AMELIA

Luke was in high spirits as they sped up the ramp to I-95, reaching for her hand as they entered Connecticut and loudly announcing, “Welcome to the whitest state in America!”

She laughed and turned to look out the window. The afternoon had been gray, with a few drops of rain falling sporadically on the windshield, but now the clouds overhead seemed to be breaking. They looked stretched, thinned out and tufted with pink tendrils that reached back and to the west where the sun was beginning to set. It reflected off the rearview mirror, painting a bright wash of orange light onto her neck and chin. A cold, damp wind blew through the window—coming from far away, from an ocean she couldn’t see, but which she knew the road would follow all the way there, to the Cape, where they would follow a series of roundabouts and finally wind their way to the small, clapboard house that was theirs for the summer. The breeze licked at her upper arms. Luke, in a moment of uncharacteristic but entertaining vulgarity, had said he liked the way the thin jersey dress she’d chosen for traveling clung to her tits, but now she shivered and wished she’d remembered to pull a sweater from her duffel bag. It was impossible now, locked in the trunk and out of reach.

He seemed to have read her thoughts as he shrugged out of his hooded sweatshirt and handed it over to her. “Here, put this on,” he said.

“What are you, psychic?” she asked, smiling. She draped the sweatshirt over her front, like a blanket, and tucked her knees up beneath it. It smelled deliciously male, a mix of sweat and deodorant clinging to the soft fabric.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” he said, laughing. “But in this case, it was my highly developed sense of touch which informed me that you were shivering hard enough to shake the entire car.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” she said. “You must be disappointed, you can’t see my tits anymore.”

He looked over at her and breathed an exaggerated sigh. “Alas, I cannot. But it’s all right.”

“You forgive me?”

“Well, there will be other days, and other drives, and”—he paused for a moment—“other tits.”

Then, “Hey, don’t hit me! I’m driving!”

She settled back, still laughing and glaring at him in pretend-fury, and tucked her hands under the hoodie again. The setting sun had filled the car with orange light, pouring through the back window and bathing the dashboard in a wash of color. They grinned at each other as the sun finally slipped below the horizon. Ahead, the gray highway with its sleek dotted line stretched into the distance, nothing but asphalt and trees and one garish green sign that announced a service area five miles ahead.

She slumped deeper into the seat and sighed.

“You okay?”

“I feel sleepy,” she said. “Which is all your fault.”

Luke pounded his chest exaggeratedly and grunted, then grinned and turned his eyes back toward the road. She looked at him, not sure whether to be amused or amazed. He seemed to become more relaxed the more they drove, the further they got from their old lives as college students and the closer they came to their new ones as . . . well, whatever they would become.

It wasn’t just that he was relaxed, she realized. Everything about him was different—he looked confident, eager, in-the-moment.

He looked happy.

She hated to spoil it.

Back at his parents’ place, she had almost told him. Now she scolded herself for being a coward, for lacking the guts to just say what needed to be said, for even worrying about how he might react. It was her life, she thought. Her future. And in her dreams for that future, she had never wanted anything so passionately as she wanted this. If he was able to put aside his own agenda, the cohabitation-and-consumerism plan he seemed to have decided on, then he’d be able to see how important it was. And if he really loved her, he’d be able to forget about the plan. To improvise a little, to take a chance on a different life. He could, at the very least, be happy for her.

And if he couldn’t . . . at least she would know, without a doubt, what kind of man he really was.

Luke’s voice cut into her thoughts.

“We need gas,” he said, easing off the accelerator and allowing the car to drift toward the off-ramp. Ahead, she could see the floodlights and neon of the roadside station, hear the rumble of heavy trucks.

“Oh, let me contribute,” she said. She reached into her purse, fumbling for the silver cigarette case that held her cash.

“I can’t believe you’re still using that thing,” Luke said, shaking his head and smiling. “Haven’t you ever wanted a wallet?”

“Why, because they’re so much better?” she said, pulling the case free and rapping him lightly on the forehead with it.

“They’re certainly less painful,” he replied.

* * *

It was just minutes later, with the needle on the gas gauge pushing just past the F mark, when he suddenly turned to her—smiling broadly, his eyes alight like a kid at Christmastime.

“This feels great,” he said. “Being on the road, it’s fucking great. I feel like I could drive all night, I’m so excited.” He turned to look at her again. “Are you excited?”

“Yes,” she answered honestly. “I am.”