Page 108 of Here We Go Again
Logan cuts her off. “It’s okay. Why don’t I drive a little longer so you can sleep?”
Rosemary takes a deep breath like there’s more she wants to say. Whatever it is, she exhales and eats a McDonald’s french fry instead of saying it.
“Okay. Thank you.”
Logan puts her sunglasses back on. “What are friends for?”
ROSEMARY
Is that what they are now?Friends?
As they drive out of Roanoke, she blasts “Bitch.” She belts it out so loudly that the volume of her own voice drowns out all the other thoughts in her head. No room for fear or grief or sadness. No space to miss Joe or Logan while they’re still right here. Only room for Meredith Brooks.
The song ends, but she puts it on repeat, so it starts again and again, and she sings until her voice goes hoarse.
Logan is behind the wheel, and she’s singing, too.
LOGAN
She’ll sing this song for however long Rosemary needs. She’ll scream the lyrics until she has a splitting headache if that gives Rosemary some peace.
ROSEMARY
They watch the sun go down behind the Blue Ridge Mountains, and how can anything be that beautiful when Joe Delgado is dying?
“I want to come back here,” Logan says, watching the colors spread across the sky.
“Me too,” Rosemary whispers.
“Me, three,” Joe croaks from the back, suddenly awake. “Next summer? Let’s take another road trip.”
Odie barks in agreement.
LOGAN
Somewhere in eastern Pennsylvania, Joe starts aspirating. His breathing becomes a staggered, choking, wet rattle.
Everything is dark beyond the Gay Mobile. There is nowhere to pull over, no service lights as far as her eyes can see.
Rosemary clicks on the car light, unfastens her seat belt, and climbs into the back. She leans over Joe and tries to clear his mouth with a gloved hand. Then she crouches back there all the way to New York, squeezing the hand pump valve in a perfect rhythm, helping Joe catch his breath. Logan steals glances in the rearview mirror.
“Not yet, old man,” Rosemary whispers. “Just a little farther to go.”
Logan repeats those words as she hunches over the steering wheel.Just a little farther to go.
Her physical pain surpassed her emotional pain two states ago. Everythinghurts. Her wrists from holding the wheel. Elbows and shoulders and the back of her neck.
Her right knee hurts from keeping it in one position, pressing down on the gas pedal. Her hip flexors. Her lower back.
It’s a good thing she never cared too much about her ass, because it broke back on the New Jersey Turnpike. All she can do is hunkerdown and focus on the few feet of dark road illuminated by her headlights in front of her.
Just a little farther to go. She counts the passing minutes in mile markers. She recites every song fromRentin her head.
Joe is more alert once his airways are clear, and Rosemary falls asleep curled up next to him, Odie tucked under her other arm.
“How much farther?” Joe croaks.
“Just a little farther, Joe. Just a little farther.”
