Which—honestly? Morbid. But Nora kind of felt the same way. They hadn’t seen her in days. Sure, she’d caught snippets of radio interviews while they drove, the sound scratchy and full of static, Eleanor’s voice drifting in like it was already halfway to memory. But that wasn’t the same as seeing her. Talking to her. Hugging her.
God, Nora had never wanted to hug her grandmother so badly in her life.
Joe’s ears went pink. “I saw Eleanor. I mean—Mrs. Bell. Or Strickland. Sorry.”
Leanne laughed, and the tension in her shoulders unspooled just a little. “It’s okay, Joe. Seems my mother has a lot of names these days. Was she okay?” Leanne’s words tripped over each other.
Joe’s shoulders settle. “She was perfectly well. Said she wanted you to know that. That she’s doing great. Enjoying the ride.”
Nora let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. But before she could get too comfortable, Joe added, “She also said to let you know…after this concert’s over, she’s ready to go home.”
Nora’s whole body stilled. Three more days.
She knew, of course, that this couldn’t last forever. That music festivals didn’t rewrite the rules of time. And it was August. The fall semester at Yale was right around the corner. But hearing it spoken aloud—that it was the end of the road—hit her harder than she’d expected.
Three more days, and then she’d be packing up for Yale. Trading in concert tees and open highways for syllabi and study sessions. Lecture halls and libraries. Term papers and textbooks.
This summer had been…everything.
Messy and loud and alive.
And there’d still be a couple weeks left to hang out with Kelley and her other friends.
She reined in her sudden emotion and forced a smile. “Well. I guess we better make the next three days count then, huh?”
Joe looked at her with a soft kind of knowing. “I think that’s exactly what she wants you to do.”
Leanne nodded slowly, her eyes glossy in the sun. “Thank you for talking to her. I just… I wish we could’ve talked to her ourselves.”
Joe offered a sympathetic smile. “I tried to bring her with me. Told her you were close by. But she said she wanted to rest. Said she wasn’t ready yet.”
“I can understand that.” Leanne’s voice caught a little on the last word.
Nora turned to glance at her mother, the weight of those words settling in her chest. What wasn’t she ready for?
Before she could ask, Joe nudged her elbow gently. “Ready for that soda now?”
“God, yes.”
They peeled away from the crowd, and Joe slipped his fingers through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like no time had passed at all. Nora’s breath hitched, and every ounce ofanxiety she’d carried for two weeks about whether or not he’d forgotten her melted away like ice in a paper cup.
She leaned into him, legs moving in tandem, hands swinging between them. The music hummed around them like a second heartbeat. Joni Mitchell was now crooning from the main stage, and Nora’s body instinctively moved to the rhythm.
She was going to miss this. All of it.
The music, the dancing, the carefree joy of strangers swaying shoulder to shoulder. The barefoot mornings with her mother, the way they’d sip diner coffee and read books like whispered secrets. The early light casting long shadows across picnic tables while she filled her notebook with half-formed thoughts that felt like magic.
And Joe.
She was going to miss Joe more than she wanted to admit.
So she made a promise to herself, right then and there—she would savor every second with him over the next few days. She’d press each memory between the pages of her mind like dried flowers. She’d do the same with her mother. Because soon, she’d be packing her bags for Yale, stepping onto a different path entirely.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever be quite the same again.
Chapter Forty
White surrounded her on all sides. The sky above was washed pale and overcast, a canvas stretched too tight. Under her feet, a sea of woven blankets sprawled like clothes on a teenager’s bedroom floor, looking for the right outfit—colors clashing in psychedelic swirls and frantic dots, paisley puddles tangled with sun-faded stripes. It was chaos. Pure, undiluted, joyful chaos.
