Side Trip(89)

“We?”

“Your mom asked me to.”

“Why?” Judy was gone. They couldn’t get rid of her stuff, too. Joy wouldn’t have anything left of her sister.

Fresh tears flowed. They came quickly those days.

“Your mom is having a hard time with your sister’s belongings still being here,” he explained.

They were all having a hard time. Joy especially. She wasn’t only fighting through her grief. She was living in a dark and awful place inside her mind. She’d never be the same again. She would always see herself as the girl who killed her sister.

“What are you going to do with her stuff?”

“We’ll box up some keepsakes. But the rest . . .” He swept a hollow gaze around the room. “I guess your mom will have Salvation Army pick it up. Joy?” He methodically folded the handkerchief and returned the soiled cloth to his pocket. “I know I’ve asked before, and I promise it will be the last time.” He lifted his head and looked at her.

Joy’s back prickled. She knew what he was going to ask. As he’d prefaced, he’d asked before. So had the cops and the paramedics.

“What?” Her tone was thin, defensive.

“Why wasn’t Judy wearing a seat belt? I don’t understand how she could forget. She didn’t disregard things like that.”

She didn’t. The front passenger seat didn’t have a working seat belt.

Judy had somehow managed to scoot over into the driver’s seat after Joy passed out, buckled in the back. That was where the rescue crew had found them. But they questioned why Judy’s blood stained the passenger seat and two of Joy’s upper ribs were cracked. One of the EMTs remarked that he’d seen similar cracks from the impact of an airbag. And the only airbag in the car was in the upgraded steering column.

Judy’s autopsy revealed traces of alcohol in her system. It was reasonable to assume she’d driven under the influence and neglected to buckle her belt. The cops had asked Joy, but she stuck with her made-up story. She’d been asleep. She didn’t remember Judy driving off the road.

Joy suspected they all knew the truth, the cops and the other rescuers. But as far as she knew nobody said anything to her or her parents. Maybe because it was a single-vehicle accident. No other parties were involved or injured. Her parents had lost one child. Why punish the other?

They didn’t need to. Joy lived in her own private hell.

The phone rang in her dad’s home office. He glanced toward the hallway. “I have to get that. Wait here.”

Joy watched him leave. She then sank to her knees and, looking under Judy’s bed, dragged out the floral hatbox. Judy’s box of lists and dreams. No way was she going to let her dad throw the box away. It contained every list Judy had written since she’d learned how to write.

She lifted the lid to make sure one list specifically was there, and it was, right on top. Judy’s most recent list, written in her crisp penmanship on yellow stationery with her embossed initials, JBE.





My Life Goals


Pledge a sorority at UCLA.



Graduate with a degree in chemical engineering.



Move to New York.



Get a job at Vintage Chic Cosmetics.



Marry Todd.



Launch my own lipstick line.



Have three kids.





She slid the lid back on and tucked the box under her arm. She might have cut Judy’s life short, but nobody could stop Joy from living it. She’d make sure that Judy’s dreams came true. Maybe, just maybe, if she gave up her own dreams for Judy’s, she wouldn’t hurt so much.

Joy removes everything from the hatbox now and sorts it into neat piles on Taryn’s kitchen counter: Judy’s lists, her silver bracelet with the sapphire charm, clipped articles that related to Dylan and Westfield Records, the crinkled and worn Route 66 Bucket List, the Joyride CD, and finally, three Polaroid photos.

She carefully unfolds the bucket list and reads through the bullets. Drive across country in a convertible. Do something I have always wanted to do. Do something spontaneous. Do something daring. Do something dangerous. Sleep under the stars. Dance in the rain. Make a new friend. Fall in love.

Each bullet brings about a vivid and distinct memory that gives her all the feels, except one. She never did do something spontaneous.

But she did fall in love with Dylan.

I love him.

If only she’d had the courage to tell him then. She would have saved herself and Mark years of heartache.

Her hand dives into her purse and she grabs a pencil. Careful, so as not to rip the paper, she erases the worn line through fall in love, then strikes the bullet out with a fresh one. Satisfied, she tucks the list, along with the CD and Judy’s bracelet, into her purse. She plans to keep those.

She goes for the Polaroids next, but something else catches her eye. Judy’s life goals.

She reads through the list, nonplussed.

“Hey, you all right?”

Joy blinks at Taryn. She didn’t hear her come in. She goes to show Taryn Judy’s list, wondering if she’ll be as disconcerted as Joy, but stops.

“What is it?” Taryn asks.

Joy had been young, hurt, scared, and consumed with guilt when she pledged to complete each of Judy’s lists. Achieving her sister’s goals and dreams was good in theory, but Joy’s older and wiser self sees the true way to atone for her mistakes and let go of the past is twofold: admit what she’d done wrong, then forgive herself.