Dylan’s battery was at only 5 percent, so when I got into the car, I plugged it into my charger. I set my own phone in the holder on the dashboard, told Siri the address of Rhonda Lewis’s workplace, and maneuvered my way onto I-90 West, which I took toward Watertown. Driving was beyond slow-going, but that was no surprise. It was rush hour, and rush hour during holiday season in Boston was otherwise known as the Ninth Circle of Hell. I was used to it.
Well, I used to be used to it.
As I sat behind the wheel of my car in standstill traffic,ignoring a podcast while surrounded by the incessant and pointless blare of horns, I couldn’t help but think of the Jersey Shore right now, the empty beach roads as twilight approached, the only sound the soothing roar of Atlantic.
And the sunsets…
I hadn’t planned on calling Richie. I’d texted him this morning to let him know that Rosie and I had arrived safely home, but beyond that, I’d been determined to let this day come and go without communicating with him. I’d even told him as much.I love you,I’d said as I was getting into my car,but if I’m going to survive until the next time we see each other, I’ll need a day or two to myself.
But it was more than that. I needed distance from Richie in order to gain some perspective. Was a move to Asbury Park truly a good idea, or was I letting my heart (and other parts of my body) lead me into making the wrong decision? Obviously, I couldn’t figure out the answer to that question unless I was on my own for a solid block of time.
But you know what they say about the best-laid plans.
Richie’s phone started ringing before I realized I’d called him. He answered before I could hang up. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” he said.
“For me as well as you.”
“Huh?”
“This call,” I said. “I wasn’t even aware I was making it. It was basically an involuntary physical response.”
“You mean like the type of thing that keeps you alive?”
“That’s a little dramatic.” In the background, I could hearthe thump of a mic, a guy saying “testing,” then counting to ten. “It is good to hear your voice, though.”
“Thanks.”
Someone launched into a very loud guitar solo.
“Kind of,” I said.
“Huh?”
“It’s good tokind ofhear your voice.”
“Sorry, that’s The Wild and the Innocent,” Richie said.
“Who?”
“Tonight’s Springsteen tribute band. They’re doing a sound check.”
“I’d say it’s a little heavy on the sound.”
“Let me take you outside, where we can be alone.”
I grinned. “It sort of turned me on when you said that.”
“That was my intention.”
I heard Richie telling somebody he’d be back in a few as the drummer started in. “We’re almost there,” Richie said. I heard a drumroll, the crash of cymbals, a door closing. Muffled music, footsteps, and then quiet. A gust of wind. “Better?” Richie said.
“Much.” I felt like I could almost smell the ocean.
Back in Boston, someone behind me leaned on their horn. “What the fuck?” I shouted.
“Are you okay?” Richie said.
I let out a sigh. Traffic had apparently moved two inches forward and I hadn’t followed suit. I took my foot off the brake, and the asshat finally eased up on the horn. “I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just…driving.”
