Side Trip(85)

At one point, midway through the next day, Dylan unboxed the Polaroid camera Jack’s attorney had given him and loaded the film.

Joy, lying on her back, looking sated and beautiful in a bed of white cotton sheets, lifted to her elbows. “You’ve had a Polaroid this whole time?”

He smirked. “Rick’s idea of a lame joke.”

“I think it’s cool. So retro. I can’t believe you haven’t used it.”

It was a stupid gimmick, until now. He finally had a picture worth taking.

He looked through the lens. “Smile, gorgeous.” She did and he pressed the button. The camera spat out a photo. He shook the paper, climbing back into bed. He lay down beside her, his head touching hers, and held up the photo. They waited quietly as it processed and, slowly, Joy’s image appeared. She gasped. He grinned.

“That’s a good picture of you.” With her blonde hair over her shoulders and bedsheet around her waist.

She plucked the photo from him.

“Hey.”

“I’m naked. No way can you keep that.”

“That was the idea,” he grumbled. He made a pouty face and she laughed. He was going to miss that laugh. Bright and full of fun.

“Take another.” She pulled the sheet over her breasts. They smiled up at the camera, her hair a golden halo spilling across the pillow, and he took the picture. He turned his head and pressed his lips to her cheek and took another. That photo would have been his favorite, the way she was looking into the camera so that he could look back into her soul, but she took the photo, and the others, stashing them somewhere with her belongings, when he’d taken a shower before that night’s gig.

He thought about mentioning something, but he decided not to. For forty-eight hours he had the privilege of loving and making love to Joy. A far better keepsake than a photo of the woman he’d never see again the day after tomorrow.

Their worlds spun on different axes. But for the past nine days, his life had aligned with hers. That alone made him feel like the luckiest son of a bitch.

On their last morning in Chicago, his mood was somber. He didn’t talk much during breakfast, or on the drive to Cleveland, where he spent his last night with Joy, who’d been just as quiet all day. Once there and checked into the room, they didn’t talk at all, nor did they sleep. They touched, they kissed, and they made love.

Dylan held her close. He cherished her. He savored her. He wished he didn’t have to let her go. “Anything I can say to convince you to extend our road trip?” he dared asking.

She silenced him with a kiss and straddled him one last time. He let her ride out her goodbye. There weren’t any more words to say.

Dawn came like she always does, and he had a flight to catch. He drove them to New York and straight to JFK. No side trips.

Rip off the bandage, Joy had said that morning. She wanted to drive directly to the airport and quickly part ways or she’d lose it. As much as he hated to speed up their goodbye, he couldn’t agree more. They needed to get it over with and move on to the next phase of their lives.

He held her hand the entire way. When they arrived at the airport and he pulled up to the departure curb, the car in park and idling, he didn’t let go. The inevitability of their separation hung thick in the car. Joy was looking down at her lap. Her shoulders quaked. He wanted to see her smile one last time.

“It’s been a joy riding with you,” he said, trying for humor.

“Don’t do that. Don’t make me laugh when all I want to do is cry.” But she cracked a smile. Dylan would never forget her smile.

He cupped her cheek. “Don’t cry for me.”

Joy nodded, wiping her face. She sighed and looked at him like she was trying to memorize everything about him. Her eyes buzzed over his face and his did the same to hers. Every distinct line, every elegant curve, every shade of color in her hair, her eyes. He committed them to memory.

A sad smile expanded above her chin. “We don’t exchange last names.”

“What happens on the road stays on the road,” he said.

“If one of us wants to take a side trip—”

“—we both have to agree,” he finished with her.

They shared a smile and he felt a sharp tightness in his chest. This was going to be brutal. “Don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

Dylan opened his door. Joy did the same. He grabbed his gear and guitar from the back seat and met her at the curb. He put down his stuff and crushed her to him. She cried out. He kissed her and he tasted her tears. He’d always associate that taste with heart-wrenching goodbyes. Damn, this was harder than expected. Harder than singing in public.

“I will never, ever forget you, Joy,” he pledged. Reluctantly, he let her go. He picked up his stuff and looked at her. They watched each other for a long moment, and Dylan took in the sight of her. The low-waisted flared jeans. The fitted shirt with a rainbow pony decal. The pukka shells adorning her neck. She was wearing her hair long and straight down her back. A golden sheet of sunshine he’d wrapped around his fists more than once as he came inside her. She was beautiful to him. His Cali girl. His joy.

“Don’t say the word, Dylan,” she whispered when his eyes met hers for the last time. “Don’t say ‘goodbye.’”

“I won’t.”