The Passenger by Lisa Lutz Page A

replayed this again and again in my head. Only he’s driving, and I can see that look on his face. I remember the moment when he decided what he was going to do. That hard line set in his jaw. Knowing that the time was long past for stopping it, knowing that I should have seen it coming, knowing that I knew what he was going to do before he did. Ten years ago and it felt like tomorrow, like it could happen again and again.
    I do what I should have done the first time. I swing my legs over the wheel and I kick him in the face. He loses control of the car and we jump the guardrail, landing in the frigid lake. We’re slowly submerging. I know what to do. I unbuckle my seat belt and roll down the window before we go under. I look at him; he’s out cold. I have enough breath to pull him out of the car, but he looks so peaceful behind the wheel. I leave him behind. I look in the backseat and see the other passenger. For a second I wonder whether I should leave him too. Then I feel the blast of cold water as it spills into the car. I jolt awake.
    Blue is sitting in a chair, watching me.
    â€œNightmare?”
    â€œNo. A dream.”
    A dream I have again and again, a simple fantasy of what I should have done. And then I would be free.

June 10, 2008
    To: Ryan
    From: Jo
    I’m married. Got a new name. It’s better than the last one. I won’t tell you what it is. Plausible deniability. You won’t be lying if you don’t know. Should I still be looking over my shoulder or have people forgotten about me?
    My husband, I’ll call him Lou, if I ever need to call him anything. Lou’s all right. When I was a girl I dreamed of better than all right. For a while you were my better-than-all-right. Look how that turned out. Anyway, I couldn’t tell anyone else from home. You’re all I’ve got. You and Lou.
    So what’s happened since I last heard from you?
    Jo
    June 21, 2008
    To: Jo
    From: Ryan
    Congratulations, I guess. I just had eight bourbons at the Sundowners to celebrate. Celebrate might be the wrong word for it. Who is he? What is he? Do you love him?
    Here’s to a long and prosperous marriage to a man who has no idea who you really are. I’d give you advice, but according to my parents, the secret to staying together is never being in the same room.
    Shit, you got married. I think I’m going to need to do more celebrating.
    R
    August 30, 2008
    To: Ryan
    From: Jo
    If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were jealous.
    No, Ryan, I don’t love him. But getting married seemed wise, or more precisely, getting a new name seemed wise. Besides, I didn’t get just a husband, I got a husband and a job. Lou owns a bar. I serve drinks. Not exactly the career path I had in mind for myself, but it’s better than cleaning houses, which is what I was doing for the first year I was out on my own. We were married by Otis, the local mechanic. He’s a minister with the Church of Auto Parts. I didn’t even know such a thing existed. He cleaned under his fingernails for the ceremony. I was touched. When Otis said, “ ’ Til death do you part,” the first thing I thought was that I hoped longevity didn’t run in Lou’s family. If we last five years, I’d be surprised. But at least I got a new name out of it.
    This is my life now. But it’s not my only life. When I close my eyes, sometimes I enter into a different world, my alternate universe. That night never happened. Or if it did, we weren’t involved. We did all of the things we said we were going to do. I even have a clear picture of the cheap one-bedroom apartment we’re sharing. It’s a third-floor walk-up. We sit on the fire escape on hot summer nights and drink beer and look at the stars. Come to think of it, we could be there right now.
    But that isn’t real. So tell me what is. What have I missed?
    Jo
    October 5, 2008
    To: Jo
    From: Ryan
    I don’t know