Joy turns around. Mark stands on the parlor threshold. She didn’t hear him come down the stairs. But he’s got Judy’s hatbox and the lid’s missing.

“That’s mine,” she says, her tone urgent. She notices the Polaroid photo in his hand. Her and Dylan, in bed, smiling up at the camera. Nausea rolls through her. She knows how devastated Mark will be.

“I accidently knocked the box off the top shelf when I was looking for my Bruins duffel and . . .” He frowns, then reads the date on the back of the photo out loud. He looks up at her, brows drawn. “This was two days before you got to New York. Who is this guy?”

“Mark . . .” She has nothing to say. There’s nothing she can say.

“Who is he?” Mark shouts.

“Someone I met on the way.”

It sounds like she picked up a hitchhiker. In a way, Dylan had been. He was a stranger who needed a ride and she gave him one.

“You slept with him.” A statement, not a question. His face hardens, and his skin turns blotchy and red. “We were engaged!” he explodes. “I’ve been such a fool. He’s why you didn’t want me to go with you.”

“No!”

He gives her a look. He doesn’t believe her. “Everything makes perfect sense now, all those times you forgot to text me, or didn’t pick up my calls. He’s the reason you wanted to break off our engagement.”

“No!”

He waves the photo. “You were different when you arrived, now I know why. I thought you were homesick, but no. You were missing him.” He throws the photo at her. It arcs in the air, then spirals to the floor, landing at her feet. She doesn’t dare pick it up.

“Are you still seeing him?”

“No. And I haven’t talked to him either, not since I got to New York,” she volunteers, her voice rough with emotion.

His hand dives into the box and comes out with Judy’s Route 66 Bucket List. Joy’s stomach rolls. She swallows repeatedly, silently willing him not to read it. But he does, and his face pales. “Does he know what happened to Judy? Did you tell him?”

Her lower lip trembles. “Mark . . .”

“Fuck. You crossed out fall in love.” He shifts the box in his arms. “You fucking love him.”

“Don’t . . .” She looks at the photo on the floor, shakes her head.

“Why did you marry me?”

“I loved you.”

“Loved. Nice slipup, Evers.” He stares harshly at her before looking away. When he looks back at her, his eyes sheen with unshed tears. “Were you ever in love with me?”

She nods.