He dug his hand into his front pocket for the Dunlop he’d stashed there before lunch. He’d used the slate-gray tortoiseshell guitar pick throughout the trip. It seemed appropriate to leave it at the spot where Jack’s professional music journey had started.

Too bad Jack’s Pontiac barely made it to the California-Arizona border. He would have abandoned the heap of junk here and walked away.

He flipped the pick like a coin and tucked it into the bouquet’s plastic wrap so that it wouldn’t be swept away into the gutter. He stared at the pick and thought of what to say about Jack. He frowned. Nothing worthwhile came to mind, no eloquent words or thoughtful phrases. No earth-shattering I-want-to-be-a-rock-star epiphanies.

He shifted on his feet and pursed his lips into a lopsided grimace.

Joy glanced up at him. “What’s wrong?”

He pressed a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “I don’t know what to say about him.”

“Nothing at all?”

He blew out a breath. “Other than Jack was a dick and sending me on this trip was a dick move? No, nothing.” His father was the only guy Dylan knew who was as selfish in death as he was in life. He still refused to acknowledge Dylan’s stage anxiety.

“All right, try this: What did you learn on this trip?”

“I still have no desire to be a rock star, but . . .”—he added with a self-deprecating grin—“I did gain an appreciation for sharing my voice with an audience, even if it’s an audience of one.” He squeezed her hand and she gave him a winning smile.

“Maybe that’s what your dad wanted you to learn all along. I wonder if it’s that simple.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you miss him at all?”

Dylan thought of his childhood. Jack didn’t read him bedtime stories or make Sunday morning pancakes. But they had music. Their offstage and in-studio jam sessions were epic. Dylan missed those days.

“Yeah. I do.”

“What’s your uncle going to do now that your dad’s gone?”

“Last I talked to him, he wasn’t sure. He’ll probably launch a solo career. He’d be damn good at it, too. Between us? He’s more talented than Jack.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Joy mimed locking her lips and tossing the key, exactly what Dylan had done the day they’d met when he’d promised not to ask questions about Judy. A lot of good that had done. If he’d learned anything, it was that Joy was far better at keeping promises than him.

“Ready to go?”

Joy took one last look at the Route 66 sign and blew a kiss to the pink rose bouquet. He dropped an arm around her shoulders, and she drew hers around his waist. “Let’s go.”