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“A metaphorical bus, obviously.”
“Wait.” He frowned and paused the movie. “Am I the bomb?”
“Don’t be silly.” She grabbed the remote and hit resume. Josh was absolutely the bomb. He was a big tangle of hormones trying to lure her to an untimely end. A bomb masked by cheesy jokes and kind eyes. One that could blow up her w
hole life if triggered at the wrong moment.
She tucked her legs underneath her with her knees pointing away from him. Best not to dwell. “Which character do you identify with?”
Josh chewed on his bottom lip. “I guess the bad guy.”
Clara made a dismissive huff through her nose.
“Well, I’m not Keanu, that’s for sure. I’m not saving anyone. I see that first bus blow up and I’m running in the other direction. There’s no movie with me as the lead.”
“Stop it. You’re nicer than you give yourself credit for. You’re helping me learn to drive out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Only because you remind me of a wounded woodland animal.”
“Thanks,” Clara said, the word dripping sarcasm.
“See? I’m totally the villain. Disillusioned and angry. Drunk on self-importance.”
“You are not Howard Payne.” Yesterday, she’d caught him trimming their elderly neighbor’s hydrangeas.
“Is that his name? Talk about on the nose. You know, if you flip the script this is a story about a broken system of law enforcement that abandons an officer disabled in the line of duty. Maybe he wanted to draw attention to the crumbling infrastructure of the LAPD.”
“Josh. Howard murders a bunch of people.”
“Yeah. That’s not cool.”
She tossed a pillow at him. “Pay attention.”
The rest of the movie passed in companionable silence. At the climax, Clara tried to wipe her leaking eyes without drawing attention to herself.
“Are you crying at Speed?” Josh sounded both amazed and appalled.
“Keanu is so sweet here.” Clara hiccuped. “He knows they might die and he sits on the floor with Sandra Bullock and holds her. He doesn’t try to grab her boob or kiss her. He wraps her in his arms, providing a shallow sense of safety. Isn’t that what all of us want deep down? Someone to hold us at the end of the line?”
“Are we watching the same movie here? I feel like you’re getting a much deeper read from Keanu’s potato face than I am.”
“Potato . . . face?”
Josh shrugged. “My mom used to say Keanu’s face looks as blank as a peeled potato.”
Clara grinned into her palm.
“Besides,” Josh said. “This isn’t even the end. What about happily ever after?”
“What about it?” Clara turned off the TV as the end credits began.
“Well, they don’t last. Jack and Annie.”
“Sure, they do.” She straightened the pillows on the couch.
“They don’t. There’s a sequel and Keanu’s not even in it. Sandra Bullock gets with some other cop.”
Walking into the bathroom to brush her teeth, Clara left the door open so she could respond. “I don’t acknowledge that.”
