While she waited for her meal, Joy called Mark. Nervous about giving a stranger a lift, she’d texted her fiancé before she’d left Rob’s to let him know her expected arrival time in Flagstaff. That way if she hadn’t arrived because Dylan had kidnapped her, chopped up her body, and buried the pieces somewhere in the desert between Ludlow and Flagstaff, Mark would know something was up when she hadn’t checked in.

Mark answered after the second ring and she smiled at the sound of his voice. They hadn’t seen each other since he returned to New York a week after he’d proposed. That was almost two months ago.

Mark asked about the drive.

“It was all right. Nothing special. Lots of dry landscape,” she said with a twinge of guilt from omitting mention of her passenger.

“Did you stop at that gas station museum—what was it called, the one in Williams?”

“Pete’s Route 66 Gas Station and Museum, and yes. I bought a magnet.” Though Dylan had purchased a sticker and stuck it on the face of a spiral-bound blue notebook stashed in his duffel.

“I miss you. Next week can’t come fast enough,” he said. “Mom wants to take you bridal shopping.”

Joy thought of her own mom. Jenny should be the one to help her find a gown. If she weren’t moving to New York, they probably already would have made appointments at the bridal shops. “Let me know if she’s picked a date to go. My mom will want to join us. Taryn, too.” Joy was Jenny’s only daughter now. Her mom wouldn’t want to miss watching Joy try on bridal gowns. Joy couldn’t take that moment away from her. She and Taryn could fly out together.

Mark said he would and Joy promised to text him before she left in the morning. Joy then called her parents, Jenny and Joel. Her dad used to joke that if their family ever formed a band, they could call themselves the 4-Js. Then Judy died, and so did her dad’s jokes.

“Joy!” her mom exclaimed when she answered the phone. “How are you, dear?”

Joy smiled. “I’m good. Made it to Flagstaff.”

“Joel! Pick up the phone. It’s Joy,” her mom shouted. Joy’s eardrum throbbed.

“How’s my favorite girl?” her dad asked when he got on the line.

“A little tired.” Joy shifted the phone to her other ear. She never liked that endearment. They didn’t have a favorite before Judy had died.

“No more driving today. Get some sleep.”

“I won’t, and I will.” Joy lifted her gaze to the stained-glass chandelier above her table. She was twenty-two and her dad still treated her like she was sixteen. But that was fine with her. It meant that they still loved her.

“How was your first day on the road?” her mom asked.