When Chesney closed her bedroom door, Becca sneaked back down the stairs. She needed to sit on the porch swing in the heavy, Indian summer air and stare into the blackness. She needed to think. Something happened today when Becca climbed on the back of that motorcycle and awkwardly wrapped her arms around Deke. That something was joy. She felt it bounce around in the pit of her stomach, cartwheeling and giggling. That beautiful sparkle of happiness, wrapped up in hope, had not been a part of Becca’s life since she was sixteen years old. In fact after all these years, she just assumed it was gone forever. But there it was today, unmistakable and warm and lovely. She thought joy would never again be an emotion that belonged to her, even in its most simple form. But there it was today. And amazingly enough, she still felt it. Every time she thought about the motorcycle ride, that joyful feeling yawned happily in the bottom of her chest, worn out from a long day, but still thrilled. In the quiet, Becca leaned back in the swing to think about the year she lost her joy.
