A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe (18 page)

“Sure you don’t want me to drive?”

“Yep, sure. I can get us there faster.” And she did. For once, the traffic lights cooperated. Only one time did she have to stomp on the accelerator. Dylan said nothing—score some points for Frat Boy.
No
. She wouldn’t put him in that category again.

The hospital parking lot seemed to reserve a space for her, and she claimed it. They rushed inside to the Admittance desk, learned the floor for Cardiology, and took the next elevator up. Another stop at the nurse’s station, and within a few minutes, she pushed inside the waiting room. Then wished maybe they’d taken their time.

Her mother sat alone, hunched over a magazine but staring at the wall.

“Brace yourself,” she whispered to Dylan, and headed toward the older woman. “Mom.”

The glazed look stayed in her mother’s eyes for a few beats. “Clarissa?”

“I told you I’d come.”

Her mother’s jaw trembled. “Yes. After calling you for days without getting through, I didn’t…” She shook her head, closed her eyes, and exhaled. “Your father’s in surgery.”

Excellent control, Mom. Emotion’s a crime, remember?
“How much longer?”

“I have no idea. An hour. Two. However long it takes, I’m going to wait here.”

“Me, too.”

Her mother eyed Dylan. “How long have you been together?”

“Two days.” Clarissa hoped it wouldn’t give her mother a heart attack as well.

Dylan gave her mom a patronizing smile. “She’s kidding. More like a week.”

Mom fanned herself with
People
. “I suppose you’re one of those dharma bums from Marfa.”

“No resemblance to Kerouac whatsoever. I founded a PR firm in Pittsburgh. Our clients include Sears, J.C. Penney, Shell Oil, a few other instantly recognizable brands.” He handed her a business card. She brightened until he added, “But I’m selling it and moving to Marfa.”

Stunned, Clarissa realized she was also delighted. “Dylan….”

“No arguments, honey.” He winked.

Honey. Bait for a fight. She let it pass. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I was about to tell you I need to find the restroom.”

“We passed one about halfway down the hall, hang a right.”

“I’ll be back soon.” She shot her mother a look of warning, but Mom was watching the locked door where doctors entered post-op to give the thumbs-up or thumbs-down. She wondered which her mother hoped for.

Stretching her legs felt so good after the flight and now the waiting room, so Clarissa took her time. Outside the door, she hesitated. Someone opened it to pass through, and she overheard her mother grilling Dylan. She caught the door before it closed and listened. “Can’t you convince her to move back to civilization instead? She’s all the way out in that desert, waitressing in that awful café….”

“They serve incredible food. The
New York Times
travel section mentioned it a few times in this past year alone. You can’t buy that kind of publicity.”

“Oh well….”

“And Clarissa’s a fantastic artist. Customers buy out her work as soon as she puts it out for sale.”

“She always had such talent. I’m glad she’s not wasting it.”

“Far from it.”

“I still wish she’d live a normal life.”

Too much. Normal, like her divorced parents who couldn’t say what they really felt? Couldn’t admit to soul-crushing pain?

She strode in. “Any word on Dad?”

Her mother looked startled. “Not yet.”

She couldn’t sit with her mother, listen to her complaints and criticism. She turned to Dylan. “Do you want to go for coffee?”

“Sounds good.”

“Aren’t you going to wait? What if the doctor comes?” Her mother straightened when the door opened.

A surgeon in scrubs scanned the few people waiting. “David Hartman’s family?”

Clarissa’s mother wobbled to her feet. “Here we are.”

A rush of her heart coupled with the ripple of acid in Clarissa’s stomach gave the sensation she rode a runaway roller coaster. Dylan slipped his hand through hers, and she took strength from his warmth, his solidness.

The doctor spoke mainly to her mother but met each of their gazes as he spoke in an even tone about her father’s operation going smoothly, how weak he remained, how he had an excellent chance at recovery.

Clarissa clung to the word. “He’ll be all right, then?”

The surgeon’s nod was curt. “In time, with proper care and some lifestyle changes, he should be able to resume his normal activities.”

So he wasn’t going to die. Had her little brother wanted her to come here for another reason? “When can we see him?”

“Another hour or so. The nurse will let you know after they take him to a room in ICU.”

Her mother nodded so fiercely, she appeared to deflate. Filled with pity, Clarissa gathered her in her arms, but her mother turned rigid, so she released her. Right, they weren’t the kind of family that hugged. Or comforted one another.

“Let’s all go for coffee.”

“You go. I’ll wait here.” Her mother made a show of sitting in her seat.

The martyr tone. Someone had to wait for word, stand guard. They couldn’t simply check in with the nurses’ desk and ask.

She wouldn’t push her mother. “Can we bring you anything?”

Staring at the tissue in her hand, her mother shook her head.

Clarissa turned to Dylan. “Give me a second?”

“Of course.” He stood there a beat.

She squeezed his hand, and he headed into the hallway. His head visible through the glass pane gave her the strength to face her mother. Say what needed to be said, finally.

She sat beside her mom. “I’m sorry about Dad.”

“Me, too.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been so distant since I left, but it was the only way I knew how to survive.”

“Your father and I love you. Don’t diminish that.”

“I had to make my own life. One I’m comfortable in.”

“You could have done so much—”

“No. You’re not hearing me.” Not the college speech again. “I created a life I love. I’m doing well.”

“Your friend said you were.” Her mother’s face crumpled, then smoothed into a sad smile. “I’m glad.”

All the sickening feelings rising up fell away. “I just wanted you to know, that’s all.”

“I understand. You don’t need my stamp of approval.”

A lump formed in Clarissa’s throat. She nodded.

“I would,” her mother said tentatively, “like to be able to talk to you sometimes. Maybe visit?”

Her mother in Marfa? She’d expected to see the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse there first. “We’ll see.” Not even her mother’s pained smile dredged up any bit of guilt.

Clarissa stood. “Sure we can’t bring you a coffee?” When her mother shook her head, she joined Dylan in the hallway.

He clasped her hand, and she looked up at him, her smile genuine.

They strolled to the cafeteria in comfortable silence. He paid for their coffees and they took a table.

“Sounds like your dad will be okay, with a little work.”

“Yeah. Guess I should look into a return flight.”

“Already?”

“I’ll visit with him today. Maybe tomorrow. No real reason to stay after then.” Neither did Dylan. “Guess you’ll be going back to Pittsburgh from here.”

“I meant what I said, Clarissa.”

He’s really moving to Marfa?
“Oh.”

“Do you not want me to?” Resignation weighed his voice.

“Dylan, I….”

He held up a hand. “I get it. You don’t want a relationship. I’m pushing things.”

“I didn’t say that. What I mean is, I’m not good at this.”

He searched her eyes. “It comes down to one thing, Clarissa. Do you want to be with me, or don’t you?”

“Everything happened so fast. It’s a huge change. I wouldn’t want you to regret it.”

“Do you, or don’t you?”

Could it be so simple? He certainly made it seem that way. He hadn’t pressured her. Well, except for his persistence, which in retrospect, she found kind of sweet. Mostly because he surprised her in so many ways, all of them good. “I do.”

He slipped his hand over hers. “Then it’s set.”

Except it wasn’t. He had a business, a life rooted in Pittsburgh. He’d move to Marfa, become bored, and it would turn nasty. She had to help him see that. “When’s the last time you saw your brother?”

A quick shrug. “A year ago last month. Why?”

“I thought you’d probably want to stop and check up on him while you’re in Pittsburgh.”

“Probably not.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t want to be helped. I can’t force him not to be an addict if he chooses to be one.”

“No, but you can tell him you love him. Care about him. It might make him want to be a better person.”

“It hasn’t been our experience in the past. For argument’s sake, why do you think it might make a difference now?”

“Because you aren’t your parents. You’re his brother and he needs you. You haven’t seen him in a year. Maybe he didn’t try before because he didn’t understand that he could risk it and survive the pain.”

He nodded. “Okay. I get that. And you’re right. I’ll take the risk, too. It’s worth it.”

Again, she had the feeling the subtext of the conversation focused on them, not their respective families.

He heaved a breath. “I should swing by the city anyway, arrange the move. I’ll check on him while I’m there.” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For such a selfless thought when you’re going through such a terrible time yourself. You’re amazing.”

The way he looked at her—so happy—scared her. This felt too normal. She wasn’t used to normal. “You’d have suggested the same for me.” She had no doubt of it.

***

How could Pittsburgh seem so familiar and yet so strange? After two weeks in Marfa, Dylan found he preferred the quiet. The mañana. Time to think. Enjoy life. And hard work—desk jobs had nothing over physical labor.

He couldn’t deny the pride filling him when he led Clarissa to the building housing the suite of offices. She actually looked like she meant it when she said, “Nice.”

Introducing her around, he took note of the nonverbal responses of his staff. Of the nineteen, only one ticked him off. Randy, the newbie who’d raised Dylan’s suspicions ogled her, barely hiding his lascivious leer. Not the sort of behavior to represent his firm. He demanded professionalism. Another strike against the guy, if asking off-the-wall questions counted.

He guided her to his office. Small but efficient, not the type that screamed
Hey I own the place
. “Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.” He dropped onto his desk chair, booting up his desktop.

“Also nice.” She stood in front of his wall of photos. Local talents, mostly. He liked supporting the up-and-comers.

“I hate to say I told you so….” He grinned as he scanned through his e-mails and found the one he wanted. He finally responded to the buyer’s earlier e-mail:
Still interested?

She hugged herself. “I never said I didn’t believe you.”

“Not in so many words.”

Her arms swung open. “Okay. I harbored doubts.”

“Honesty. Thank you.”

“We should make it a policy.”

“Already done.” An e-mail arrived. Whoa, that was fast. The buyer’s response said,
Yes, but I’m lowering my offer
. Dylan declined with two words:
No deal
. “I hate playing hard ball.”

“You turned him down?”

“I don’t need his money. The Pittsburgh office will stay open for now. And Marfa office will be a satellite home office.”

“But how will you manage?”

“Skype. The Internet. E-mail, conference calls. An occasional flight to meet clients.”

Less pressure that way. She wouldn’t feel cornered by him, trapped into making the relationship work. They could relax and enjoy each other’s company. She might even miss him if he went away on short trips.

“What about your office?”

He did what he always did: thought best on his feet, under a deadline. He lifted the phone and dialed an extension. “Mario. Can you come in my office a sec? Thanks.”

Seconds later, a soft
rap
at the door preceded Mario’s entrance. “Hey, Dylan. Glad you called me in. I have some news.”

“Shoot.”

“I tapped into Randy’s e-mails. He’s been reporting back to none other than Frank Rimes.”

“No kidding. So old Frank sent a mole to do some digging. I wonder if that’s why he lowered the offer.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“No. But that actually ties into why I wanted to talk to you. You were one of my first hires, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So you know the business as well as I do.”

Mario nodded. “I’m familiar with all our clients, our style of business.”

“So you won’t mind running the place after I move?”

Mario gaped. “You’re moving? When?”

“Now. You can hit the ground running, can’t you?”

Obviously excited, Mario shifted in his seat. “I…sure. Are
you
sure?”

“Absolutely certain. We’ll have to negotiate a pay raise, of course.”

Mario laughed. “Wow. I’m floored.”

“Not for too long, I hope. I’ll need you to cover meetings this week and next. I should be able to settle in pretty quickly.”

“You can count on me. I really appreciate this opportunity. But where are you going?”

He smiled at Clarissa. “To the west Texas plains. The Chihuahua Desert. Marfa, home of The Mystery Lights.”

She returned his smile. “And the Blue Moon Café.”

And her. “Can’t forget that.” He rose. “Come on, Mario, let’s go tell the world. Oh, wait. Should I flip you for who gets to fire Randy?”

“Maybe we both should.”

“I always did like the way you think.” Dylan led the way. Again, while he talked he took note of others’ reactions. Mostly positive. Maybe one or two showed signs of envy. Not surprising, and they’d get over it.

Clarissa said good-bye to the staff so graciously, it brought to mind his first impression of her: a punked-out Grace Kelly. This time, she was less punk and more Grace.

He gestured to Mario, and they headed for the newbie’s cubicle. “So. Randy. How’s things?”

The guy blinked, as if trying to come up with some clever response, but said only, “Fine.”