Drive Me Crazy (20 page)

“Aren’t you insightful.” He flashed a smile that made her temperature rise. “I didn’t put that much thought into it. I needed to be here for the wedding, and there were things I wanted to see in the States.”

“Oh. So you planned this whole adventure, just stringing me along to make me think we were roaming the land.”

“No plan. Just a list of things in my mind.” His eyes darted away from hers, making her stiffen. She’d learned to read the telltale signs of lying in her students. Xavier teased, sure, but why was he bothering to lie now?

“You have a list, don’t you? Probably detailed maps and driving directions too.” He started to sit up. She knew she was onto something, so placed her hand on his arm to keep him with her. “What? You don’t want to show me your itinerary? I showed you mine. You threw it out the window, so the least you can do is fess up.”

He cleared his throat and pulled free from her grasp, rising from the bed to stand before the window. The initial blaze of glory of the sunset had faded to a soft blush of color in the sky. Her heart started to ache with the realization she had fallen in love with him and her feelings would not fade like the sunset.

He’d lured her to him with physical intimacy, but what she craved was something deeper and far more dangerous. She wanted to believe that together they could overcome their fears, let desire soothe away the ache. She wanted to believe the romantic notion, but she couldn’t. And she knew that telling him how she felt would end things abruptly. So she swallowed her feelings, hiding them the way she always had, keeping them safe until they made it through the wedding.

They’d crossed the bridge together. It was best to burn it so there’d be no going back. With a deep breath for strength, she joined him at the window, wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her head against his back. After a long, heavy moment where their bodies learned to rise and fall with the same breath, he spoke in a whisper.

“It isn’t my list that I’m following. In a family everyone has their own issues. They deal with it their way. This was my way.”

“What do you mean?” She tightened her grip, hearing his heartbeat pick up. He took one of her hands in his and pulled it to his lips for a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

“My sister and father, they’re fighting. It’s how they deal with her being gone. But I never fought with her, so it doesn’t help me.”

“Who didn’t you fight with?”

“My mother. She died last winter.”

“It’s her list.”

He dropped her hands. “I don’t want to do this.”

“It’s what you came here to do, isn’t it? This is how you’re saying goodbye to her.”

He tried to turn, but she tightened her grip on him, instinctively knowing this would be easier for him if he didn’t have to look her in the eye.

“It’s a beautiful way to honor her memory. Tell me about the list.”

His head shook and she felt him swallow. “Things she wanted to show me. She always carried a journal with her for when inspiration struck. I don’t remember her ever being without one. After she was gone there were boxes of them. My sister wanted them to be on display at Marie-Chloe, but I wanted to go through them and make sure nothing personal was in them.

“In one I found a few pages of this crazy list of things to show the baby about America. By the date, she must have written it when she was pregnant with me. She wanted me to know her homeland, but growing up there was never time.”

“Are you trying to blame your mother for Carhenge?” She tried for a joke to lighten the tension. She could feel him closing himself off.

“I’m sorry for dragging you along. I should have just taken you home.”

“I’m not sorry. If you hadn’t insisted on taking the long way, I would have wound up miserable in Medford for the next few years. Now I know I can grow my relationship with my mother from Seattle or Chicago as easily as if we were in the same town. Maybe better, because with my brothers in college she can come see me and we can have alone time.”

“I’ve given you your fill of small-town America?” He took her hands again, bringing them to his lips for a kiss one at a time.

“You made me stop and think. I guess I should be grateful to your mother, for showing me what I’d been missing by charging ahead instead of enjoying the now.” She barely got the words out without her voice breaking. He’d shown her what it felt like to be in love, and for that she’d forever be grateful.

Jaime had thought she’d been in love before, but it had never felt like this, a feeling that was its own entity. There was nothing companionable or sensible about it. It just was. A huge pink elephant in the middle of her heart.

Xavier squeezed her hands. “She’d like that. She said that when she was designing the world stopped and all she could do was feel. I think that’s what art must feel like. Makes me jealous, you know?”

“You want to be an artist?” That must be what his Frank Lloyd Wright obsession and collection of camera lenses was about. “Why not try your hand at designing for Marie-Chloe?”

“Oh, I’ve tried. Failed miserably. Tried every medium at some point, but I just don’t have what she had. My father ran the business side for years, but even he designs. Jewelry is his passion.”

“What’s your passion?”

“I don’t have one. I’ve tried. Sculpting, photography, music, design, even poetry if you can believe it.”

“I believe it. Mine’s reading, I think. Someday I think I’ll try to write a book.” She stood on her tiptoes, peering over his shoulder at his bleak expression in the glass.

“You should do it. Start as soon as you get settled. Why wait?”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as that.”

“It is when you have a talent. My sister designed her first dress when she was four. Safety scissors, fabric scraps and glue were all she needed to express herself. She’s never happier than when she is creating. Our mother was the same way. They are busy, but they shine, sparkle really when they are in that frame. I’ve looked everywhere for that feeling. I don’t know why I thought this trip might help.”

“I do.” Jaime smiled, taking his arm and turning him to face her. She’d have to be more bold than she was comfortable with, but nothing ventured nothing gained. She had to risk it to see what she was made of, to keep him open to her. “You are an artist.”

He smiled, leaning to brush a teasing kiss across her forehead. “Really, I’m not. The camera was my last attempt. You’ve seen the pictures I’ve tried to take on the trip. Even those are mediocre.”

“They’re fabulous. Well, except for the spotty ones you claim are ghost orbs.”

“Adventures make good pictures. None of them are art.”

She completely disagreed. The shots from the horse sanctuary brought the moment back to her in heart-pounding glory every time. “That’s because you keep taking pictures of me. I’m ruining your shots.”

“Those are the only shots I like.”

She shook her head. There was no convincing him about the pictures. She’d tried every time he’d let her see them on his computer. “Think bigger. Not something you can see like a picture, touch like a dress, hear like music. You remember how you said Wright’s medium was architecture?”

“I tried designing a home. My mind just doesn’t work that way.”

“You’re not listening. Think about the list. It’s about celebrating life, seeking out excitement.” She framed his face in her hands, pressing her body against his. “You’re an artist, just with the physical.”

Her kiss must have convinced him, because she found herself on the bed before she took her next breath.

“I suppose that makes you my muse.”

“More like your canvas.” She lifted her arms to help him slide her tank top over her head. Her nipples were already primed and puckered, ready for more of the sensual creativity he’d lavished on her for the last two weeks.

“An evolving work of art. I like that.”

“You know what else you might like?”

Chapter Sixteen

The Oregon state line loomed in the distance, mocking him as they drove on. He had at best a half hour before he’d be dropping her at her parents’ house and saying
au revoir
. She’d made it clear she didn’t want her family to think anything had happened between them, and he had to agree.

The timing was wrong for anything substantial to continue. If they sauntered in as a couple it would steal the spotlight and that wasn’t fair. Their focus had to be on the wedding. After all, that’s what had brought them together in the first place.

He pulled into the slow lane, no longer in a hurry to get anywhere. “Will you be teaching next summer?”

“Depends on how badly I want to buy a house.” She twisted in her seat to face him. “Why?”

“I take a vacation every August. We could drive Route 66. Or maybe Maine to Florida.”

“You want to do this again?”

“I’ve enjoyed myself.” He reached for her and ran his fingers along the smooth skin of her cheek. “So have you.”

“Yes, but a year is a long way off. A lot is going to happen between now and then.”

He snapped his fingers. “I know. You’ll come to France and we’ll do a driving tour.”

Jaime moved as far from him as she could in the tiny car, pressing against her door. “That sounds amazing, but let’s not make any promises we can’t keep.”

“Why can’t we?” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“For one thing, I have no idea where I’m going to be living.”

“You lined up interviews for next week. You said you thought the job at the Spanish immersion school in Seattle was locked in.”

“I don’t think I’ll be unemployed, but I moved back to the West Coast to get my life in gear. A job, a house, a future.” He heard the unsaid threat of replacing him with another man. “Besides, you might be seeing someone who wouldn’t take too kindly to your vacationing with another woman.”

“I won’t be seeing anyone.” He swallowed and reached for a bottle of water, his mouth suddenly parched. He drained almost half the bottle in one gulp.

“It’s okay. I’ve guessed you’re not exactly celibate.” Jaime took the bottle from him and wrapped her full lips around the top for her own drink.

“I’m never with anyone who makes decisions for me. I want to see you next summer, to show you France. Maybe the year after that you can show me Mexico.”

“My father is in Mexico.”

“My father is in France.”

“Xavier stop, okay?” Her voice sounded strained as if she were fighting tears. She’d turned to the window so he couldn’t be sure.

“What’s wrong? I don’t understand.”

“I know.” She smoothed her hands through her hair, held back by a white headband in the same eyelet pattern as her sundress. “This is easy for you, comfortable. But I’m way out of my element here. This is a fantasy trip from real life, but I can’t plan on making the same departure every year. The kind of life I want is more stable than that.”

“You don’t want to come to France next summer?” He cleared his throat and took the next exit. Ashland, home of the Shakespeare festival, Southern Oregon University and Lithia Park. He needed someplace where he could look her in the eye. He just hoped they hadn’t moved the park in the decade since he’d been in the state.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. Who wouldn’t want to spend a month in France? It’s just that I don’t want that carrot dangling in the future, you know?”

He didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. Since she didn’t say more until he’d pulled into the parking lot of the wooded park that spotlighted two miles of Lithia Creek, he guessed she wasn’t going to elaborate.

“My mom is having Shabbos dinner tonight for our family and Trent’s,” Jaime said after he killed the engine. “She wanted to invite you.”

“But you don’t want me to go.”

Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “We have a couple hours until then, but I want to be clear. We are strictly platonic once we get to Medford. I really don’t want to deal with being chastised for having an affair with someone I knew was leaving. My mother really wants me to get married, and every time I break up with someone she takes it personally. I just went through that a few months ago and I’m not doing it again.”

Oh, now he was getting it. She thought they were over. There were three more days before he had to fly home, and he had no intention of missing her before he had to.

His heart stalled at the realization he would miss her. When they weren’t bickering over timelines, they’d gotten along amazingly well. He’d even talked about losing his mother, which he’d never done before, with anyone. She was intelligent and well read, kind and adventurous, not to mention she indulged him more than anyone ever had.

“You want an ice-cream cone?” Jaime opened her door and climbed out of the car. “They have huge ones here, and we can get them dipped in chocolate. Then we’ll take a walk, okay? I haven’t been here in years.” She closed her door, so he took a slight moment to look around.

Close to town, there was an ice-cream stand on one side of the road, a playground on the other. He’d come here during his year in high school with other students. They’d truly been kids that day, feeding the ducks, hiking the park and climbing playground structures they were much too old for. He’d felt free and happy, the way he’d felt on this trip with Jaime until right now. Something dark and heavy loomed in the distance, and he did not care to examine what that might be.