Work of Art ~ the Collection (51 page)

I give him a hug. “Where did you get these?” I peek into the decorative candy box and give the owl a little hug.

“The bookstore had a special display. I had to restrain myself from buying the light-up wand and red and yellow striped Gryffindor knit scarf.”

“Wise choice . . . these are perfect. Thanks, Max.” I set my plush Hedwig on the mantel and put the candy in my purse before we leave. We taste and try to guess the jelly bean flavors all the way to the complex. He swears he got a liver and onions flavored one, but I don’t believe him.

We have dinner in the café at the fancy ArcLight Cinema, so we don’t risk being late for the movie.

“Guess what?” Max asks with a grin, right after our food is delivered.

“What?”

“I’m going to be a teacher.” He sits a little straighter with a proud expression on his face.

“Really?” I ask, surprised.

“Well, a guest teacher . . .”

“That counts.”

“When I was talking to my therapist, Cara, I remembered my friend Raphael. He teaches art at a magnet program in downtown L.A. He’s asked me to be a guest in the past, but I’ve never had the time.”

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

A
s 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.