Page 56 of Goode Vibrations

“Bloody hell, Pop,” I laughed, “You’re such a hard case.”

She blinked in confusion. “Hard case?”

“Funny. A comedian.”

“Oh. In American slang, a hard case is, like, a tough guy.” Her gaze went back to the bed. “I just showered, brushed my teeth, and dressed, or I’d suggest another go for old time’s sake.”

I let my eyes communicate how I felt about that. “Probably for the best we don’t,” I said, in contradiction to what I wanted, what I felt, what I thought. “We did, we’d spend another day here, in that bed.”

“What’s stopping us?” Poppy asked, eyes wide.

“Nothing.”

A moment, a tableau, in which we both considered the outcome of another day spent fucking, eating, talking.

It was the talking that had me shutting down. Talking would lead to questions neither of us was brave enough to answer. And I saw Poppy come to the same conclusion.

“You go first,” she said.

I swallowed. “I don’t like just leaving you here.”

She smiled, bright and brave. “I walked from Manhattan to where you found me, Errol. I’m good.”

“I know. It’s not about what I think you’re capable of, it’s…how I feel about it. Doesn’t seem right to just drive away and leave you on foot.”

Something crossed her face, then, fleeting but intense. “I know,” she said, cheerful and peppy. “But I chose to go on foot. And I’ll get a ride at some point. It’s fine, Errol. I’ve got this.” A pause. She swallowed, and I wondered how much acting she was doing. “I’m good. Promise.”

I scraped my damp hair back from my face. Shoved my sunnies higher on my head. “Yeah…yeah, you’re good.” I sighed. “Okay, then. I…it’s a weird goodbye, isn’t it?”

She nodded and shrugged. “Yeah, it kind of is.”

“So…goodbye.” Wrong, wrong, wrong. “Bye, Poppy. It was…it was amazing to have to known you.”

“To have known me biblically, you mean?” she said, smirking.

I groaned. “You gotta stop with the suggestive jokes or they’ll stop being suggestive.” I met her smirk with my own. “But yes, Poppy Goode, it wasincredibleto have had the privilege of knowing you biblically.”

She closed her eyes, briefly. Opened them again, and it seemed to me she forced the smile. “Goodbye, Errol.”

I shouldered my bags, opened the door. Stood on the threshold, looked back at her. “See ya.”

Turned, tossed my stuff in the campervan, drove away. Poppy was in the doorway, hands still in her back pockets, leaning against the doorpost, watching. Waved once, as I backed out of the parking space.

Drove away, then. Hit the junction and went west.

Alone once more, I should have been excited about the next leg of my journey. Instead, the van just felt…empty.

A mile,two. Radio off, window down.

It was a beautiful day, sunny, warm, clear blue skies. I even found an amazing highway-side ghost town, the diner empty as if waiting for cars and customers and cooks and waitresses, a mechanic shop with roll-down doors like sad eyes, a gas station with twin petrol pumps like aged sentinels. There was even a newspaper rolling listlessly down the street, blown by a lazy stream of wind.

I spent forty-five minutes there, and got a couple hundred wonderful shots.

It wasn’t the same.

I drove on, west, and the farther I went, the more my gut ached.

Finally, an hour and a half west of Dubuque, I found myself pulling off onto the shoulder. Outside my van, watching a lone cow idly browsing among a patch of clover.