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She nodded. “Yes, it sounds better.”
“Got it.”
“But I don’t want them to think we go around damaging property either. I’ll think of something by the time I get down there.”
“Sounds good.”
They packed their things, and Palmer insisted on cleaning their table so the housekeeper wouldn’t have to worry about the garbage. Kent stacked their dishes and set everything outside their door. He cleaned the bathroom and inspected the sheets and pillowcases for blood. When he found none, he said the room was ready and left to get a luggage cart.
Palmer set their luggage near the door and held it open for Kent when he returned. They stopped at the front desk to turn in their keys, and Palmer told them about the broken mirror. “I’m sorry, but I’ve broken the mirror in the entryway, and I’d like to pay for it.”
The clerk looked wide eyed at Palmer and said she would get the manager. Kent stood next to her. He leaned in and said, “They’re probably shocked someone is admitting to the damage.”
“It’s only right.”
“I know,” he said.
The manager came to the counter and took Palmer’s statement. Her version of events wasn’t that far off from the truth. She made it sound as simple as possible. “We struggled with the door, and when I tossed my bag in, my aim was off. I’d like to pay for the damages.”
“Uh, we’re okay,” the manager told Palmer. “Accidents happen. We’re not going to charge you.”
“You’re sure?”
Kent bumped her hip, and she ignored him.
“Yes, of course. Thank you for letting me know.”
As they made their way to the parking lot, Kent asked, “Why would you encourage him to charge you?”
“I don’t want anything looming over me after I die,” she said. “Whoever moves into my apartment is going to end up getting my mail someday, and I’d hate for them to get notice after notice that I committed some crime.”
“Falling into a mirror is hardly a crime. You’re being a tad overdramatic.”
Palmer sighed. “You’re probably right.”
After Kent loaded their luggage, he returned the cart to the lobby and jogged back to the Jeep. Palmer already had the top pulled back and had her face turned toward the sun. “This feels good,” she said.
“It does. What do you say we hit a couple of museums today? I know they’re not really your thing, given they’re about a boxer and baseball.”
“If they’re your thing, they’re mine,” she told him.
He stopped to fill up with gas, and then they got on the road. He drove the scenic route, and Palmer pointed out the historic features of Louisville. When they pulled into the parking lot at the Louisville Slugger Museum, she insisted Kent stand in front of the giant baseball bat so she could take a picture.
When he reached for her hand, she stopped him. “I want to thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being you and keeping your promise.”
Kent stepped toward her and caressed her cheek. She leaned into him and prayed he would kiss her, and she wished she was brave enough to kiss him.
Before I’m Gone
Sit in the front seat of a roller coaster and feel the wind in my hair
Eat tacos or tortillas from a roadside stand in New Mexico
Shop at a large farmers market
Meet Lana Del Rey and see her in concert
Take a picture of the most-painted shed in the US
Sit in the sand and watch the sunrise in Cape Cod
Take the steps to the Lincoln Memorial
Do yoga in Sedona
Tour and feed animals in a wildlife sanctuary
Stand under a waterfall
See Elvis on the street corner in Las Vegas
Hug an elephant
Find my family
Step on grapes and make wine
Run through a wheat field
Drive Route 66
See the marquees on Broadway
Ring the Liberty Bell
Buy a quilt from an Amish stand
See the northern lights in Minnesota
Visit Plymouth Rock
Touch Babe Ruth’s bat
Travel the Loneliest Road
Visit the Muhammad Ali Center
Dance in the rain with someone I love
Take the ferry to the Statue of Liberty
Check out the Grand Canyon
Take every picture I can of Palmer
Make Palmer smile
Eat chowdah in Boston, per Palmer
Eat pizza in Chicago
Try frozen custard in New York City
Get coffee in each city
THIRTY
While Kent drove, Palmer scrolled through his phone. Ever since they’d gone live that one time in DC, she’d become slightly obsessed with social media. She loved to take pictures of Kent, especially while he drove, and post them onto their “travel story,” as she called it. If Kent cared, he never said anything, and he never balked at having his photo taken. Palmer had, though, at first, and now she wanted him to have all the memories of their time together. She locked the phone and took out the journal she’d picked up a couple of stops back.
She propped her feet onto the dash and began writing, despite her fingers feeling useless. They seemed swollen, even though they looked normal. She flexed her fingers and shook her hand to regain some feeling. They were on the interstate, and there wasn’t anything to look at or for her to point to until the next big city came along. Palmer wrote about their trip to the baseball museum, where they learned how they made the wooden baseball bats.
