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“I’ll try,” she whispered, looking up at me, shattered. “What else can I do? But, you have to go. It’s all you have ever wanted. I can’t be the reason for taking it away. I won’t.” She pulled away from me, slapping the moisture from her face in an attempt to be strong.
“I could stay. I’ll stay. I’ll be the reason, Dally. I’ll pick another fucking school. I’ll give it up.” She looked up at me with the most solemn face I’d ever seen on her. “I can’t live with that,” she said quietly.
I saw the possible scenarios running through her mind. She was failing miserably at hiding her unhappiness, her strength faltering as she looked up at me. “You say you’ll come back for me, Dean, then be here the day I graduate. Come back to me then, and I’ll marry you.”
For the first time since the conversation started, I felt a glimmer of hope. “Promise?”
“You have to keep yours first,” she said, her eyes tearful, her words sincere. “Go, Dean. Go be a doctor. I’m right behind you.”
I captured her mouth with mine then pulled away, tracing the outline of the necklace with my fingers while I looked down at her. “I’ll come back for you, Dally.”
“You cursed me, you said I would never love anyone else.”—Laura (Room 212)
Dallas
Now
I buried my head in my pillow the minute I got home, and by the time I woke up the following morning, I had missed two texts from Dean. I had barely made it out of bed before there was a knock on my door. I looked at the clock, noting it was six in the morning.
I stumbled blindly to the door and opened it quickly.
“You said nothing about 6:00 A.M.,” I grumbled, taking in Dean’s polished appearance. He was beautifully flawless in dark jeans and a loosely fitted black t-shirt.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s early. I’ll make coffee.” I pointed to the kitchen as I walked toward my bedroom. I undressed then jumped into the shower. I felt a million times better as I pulled a brush through my hair. A few brushes of makeup and lip gloss later, and I walked out of my bedroom, drifting toward the smell of coffee.
“Thank you,” I said as Dean handed me a cup then walked around my living room. I watched him take everything in and stop at some of the pictures on my mantle.
“I like your condo. It’s kind of how I pictured it would be, much like your old house,” he said, turning to smile at me.
“Well, my mother decorated most of it, so that’s a keen observation,” I said, giving him a half-smile. My curiosity was piqued as he quietly looked around.
“Dean, where are we going?”
“Home,” he said quickly, grabbing my cup and his and walking them to the sink.
“Home,” I parroted back as I grabbed my purse and locked my door.
He stayed quiet for a few minutes during the drive. I knew if I waited patiently, he would come out with it. Dean always got quiet when things became serious. I learned that about him over the years. I was just about to ruin my patient streak when he spoke up.
“My mother has Alzheimer’s,” he said quietly. “Her symptoms are advancing.” I sat, shocked at his admission. Of all the things he could have told me, I was not expecting that. I sat quiet while he continued. “It’s getting worse, and I’ve hired around the clock care. Today, there was an emergency with her nurse, and I have to cover for her. I couldn’t find anyone I trusted.”
“Dean, I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine. Your father must be—”
“He died two years ago,” Dean said, taking his first look at me since we got into the car. I shook my head back and forth in a no, “Oh, God, Dean, I’m so sorry. How?”
“He was getting older, things started to happen, and then he was gone.”
“Oh, Dean, I’m so sorry,” I said, grabbing his hand. He squeezed mine, keeping his eyes on the road then pulled away.
“It’s life,” he said, dismissing what I was sure was a horrible memory of losing his father.
“I wish you would have called me,” I said, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice for both his withdrawal from my touch and the sting of being absent when his father passed. Dean idolized his father, Jeffrey, and though Dean had been born when Jeffrey was in his late forties, you would never know it to look at him. I remembered the way they had joked and carried on like they were the best of friends when we were teenagers. I couldn’t stop thinking about his mother and how beautiful and passionate she had been. She would constantly lecture Dean and I about the importance of living life. I would have a hard time keeping up with her broken English, but I never forgot the first time I met her.
“Ella tiene estrellas en sus ojos,” she murmured as she held my arms out to the side. “Dini, she’s a good one. Ju need to be a good boy.” She smacked him on the back of the head and then hugged me fiercely. I laughed nervously as she dragged me through her colorfully decorated living room into her kitchen.
“Ju sit right there. I’m going to teach you how to make Dini’s favorite food,” she cooed as she took out a huge bag of cornmeal.
“Mama, she didn’t come over for a cooking lesson,” Dean interjected, only to get a scowl from her.
