Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  I sigh. He’s simply adorable when he’s like this. “And now you’re making the time.”

  Color washes across his cheeks. “Yeah.”

  “Max,” I say in a soft voice, feeling overwhelmed with pride for him.

  “It was Ann’s idea, and Cara pushed me too,” he says modestly.

  “But you’re the one doing it.” I smile.

  His determination and focus really shine in situations like this. I can only imagine what he’ll be able to accomplish when he really feels centered and whole again.

  He looks at me intently. “So, have you heard from Jonathan?”

  My smile falls. “Well, his phone calls have tapered off. It was at least one every hour, but now he’s down to about three a day.”

  “Have you picked up any calls or listened to his voicemails?”

  “No, I don’t want to talk or hear what he has to say. I’ve deleted all the voicemails without listening to them.”

  The corners of his mouth curl up just slightly.

  “He did try to corner me at work, though.”

  “He came to the gallery?” Max looks surprised.

  “Yeah. Thank goodness Brian was up front when he showed up. He practically had to throw Jonathan out of the building. It freaked me out.”

  Max’s jaw tenses and his brows knit together. “I can’t believe he’d humiliate himself like that. Where were you?”

  “In the print studio, holding back Sean. He wanted to go kick his ass.”

  Although I know Max understands the impulse, since he wants to kick Jonathan’s ass too, I imagine he doesn’t like the idea of Sean being the one to defend me. A shadow settles over his expression.

  I twist my napkin in my lap. “Max, do you think this situation will affect the book? I’ve been really worried.”

  “I already called the VP at Taylor and Tiden and checked on that yesterday. I didn’t give any details . . . I just said that we had a conflict with Alistair, and I was concerned about the ramifications. He assured me that the book was already on the press and, whatever conflict happened, wouldn’t change their plans for the book.”

  I exhale the breath I feel like I’ve been holding since this worry settled into my mind. “I’m so relieved. Thanks for calling them. It would’ve killed me if this hurt the book on top of everything else.”

  “Don’t worry, Ava. It’s fine, really.” He glances down at his watch. “Hey, we should get going.”

  A surge of excitement hits me, and I bounce in my seat as I hum the opening music from the Harry Potter movies. He laughs and leads me to the concessions. We buy popcorn and Milk Duds, despite the fact that we’ve had Bertie Bott’s Beans as an appetizer to our late dinner.

  The movie’s everything I’d hoped . . . great portrayals of the characters, a faithful interpretation of the book, and visually compelling sets and special effects. Since I’ve read all the books at least twice, there are no surprises in the film, but what does surprise me is how I react when Dumbledore dies.

  I knew it was coming, I’d even braced myself for it . . . but it still bowls me over. I feel as if a close relative has died. And because I’m intent on setting the world record for crying this week, I practically sob in the theater. Max leans into me and rubs my shoulder, yet I can’t stop myself. The couple in front of me even turns around to gawk.

  The moment the credits start, Max grabs me by the hand and we rush out of the theater and into the plaza area without saying a word. When we reach the outdoor fountain, Max sits down on the ledge and pats the spot next to him. I sit and he rubs my back until the tears taper off. By the time I’m done, all that’s left is a raw empty feeling.

  I look around the desolate plaza. “What time is it?”

  Max looks at his watch. “Almost three. Are you okay?” he asks, now that I’m finally calm.

  “I’m sorry; I wasn’t expecting to react like that.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I just feel bad. This was supposed to be fun, not a big downer.”

  “Oh, it was a fun evening, Max. Please don’t think it wasn’t. I guess I’m just worn out emotionally this week, and something about Harry losing Dumbledore, the only person he had left that could guide him and care for him, just hit too close to home.”

  His head drops as he frowns.

  “I guess we share that in common with Harry, don’t we?” I say. “Essentially, you and I, having both lost our parents’ presence and guidance in our lives. That person you always knew would be there for you.”

  He gently puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me closer. “But we can be there for each other, Ava. Look how much we’ve been through together already.”

  I realize how true those words are.

  “Look at what Ginny and Harry went through, and Rowling has them married and living happily ever after by the end of the last book.”

  I smile at his sweet, innocent source of inspiration.

  And, in that moment, I know that there’s nothing I would love more than to have complete faith in Max, but I’m not even sure I have faith in myself. We are two tender plants pushing our roots toward each other through the dark, wet soil while reaching for the sun.

  As I tuck myself into Max, I look up at the maintenance man who’s starting to hose down the walkway. In the shadows of the moonlight, the water cascades past our feet. As he works, he’s watching us with a sentimental expression. I wonder what he sees when he looks at us?

  My handsome Max’s gentle expression cradles me with more words than he may ever be willing to say out loud. Does this stranger see love threading between us . . . gently joining us? Do I?

  Chapter Eleven / Dodging the Speeding Train

  Our greatest glory consists not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.

  ~ Confucius

  As we pull out of the theater’s parking garage, I’m struck with the hollow quiet of the empty streets. It’s a rare experience in Los Angeles, and it’s a bit haunting, but it fits my mood.

  On the drive back to my apartment, Max lets me know that he’s leaving Friday for a show in Toronto after he finishes with the kids at the art school downtown. He won’t be back until right before Santa Fe. A wave of emotion, as if I’m already missing him hits me, and he hasn’t even left yet.

  After he walks me to my door, he pulls me into his arms for a long hug. When we finally part, he gently brushes my hair off my forehead.

  “Are you gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m tough, Max.”

  “So tough,” he teases, but I see the worry in his eyes.

  I wink, trying to lighten the mood. “Don’t let all that crying fool you. Inside I’m the Energizer Bunny. I just keep going.”

  “Well, don’t burn out your batteries, bunny,” he says softly, as he runs his fingers across my cheek. “I need you to be okay.”

  I lean into his hand with a sigh. “I promise, I’ll do my best. For me and for you.”

  His hand falls to my shoulder and he holds onto me firmly. He’s fierce even when he’s trying to be sweet. “Yeah, for us.”

  The energy’s flowing between us and, although I know better, I desperately want to kiss him. And the only way it will happen is if I make the first move, but it’s a bad idea in our fragile state, and making any kind of move is beyond me tonight. I finally step away and break the spell.

  When I open the door, he turns to leave, but a moment later he turns back.

  “Call me, Ava. Anytime, okay?”

  I nod with a soft smile and sigh as I close the door.

  A minute later, his car starts in the distance.

  “I’ll miss you, Max,” I whisper to myself, as I lean back against the closed door. I shake my head. When did my mercurial artist become my stabilizer in my crazy off-kilter life?

  Without Max and Jonathan stirring things up, the following week seems rather dull. But considering everything, maybe a little dullness is what the doctor ordered. Other than lunch with Riley on Saturday, I mainly stay close
to home, reading and writing over the weekend.

  At Monday’s meeting, Adam lays out the plans for Santa Fe. Brian will travel Wednesday to oversee the booth setup on Thursday morning. Adam and Katherine plan to fly in Thursday afternoon, so they’ll be ready for a full day on Friday.

  Adam takes me aside later to let me know that he thinks they’ll be able to handle things on their own, since it’s a much smaller show than New York.

  “Why don’t you take some time to enjoy Santa Fe, Ava? It’s a great town and a change of pace will be good to get your mind off things.”

  He’s being so careful, but I have to wonder if he’s disappointed. I know from Brian that Adam’s been very disturbed about what happened with Jonathan, but he hasn’t spoken about it yet. Brian had to talk him out of confronting Jonathan several times.

  This pulls at my heartstrings, because that’s exactly what a dad would do for his daughter. Evidently, Jonathan had given Adam the impression several years ago that he’d divorced Heather, so Adam was shocked when he’d heard the news. I’m so lucky to have Adam watching out for me.

  It feels like I’m my own worst enemy. How can I expect Adam to protect me when I’m not careful to protect myself?

  You can only do so much for someone who steps in front of the speeding train.

  Since we can’t get direct flights, we fly to Albuquerque and drive to Santa Fe. Our flight is out of LAX on Wednesday, and we decide to carpool to the airport and share the cost for parking. I drive to Jess’s place, where Brian’s agreed to pick us both up. Although the two of them certainly know each other, I don’t think they’ve spent much time talking, and I’m amused as they chat nonstop the entire drive.

  After we fumble through security and stop for snacks, we head to our gate. I scan the people waiting for their flights. Finally, I find his dark tousled hair above the row of people. His eyes are closed as he subtly sways his head to his music . . . my Max.

  I approach him and pause before lightly touching his knee. His gray blue eyes pop open, and his face lights up as he pulls out his ear buds and stands to hug me. He inhales and sighs.

  “Ava. I’m glad you’re here. Part of me didn’t believe you’d actually come.”

  “Yeah, part of me didn’t believe it either, but here I am, thanks to you.”

  Brian and Jess hesitate. They watch Max and me with curiosity. I step away from our embrace and wave them over.

  Because Southwest Airlines doesn’t assign seats, I end up sitting with Max and Jess sits with Brian. It’s a short flight, but Max tells me about his experience teaching at the art school and vows to take me there one day. From his animated expression and his enthusiastic descriptions, I can tell it was an inspiring experience. Evidently, the kids were kind of wild, but Max liked their raw talent and energy. He’s also pleased that the Toronto gallery event was very successful, with over half of his paintings preselling before the actual show.

  After we land, we decide to rent two cars, since Max wants to go hiking in Bandelier National Park tomorrow and will need his own vehicle. It’s an hour drive from Albuquerque to Santa Fe, and he asks me to keep him company for the ride. That leaves Jess and Brian together again, but they seem fine as they exchange witty banter. Before we separate, we agree to meet for dinner at six-thirty at Santacafé.

  The drive cuts through the purple mountains and scraggy landscape of the high desert and goes quickly, and before we know it, we roll into charming Santa Fe.

  Almost the entire town is a collection of structures in the terracotta Southwestern style that gives the area its distinctive flavor. We pass through the town plaza before turning toward the foothills and Bishop’s Lodge. The lodge is a series of adobe bungalows built into the side of the mountain with a sweeping view. It’s quiet and beautifully rustic.

  My roommate, Michelle, hasn’t arrived yet, so after Max checks in, he offers me his room to rest in before dinner, while he goes to meet with a local gallery. His room is on the far edge of the property and has a balcony overlooking a creek surrounded by fields and trees. There’s a gas kiva fireplace in the corner of the room, and I turn it on and curl up with my book in the big chair facing the fire. Between the high altitude, the fresh air, and the cozy fire, I’m sound asleep within minutes.

  I become aware of a soft scratching sound and the crackle of the fire. I slowly open my eyes.

  Max is sitting across from me with his sketchpad in his lap. He’s drawing, but with an intensity I don’t recognize. He studies my hands gently folded in my lap before focusing on his work again.

  The next time he looks over, he meets my gaze.

  Busted.

  Embarrassed, he quietly closes his book and smiles. “Did you have a nice nap?”

  I stretch my arms up as I yawn. “Mmm, yes. Did it go okay at the gallery? You weren’t gone that long.”

  He shrugs, looking pleased. “Long enough, and yeah, the meeting was good.” He stands, moves out to the balcony, and looks at the view.

  I like watching him move. There’s sureness in his step and the way he stands—his broad shoulders the perfect apostrophe to my question mark.

  Can he imagine what I’m thinking as I watch him? I know it’s not right to sit here curled up in his hotel room and ogle my good friend in a salacious way. But damn him for the way he fills up his jeans. And damn him for the way his profile catches the sun and makes my heart hurt for the sheer beauty of it all.

  I rise from the chair and join him on the balcony. The fresh air is startling. My Los Angeles lungs hardly know how to respond, so I take a deep breath to remind them.

  “It’s so beautiful here. I want to take a long walk tomorrow.”

  “Why don’t you come to Bandelier?”

  “Aren’t you doing a major hike or something? I don’t think I’d be up for that. Besides, I should help Brian set up at some point.”

  “Well, don’t decide now—see how you feel in the morning. How about we go into town and walk around the plaza until dinner?”

  “Sounds wonderful.”

  We grab our jackets and head out the door.

  Once in the plaza, we slip into a little family-owned pastry shop to get a coffee. Afterward, we wander around all the galleries, charming shops, and cafés. There’s an artistic aesthetic everywhere you turn. I’m already infatuated with Santa Fe, and I suspect that the feeling could blossom into love before my trip is over.

  As six-thirty rolls around, we meet the group at the restaurant. Dylan’s reserved a large table inside and he, Joe, Xio, and Mia all join us. We’ve grown to a large, lively group. In the shuffle of sitting down, I end up across the table from Max and next to Dylan and Jess.

  The conversation opens with a lot of speculation about business, but eventually shifts to travel disaster stories prompted by Joe and Xio’s almost missing their flight today. As we laugh and talk over each other, I notice Max watching me. He smiles warmly every time I look his way.

  Before we part for the night, Max makes one last play for Bandelier, and Brian overhears.

  “You should go, Ava. I’ve been there and I love the whole feeling. Have you heard of the cliff dwellings? You’ve gotta climb up into one of those.”

  Max grins. “See, you really should come.”

  “But what about the booth? Don’t you need my help?” I ask Brian.

  “No, the freight company is uncrating and unwrapping the art. So I’ll only have to hang the work, and we only brought fifteen paintings.”

  Dylan jumps in. “I can help him, Ava. Go to Bandelier.”

  I smile at Max. “It looks like I’m going with you.”

  He looks pleased, and I can almost see the wheels spinning in his head. “All right! Make sure you eat a good breakfast, and meet me in the lobby at nine sharp. Oh, and bring something to write with. I’m bringing my sketch pad.”

  “Yes sir!” I laugh.

  After we get back to the Lodge, I retrieve my bags and head over to Michelle’s room. I’d be lying if I didn’
t admit I’d rather stay with Max. But I’ll see him again in just over ten hours, and I feel a surge of excitement as I wonder what the day will hold.

  When I arrive in the lobby at nine the next morning, Max is waiting. He’s wearing cargo shorts, hiking shoes, and a jacket over his T-shirt. He also has a backpack and wet hair from his shower.

  “You know, I hadn’t planned on hiking, so this was the best I could do,” I comment, as I wave over my outfit of jeans, sneakers, tank top and hoodie.

  “That’s fine. I’ve downgraded the hike, since I don’t want to wear you out on your first full day here.” He winks.

  “Oh, so now you’re downgrading,” I tease, as I push him gently away.

  “Yes, downgrading the hike . . . but your coming is an upgrade. Let’s hit the road.” His enthusiasm’s contagious as we go outside to his car.

  It takes about an hour to get there, park, and go through the visitor center to get our maps. When we find the trailhead, I’m happy that so few people are around. Wandering through nature is the antithesis of the L.A. experience, and it’s a treat not having the distraction a lot of other tourists.

  Other than the occasional whisper of wind through the towering pine trees, the silence is deafening. We walk quietly, taking it all in. There are unusual rock formations, due to prehistoric volcanic activity, rustic vegetation, and signs of wildlife.

  We start the main trek and turn onto the Ceremonial Cave Trail, which takes us to the remains of an ancient pueblo, before circling back toward the cliff dwellings for which the park is famous. From a distance, they look like holes blown out of the rock walls about twenty feet off the ground. But, as you get closer, you realize that the holes are entrances or windows to rooms that have been literally been formed by volcanic pockets in the mountains. Hand-hewed ladders lead up into the primitive homes.

  When we get to the first cliff dwelling, Max pushes me toward the ladder. “Up you go, girlie.”

  “Yeah, yeah . . . you want me to go first so you can look at my ass.”