “Yougot yourself a good woman there,” he says to Hollis. “A real good one.”
Hollis absently says, “Yep,” and smiles. It’s bizarre and grimacey and obviously forced. His real smilemustbe better, and my determination to draw it out rises anew, if only to clear whatever the hell that was from my memory.
“See, he bought something,” Hollis says after the man is out of earshot.
“It’s a can of Arizona, dude. That’s what? Ninety-nine cents? Hardly an extravagance. And look, he’s going to pump three, getting his gas. Told you so.”
