Then she put the lens cap on, slid the camera back in the bag, and walked down the trail to Sam’s house, where Bea would be awake by now and Sam would be making coffee and the daywould go on, which was fine. It was Bea’s trip. Stella had come because she wanted to.
She was glad she had. And she was ready to go home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Sam took them out to a fancy restaurant for dinner.
Not the patio dinner. Not the Campbell’s-and-cornbread dinner. A real dinner, at a restaurant in town that Sam had been talking about since they arrived—the one with the prickly pear something and the chef she knew from “a residency in Oaxaca, long story, incredible woman.”
Sam dressed for it. Stella hadn’t seen her dress for anything all week—Sam lived in linen shirts and paint-stained jeans and bare feet on the patio tiles. But tonight she came out of her bedroom in a dark red blouse and silver earrings and her hair down.
“You two look perfect,” Sam said, looking them over in the hallway. Bea was in the sundress Anna had packed for her. Stella was in jeans and a black shirt because Stella didn’t own a sundress and wasn’t going to start now.
“Stella, you could borrow something of mine,” Sam said, already heading for the door.
Stella checked her bag and pulled her shirt straight. “I’m good.”
“You’re sure? I have a?—”
“I’m good.”
Sam drove them into town. The gas gauge sat where it always sat—just above the line, the same place it had been since the airport. Stella watched it from the back seat and thought about mentioning it and didn’t.
The restaurant was small, adobe, candles in the windows, the kind of place that didn’t have a sign because the people who ate there already knew where it was. It smelled like roasted chili and warm bread and something dark and rich coming from the kitchen. Sam walked in and the hostess said her name.
“Samantha. We have your table.”
“Maria, these are my girls.” Sam put her hand on Bea’s shoulder. “This is Bea. She’s a painter. She visited Carmen Sandoval’s studio and she’s still vibrating.”
Maria smiled at Bea. “Carmen is something, isn’t she?”
Bea nodded. “She really is.”
They were seated at a table by the window. The rock was visible through the glass, lit by the last of the sun, going from orange to purple. Sam ordered wine without looking at the list—“the Tempranillo, Maria, the one from last month”—and when the chef came out to say hello, Sam stood up and hugged her.
“Elena, this is my granddaughter Bea. She paints. She’s seventeen and she’s already better than I was at thirty.” Sam’s hand was on Bea’s shoulder the whole time, presenting her like a painting she’d just finished.
Elena shook Bea’s hand. She looked at Stella, who was sitting with the menu open. “And who’s this?” she asked.
Sam blinked. “Oh—this is Stella. Bea’s cousin. She came along for the trip.”
“Hi,” Stella said.
“Nice to meet you both.” Elena smiled and went back to the kitchen. Sam sat down and poured the wine and started telling them about the time Elena had cooked a seven-course dinnerin a borrowed kitchen during a power outage using only gas burners and a headlamp, and the evening was underway.
The food was really good. Stella would give Sam that. The lamb was the best thing she’d eaten in Arizona. There was a salad with prickly pear and goat cheese that made Bea close her eyes. There was bread with herb butter that Sam said Elena made fresh every morning. There was a dessert involving chocolate and chili that arrived with three spoons and no explanation needed.
Sam was brilliant. She told stories about Oaxaca and the residency and a painter she’d met in Mexico City who worked with beeswax and fire. She asked Bea about her influences. She talked to the couple at the next table about the rock formations and gave them directions to a trailhead they hadn’t heard of. She held court—warmly, effortlessly. The whole room turned toward her.
She did not ask Stella a single question between the salad and dessert.
Stella ate her lamb and drank her water and watched her grandmother conduct the room. It was impressive. It was also a performance.
Bea was glowing. Bea had been glowing all week and tonight she was even extra—the food, the wine Sam let her taste, the evening Sam had made happen. Stella watched her cousin’s face and thought, this is what Sam does. She gives you the best night of your life and you don’t notice who’s sitting in the dark.
“Ready?” Sam said, signing the check without looking at it. “I want to take the ridge road home. The stars are better from up there.”
Sam pulled out of the lot and turned toward the canyon road instead of the highway, and for about ten minutes the sky was, in fact, better from the ridge. The road climbed and the townfell away and everything opened up and Stella shot three frames through the window without thinking about it.
