22
When Clara reached the first aid tent, several strides behind her eager escort, she saw Jesse sitting cross-legged on the ground beside a low cot. He was alternating between smiling and murmuring in English to the little girl who lay there, and chatting with her parents in effortless Spanish.
She knew logically that his bilingualism wasn’t a particularly impressive or unique thing; fifty miles from the Mexican border, even most of the gringos (like herself) knew a lot of conversational Spanish. Maybe it wasn’t the Spanish. Maybe it was the smile, or the way everyone was so calm because he was calm. Whatever the reason, the moment she laid eyes on him her heart gave a deep, satisfied sigh.
“How’s Bella?” she asked.
“Doing great,” he answered.
“I’m bleeding on my forehead,” Bella added, in case that was in danger of being overlooked.
“I see that,” Clara said appreciatively. “Does it hurt?”
“Just like, a little bit,” the girl said modestly.
“You cold?”
“I was, but I got a blanket now.”
“Good,” Clara said. She nudged Peter. “See? Fine.”
“Fine,” he echoed. “I thought maybe she had a concussion or secondary drowning or something.”
“She’s not drowning,” Jesse assured him. “She might be slightly concussed, but as I said, she’s doing great. Aren’t you?”
“Yep,” Bella said.
“Is the ambulance coming?”
“It came, but we sent it away,” Jesse said. “She’s comfortable and stable. You can just drive her to the clinic in Marfa. They’ll probably admit her for overnight observation. And they’ll stitch up her head,” he added, winking at Bella.
Ambulance costs could be devastating, Clara knew. Perhaps that was another reason Bella’s parents were looking so relieved.
“Come with me to the hospital,” Bella commanded him.
“No, I would be in the way. But if they make you spend the night, I’ll visit you in the morning. Before breakfast.”
“Okay,” she said trustingly.
It’s just a crush , Clara reminded herself, watching him interact with the little girl. I’m not in love with him. This is the same old crush.
Jesse was a good-looking guy and he was hopelessly cool; it was only natural to have a crush on him. It didn’t have to go beyond that.
It would be the height of stupidity, for example, to fall in love with him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked her, when Bella and her family had left for the hospital. He put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side. “You’re quiet. Was it the blood?”
“No, I feel fine,” she answered automatically, overly conscious of the fact that he had never even hugged her before. What the heck was he doing?
“Good. Are you starving?”
“I ate my choripan .”
“Good. I guess I lost mine. Let me get another one and then we’d better get our dance out of the way.”
“Okay.”
He looked hard at her. “You really feel okay?”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
He seemed to realize that his arm was around her, and removed it. “Good.”
She would have liked him to leave it there, but it was probably for the best, because it seemed to interfere with her word processing skills. “You keep saying that.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re not really convincing me.”
“Do I look sick or something?”
He looked her over again. “No, you look…” He paused.
“Good?” she suggested helpfully.
“No, you look great,” he said seriously.
“Oh. Thanks.”
“You didn’t hear it from me, though,” he added.
“Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why don’t you want me to hear it from you?”
He looked confused and then annoyed. “Why are you doing this? What’s with you lately?”
“I’m not doing anything. I’m just wondering why you think you shouldn’t say that I look great or whatever.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
She was on a sudden mission to make him say it out loud. A suicide mission? Possibly. “Not to me. Why don’t you explain it?”
“I just don’t want you to think I really notice the way you look.”
“I want you to notice,” she informed him, and held her breath for his reaction.
Her meaning soared right over his head. “I know. You like people to notice your clothes and makeup. That’s why you get so dressed up every day.”
At times he seemed so normal, she reflected wistfully. And at other times he had the emotional IQ of a cinder block.
“Look, there’s your boyfriend.”
She turned in surprise, and understood when she saw DeWitt Petty across the crowd. “Oh, great.”
“Do you like that guy or what? You better just tell me.”
“No, I don’t like him! I went on one date with him three months ago,” she confessed, feeling quite embarrassed about that fact now. “We had dinner. You can admit he’s kind of hot, right? I didn’t know he was like, nuts. It freaked me out. He asked for a second date and I said no.”
“Nuts how?” he asked briefly, his eyes tracking DeWitt.
“I don’t know, just really creepy vibes. I can’t describe it. He was super polite but his eyes were kind of…off. I started thinking maybe I was on a date with a serial killer. I texted Yoli from the bathroom and acted surprised when she showed up to get me out of there.”
“Jeez, Clara.”
“I’m not a paranoid, nervous kind of person,” she insisted.
“I know,” he said, taking the wind from her sails. “And your dad taught you to listen to your instincts. I had the same training.”
“Right, yes. I just don’t know what to do now. I thought maybe it’d be better not to make him mad.”
“Nah, I think we should make him mad,” Jesse said, and Clara turned again to see that DeWitt was about ten yards away, and coming right toward them.
“No,” she disagreed quickly. “Don’t cause a scene. This isn’t the place—”
“The more witnesses, the better,” Jesse interrupted, and pulled her into his arms.
She gasped, grabbing him for balance. “What are you—”
But his kiss cut her off.