Country roads, take me home to the place I belong.

-John Denver.

He kissed me back. For just a moment, but he kissed me back, as though it was an automatic response, as though we had been kissing for a long time. But then he pulled away and looked at me. "Amy," he said softly. He'd never said my name that way before, and even though he'd pulled back, it was the answer that I needed. He touched my face, tracing his hand down my cheek and cupping it under my chin. "I'm not sure ..."

But I was. And I leaned over and kissed him again. And this time he really kissed me back, moving his hand from under my chin to my hair, and then down my back, and then under my chin again. And we were kissing like drowning people breathe-like suddenly we'd discovered something that has never been so sweet before that moment.

And as we slowed for just a breath, to a kiss that was sweeter and more lingering, I understood in a flash why, on the Greyhound sign, Arrivals and Departures were right next to each other. Because sometimes, like in that moment, they can mean exactly the same thing.

"G.o.d," he murmured into my hair when we broke away. It might have been ten minutes. It might have been an hour. I was past the point of being able to judge such things. He smoothed down my hair. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time."

"Really?" I asked, almost afraid to believe this.

"Oh yes," he said. "Since Kansas. At least least."

"Blizzard?" I asked, handing him his drink.

He took it, kissed me again, then took a sip. "Perfect," he said, smiling at me. "Reese's with a swirl?" I nodded. He smiled and took another sip, his hand resting on my knee.

I took a breath, leaned over, and kissed him again. This time he tasted like ice cream, and I could have stayed there forever, the taste of Roger's kiss on my lips, whatever was going to happen stretching out before us like the paths of the highways-the road open, the routes endless.

And that's when it started to rain.

Roger and I broke apart, and I looked at the sky, which had darkened rapidly, and showed signs of getting worse. We were starting to get rained on, sitting in the back, and we jumped up, and Roger slammed the door. We ran around to the front seats and closed the doors just as the sky opened up and started pouring down water on us. "Wow," I said, looking out at it.

"I know," Roger said. He reached across his seat to rest his hand on my knee, and I felt my heart begin to pound, still not quite able to believe this was happening. "So I guess we should get going?" he asked.

I stared out at the parking lot, which was now nearly deserted. The DQ employee had pulled his sweatshirt hood over his cap. "I guess so," I said. I brushed my wet hair away from my face. It hit me that we were almost out of time together-that the trip was ending just when things were beginning. But I didn't see anything we could do about it.

Roger touched my cheek for a moment. Then he started the car and we pulled out of the parking lot.

Maybe this time with all this much to lose and all this much to gain: Pennsylvania, Maryland, the world.

-William Faulkner.

The rain had gotten worse by the time we'd reached Maryland. I had never experienced a sudden thunderstorm like this-not in the summer-but maybe they were common on the East Coast. I'd have to learn a whole new set of weather norms. It also occurred to me that I'd have winter for the first time too. I might even see snow.

But the rain was just hammering the car. Roger had the wipers turned up to full speed, and his headlights on, and still I could barely see the lines on the road in front of us.

"This is bad," I said, handing him his gla.s.ses.

"Thank you," he said, smiling without taking his eyes off the road and putting them on. He squinted out the windshield. "I keep hoping it's going to let up, but that doesn't seem to be happening."

I looked to the food/gas/lodging signs on the side of the highway. It looked like we were going to hit a biggish town soon. And there were at least three hotels listed on the lodging sign. "You know," I said, careful not to look at him, feeling my cheeks heat up, "this really does seem like tough going."

"I know," Roger said, shaking his head.

"So maybe," I said, speaking quickly, "we should get off the road before it gets too bad. Find a cheap place to stay for the night."

Roger looked over at me, then back at the road, a smile forming on his lips. "Really?" he asked. "Are you sure?"

"I am very sure," I said, feeling myself smile as well.

"Can we afford it, though?"

"I think it's possible," I said. It would be barely possible, but doable. And if we did run out of gas, that's what AAA was for. Roger looked over at me, and I nodded. He put on his turn signal and took the first exit.

After the Udells checked in, we headed to our room and opened the door with the key card. It was one of the least-nicest places we had stayed, but I didn't care at all. The bed was king-size, and covered with what we had been a.s.sured by the front desk clerk was an authentic reproduction of a Pennsylvania Dutch quilt, from nearby Lancaster County. But I knew, and I was sure Roger knew, that the fact that there was just one bed meant something very different than it had before.

"I'm going to take a quick bath," I said, trying to defuse the tension I suddenly felt in the room. "I feel like I haven't had one in about a year."

"Great," Roger said, sticking his hands in his pockets, then taking them out and folding them awkwardly. It made me feel a lot better to see that he was nervous too.

I pulled my suitcase into the bathroom with me, not wanting to have to get ready in front of him. It was ridiculous, since after spending almost every waking minute together for as long as we had, Roger had seen me in every possible state, including first thing in the morning. But even though it didn't make any sense, I wanted to look nice tonight. We had a inclusive dinner, after all. And it felt, to me, like our first date.

I took a long, hot bath, using the products I'd stolen from hotels across America. I blow-dried my hair afterward, being gentle with it. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but there didn't seem to be quite as much falling out as there had been before. I dug through my suitcase, looking for something special to wear. Bronwyn had organized the suitcase by type of clothing-the T-shirts and tank tops were on top, and I'd mostly been sticking to them. But I was pretty sure I'd seen a dress folded along the bottom. I rummaged to the lowest layer, and there it was, all alone, taking up the length of the suitcase. I held it up, thankful one more time for Bronwyn and all she had given me. The dress was long and periwinkle blue with a sweetheart neckline. It was an incredibly soft material, and when I looked closer I saw that it had a slight sheen to it. Even though it was much, much too fancy for the hotel restaurant, it was exactly the right dress to wear tonight. As I pulled it out, I saw the green lingerie set that she'd insisted on giving me as well. I looked at the bra and underwear for a moment, then put them on.

I finished getting ready, putting on a little more makeup than usual, and even adding some mascara. Then I looked at my reflection one last time, took a breath, and stepped out into the bedroom.

Roger was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he stood up when he saw me. He had dressed up too, I saw. He was wearing khakis and a b.u.t.ton-down shirt. "Hey," I said. "You look nice."

"You too," he said, smiling at me.

I was about to brush this off, or tell him that it was Bronwyn's dress, or make a joke. But I just smiled back and said, "Thank you."

"Shall we?" he asked, holding out his hand to me. I took it, interlacing my fingers with his.

"Yep," I said.

Behind closed doors ...

-Charlie Rich.

There was a fire in the fireplace of the Towson Inn lobby, and Roger and I were sitting on the couch in front of it. Dinner had been great, even though the food had only been okay and we had been the most dressed-up people in the restaurant. But that hadn't mattered. We'd held hands under the table.

But as we sat there together, the pauses in our conversation stretched longer and longer, and I leaned my head into Roger's chest for a moment. He rested his chin on top of my head, and I squeezed his hand once and stood up. I did so carefully, since there was much more fabric to this dress than I was used to, and I didn't want to wreck the moment by falling down. He looked up at me, and I held out my hand to him. "Ready to go up?" I asked.

Roger took my hand in both of his, but stayed sitting. "Look," he said, tracing a slow circle on the back of my hand. "I don't want you to feel any pressure, like that we have to ... I mean, I just want to make sure you know that I-"

"Roger," I said. He stopped talking and looked up at me. "Ready to go up?" I asked again, smiling at him. My heart was pounding, and I was incredibly nervous. But in a good way. The kind of nervous you get before something really good happens.

He smiled and stood up, still holding on to my hand. "You sure?"

I nodded, and kissed him. He kissed me back, and we stayed like that for a moment. But then getting to the room, and quickly, seemed like a good idea to both of us. We stumbled into the elevator together, kissing until it reached our floor, then hurried out, laughing and trying to walk all at the same time. We got the room open after only three tries, and made it inside. He was trying to figure out my straps, and I had untucked his shirt from his pants and was already starting to undo his shirt b.u.t.tons while we kissed-and I nearly tripped over my dress. And before going over to join him on the bed, I locked the door and drew the shades.

"Hey," I murmured, several hours later. I stretched over and kissed him on his bare shoulder. "You up?"

"Nope," he said, smiling without opening his eyes. He rolled onto his back and I rolled into him, resting my head on his chest. After I moment, I realized that I could feel his heartbeat. I closed my eyes, and he smoothed his hand over my hair. "Five Questions?" he asked. I shook my head against his chest. "One?" he amended.

"That counts, you know," I said, propping myself up a little bit and turning to face him.

"You're not playing fair," he said.

"I learned from the best. Okay, fine," I relented. "One."

He traced the line of my chin, his expression growing serious. "Right now," he said. "This minute. Are you happy?"

I stretched up to kiss him before nodding. "Yes," I said. "Very much so." I looked at him, at the serious expression still on his face. "Are you?"

He nodded and stretched out the arm I had been lying on. He rolled onto his side, and I did the same, facing him. We twined our feet together, as though we'd always been doing it. It happened just that easily. "I am," he said. "A little too much, I think."

I moved closer to him. I knew that at some point, we were going to have to talk about things. We were going to have to say good-bye. And even if Roger refused to call it that, that's what it would be. But I didn't want to think about that just yet. I closed my eyes and wrapped my hand around his.

You've Got a Friend in Pennsylvania.

-PA license plate slogan.

"Are you sure?" Roger asked me, from the pa.s.senger seat.

I adjusted the rearview mirror and made sure I was close enough to the pedals. I let out a breath and caught my smile reflected in my side mirror. "Yes," I said. When we'd headed out of the Towson Inn that morning, I'd walked around to the driver's side. I wanted to give it a try, at least. I wanted to see if I could do it.

"Feeling okay?" he asked.

"I think so," I said, and placed my hands on the wheel, at ten and two. Roger reached over and squeezed the hand at two.

"You'll be great," he said. "Just take it slow. And I'm right here."

"Okay," I said. "Okay." I pressed my lips together, then started the car. That felt all right, so I put it in gear and slowly exited the hotel parking lot.

"You okay?" he asked as I carefully merged onto the main road.

"I think so," I said. I braked at the stoplight, aware of how hard I was concentrating, but feeling like I had it under control. I thought that it might actually be easier once we got on the highway, when there would be less stopping and starting.

"Want me to be the DJ?" Roger asked, looking down at the iPod.

"Maybe in just a minute," I said, realizing that I'd gone back to the way I used to need silence in the car when I was first learning. "I'm concentrating here."

"No problem," he said, leaning back in the pa.s.senger seat. "I actually like it over here. It's very peaceful. You might be driving for the rest of the trip."

The sentence hung in the air between us, and I felt the weight of it. There was no more rest of the trip. The trip was over.

I pulled onto the highway and merged into the middle lane, which had always been my preferred lane. I never wanted to go as fast as the drivers in the left lane, and in the right lane there were always too many people merging. Once I hit seventy, I was doing the same speed as the rest of the cars and was able to relax a little. It was okay. It wasn't a joy like it had once been, but it was okay. I was driving. And I was fine.

Roger had offered to stop at one of the many roadside diners we'd seen advertised on the highway-it seemed that Pennsylvania was diner country. But when I'd seen the sign for the burger place, I'd known that's where we had to stop for lunch.

We had gotten the burgers to go, then parked in the farthest s.p.a.ce in the parking lot. We were eating in the way-back, containers of fries sitting between us, our legs dangling over the edge.

"This is great," Roger said, and I saw that his burger was almost gone. "Maybe there's something good about Pennsylvania after all."

I smiled and took a bite of my own burger, which really was excellent, and adjusted my new sungla.s.ses. And I realized that we'd sat in this same place and eaten burgers from the In-N-Out in California on the very first day of the trip. The day we'd decided to take a detour. Just a small one. I looked across at Roger, who was so familiar to me now.

"Last one?" Roger asked, angling the fries toward me.

I shook my head. "All yours."

He finished the fries and stood up as I stuffed the trash into the Burgertown bag. Roger shut the back door, then turned to me and took my hand in his carefully, like he was still getting used to doing this. "Want me to take over driving, Hillary?" he asked.

With my other hand, I took the keys out of my pocket and shook my head, smiling at him. "I've got it, Edmund."

After I'd been driving for another hour, I could handle having music on again. Roger made his last mix, and I recognized some of his repeat bands, some of my favorites bands I hadn't even heard of a few days ago. I sang along to the words that I knew, and Roger kept time, drumming on the dashboard.

As I drove, I tried to picture what the rest of the day would be like. I played out the scenarios of Roger coming back with me and facing my mother's anger. Roger standing around while she yelled at me in some kitchen I couldn't even picture, with a fridge free from magnets. I thought about someone else watching our goodbye, even if we didn't use those exact words.

I glanced down at the gas gauge, which was hovering close to empty. Pulling off at the next exit, I headed for a Sunoco. "Here's a thought," I said as I carefully pulled forward to the pump and killed the engine. Roger turned to look at me. "What if I dropped you off in Philadelphia and drove myself to Connecticut?"

Roger shook his head. "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"I'll be okay," I promised. "Really. And it makes more sense this way." Roger got out of the car and unscrewed the gas cap. I could tell he was thinking it over. I walked inside the mini-mart to prepay with cash, hoping it would be enough to get us to Philly. When I got back to the car, Roger was pumping gas.

"I'm okay with driving," I a.s.sured him, as I squeegeed the dead-bug graveyard off our windshield. "Really. And it doesn't make any sense for you to drive with me to Connecticut only to get back on a train to Philadelphia."

"But you just started driving again," Roger said, replacing the gas cap and shutting the fuel door. "I don't know if you should drive alone yet."

I replaced the squeegee and walked over to him. "I'm going to be fine," I said. "And this way, I can spare you the wrath of my mother."

Roger put his arms around me and I leaned my head into his chest. We stayed that way until a honk behind us let us know that people were waiting for the pump. I pa.s.sed him the keys. He got behind the wheel and I got back into the pa.s.senger side, and we headed to the last leg of our journey.

Good-bye, so long, farewell ...

-Paul Tiernan.

Twenty miles outside of Philadelphia, I began to break down. It seemed that all too soon, there were signs every few feet, telling me just how close Philadelphia was. Roger was holding my hand between our seats, but I was having trouble even looking at him, choosing instead to stare out the window, and not able to think about anything except how in a very few minutes, he'd be gone.

"You okay?" Roger asked, as he turned down a residential street.

"I don't think so," I said, still looking out my window.

"Well, I think we're almost there," he said, slowing down and squinting at the numbers on his side.

"That's not really helping," I said, trying to keep my voice light and utterly failing. Roger looked over at me for a moment, then pulled to the side of the road. I looked around-we were between two houses. "Are we here?" I asked, confused.