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It took around three years for Bill to be comfortable with Joel and Tess staying the night.
Frank and Tess had been steadily pushing for it for that entire time, and even Joel had joined in after a year or two once he accepted that his desire for a real shower outweighed his cautiousness and his standoffish relationship with Bill. There was a lot to be cautious about, too; the ten mile journey out of Boston, the risk of being caught outside the QZ, the threat of Bill's moods. They’d only made it out there a handful of times to carry out larger trades, stuff like medicine and seeds in exchange for good guns and good soap, and just for those trades to happen the stars had had to align—Joel and Tess had to both be stable enough to be able to miss working for a day or two, they had to leave in the middle of the night and bribe FEDRA guards to even make it out, and they had to spend the rest of the day after seeing Bill and Frank camping off-road to be able to sneak back in the next night. It took work.
It was always worth it, though. Joel probably would’ve done it every month or two if that had been in any way feasible, and he knew Tess would’ve too, with the hours she spent talking to or about Frank nearly every day.
Frank had been the first to suggest it after around a year of trading, arguing that it just made sense for them to stay longer seeing as they needed to wait until the wee hours to sneak back anyway. They could stay in the guest room or even in one of the nearby houses, he’d offered, earning a look from Bill that was so mutinous Joel had been worried he was going to send Frank packing right then and there. That had been before Joel had known just how much Bill cares about Frank, which it hadn't taken him much longer to figure out. It quickly became pretty obvious that Bill's constant vigilance began and ended with protecting Frank.
Joel and Tess had stood in the yard, eating what was a pretty nice lemon lentil soup, as the sounds of Bill and Frank arguing about it had drifted out from inside the house, mostly just Bill listing off every reason it wasn't safe while Frank deflected every excuse as easily as a cat might bat at a moth. Joel still thinks about the look on Tess's face that day sometimes, an amused eyebrow raise that said something like Thank God we aren't like that, even though they often were just like that.
Frank would always drop the subject and back down once Bill got to the silent-treatment stage, his arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed as Joel and Tess got ready to head back out, but every time Frank pushed Bill became slightly more pliable. Frank and Tess had been unsatisfied with the slow progress (so slow that it took two years for Bill to say more than the bare minimum amount of words necessary to them whenever they met up), and had devised a little plan to force the issue.
The first step of the plan was to organize another meet-up, which they did. Mid-October so they could get ready for another Massachusetts winter—some of the last of the season's crops for Joel and Tess, and some canned food for Frank and Bill. Bill also needed more aluminum in case the snow messed with his fences or their electricity, plus copper for the pipes in case they burst like they did last winter. Frank also requested more sheet music for their piano, which he'd said as a joke but Tess had taken deadly seriously, trading some of their best pills for some Billy Joel and Carol King books that someone probably scrounged pretty easily from one of the abandoned music shops downtown.
The next step had been to go up specifically when they knew the weather wouldn't be great. Joel hadn't been on board with this at first, but the reminder of Bill and Frank's functioning shower had been enough to change his mind pretty quickly. They waited until a long block of cloudy days and prayed for rain. The first slightly drizzly day that came they told Bill that the only day that worked for them was the following one, when the rain would probably be worse. It was. They showed up on their doorstep, looking wet and miserable, and all it had taken then was some nudging from Frank—Oh, they're freezing, come on, let them wash up inside, at least.
That nudging had turned to further nudging—You can’t expect them to go back out while it’s like that, let them stay warm for a little while, which had turned pretty easily into Wow, looks like it’s getting dark. Good thing we have a guest room…
It was obvious that Bill knew exactly what Frank was doing, but he’d eventually sighed in defeat, ran a hand through his beard, and jerked his head as if to say Fine, then. Tess had done a valiant job at hiding her triumph, giving Joel an I-told-you-so nudge and thanking Bill and Frank profusely for their hospitality. A smile had played at her lips the rest of the night, only growing once her and Frank broke into the wine.
There’s still a kind of romantic haze around that first night, maybe because of the newness of it all; Joel still remembers what it felt like to have a hot shower for the first time in years, the way he’d braced himself against the wall and felt a few stray tears hotter than the water spill out of his eyes just at the feeling of water on his back, trickling over scars that still hadn’t fully healed over yet. He remembers what it felt like to trim his hair in the steam-fogged mirror like he used to, to stare at his jutting hip-bones while the smell of the actual food that Bill was cooking drifted through the door, to wear clothes that smelled like cotton and flannel, not dirt and armpit. When Tess saw him she’d made an easy joke about how he cleans up nice, but the spark in her eyes had made Joel swallow, tasting the promise of later that she hadn’t had to say for him to hear.
Joel remembers the sanded walnut of Bill’s dining table underneath his palms, the way that Bill had tentatively smiled under his bushy beard after Joel had complimented the craftsmanship, asking who made it even though he already knew the answer. He remembers the joke Frank had cracked about Joel’s attempt at flattery and how it’ll get him everywhere with Bill, and he remembers the way Bill’s startled expression had slowly morphed into a surprisingly youthful giggle, one that had seemed so improbable coming from Bill’s mouth that it had sent Joel and Tess into a fit of their own. That had probably been the wine.
Joel still remembers that wine; not the brand or the year, which couldn’t have mattered less to him, but the richness of it on his tongue and down his throat, the way he’d felt it spread warmth and ease through his limbs. It had tasted like black grapes and smoked cherries, complementing the earthy taste of the roasted root vegetables that had been their dinner for the evening. He hadn't much cared about if alcohol complemented anything before that night, which had made Frank call him a philistine, or something, he doesn’t remember the exact word. All he knows is that after that point even Bill was in a good mood, the hand that had been resting on his gun finally moving off of it as the night wore on.
Joel remembers the way Frank had lit up when Tess had shown him the sheet music, plus the next hour of wheedling it had taken to get Bill to play them something, complete with Frank butchering the songs on purpose just to irritate him enough to nudge him out of the way. He’d played Carole King first, It’s Too Late. Bill refused to sing under any circumstances, so Frank had instead, his voice only slightly less loud and off-key than before. Once the Billy Joel came out Tess tried her level best to get Joel to sing along, which had only gotten worse when Frank suggested that “Bill and Joel play Billy Joel” like his wit was so revelatory they’d have no choice but to oblige. They hadn’t, but Bill did play most of Vienna for them. Joel remembers the way that Tess hummed along to Frank’s theatrical singing, mellowing it out considerably. For a tiny moment Joel had almost been tempted to join himself, feeling the melody bubble up and out of his chest the way it always used to, but he hadn’t.
Joel remembers going to bed with Tess (after Bill had gotten a little scary again and implied that if he heard them sneaking around the house they were both as good as dead), and he remembers the way she’d murmured something about how that wouldn’t be a problem and pulled Joel to their room.
He remembers the look in Tess’s eyes when he’d kissed a trail down her stomach, surprise and anticipation and hunger, enough that he’d had to shut his eyes with how overwhelmed he’d felt all of a sudden, safe there with her in fresh sheets with nothing but the silent pattering of rain to underscore her sharp little breaths.
Joel remembers the way she’d tasted, clean and briny, her hands pulling at his hair like she couldn’t believe the way it felt beneath her fingers (Bill and Frank still had conditioner, which was a miracle enough of its own). He’d thought she looked beautiful like that beneath him, even more so when she’d crawled over him and, haloed by the overhead light, took his face in her hands and licked the taste of herself off of his lips.
He remembers the way they took their time until they couldn't anymore, and he remembers the way she’d held him afterwards, the spot of warmth between his shoulder blades from the way she pressed her face there, breathing slow and open-mouthed.
It had been a good night.
Good enough that, when they’d left that morning loaded down with yams and beets and cauliflower, they’d already made tentative plans to do it again the next year.
And they had.
They didn’t do it every year; it was still too hard to organize and Bill was still reluctant, but every few years Frank would wear him down enough to give in again. It was always around Autumn, when it wasn’t too cold to travel and when they needed to start prepping for winter. The second time they’d gone, Frank had called it their “Non-Holiday-Specific Autumnal Get-Together” because Joel objected to the word “Thanksgiving” and Bill objected to the words "party", “celebration”, and “festivity”. It wasn’t modeled after any holiday in specific, but they did usually share food and trade more than just necessities. The sheet music became a staple, as did the nice, vanilla-oatmeal soap that Frank always insisted they take after having to “smell the Boston on them” every year pre-shower.
It was almost a routine, the only real holiday Joel and Tess celebrated other than the small gifts they sometimes exchanged around Christmas, things like clean socks and starlight mints. It was something to actually look forward to, something to get ready for and discuss in hushed terms as they ate old cans of soup and imagined what Bill would cook that year.
The memories of those visits tend to blend together in Joel’s mind, a soft-focus blur of tastes and sounds and particularly memorable jokes, usually told by Frank. Joel remembers the year that Tess had gotten her hands on some Elton John sheet music and Frank had point-blank asked if she thought all gay men liked Elton John, pretending to be legitimately offended. Tess had apologized profusely, something she rarely did, until Frank had cracked and, face splitting open wide, had admitted that he actually is pretty fond of Honky Chateau.
Joel also remembers the time that Frank had lent Tess a book called "Slow Cowboy", a bodice-ripper with a shirtless cowboy on the cover, which she'd promptly tossed at Joel. Apparently it had belonged to Bill's late mother, and the pages were worryingly worn.
When Tess caught Joel reading it later, she'd wrestled it out of his grip and read passages about "coiled pythons" and "passion-moistened heat" until he'd had to cover his face and plead with her to knock it off. When Joel had been eating too fast later that night, Frank had looked at him and, innocent as possible, said "Slow down, cowboy," which had made Tess choke on her mashed potatoes until tears were leaking down her cheeks.
Joel remembers the time Bill and Frank took them to the stores nearby and they'd whiled away an entire afternoon in the furniture shop, breathing in the smell of old mahogany and pretending they were picking out furniture for a place of their own, one that was nothing like their actual shabby apartment back in Boston. They'd gone to the boutique next, both pretending they didn't care about the mostly-impractical clothing left hanging from the racks but running their hands over the fabric regardless. They'd both ended up grabbing a few things to take with them, including a silky pair of pajamas that Tess held onto for the next decade and treated with the utmost care.
Joel remembers the time they cooked s'mores over their fireplace, the same night that he got drunk enough on Frank's attempt at home-brewed mulled wine to be coerced into singing (he'd gone for Sam Cooke's Bring It On Home to Me, but Frank had very nearly gotten him to belt Try a Little Tenderness along with him before he'd sobered up enough to come to his senses).
He remembers their fifth time staying overnight, when him and Tess had risked Bill's wrath to sneak to one of the nearby houses for some extra privacy, which they'd more than used in full. He remembers the way she'd sounded, low and desperate and like she wasn't afraid of being loud for once, her hands pulling at Joel's back like she wanted to pull him apart.
Joel remembers meeting Frank outside one morning while Bill was still asleep and passing him a packet of strawberry seeds, watching him bite down on a grin at the thought of Bill's reaction to them as he'd passed a gun back.
He remembers the way Tess had barely kept it together when Frank started painting and was still getting the hang of it, proudly presenting her with a painting of her that looked more like it was of a long-haired horse. He remembers a few years later when she'd sat down for a proper portrait and the way her eyes had shimmered when she saw it. It was done in soft purples and blues, her eyes silvery, and it looked exactly like her. She hadn't wanted to take it with them for fear of losing or damaging it, but Joel would do anything to look at it again now.
Joel remembers helping Bill set up more of his traps, the way Bill had given another of his hard-won giggles when they'd watched on his screen as an infected got caught in the one Joel set up.
Joel remembers the night that Frank and Tess disappeared into his plant-filled little painting studio for further artistic pursuits, probably after more wine, and left Joel and Bill in the kitchen to do the dishes. He's not even sure why he did it, but that night, elbow deep in soapy water, Joel had told Bill about Sarah. Bill asked how old she would've been that year, and when Joel's voice cracked around the number 27, Bill had clasped him on the shoulder with a heavy, firm hand, and thanked Joel for telling him about her.
Joel remembers the taste of coffee and the taste of fresh vegetables, the smell of soap in the sink and shampoo in Tess's hair, the sound of the piano and Frank's echoing laugh.
Not all of the memories are good, of course.
Joel remembers the time he'd eaten some bad canned beans the night before leaving (ignoring Tess's warning about the can's dented side) and had spent the entire trip in the bathroom apologizing to Frank through the door.
He remembers the time him and Tess had gotten caught on the way out and shown up late the next day bleeding and bruised and six bullets lighter. He remembers the way Frank had rolled his eyes and gestured them inside, steering Joel to the bathroom to wipe the blood out of his eyes and sew stitches through his eyebrow. When he asked what happened Joel hadn’t answered, exhaling shakily, and he didn’t ask again.
He remembers the time he’d pressed a little too much about Bill’s provisions one year and Bill had snapped at him to mind his own, spurring an argument between him and Frank that had lacked its usual honey-we-have-company gentleness. They'd both yelled. A lot. Joel and Tess hadn't just lied down and took it, either, and Joel remembers the way Tess had hissed How many years will it take, you paranoid prick? at Bill when he'd expressed that he still didn't fully trust them.
Afterwards, Bill spent a little over a year back the way he’d been in the beginning, guarded and disengaged in a way that had even affected Frank. Sometimes when Joel was supposed to be sleeping he’d hear Frank telling Tess about it over the radio, voice low and bitter as he complained about petty arguments they’d had over things like how much seasoning to use on their food to make sure they didn’t run out or how long he spent in the shower.
Joel remembers hearing New Order over the radio and feeling his stomach drop, watching Tess's eyes go wide as she'd scrambled to call Frank. He remembers the words "raiders" and "shot" crackling over the undercurrent of pounding rain, the look him and Tess had exchanged that said their decision was already made and they were leaving that night.
They'd stayed for almost three full days after Bill had been shot, making sure he was healing correctly (he was unconscious for the entire first half of their visit) and cleaning up the charred bodies of the raiders outside the fence so that Frank didn't have to.
Frank had been pensive and serious, refusing to leave Bill's side for more than an hour or two at a time, and Tess had taken care of the gardening and the cooking while Joel took care of the fences and the traps. They'd helped Frank go through Bill’s lists and organized his bunker and ignored the way he grumbled incoherently when he woke up and heard this. It was obvious how much Bill hated feeling vulnerable, struggling to sit up and get out of bed the second he saw that Joel and Tess were there. He'd groaned, the shotgun wound in his stomach belching dark blood from the sudden movement, and Frank had pushed Bill back down onto his back while Tess patched him back up.
Frank told Joel before they left that Bill had told him to call Joel, that it had been the last thing he'd said before he'd blacked out, and Joel remembers the strange way that had made him feel. He’d been surprised, but when he thinks about it now he knows he shouldn’t have been. They never talked about it afterwards, but something had changed between them after that day. Bill was a little less suspicious of Joel and a lot more suspicious of the outside world, retreating further behind his walls and his miles of traps. It seemed to bring them closer, and he’d mellowed out enough around Joel to crack the occasional joke, sometimes even treating Joel like he almost, almost liked him.
Bill’s knee was slowly getting worse, making it harder for him to check the edges of their territory even though he only seemed to want to extend it, setting up traps further and further out that he’d have to go out and reset every week or so. Joel would help him while he was there and then they’d fish in the streams for a few hours, sometimes only exchanging a few words for the entire day.
Then, Frank dropped a dish of stuffing while bringing it from the kitchen to the table.
He’d laughed it off, making a joke about how he’d had too much to drink, but Joel had seen the ashen shadow that settled over his face, the way he’d looked down at his hands as he lifted his fork like he was afraid of their tremor.
Joel remembers that tremor, the way that Bill and Frank would get into little spats whenever Bill tried to do things for him. They pretended nothing was wrong for a little while. It was what Bill and Frank had needed at the time, so it’s what Joel and Tess had given.
Joel remembers when they couldn't ignore it anymore and Bill asked for meds. They needed a lot of them, and they weren't easy to get, but it was worth what it took to be able to help, worth the skipped meals and the scar down Joel's neck from when they'd stolen the wheelchair and he'd almost had his throat slit. It was worth the bullet Tess had put in the head of someone who probably also needed a wheelchair for someone they loved.
Joel remembers the look in Frank's eyes when they'd brought it over, resigned but accepting. He'd made some joke about who Joel had to blow to get his hands on it, the kind of joke that made them all fall silent before dissolving into surprised laughter. Frank was always good at those.
Frank had taken advantage of their pity, too proud to ask them not to feel it at all even though he clearly wished they didn't. He'd forced Joel to sit for a painting, Bill to cook his favorite meals, and Tess to drink with him like they used to even though he technically wasn't supposed to on his meds. That night, only slurring his words a little, he'd cajoled Bill into playing a song from the Elton John book, one that Bill had apparently refused to even attempt before that night.
Bill still refused to sing like always, but watching Bill play Don't Go Breaking My Heart had felt surreal enough that Joel wasn't entirely sure it was actually happening. The feeling had only grown when Tess sang half of the song with Frank, pulling at Joel's arm and giving him one of her scary looks until he'd sighed and sung along, low and begrudging. The look on Frank's face had been worth it.
Joel remembers the last time they'd gone, too. Last October.
The'd been trying to make it over for their Non-Holiday-Specific-Autumnal-Get-Together every year because they didn't know how much longer they'd be able to, though they hadn't ever said that out loud. They had to go up often to give Bill Frank's meds anyway, and whether or not they'd stay the night wasn't up for question anymore.
They ate outside like they had that first time, a salad with cherry tomatoes and homemade vinaigrette. Frank's hand shook when he lifted the fork to his lips, occasionally sending food flying. When Frank lost a tomato and sighed in frustration, Bill had scooped up a tomato from his own plate and dropped it onto Frank's. Joel remembers the fond look they'd shared, how he'd almost felt like he was intruding when he'd watched Bill drop his hand onto Frank's and rub his knuckles. All of a sudden he'd felt something deep and sharp lance through him at the sight of it, and Tess had rubbed his knee under the table.
When Joel came out of the shower later Tess had been waiting for him, and she'd pulled him into her without caring that he was dripping water all over the place, letting him hang the weight of his body over her and press his face into her shoulder while she held him up.
It was a quiet night for them. Joel watched Tess and Frank read together, her on the couch and him in his chair looking over her shoulder. Bill played an old jazz record, an indulgence that he didn't usually go for, and they lit candles for added ambience. Bill and Joel spent an hour outside checking his rabbit traps for dinner, and Bill let Joel help him cook despite Tess's warning that he burns almost every meal he attempts.
Joel remembers the way Bill had turned away when he asked how Frank was doing over the sound of a sizzling pan, something private and pained flashing across his face before he'd smoothed it away again. That had been enough of an answer, and Joel had settled a tentative hand on Bill's back for only a moment before moving away again, letting him have his space. Bill had cleared his throat and stood there for a long moment, and when Joel brought him a glass of water he'd looked at him like he was ridiculous before softening slightly and drinking it in full, whispering a gravelly thanks.
Joel remembers the buttery taste of the rabbit and the asparagus they ate that night, the extra garlic sauce he licked off his plate when he was done. Dessert was plum pudding, which they'd eaten in the living room sitting around the fire. They didn't feel the need to fill the silence with small talk or jokes the way they might have once. It felt better just to be.
When Frank directed Bill towards the piano, it seemed like they'd already decided what to play. Bill had crouched, grunting a little at the way his knee popped, and pulled out an old Linda Ronstadt book, one that looked particularly well-loved. It's the kind of music Joel's mother might've asked him to play on his guitar once upon a time, and he'd recognized the opening chords to Long Long Time even though he hadn't heard it in decades.
Joel remembers the look him and Tess exchanged when Bill started singing, something he hadn't done once the entire time they'd known him. Despite the temptation to laugh the way they might've if it had been ten years ago, Joel and Tess had sat and listened in silence.
It was clear that song held a special meaning for Bill and Frank, one that they hadn't needed to explain. Joel remembers the way Frank had shut his eyes, utterly content for the four minutes that Bill played it for. His face had been placid, the wrinkles that had accumulated over the past decade temporarily erased as he'd bobbed his head, drumming unsteady fingers on his knee. In the silence that followed Frank had blinked away tears, grinned, and asked when they all got so damn old.
Tess had held Joel extra tight that night, her arms and legs wrapped around him the way she used to sometimes do when they were younger and she was scared but didn't want to admit it. He thinks she did it because she knew he needed it, not because she did. When he woke up, their fingers were laced together and her hand was pressed against his chest, her face in his hair. They'd stayed like that for a long time.
They lingered as long as they could before leaving the next morning. Tess had bent down to hug Frank, almost knocking his chair over in the process, which had made both of them laugh. Joel had clasped him on the shoulder, Frank reaching up to squeeze his wrist for a long moment. They'd promised to drop by in the spring with more supplies and more meds, and that had been it.
That had been the last time that Joel saw them alive.
They hadn't ended up dropping by in the spring or the summer, hitting some rough patches with their smuggling that had kept them locked in Boston trying to dig their way out of a hole that kept getting deeper. They checked in over the radio every few weeks, sometimes every month if it slipped their minds.
They hadn't gotten around to organizing anything for this year yet, figuring they still had time to iron out the details once October was a little closer. Bill and Frank had enough pills to make it until then, after all. The last time they'd checked in over the radio was the beginning of August.
"August 29, 2023."
Ellie's voice is soft and clear when she reads it, and it stays that way through the rest of the letter. Joel tries to process the words as Ellie says them, but he keeps getting stuck on certain words, the images that they evoke. It will probably be a sight. Joel thinks of the locked bedroom door, of the open window, of curious birds landing on the sill and venturing closer to pull at bits of peeling flesh with their beaks. he imagines Bill and Frank with their arms around each other, eyes closed, sallow and blue and rotting through the comforter, and he swallows down nausea. He remembers them in the kitchen one cold night at least six years ago, arms around each other as Frank had pressed Bill into the sink and they'd both startled and stepped apart at Joel's intrusion. He'd been getting a glass of water. He remembers apologizing profusely, face hot, and Frank teasing him for the rest of the night about his unintentional voyeurism.
I never liked you, but still. It's like we're friends. Almost.
Joel remembers a gun pointed at him across the table, a thousand-yard stare when Joel told him how to fix his fences. A silent presence next to him while they'd stood over a trickling river, hoping something would bite at their lines. A childlike giggle that only came out once every three or so years. A hand on Joel's shoulder, a Thank you for telling me about Sarah.
Until I met the one person worth saving.
Joel remembers crinkled eyes, a haircut that looked suspiciously well-done for someone without access to a hairdresser. Clean flannels and an infectious sense of humor and the only time Joel ever saw someone make Tess cry from laughing. Careful hands sewing up Joel's brow and a painting of Joel done in browns and reds where he actually looked kind of nice. Slow down, cowboy.
That's why men like you and me are here. We have a job to do.
Joel remembers dark curls against his cheek, warm brown eyes that glowed like honey when she smiled, the way she was smarter at fourteen than he'd ever been. The way she'd looked at him sometimes, perceptive and curious, had made Joel feel like she knew more about him than he knew about her. He remembers the sound of her laughing when she was little, the way she'd climb him like a tree and pull at his scruff with tiny fingers. He remembers those fingers holding onto his neck, clutching desperately at his chest, nails digging into his forearms while blood poured out of her stomach like water from a fountain. He remembers the sound of his daughter dying.
I leave you all of my weapons. Use them to keep Tess—
Joel remembers angry eyes alight in the darkness, the way she'd been more ferocious than him when it came to a fight. He remembers the way she'd held him after their first night together, cautious but steady. He remembers her hair on the pillow in Bill and Frank's guest room, clean and damp, her restless limbs shifting along with her breathing every time he touched her. He remembers a bitter laugh, a torn-open shoulder, a scatter of grenades and a save who you can save.
Joel takes the letter, walks outside, and distantly feels the sunlight hit his face as a barrage of memory crushes down all at once, like walking under a waterfall and feeling your knees buckle. The painted trim of every other house in the neighborhood, the carefully-tended gardens, the flag whipping in the wind, the sconces on the walls, the Persian rugs on the ground, the white tile of the shower and the dark wood of the dining table and the black shine of the piano. Tess reading Bill's mother's romance novels aloud while Frank cackled, the mischievous almost-smile under Bill's beard whenever one of his traps got another Runner, the taste of mulled wine and the sound of Carole King on the piano and the warmth of one of the only beds Joel ever felt safe in.
He lets himself feel it all in full for a moment, just one, then he yanks his mind sharply away all at once.
When Joel's done in the garage, he walks back inside, feels Ellie's curious eyes land on him, and clears his throat. "Show me your arm."
Later, in the shower, Joel shuts his eyes and pretends, just for a moment, that this is just like any other shower he's had in this house. He's going to open his eyes and dry himself off, and when he steps into the bedroom Tess is going to smile and tell him he cleans up nice. He'll be able to smell whatever Bill's cooking downstairs. If he listens real hard, he might even hear Frank's laugh.
Then he's in the truck, Ellie next to him, and he hears I think it's gonna hurt me for a long, long time, and he thinks if he blinks he'll see it again. See them again—Bill at the piano that last night while Frank listened to him with his eyes shut and his hands folded, together there in that long moment of peace.
The roads look like they usually do this time of year when they come down. The leaves are yellowing, the setting sun is shining through the dust the truck tires kick up, and everything is still and silent and calm.
Joel lets the lingering swell of a violin fade as the song ends, remembering and remembering and remembering, and he drives on.
—