Page 29 of Side Trip

Joy had thought she’d feel less remorseful about the missed opportunity by honoring Judy with a visit to the lookout featured in a textbook photo that had fueled her sister’s interest. But just a glimpse of the sprawling canyon with the surreal coloring had stricken Joy with grief. And she was getting so tired of feeling sad all the time, which was why it was imperative that she finish the bucket list, and every other list in Judy’s box. Once she did, Joy could believe that Judy would have forgiven her for the mistakes she’d made. Maybe Joy could find the strength to forgive herself.

“Can I get you anything else?” the waiter asked, refilling her water glass.

“Just the check, please.” Joy gave him Dylan’s credit card, deliberating on whether she should walk out and drive away before Dylan returned. She had the car keys in her pocket. He, though, had her phone. He also had his paper map in his back pocket. She couldn’t even get a jump on searching the surrounding area’s network of roads and highways to put her mind at ease before she drove to wherever they were going. Driving any unplanned route made her nervous, especially since she had a passenger.

Joy propped her elbows on the tabletop and dropped her face in her hands. She groaned, conflicted. Yes, she wanted to go on Dylan’s side trip. No, she wasn’t going to abandon him at the Grand Canyon. Yes, she was aware that what she was doing—driving with a stranger, trusting him—was dangerous. No, she wasn’t going to call Mark, or Taryn, or her parents to talk some sense into her.

Admittedly, completing Judy’s bucket list so that she could get to Mark sooner wasn’t the only reason she agreed to drive Dylan across country. She was lonely. But she still didn’t want Mark to accompany her, she thought guiltily, twisting the bulky engagement ring back and forth. She and Mark had history. Dylan was a clean slate. He wouldn’t judge. There was nothing to forgive. And when they did part ways, there was nothing to lose. No one would get hurt.

A family of three at a square table beside hers drew her attention. A young girl with blonde hair picked at her hamburger. Her parents sat on either side, gazes on their plates and not each other. Across from her, an empty seat, as if a piece of the family was missing. Their unit incomplete, broken. They reminded Joy of her family.

Joy dreaded dinnertime during the weeks following the accident. She hated staring at the empty space across the table. Every night she had to face her costly mistake while picking at her food because she couldn’t taste her meal. The taste of shame and guilt overpowered the flavors of every casserole their neighbors dropped off.

“Please eat,” her mom had begged.

Joy heard her mom’s worry. She was wasting away. But the thought of food soured her stomach.

“Leave her alone, Jen.” Joy’s dad picked apart the layers of spinach lasagna. He couldn’t eat either.

“I’m not going to leave her alone,” her mom argued. “She’s not eating because she’s grieving. We’re all grieving for Judy, but keeping it bottled up only makes our grief worse. It robs us of our appetites and steals our sleep.” She laid a hand over Joy’s and looked her in the eye. “Grief builds and compounds and if we’re not careful, it can break us.”

Joy looked down at her mom’s hand. So did guilt.

“Please, sweetheart, talk to us,” her mom begged.

“What’s there to talk about?” her dad interrupted. “Judy drove while drunk. She broke the law and disobeyed my direct order. Both kids did. I said, ‘no passengers.’ I never should have bought that car.” He shoved his plate away and stood. “I’ll be in my study.”

“Doing what? It’s dinnertime.”

“We have a couple hundred grand of college funding sitting in our accounts. We need to reinvest that.”

“Now?” her mom exclaimed. “We’ll use it for Joy. Please, sit down and eat.” She pushed his plate back.

“Joy isn’t going to college, not with her grades.”

Joy flinched, the verbal slap a reminder that she’d never be as good as Judy in their eyes. Her dad left the kitchen, and a moment later, a door slammed.

Her mom touched her shoulder. “He didn’t mean that, honey. He’s just sad about Judy. We all are.”

Joy pressed her chin against her collarbone. A single tear traced down her cheek.

Her mom looked at her own plate and sighed. “I’ve lost my appetite. Finish up, Joy. I’ll take care of the dishes later.” She excused herself from the table, lost in her grief as Joy suffered with her own.

The accident played on repeat in her mind. Judy’s final request recycled nonstop, words Judy would never tell anyone. Joy sat at the table alone, staring unfocused at the empty space across from her, until she couldn’t handle the solitude.

Without any real thought to what she had in mind, she went out back and stood at the edge of the swimming pool. She stood there for a very long time. The water beckoned. So did the chance to silence the shame and guilt that had tormented her since she woke up in a crumpled car, sisterless. The water would wash it all away.

She took a step forward, her foot hovering over the pool.

“Joy, no!” her mother screamed. She was suddenly behind her, and turned Joy around to pull her into her arms.

Joy gasped, startled, then burst into tears.

“How could you do this to us? We can’t lose you, too.”

Joy sobbed. How could she have been so selfish? She had a flair for disappointing her parents. But guilt was a cancer she needed to cut out before it killed her. There had to be another way to absolve it, a solution that wouldn’t harm anyone she loved.

Dylan tossed his map on the table and sank into the seat across from her. Joy jerked at his sudden arrival. She hadn’t heard him approach. Her heart started racing and she breathed through her distress. It had been a long time since her mind took her down that rabbit hole. She’d almost forgotten she’d tried to end the pain.

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