“Why do you always say bullshit?” he complains. “Half the time I’m not even lying.”
“I’m not very trusting,” I tell him.
I lean into his solid chest and exhale. The fever has me talking more than normal, and I start rambling. “I started thinking about how I’ve never really had anyone to count on. Until I met you.”
Dylan rubs his hand in circles over my back. “You’ve definitely got me, baby.”
I shut my eyes tight, but a single tear squeezes out nonetheless. “You mean the world to me, Dylan. I’m not good at saying it, but…”
Dylan cradles me against his chest as he gathers up the cards and puts them over on the nightstand.
“Come on. Let’s go to bed. It will be better in the morning.”
* * *
I really am better in the morning. My fever’s finally gone.
“I feel amazing,” I say to Dylan. “I honestly forgot what it felt like to not be deliriously hot and weak.”
One side effect of feeling healthy again is that I remember the money burning a hole in my bank account, and I remember why it’s there. I can’t mask the pain that I know crosses my face when I think about my mission in coming to Tucson. “Um…”
Dylan’s gaze is steady on mine. “I know you aren’t sure what you’re going to do about your mother. I haven’t forgotten.”
I shift awkwardly on my feet.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks me.
I stare at him. “Would you do that?”
“Of course.”
I reach for his hand, and he tugs me into his chest.
“Thank you for offering. I think this is something I need to do on my own, though. And I’m not ready today. I need to do something to get my mind off of it, actually.”
He strokes my hair. “I understand. I have an idea, something that might help you to relax before you deal with that, but it would take up the whole day. Is that okay?”
“Um, sure. But I have to shower.”
“Great. You shower, and I’ll get things going out here.”
When I go into my bathroom bag, I realize my perfume bottle is empty.
I’ve never let this happen before. I haven’t gone a day without my mother’s perfume since I was fifteen years old. I can’t believe I allowed her essence to drain out before my eyes and didn’t catch it in time.
But I can’t do anything about it now. I’ll buy some later, as soon as we figure out our plans.
* * *
When I come out of the bathroom, Dylan is in the room with a bellhop and a luggage cart.
“What’s going on?” I ask him.
Dylan grins. “We’re going to L.A., baby.”
I look around. Our bags are packed, and the bellhop is beginning to pile them onto the cart.
“We are?”
