Page 79 of Side Trip

She smiled back and took a deep breath, filled with relief. Her hammering heart slowed to a comfortable beat and her heavy-lidded eyes shuttered. She was asleep before they’d left Stroud’s limits.

Joy slept most of their drive, waking up rested and famished when Dylan announced he’d found a roadside motel with a pool. “And a slide!” Joy squealed with delight. The place looked like a scene straight out of a WISHYOUWEREHEREpostcard. Judy would have been gaga over it.

“You’re the best,” Joy told him with an exuberant hug after they’d checked into their rooms, and she meant it. He always seemed to know what she liked, wanted, or needed before she did. He’d especially been considerate when it came to the bucket list, going out of his way and sacrificing his time so that she could finish it.

Joy showered off the bug spray and caked-on sweat. She balled up her dirty clothes and changed into her bikini. Dylan met her at the pool with a bag of burgers and fries from the fast-food drive-in across the road. He looked sinful in his swim shorts and shirtless, and Joy bit into her lower lip to hold in a moan of pleasure.

“Do my back,” she said when he settled on the lounger beside hers. The late afternoon sun was blistering. She tossed him her sunblock, rolled onto her stomach, and buried her face in her towel, but not before she saw Dylan’s reaction when he snatched the tube one-handed midarc. He looked like he’d both lost his Gibson and signed Coldplay to his label. Scared shitless and elated at once.

It took a good half minute before Joy heard the plastic lid snap open and an equal amount of time before she heard him squirt lotion on his palm. She held her breath as he vigorously rubbed his hands together, then she gasped when he rubbed them on her. He was achingly thorough. Joy bit the towel, stifling a groan. She smelled coconut and pineapple, her favorite summer scents, and she’d now associate those with Dylan. He worked the lotion in and her up.

What was he doing? His hands, oh my God. They moved all over—her ankles, the small dip in her back, the curve of her shoulders, the slope of her upper arms—and then they were gone.

A loud splash sounded behind her. Water sprayed the concrete near her chair and the backs of her legs. Joy rolled onto her side and lifted to her elbow just as Dylan surfaced in the shallow end. He shook the water from his hair.

“Stay there,” he said testily when she started to rise. “I need a minute.” He grimaced and Joy frowned. It was just sunscreen. Taryn applied it to her back all the time. So did Mark, almost clinically because he didn’t like it when she burned. She’d complain, then blame him.

Dylan shot her a disgruntled look and Joy’s mouth parted. It took her a moment, but she threw her head back and laughed. Her experience with men was minimal. She might be naive, but she was a fast learner. Dylan was a little worked up himself.

“You okay?”

He dragged a hand down his mouth and over his chin. “Joy, you’re amazing, but his ring is still on your finger.”

Joy’s face fell. Her heart plummeted into her belly. He was right, and she was being unfair with him. But she couldn’t very well take off the ring now and risk someone lifting it from her bag while they swam. And she wasn’t going to let a two-carat rock ruin some fun in the sun. She eased off the lounge chair before she realized she was doing so, and walked to the pool edge, hands on hips. “If it wasn’t on, what would you do, Dylan Westfield?”

His mouth fell open and he stared at her. “Who the hell are you and what did you do with Joy?”

She’d left her in Stroud, in a dusty café parking lot crowded with minivans crammed with kids and Silverados towing camping trailers. Joy wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing other than having a good time for the first time in a long time. She also knew what she didn’t want to think about: how tranquil she’d felt after she woke from her nap, or of the ring that looked more dazzling than ever in the sunlight, or of Mark. She and Dylan had a pool to themselves and Dylan needed to lighten up. She cannonballed into the water and surfaced in front of him.

“You!” he sputtered, then smiled wickedly. It was the only warning Joy got. He grasped her waist and tossed her high. Joy shrieked, crashing into the deep end. She surfaced laughing and cussing, and ready for more.

It was several hours later when Joy slipped into a floaty, stylishly current sundress that reached midthigh, forgoing her vintage attire. Dylan had invited her along to his gig. She danced and sang through his performance, and she laughed, a lot. She didn’t think about Judy, and surprisingly, she didn’t dwell on where she’d left things off with Mark. In between sets, Dylan joined her at the bar for a beer. He draped an arm over her shoulders, and she lingered a little longer than necessary by his side. But then Dylan didn’t seem to be in a rush to remove his arm either.

Joy drove them back to the motel after midnight, and Dylan walked her to her room. He gently touched her cheek. “You haven’t stopped smiling all day. Looks good on you, Joy.”

Her smile broadened. It felt good on her.

They stood there looking at each other. Dylan seemed reluctant to leave, and she didn’t want to turn around and go into her room alone. But Mark’s ring was still on her finger.

“Thank you for today,” she whispered.

His fingers found her cheek, a butterfly caress, then his lips followed. “Good night, Joy.” He turned around and retreated to his room, and all Joy could think was how much she wanted to follow him.

The following morning, bloated clouds drifted overhead like ghosts in a cemetery. Lightning cut across the gray sky, charging the air. Joy’s cross-country trip was more than halfway over. Six days in. Three days to go. One day left on Route 66. She looked at the bucket list in her hand. Two bullets left.Dance in the rainanddo something spontaneous.

She thought of everything waiting for her in New York—new job, new home ... Mark—and wished Judy had more items to fulfill on this list. She could extend her trip. Delay her arrival. Live in this bubble a little longer.

Or maybe, she could do something spontaneous and call her parents. Confess the truth about Judy. Get it out in the open once and for all. Risk their judgment and rejection and whatever consequences they tossed her way.

But confessing wouldn’t bring back her sister. Her lists, at least, kept her memory alive and Joy’s guilt under control.

Movement outside caught Joy’s attention. She glanced out the window. Dylan strode across the parking lot to her car. Time to jet. She stuffed the list into her purse and went to meet him.

Dylan dropped his guitar and duffel in the back seat and offered to drive. Joy dropped the keys in his hand. Fine with her. She wasn’t particularly fond of driving.

He started the engine but didn’t go anywhere. He stared out the front windshield. Joy studied him, trying to gauge his mood. He seemed troubled.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

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