Chapter Thirty-Nine
Nora was practically vibrating out of her sandals.
She couldn’t stand still. Her toes dug into the trampled grass, eyes darting over the sea of swaying bodies, scanning for one particular head of dark curls, for one crooked grin that made her stomach flip like a jukebox record.
Joe Dumas.
Two weeks since Seattle. Two weeks since they’d kissed under the stars, since he’d slipped the handcuffs off her wrist and made her forget about every boy who came before. Two weeks since they’d made love, not once but three times, while the world hummed outside like it didn’t dare interrupt.
They’d said goodbye that night, and the next morning, he was gone—off to finish what he’d started, with a promise to see her soon. Returning to her room, she’d brushed her hair, trying to act like her bones weren’t still trembling, while her mother slept.
Two weeks since she’d last spoken to Joe.
No letters. No calls. Just his promise, “I’ll see you at Woodstock.”
Except…how was that even going to happen?
There were more people here than she’d ever seen in her life.
Half a million strong, someone had said.
A wall-to-wall patchwork of color and bare feet and bodies packed on the hills like barnacles on the bow of a ship.
Every inch of grass was wrapped in blankets and good intentions.
The air was thick with smoke—some legal, some very much not—and the sweet, tangy scent of herbal oils and sweat lingered over everything.
She and her mom had ditched the Lincoln miles back, abandoning it on the shoulder with a thousand other cars that looked just as lost. They’d hiked through mud and hills and people carrying banjos and babies and half-eaten corn on the cob.
When the stage was finally visible, it felt like they’d just crossed the finish line of a marathon.
And now? Now, she was starving. Everything at the Food for Love stand had sold out hours ago, save for a few soggy hot dog buns and a sign someone scrawled in charcoal: “God bless the PB&J.”
The first bite of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich nearly made Nora tear up.
Absurd, really. Two slices of white bread slathered with sweet strawberry jam and crunchy peanut butter that cemented itself to the roof of her mouth. But something about it hit her with a wave of nostalgia so hard it nearly knocked her over.
Tasted like childhood summers in Ossining. Like cannonballs into the neighborhood pool, like sand in the peanut butter during picnics at Orchard Beach. Like lemonade in plastic cups, sunburned shoulders, and the occasional bee chasing her sandwich. Simple. Familiar. Cherished.
Nora relished every bite, chewing slowly, savoring the memory as much as the flavor.
The only thing that would’ve made it better was a basket of golden and crispy french fries dipped in a pool of ketchup.
But the fry vendor had sold out hours ago, and from what she’d heard, it would be a miracle if there were enough potatoes left in the entire country to feed this many people.
Half a million and counting. She wasn’t holding her breath.
She tugged at the hem of her new T-shirt—one she’d bought at a vendor’s stall, her mother covering her so she could shimmy it on over her bra.
The words Peace & Music swirling in hot pink letters across her chest. Her cutoff shorts clung to her hips, her legs speckled with dust and sun.
Her hair had gone wild with the humidity and hours of dancing, but she didn’t care. Not anymore.
Up onstage, Joe Cocker was belting “With a Little Help From My Friends,” and the lyrics reverberated through the air, clinging to the clouds and raining back down in drops of happiness.
And then—there he was.
Joe Dumas, notebook tucked under one arm, pencil behind his ear, curls as wild as her heartbeat when she spotted him.
Nora smiled, full and open, trying to calm the pounding of her heart. “Well, don’t you have impeccable timing?”
He gave a sheepish shrug, all boyish charm. “I try my best.”
She was suddenly nervous. Didn’t know whether to slap him on the back or throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.
To pretend it hadn’t been two weeks of wondering if she would ever see him again.
The silence between Seattle and now had been a canyon she didn’t know how to cross.
But here he was, standing on the other side of it.
“I’m really glad to see you,” she said.
His grin softened, and for a heartbeat, the noise of Woodstock fell away.
Her mom was watching from the blanket, squinting at them like she could see something they weren’t saying. Nora’s stomach did a little flip. She didn’t need a third party narrating this reunion.
“Mom,” she said, turning quickly, “would you like me to get you a Coke?” Considering she had met Joe over a soda, it seemed the perfect excuse.
Leanne smiled, nodding with just enough subtlety to say, Go on. I get it.
And just like that, Nora reached for Joe’s hand, the crowd pressing around them, the music swelling, and the moment was hers.
“Wait—before we go grab that soda,” Joe said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have to tell you something. And it’s probably best your mom hears it too.”
His tone was suddenly serious, which made Nora’s stomach drop like a jukebox needle skipping across vinyl.
“What is it?” Leanne straightened up on the blanket, eyes scanning the crowd like she half expected Eleanor to be crowd-surfing unconscious toward the med tent.
Which—honestly? Morbid. But Nora kind of felt the same way.
They hadn’t seen her in days. Sure, she’d caught snippets of radio interviews while they drove, the sound scratchy and full of static, Eleanor’s voice drifting in like it was already halfway to memory.
But that wasn’t the same as seeing her. Talking to her. Hugging her.
God, Nora had never wanted to hug her grandmother so badly in her life.
Joe’s ears went pink. “I saw Eleanor. I mean—Mrs. Bell. Or Strickland. Sorry.”
Leanne laughed, and the tension in her shoulders unspooled just a little. “It’s okay, Joe. Seems my mother has a lot of names these days. Was she okay?” Leanne’s words tripped over each other.
Joe’s shoulders settle. “She was perfectly well. Said she wanted you to know that. That she’s doing great. Enjoying the ride.”
Nora let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. But before she could get too comfortable, Joe added, “She also said to let you know…after this concert’s over, she’s ready to go home.”
Nora’s whole body stilled. Three more days.
She knew, of course, that this couldn’t last forever. That music festivals didn’t rewrite the rules of time. And it was August. The fall semester at Yale was right around the corner. But hearing it spoken aloud—that it was the end of the road—hit her harder than she’d expected.
Three more days, and then she’d be packing up for Yale. Trading in concert tees and open highways for syllabi and study sessions. Lecture halls and libraries. Term papers and textbooks.
This summer had been…everything.
Messy and loud and alive.
And there’d still be a couple weeks left to hang out with Kelley and her other friends.
She reined in her sudden emotion and forced a smile. “Well. I guess we better make the next three days count then, huh?”
Joe looked at her with a soft kind of knowing. “I think that’s exactly what she wants you to do.”
Leanne nodded slowly, her eyes glossy in the sun. “Thank you for talking to her. I just… I wish we could’ve talked to her ourselves.”
Joe offered a sympathetic smile. “I tried to bring her with me. Told her you were close by. But she said she wanted to rest. Said she wasn’t ready yet.”
“I can understand that.” Leanne’s voice caught a little on the last word.
Nora turned to glance at her mother, the weight of those words settling in her chest. What wasn’t she ready for?
Before she could ask, Joe nudged her elbow gently. “Ready for that soda now?”
“God, yes.”
They peeled away from the crowd, and Joe slipped his fingers through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like no time had passed at all. Nora’s breath hitched, and every ounce of anxiety she’d carried for two weeks about whether or not he’d forgotten her melted away like ice in a paper cup.
She leaned into him, legs moving in tandem, hands swinging between them. The music hummed around them like a second heartbeat. Joni Mitchell was now crooning from the main stage, and Nora’s body instinctively moved to the rhythm.
She was going to miss this. All of it.
The music, the dancing, the carefree joy of strangers swaying shoulder to shoulder.
The barefoot mornings with her mother, the way they’d sip diner coffee and read books like whispered secrets.
The early light casting long shadows across picnic tables while she filled her notebook with half-formed thoughts that felt like magic.
And Joe.
She was going to miss Joe more than she wanted to admit.
So she made a promise to herself, right then and there—she would savor every second with him over the next few days.
She’d press each memory between the pages of her mind like dried flowers.
She’d do the same with her mother. Because soon, she’d be packing her bags for Yale, stepping onto a different path entirely.
And nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever be quite the same again.