hand away and pouts.
“You can’t always get what you want, ” Reagan starts singing and my heart skips.
“You can’t always get what you want, ” Carol chimes in from the kitchen.
“You can’t always get what you want, ” Reagan sings again in his raspy voice and I’m mesmerized.
“But if you try sometimes, ” I sing along without meaning to.
His eyes shoot up and he looks at my face with awe. “You just might find.”
“You get what you need, ” we sing together, attempting a sad excuse for harmony. Our eyes never break contact as the words tumble off our lips. I never sing. Some sort of foreign spirit invaded my body, causing a momentary brain spasm in which I had no control over my vocal cords. We stare at each other and there is something in his eyes that wasn't there before.
“You guys working on a duet or something? ” Paul asks. Reagan’s eyes finally leave mine to engage in a fit of laughter. I do my best to cover my smile and suppress the giggling but fail. It might be considered mean to laugh at a kid for not knowing about things like Mick Jagger, but come on?
“That was the Rolling Stones, ” I explain.
“Oh, ” Paul shrugs, embarrassed.
“I’ll show you on YouTube later, okay? ” I suggest. He offers a small smile as Holly calls for dinner. We convene at the table and I take a seat at my “designated ” spot. Reagan takes me by surprise, sitting down in the chair next to me. My dad extends his arms, instructing us to hold hands while we say grace. I reach out hesitantly as I place my hand in Reagan’s. He intertwines our fingers in a very un-prayer-like way and my heart starts to race. Pray, concentrate on praying. I try to focus and give thanks for the meal … and my health … and Reagan holding my hand … and spending the night with a rock star in a motel (even if it was a gross motel and it wasn’t how you’d think that experience would play out). My dad finishes grace and I reluctantly let Reagan’s hand go, relishing the feeling of his lingering warmth.
“You’re supposed to have left for New York, what are you still doing here? ” I ask Reagan in a whisper.
“I figured postponing another day wouldn't hurt me any, in light of recent events, ” he whispers back.
“I’m so sorry, ” I say for the trillionth time.
He offers an elaborate eye roll and shakes his head.
“You're going to New York? ” my dad asks with a raised brow.
“He’s road trippin ’ by himself, ” Mr. Lewis offers before Reagan can answer.
“That doesn’t sound like much fun, ” my dad says.
“I told him that but he doesn't ever listen to me.”
“Have you bought a plane ticket back to New York yet, Josie? ” my dad asks.
“Um, not yet, ” I say hesitantly.
“You live in New York? ” Mr. Lewis asks.
“Yes, that is where Columbia is…”
“Splendid! It’s settled, ” my dad beams.
“What is settled? ” I ask.
“You can go with Reagan on his trip, ” Mr. Lewis explains.
What?
“They can take my RV, ” my dad suggests.
“That works out great ‘cause Reagan didn't bring his car, ” Mr. Lewis says.
Why are they doing this again?
“I think this is a great idea, ” my dad says.
“You guys, ” Reagan says but they ignore him. Mr. Lewis and my dad begin working out the details to the trip that neither of us has agreed to. I look up at Reagan and his jaw is set tight. I understand how he is feeling. He doesn't like having his life planned for him and neither do I.
“I’m not doing that, ” I say, loudly enough that they stop talking.
“Why not? ” Mr. Lewis asks, confused.
“You two planning a little trip for us didn't go over so well last time now did it?”
“Oh Josie, if you’re scared about driving the long distance after yesterday… ” my dad’s eyes soften as he speaks.
“Nope, no, not scared. He wants to be alone. ” I gesture toward Reagan, urging him to help me out but he stays silent. Now is not the time to be quiet and
“You can’t always get what you want, ” Reagan starts singing and my heart skips.
“You can’t always get what you want, ” Carol chimes in from the kitchen.
“You can’t always get what you want, ” Reagan sings again in his raspy voice and I’m mesmerized.
“But if you try sometimes, ” I sing along without meaning to.
His eyes shoot up and he looks at my face with awe. “You just might find.”
“You get what you need, ” we sing together, attempting a sad excuse for harmony. Our eyes never break contact as the words tumble off our lips. I never sing. Some sort of foreign spirit invaded my body, causing a momentary brain spasm in which I had no control over my vocal cords. We stare at each other and there is something in his eyes that wasn't there before.
“You guys working on a duet or something? ” Paul asks. Reagan’s eyes finally leave mine to engage in a fit of laughter. I do my best to cover my smile and suppress the giggling but fail. It might be considered mean to laugh at a kid for not knowing about things like Mick Jagger, but come on?
“That was the Rolling Stones, ” I explain.
“Oh, ” Paul shrugs, embarrassed.
“I’ll show you on YouTube later, okay? ” I suggest. He offers a small smile as Holly calls for dinner. We convene at the table and I take a seat at my “designated ” spot. Reagan takes me by surprise, sitting down in the chair next to me. My dad extends his arms, instructing us to hold hands while we say grace. I reach out hesitantly as I place my hand in Reagan’s. He intertwines our fingers in a very un-prayer-like way and my heart starts to race. Pray, concentrate on praying. I try to focus and give thanks for the meal … and my health … and Reagan holding my hand … and spending the night with a rock star in a motel (even if it was a gross motel and it wasn’t how you’d think that experience would play out). My dad finishes grace and I reluctantly let Reagan’s hand go, relishing the feeling of his lingering warmth.
“You’re supposed to have left for New York, what are you still doing here? ” I ask Reagan in a whisper.
“I figured postponing another day wouldn't hurt me any, in light of recent events, ” he whispers back.
“I’m so sorry, ” I say for the trillionth time.
He offers an elaborate eye roll and shakes his head.
“You're going to New York? ” my dad asks with a raised brow.
“He’s road trippin ’ by himself, ” Mr. Lewis offers before Reagan can answer.
“That doesn’t sound like much fun, ” my dad says.
“I told him that but he doesn't ever listen to me.”
“Have you bought a plane ticket back to New York yet, Josie? ” my dad asks.
“Um, not yet, ” I say hesitantly.
“You live in New York? ” Mr. Lewis asks.
“Yes, that is where Columbia is…”
“Splendid! It’s settled, ” my dad beams.
“What is settled? ” I ask.
“You can go with Reagan on his trip, ” Mr. Lewis explains.
What?
“They can take my RV, ” my dad suggests.
“That works out great ‘cause Reagan didn't bring his car, ” Mr. Lewis says.
Why are they doing this again?
“I think this is a great idea, ” my dad says.
“You guys, ” Reagan says but they ignore him. Mr. Lewis and my dad begin working out the details to the trip that neither of us has agreed to. I look up at Reagan and his jaw is set tight. I understand how he is feeling. He doesn't like having his life planned for him and neither do I.
“I’m not doing that, ” I say, loudly enough that they stop talking.
“Why not? ” Mr. Lewis asks, confused.
“You two planning a little trip for us didn't go over so well last time now did it?”
“Oh Josie, if you’re scared about driving the long distance after yesterday… ” my dad’s eyes soften as he speaks.
“Nope, no, not scared. He wants to be alone. ” I gesture toward Reagan, urging him to help me out but he stays silent. Now is not the time to be quiet and
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