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 rain and do 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.

He paused. “I forgot to call Rick last night.”

Joy made a noise of commiseration. She knew this could be problematic for him. Dylan called his attorney before and after each gig from what she’d noticed. He had his reasons, which he didn’t share with her when she’d asked a few days ago. But Rick’s profession gave Joy the impression that Dylan was under some sort of contractual obligation to keep in touch.

In his defense, it completely slipped her mind that he hadn’t asked to borrow her phone. They were having too much fun.

“What’s going to happen since you didn’t?” she asked.

He frowned. “Don’t know. Well, I do, I just hope he doesn’t follow through with it. Fuck.” He smacked his palm on the steering wheel.

Joy hadn’t seen him apprehensive like this about anything before. Whatever was between him and Rick had him worried. She showed him her phone. “Can you call him now?”

“Yeah.” Dylan tapped in Rick’s number and waited. He swore and gave back her phone.

“He didn’t answer?” Joy asked. He shook his head. “We’ll try later.” She slipped her phone into her purse.

Dylan clipped his seat belt and revved the gas. A nervous flutter pulsed in Joy’s throat. She buckled up and gave her belt a habitual two tugs, which caught Dylan’s attention.