A Wedding at the Blue Moon Cafe Read online

  Not going to win this. “Again, no need but we’ll talk about it later.”

  They drove the few hours through the desert listening to NPR. Somewhere outside El Paso, he scanned the radio for other stations. Mostly country music, so he smiled over at Clarissa. “Anything you want to hear?”

  “No, I’m not really in the mood.”

  Yeah, stupid question. He switched it off and concentrated on getting there.

  Chapter Nine

  Clarissa’s father was close to death. She knew it. Knew by the way her brother’s ink tingled behind her shoulder, as if in anticipation. Knew it by the way her heart squeezed in her chest, and by the way her dad’s love reached out for her over all those miles in between. Pulling them through the air toward him. She wished the plane could fly faster.

  If Dylan hadn’t been there…. She glanced over at him, sleeping in the seat beside her, morning sun shining across his face. So angelic. If only he could be so easy to deal with when he was awake. But she might not have made this trip by herself. He’d dropped everything to go with her. No questions asked. Nothing asked in return.

  Amazing. Who’d have guessed Frat Boy had a heart of gold?

  And was such a great lover? So giving, so tender. No wham-bam, all-over sex. The before and after was every bit as good.

  He stirred, smiled at her. “Hey. Good morning. Did you sleep at all?”

  “A little. How did you sleep?” Weird, how conversation could be misleading. To an observer, it probably sounded like a normal exchange, one they had every day. It probably appeared they were a longtime couple, maybe on an annual trip home.

  Except this trip was far from usual.

  “Are you okay?” Dylan’s hand covered hers.

  “It’s funny. I used to wonder how I’d react in this kind of situation. If I’d go back home.”

  “They’re your parents.”

  She nodded. “There’s really no question when it’s family.”

  “So you haven’t seen them in a while?”

  “Yeah, a while. Almost eight years.” Her mother had given up calling years ago. The sound of her voice on the other end of the line yesterday shocked Clarissa almost as much as the news of her father’s sudden illness. “The trick will be avoiding my mother while I’m there.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  She sighed. “Oh please. I’m supposed to go there and act like a good girl and do whatever Mommy says? No way.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to, Frat Boy.” Why did it kill her to call him that? She’d hoped he’d turn out to be more than that, but now she wondered.

  He gave a wry smile. “Did you ever stop to think you could define your relationships rather than simply cutting a person out of your life?”

  “You just—”

  “Hear me out, Clarissa. You put up a wall to keep your parents out. Why?”

  “They expect me to live according to their terms.” Why should she have to explain herself? And yet it didn’t bother her this time.

  He shrugged. “You choose not to follow their expectations. It doesn’t mean you can’t still keep them in your life. What if your dad died?”

  “I’d grieve for him.”

  “And you’d mourn the time you could have had together. Love can be messy. You take the good with the bad. But don’t blame them if you let them control you.”

  “So you’re suggesting I pretend to be their ideal daughter when I’m with them?”

  “Absolutely not. Be yourself. You’re amazing. Show them how amazing you are. On your own terms.”

  Heat rushed through her. A compliment. Had he intended to? And were they still talking about her relationship to her parents when he spoke of love?

  He settled back in his seat. “I’m just throwing it on the table for your consideration.”

  “You’ve given me a lot to consider.” She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.” Time to shift the focus from her to him. “How long has it been since you last visited your folks?”

  His gaze flicked up. His smile grew tight. “Four years.”

  “Do they live far away?”

  He shook his head slowly. “They moved just outside the city last year.”

  Something terrible must have happened between them. She couldn’t intrude upon his privacy by asking, so just said, “Oh.”

  “I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

  “No, I asked. Which I shouldn’t have.”

  “Why not?”

  “You probably don’t want to talk about it. Or if you do, please go ahead.”

  “It’s…” He shrugged, his smile sad. “My brother, um…”

  “Oh, no. Did he die?” She’d been so self-involved, always focusing on her own brother’s death, she never considered Dylan had dealt with the same tragedy.

  “I don’t know.” The words choked him. “He’d been in and out of rehab so many times. My parents gave up on him. The last time he’d been released, he disappeared the day after going home with my parents. We found him in a shelter a few weeks later. Said he’d rather live on the street than with them.”

  “Were they awful to you?”

  A wince faded with a shake of his head. “Controlling. I like to think they thought they were being good parents. Maybe they hoped we’d turn out the opposite of them—hippies, late bloomers, whatever—but they pushed us both so hard. Donnie pushed back. Stealing. Drugs. He dropped out of tenth grade. That was the first time they committed him.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why?”

  “It must have been terrible for you.”

  His cheek flinched with the effort to smile, but yielded only a lopsided grin. “I should have stood up for him. Instead, I became the perfect son. The overachiever. I carried all their hopes and dreams over the finish line for the big touchdown. And the crowd went wild.” He imitated the stadium crowd hiss. “Dylan and Donovan, their parents must not be worthless after all.”

  “At least they had good taste in music?”

  “A bit trite to name us after their musical idols, don’t you think? Okay, your turn.”

  “For what?”

  “Why’d you leave home and not look back?”

  “I had a brother, too.”

  “Uh-oh. Had?”

  “Diagnosed with leukemia in middle school.” The image it conjured surprised her with its vividness. Brad, so small in his hospital bed, so pale, but with the biggest smile. “The bravest kid. So much braver than me.”

  “Hey, you survived it. That had to be hell, watching him go through it.”

  Hell was a mild term for it. She gave a humorless laugh. “I was the Donnie of the family.”

  “Oh, no.” Genuine concern weighted his words.

  “Not drugs, but I pushed back in other ways. I just…shut down for a while.”

  “It’s understandable.”

  “Is it? Tell that to my mom and dad. I couldn’t be their perfect child. So I became their worst nightmare.”

  “They should have known better. If your dad’s a therapist…he is, isn’t he?”

  She nodded. He’d guessed correctly. Wow, was that only last week? “I was living proof of their failings. An embarrassment. They used me as leverage against each other when their marriage began falling apart, and I couldn’t take it. I knew college would be a disaster, so I got in the Civic my parents gave me when I graduated high school and just drove.”

  He traced his fingers across her butterfly tattoo on her wrist. “Did they know you cut yourself?”

  She jerked her arm away. She’d never told anyone that. No one ever asked. “I—”

  “Don’t deny it. The scars are there. Disguised by ink, but they’re there.”

  A tenderness filled her, something she hadn’t known for much too long. Only someone who’d done it themselves would recognize the signs. “Did you….”

  He shook his head. “I thought about it. Held the razor right here.” He laid a finger across his ne
ck.

  “Your carotid artery?” She could hardly speak the word. “You weren’t going to just cut.”

  “No. I wanted out. But I decided to get free another way. Success. It took a little longer.”

  “Money has its own trappings.” And its own freedoms, she’d found since her candles started to sell so well.

  “Not always. People deal with it fine. I did, until I dug myself into a hole. It finally dawned on me after the wedding. Jeff didn’t give up success, he embraced his own version of it.” He shrugged. “I’m not too old to learn.”

  A strange emotion billowed in her chest. As she gripped his hand, she knew what it was. Pride. “Good for you.”

  He looked at her, long and hard, like he saw down to her soul. “I wouldn’t have been able to say that before going to Marfa.”

  “It does have that effect on people.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You do. You make me want to be a better person. To be like you.”

  She gulped hard. “I’m not better than you. I treated you terribly.”

  “You lashed out because I reminded you of the pain you ran away from. You must have hated growing up in a college town. Surrounded by Princeton frat boys.”

  “It’s no excuse.”

  “I forgive you. If you forgive me for being an arrogant ass.”

  She couldn’t help her smile. What man admitted such a fault? That alone earned him a, “Done.”

  ***

  Princeton. Its ivy-covered university buildings still gave Clarissa the willies. Route 1 was little better, strip malls side by side with research parks. And the locals had the nerve to call her a freak.

  “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 crum
pled, 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?”