When I get in my car, I carefully strip the lining of my guitar case and shove all my letters in the envelope. The thin metal clip scrapes at the calluses on the tips of my fingers as I press it closed.

I scribble Carly in bumpy letters on the top with an old marker so spent I have to lick the felt to get it to write anything. I lock up my car and walk back to The Commons. There’s a crack in the bottom of one of my boots. A click when I step with my right foot. I’m not sure if I can hear it or I’m just feeling it, the way the broken rubber sticks to itself and breaks apart every time my foot flexes.

I sit on the bench again and watch Carly ring up customers at the register until she walks away and I can’t see her through the window anymore. I get up and walk closer and I still can’t see her. She must be in back. Hopefully it’s a smoke break and I have time. I want to run, make it quick, but I figure it’s better to walk in. Not call attention to myself. I don’t think I can run anyway.

The bell on the door may as well be a siren. Part of me wants her to catch me. The rest of me doesn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I don’t want to impose on the life she has now. I just want her to know that even though I left, I never stopped thinking about her. I just want her to know what happened.

I place the envelope on the counter near the register and walk away before anyone comes out of the kitchen to try to take my order. I walk out the door and the bell rings again. It’s all there. I’ve left it. Everything. The paperback guy watches me, still chewing at his bottom lip as I walk past the window.

— Chapter 68 —

The campground is closed for the season. I park my car off the road down the street and drag a blanket and my guitar around the gate. I can barely walk. It’s more of a waddle and all the muscles in my back ache. But I make it to the right place and build a fire with twigs and left-behind wood. I play Dylan songs to the lake, even though my belly makes me hold the guitar funny and my singing is breathy because my lungs don’t have enough room anymore. One song after another. My fingers throb and my throat is raw. Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right bleeds to All Along the Watchtower and runs into Tangled Up in Blue.