The Starlight Motel

Chapter Twenty-One

As the sunlight faded from the brilliant sky, Kada slipped from the memorabilia enclave, stretched her arms over her head, and yawned. She felt proud of herself for asking Mom for help with the motel, but by five o’clock, guests brought her their problems, and reality set in.

Shaking off the dusty nostalgia, she rushed through the palms, skidded on a patch of gravel, and flung open the kitchen door with a bang. “I have to make hamburgers!”

Stainless steel pots, immaculate work surfaces, and the lingering sooty smell reminded her why she needed to pull out ten pounds of ground meat and heft it onto the counter. Who makes art out of ground meat? Instead of sorting through memorabilia, I should have distributed gloves and set my family to work making patties.

Dane stepped through the door. “So, I heard you’re leaving town.”

Ripping open a package, she managed a smile, dumped the chuck into a large, stainless steel mixing bowl, and plunged her hands into the chilled meat. She felt her stomach clench and suppressed her gag reflex. “Part-time.”

He looked so handsome wearing jeans and a staff shirt. The subtle mess his hat made of his hair only added to his charm. No matter what she asked, he delivered, and the people who knew him loved him. If she kept busy, then he wouldn’t see the regret seeping from her move back into the art world. “Word travels fast.”

“My mother says your grant was as eloquent and alluring as your art.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she kept her gaze averted. “That was kind.”

“And as soon as you accept the grant, you’ll have money to fund years of work at your vocational school. In the second and third years, you’ll mentor other artists. If the work pans out, you won’t create murals. You’ll create a legacy.”

She looked up from the meat and swallowed. “You must know what it’s like to have a vision and throw your heart into it. I do, but I struck out. This is my second chance. I have to take it. I have to leave the motel. At least part-time.”

He rested his hip against the counter. “Art isn’t enough.”

“College taught me technique, but it didn’t teach me the opaque, unspoken rules governing the art world. No wonder I failed.”

“You didn’t fail, Kada. I’ve seen pictures of your work. I’ve seen the plants you’re painting on the casitas .”

Reaching for a wooden spoon, she plunged it into the bowl and flipped the cold meat. Anyone could consider his or her job a work of art. Benito’s food nourished her. Hall’s service inspired her. The fact she chose paints and large-scale canvases increased her overhead, but she picked a profession, and she would try to succeed. “People say art is all about technique and luck, but my professors said I needed preparation and opportunity.”

Shaking her head, she broke the meat into segments. “All those people were wrong. Art is everything, and it’s also a business. You have strategic business plans, don’t you? So do I. You can’t ride into my life and upset my plans.”

“So, I guess this is it for us.” He exhaled and spun a hanging pot. “We can call off the dinner date.”

Dropping her head to hide her disappointment, she replayed his words. No matter what she wanted, she made a part-time commitment to her art and a part-time commitment to the Starlight Motel. She was plumb out of parts.

Guests milled beneath the swaying patio lights and sipped poolside cocktails because she kept open the doors. Admittedly, Dane and his family carted the fireworks into the desert, but she would have found a way to position them. “Some people make long-distance relationships work.” Closing her eyes, she waited for him to shoot down the long shot.

“Some people have more than forty-eight hours to fall in love.”

Love was a heady term. Eyes wide, she jerked up her head and wondered if she misheard him.

“I want to make sure you know how proud I am of you.” He cleared his throat.

Biting back tears, she nodded and dropped the wooden spoon. She could do difficult things like make hamburger patties and say good-bye to Dane.

“You have a good life here. The staff and your guests love you.” He cupped her face and quickly dropped his hand. “If you’re willing to give up that pleasure to help other people, then I’m humbled.”

Her first tear fell. He never admitted a failure or an uncalculated decision, but he laid bare his emotions, and she understood that kind of risk. Even though his family trained him to lead Palmer Farms, his laconic observations and warm grins humanized the operations. How could she demand poetry from a man who faced the environment’s arid scorn and found peace amid agriculture’s orderly rows? By acknowledging the trade-offs behind her decision, he left an impression as wide as the valley, and his concern threatened to swallow her tears. “Thanks.”

He stilled the swaying pot.

She wanted dusky rides through town, long dinners, and sweet kisses, but she had climbed out of bed this morning and accomplished the things she set out to do. Actually, she had overslept and found soot-stained staff, but most days, she rose at the crack of dawn. The fact that he did the same made them kindred spirits, but not every pair of lovers matched and ended happily ever after. For half the year, she would be gone.

He gestured toward the bowl of meat. “You need help with this?”

She barely felt the cold meat in her hands, but she blinked away welling tears. “Why don’t you enjoy the evening with your family? I’ll have these burger patties made in a jiff, and Dad will throw them on the grill.”

He nodded.

For a split second, she thought he would take her advice and settle into a lounge chair by the pool.

He remained smack in the middle of the motel kitchen and frowned. “Why do you look miserable?”

She raised her sticky, cold hands and met his gaze. “I hate hamburgers.”

“Then why are you making them?” He frowned.

Swallowing, she furrowed her brow. “Other people like them?”

“Other people?”

She looked up. “I’m a vegetarian.”

He widened his gaze.

She gaped. “I’m worrying about life choices to be close to a man who doesn’t know I’m a vegetarian?” Closing her mouth, she pressed a hand against it to stop herself from saying something she would regret. When she felt in control, she dropped the hand. “Way too fast.”

He worked his jaw. “You didn’t know I wore glasses.”

“Those are glasses!” She checked her logic. “I don’t sometimes eat meat.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “I asked if you had any dietary preferences. You could have mentioned you don’t eat meat. How was I supposed to know about your restriction?”

“It’s not a restriction, it’s a choice.” She’d had this conversation so many times but never with him. Leisurely getting to know one another was never their fate. “I’m named after an animal, Dane. How could I eat one? Would you eat a dog?”

“Um.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Right. If I hadn’t spent so much time mooning over your body, I would have put together the pieces. Given a little more time…” Shaking off the possibility, he dropped a hand and leaned on the work surface. “Let’s save politics and religion for date number two. In case you’re curious, I have hypertension, and I’m allergic to almonds.”

She exhaled. Of course, he had high blood pressure. He took ownership of every problem in the Coachella Valley. Saying good-bye would never be easy. Turning her back, she washed her hands and pulled down Benito’s all-purpose seasoning. “Noted. I’m sure you have an excellent physician.”

He grunted. “I’ve thought about starting a CSA.”

“Cute.” Sprinkling the seasoning liberally on the meat, she caught hints of cumin mixed with powdered chili, onion, and garlic. Ground cloves and ground cinnamon added sweet spice. She had no idea if the combination of spices would work in the hamburger, but committing to the decision, she mixed the meat. It felt cold, slimy, and wet, but she trusted the outcome. Still, she wanted to hurl. “You should do it.”

“Is that so?”

Biting the inside of her cheek, she nodded. Since the moment Dane rode onto the property, she felt her interest in him and her commitments to herself and to her family warring for her attention. With so little time to get to know him, she viewed her capacity for a relationship as lacking as her credentials for running the motel. Each time she ran her hands down his back or caught him finding ways to smooth her path, she thought their attraction would find a way to overcome their restrictions, but love came too late. Dane belonged in the valley, and she was a mere visitor.

Winning her artistic grant amplified her need to return to her professional training and the honor of amplifying community voices. Without her art, she might lose herself in the desert’s shifting sands and her family’s legacy. The only thing worse than letting down her mom and her students would be letting down herself. Loving a handsome cowboy wasn’t enough reason to extinguish her creativity. She swallowed back tears. “It’ll be fine.”

“Kada, it won’t be fine. I noticed you didn’t eat meat,” Dane said, “but your dietary preferences have nothing to do with the way I feel.”

Making fists, she squeezed out the frustration constricting her heart. “Lust is a heady emotion. I’m sure your family misses you. It’s New Year’s Eve, after all. They didn’t plan to spend their holiday helping me run the motel. Go spend time with them. After the New Year, we’ll sort out this thing between us.”

“I have a feeling my mother plans more than she lets on, but I can take a hint.” His boot squeaked on the floor. “I’ll see if they need anything. If not, I’ll return to help you.”

“I don’t need help!” She balled up a handful of meat, squished it between her palms, and hoped it weighed close to half a pound. Slapping it on a tray, she repeated the process and steadied her breathing. “I can do it.”

Stepping close, he dropped his head.

He smelled like dusty sunshine, and she wanted to savor his warmth, but she had a bowl of raw meat and a crowd to feed.

“I know you can do it, but I want to help,” he said.

She heard his footfall and looked up.

“Don’t give up on the idea of us.” Kissing her cheek, he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

Releasing a sigh, she debated whether to savor his kiss or rub her cheek against her shoulder and focus on her commitments. “Maybe he’ll find a pretty, pink distraction and forget he met me.”

Mom walked into the room carrying popcorn strung to hang on the tree. She raised the garland and waved it in the air. “Who added microwaves to the casitas ? Everyone popped a bag of popcorn and brought the popcorn to the pool. Someone’s playing When Harry Met Sally over a wireless speaker, and we’re all laughing.”

“Popcorn”—she swallowed around the pain constricting her throat—“might clog the pool filter.”

“Come join us,” Mom said. “The pool’s always been the heart of this place.”

“I will.” She made more patties. “I’m almost done with this prep work.”

Mom came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I said I could work remotely, but your dad and I can also move down full-time.”

She shook her head. “It’s not your vision. Dad has a few more years left before retirement.”

“But your vision matters, too,” Mom said.

Leave it to her artistic mother to respect another artist’s needs. “I can’t ask you to give up your art to run the motel. I know how hard managing both interests can be. Work with me on a schedule. We’ll alternate.”

“Eccentric characters make good stories, but familiarity runs a business.” Mom pulled back her hand. “Lucky for you, in this family, we have both.”

“We still need to innovate.” Closing her eyes, she bit back more tears and focused on her task. If the patties needed salt, she had plenty to offer. Instead, she pulled down the saltshaker and sprinkled white crystals over the mix. Before his death, Pops said his two remaining taste buds loved sweets and salt. She made sure the patties delivered a savory reward.

Dane walked into the kitchen and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “You two have this covered?”

Mom laughed. “I’m good at concepts and prototypes, but most of my pieces fall apart in the kiln. The ones that survive the furnace?” She raised her fingers to her lips and snapped off a kiss. “Magnificent!”

Dane laughed. “Well, I’m not much good at art, but I can make a hamburger patty.”

Mom appraised him. “I bet you can.” Waving good-bye, she walked out of the room.

Alone with Dane, Kada closed her eyes, regrouped, and shaped another patty.

He braced his hands on the counter. “Maybe I know what you need. Satisfaction.”

She gave him a look and hoped he read her meaning. If he wanted a quick release to cool his ardor, he could jump in the pool. She had twenty items on her task list, and even though she prided herself on remembering details, she couldn’t slink into the desert with a handsome man and find her kicks.

“Go paint,” he said. “Take a break.”

She stared. The cold, clammy meat in her hands reminded her of how little time she had for taking breaks. Why would he suggest something so alluring? She had long-term plans and short-term needs, but painting the casita walls was a selfish indulgence. Shaking her head, she made another patty and regretted his suggestion earned a G-rating. “Maybe later.”

He washed his hands, picked up a handful of meat, and shaped it into a puck.

The man was stubborn, but she was desperate. “Flatter.”

He nodded.

Their easy camaraderie felt too good. Clearing her throat, she made progress, but the minute she bumped elbows, her heart rate spiked. Dropping a finished patty on a tray, she washed her hands. “Painting is the last thing I have time to do, but we’re almost done here. Thanks for the help.”

“No problem.”

Second-guessing her seasoning choice, she broke off a piece of meat and sniffed the spices. Moving from a college dining hall to a San Francisco design firm left her little time to learn to cook. Truthfully, Mom had limited cooking skills, too, but she made beautifully hand-built coffee mugs. So far, Kada painted pretty pictures. Turning on a gas burner with her clean hand, she dropped the meat in the pan and heated it.

The food’s savory, sizzling aroma revved up her hunger and her frustration, but she hadn’t eaten a hamburger in a decade.

He made another patty. “I can finish up.”

Finding a fork, she pulled the cooked meat from the skillet and blew on it. “I don’t need you to make patties. I know you’re good at doing what needs to be done, but I don’t need you to fix everything.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared. “Who said anything about fixing?”

She touched a finger to the meat, blew on it again, and popped it in her mouth. Despite her daily habits, the meat tasted delicious, and the spices augmented its flavor. Dressed on a gourmet bun, the meat would do just fine. She spat it into the sink.

Cupping her hand, she raised a scoop of water to her mouth and rinsed down the taste.

Dane laughed.

She looked up. “What?”

Walking up, he held up two dirty hands and raised his eyebrows. “Nothing. You do you.”

She made room at the sink.

After washing his hands, he tore off a paper towel and turned. “You said I’m good at fixing things, but fixing things suggests something is broken. I want you to paint because you love it, but also because you’re good. The minute you finish those murals, motel guests will snap pictures, tag the motel, and increase business one hundred percent.” He rubbed his chin. “Maybe I’ll organize farm tours.”

She tried to imagine him on a rumbling tractor while tourists snapped selfies. The customers would be lucky if he didn’t wander into the fields and start hand-picking crops. She shook her head. “That’s your call.”

He planted his hands on his hips. “If you’re leaving us, you might as well leave us in good shape.”

“I don’t want to leave you.” The admission slipped out, and she stepped back.

He reached for her and pulled back his hand. “Then don’t.”

Spending her days imagining him hard at work sounded like perpetual hell. In the last forty-eight hours, she had grown to expect his presence, and she wanted more time with him, not less. She swallowed and wished he made contact. “But I have to leave. I didn’t spend the last ten years honing my craft to limit my skills to a life-size paint-by-number.”

Working his jaw, he stared. “Then come back.”

She opened her mouth, swallowed her words, and fortified her resolve. Life wasn’t that easy, and she couldn’t tie down his affections for a casual relationship. She wet her lips. “I can’t.”

He stepped forward. “This thing between us needs time to bloom. Make space in your schedule. Unless you’re already seeing someone, see me. I would try my hand at romance to convince you, but I don’t have time for that choice. Jump in, Kada. The water’s fine.”

Going back-and-forth was pointless. She wanted to free him and to fulfill her needs. She could no sooner bury her art than ask him to plow under his crops. Enjoying the poolside party would make her happy, but in the morning, she would still have the Starlight Motel blank wall’s potential. “You deserve more than a part-time girlfriend.”

Someone near the pool plugged in the amplifier. Static clicked, and Bing Crosby’s rendition of “Let’s Start The New Year Right” played . Guests cheered.

He wrinkled his nose. “I hate this song.”

She snorted. “You would.”

“But it could be the start of a new beginning.” Drawing her close, he swayed and pulled her into a slow dance. “We’re the only people who can say what’s right.”

Resisting against his chest, she closed her eyes, relaxed into his hold, and let the music lead. Amid short days, cooler temperatures, and punishing winds, the holidays reminded her to treasure the people she loved and hold them close, but the holidays wouldn’t last. Family would, and she had to put her obligations ahead of her needs.

Mom and Dad traveled from Wyoming to visit, but Dane had family, too. She couldn’t tie up his interest while she jetted around the country and pursued her dreams. At thirty-five, his interest in flirty texts would wane long before the temperature spiked to one hundred degrees.

When the song ended, she stepped out of his arms, raised a hand, and stroked his rough, afternoon stubble. “Sometimes, I feel like we meet people in our lives who offer us glimpses of happiness, but the relationships aren’t meant to be permanent. I wish we had more time, but if Mariah is right, then I’ll be gone sooner than either of us expected. Popping in and out of your life is cruel. Art is life. Life is”—she dropped her hand—“complicated.”

He stepped back. “You’re not shy about putting a man out of his misery.”

“Is it ever easy?”

His gaze softened, and he shook his head.

Released from his spell, she laid a sheet of parchment paper over the meat patties, lifted the tray, and fled from the kitchen. In the fresh air and pastel twilight, she drew a deep breath and squeezed back tears. “He’ll find someone kind and beautiful like Dr. Vo.” Raising her head, she forced a smile and walked away from the kitchen and Dane Palmer.

Following the palm trail, she focused on the growing pool party. Dad loaded up the pink firepit with firewood, and people stood around the decking, laughing and drinking. Chests of champagne waited beneath a table. Stepping to the edge of the rippling turquoise waters, she watched the party’s wavy reflection. Guests mingled, took pictures, and found common ground. What more could she ask for? Smiling, she realized the valley’s residents were onto something. Poolside New Year’s Eve parties weren’t a new fad. The allure of twinkling light and sparkling water always brought together partygoers.

In the desert, water brought together people. Pops taught her love, like water, wells up in the most unexpected places. If the valley’s creatures waited for rain showers, they might lose their chances. Instead, they found hidden springs and green shoots. They built upon success, and they moved forward. She offered her guests whatever ease she could provide. Each offering returned dividends. Instead of defining a relationship as a binary choice between love and heartbreak, she could leverage the lessons she learned from her parents. She merely needed time to find a way forward and an ounce of Dane’s confidence in her success. She dropped the tray of patties near the smoking grill and appreciated Dad’s foresight to place the mobile grill downwind of the pool.

Mack and Sue’s kids ran up wearing party clothes.

“The pool looks beautiful! Can we have the horns?” Mary Elizabeth asked. “Please?”

“What horns?” Scanning the celebration, she spied black-and-gold horns hanging from the fence encircling the pool. Someone from the Palmer family must have found an old box of decorations and hooked the treats on the pillars. She had a feeling Dane wasn’t that person. His aversion to the holidays worried her as much as his aversion to taking risks, but she understood disappointment. She smiled at the kids. “Sure, but ask your parents.”

“Yes!” Mary Elizabeth pivoted and ran back to Mack and Sue.

Her brother trailed.

She watched the girl’s animated hand gestures. If the kids avoided an accidental tumble into the pool, then she would count the night a success.

“Make them all medium?” Dad asked.

Turning, she smiled. “Yeah. If someone wants one well-done, we can always throw the patty back on the grill. You’re sure you don’t mind? When you drove down here, this isn’t exactly what you anticipated.”

He laughed, picked up a large, metal spatula, and slapped the first patty onto the grill. The meat sizzled and smoked. “The Coachella Valley always surprises me. Sometimes, it changes my life, too. Your mother told me she wants to get more involved in the motel.”

“Um, I think she agreed…” Despite the chill in the air, she broke out in a sweat. Had she wasted her chance with Dane and misjudged her ability to complete the grant because of a miscommunication?

“As in, she wants to move her kiln into the back of your casita , set up a remote office for me next to the laundry machine, and give you time to pursue your art.”

Her heart clenched and released. “Yes.”

He slapped her back. “You did good, kid.”

The reference to the 1976 boxing film, “Rocky,” almost undid her. Dad always fancied himself the underdog. She doubted her ability to speak without crying and nodded.

“She’s had a hard time with Hall’s death. Taking care of this place and giving her room to grieve made all the difference. Thank you for making that sacrifice. Perspective is a funny thing. With enough time and distance, you see things how they are, and you see them how you want them to be.”

With enough time and distance, she would forget the pleasure of kissing Dane Palmer, solving problems, and dancing in his arms. She didn’t want to forget, but she didn’t want the selfishness of asking other people to upend their lives for her benefit. How could she espouse community-building in her artistic statement and simultaneously upend people like Dane and her parents from their homes? She blinked away tears. “But your classes?”

Dad squeezed the juice out of the first sizzling patty. “I don’t have to be down here full-time. Publish or perish, kiddo. Who said I like to teach?”

“Um, you?”

He laughed and nodded. “Remote learning isn’t all bad. I’ll take a hybrid approach.”

Dad loved the classroom more than any dataset on the planet. If he and Mom could make a dynamic living situation work, then she could, too. Her childhood dreams of a nuclear family leading tidy, manicured lives made so little sense that she viewed the memory like a black-and-white drawing with zero depth. Maybe more of life’s problems required a hybrid approach.

A diverse, multigenerational life offered richness and contrast. It highlighted life’s beauty. Not everyone could uproot their parents and stake out a claim in the Coachella Valley, but if they could, she recommended the choice one hundred percent. She cleared her throat. “Um, that would be really awesome, Dad. I’ll think about it.”

He mussed her hair.

She pressed a kiss to his cheek before she broke down in front of the entire valley.

“Where are your black bean burgers?” he asked. “Cicada, did you turn into a carnivore?”

“No!” She made the patties, but pleasing people and pleasing herself were two different things. Scanning the motel, she focused on her casita and decided to see if Lucky ate or a hamburger might tempt her into eating. “I’ll get them. I’ll be right back.”

Dad nodded.

She turned to dart into the kitchen and grab her vegetarian burgers from the freezer.

Inés walked up and handed her a cup of hot cocoa.

The veggie burgers had spent six months in a deep freezer. Five more minutes wouldn’t make them taste any better. The sauce was the secret. She always added a kick of hot-sauce. Taking the hot cocoa, she felt the warmth of understanding behind the gesture. “Thank you.”

“Did you sort out your concerns?”

Sipping the drink, she nodded. “It still hurt.”

Pulling her into a side hug, Inés squeezed her shoulders. “Sometimes, life hurts, and we have to focus on the love.”

Love felt like such an effusive, indiscriminate privilege. Surrounded by family and friends, she had more love than most people, but she wanted more. Her selfishness worried her as much as her potential heartbreak. Sliding away from the vocalist before she melted into a puddle of tears, she raised the hot cocoa in gratitude. “I’m off to check on Lucky.”

“I heard about your rescue dog. Let me know if you need any help.”

She nodded. “I will!”

Inés walked away.

Slipping past the palms, she stopped outside the turquoise casita , flipped on the floodlights, and examined the half-finished mural. The lights cast her shadow onto the wall, and she shifted her position to reveal the ocotillo plant. It outlasted the heat, cast out its seeds, and propagated a new generation, but it did so beautifully. She would also persevere and flourish.

She chose printmaking because she wanted her art to go out into the world and make a difference. In San Francisco, she glimpsed the power of social change and leveraged her skills to create an egalitarian statement. Her art would honor rising generations. When people saw it, they would focus on the message.

Raising a hand, she traced the unfinished ocotillo plant’s dark outline. Did she have to be a muralist? Most artists subscribed to a studio environment. The communal aspect kept the artists happy, engaged, and encouraged. Every time she worked in a studio, she chafed to be outdoors. In front of the ocotillo mural, she felt the wind lift her hair from her shoulders and understood how much she needed wide, open spaces.

Banksy and Swoon propagated printmaking and mural art, but she had no idea where they sought refuge. She found it at the Starlight Motel, and as long as her family owned the motel, she could return. She doubted Dane would be there.

Pulling a hand from the stucco, she stared. She couldn’t have everything. For months, she had worked on the grant with Mariah and poured her heart into describing the power of public art. The motel thrived, her hard work made a difference, and motel staff would keep her parents in check. A smile ghosted across her lips. If she was wrong, Randi, Stephanie, and Benito would keep her fully informed.

A man’s long shadow slipped up the wall.

Without turning, she knew Dane stood at her side. “You don’t give up easily.”

“Well, romance didn’t work,” he said.

She smiled and kept her gaze trained on the mural. “ ‘Let’s Start The New Year Right’ is a lovely first dance.”

“Sentimental gibberish. It’s the worst, most painful song I’ve ever heard.”

Laughing, she turned and found him facing the mural, but his narrowed gaze and firm jaw looked set in stone. Telling him she didn’t want a relationship was one thing, but telling him good-bye hurt more than she anticipated. She swallowed her laughter and waited.

He faced the mural like a man reviewing a life sentence.

Instead of tormenting him with the life-sized calling card, she could whitewash the wall and leave him with a blank canvas. Why wouldn’t he look at her? She searched for a flaw in the design, but even the lizard left her to fend for herself. “If you hate the song, why did you pull me into a dance?”

“Desperation,” he said.

She wanted to reach out and touch him. Grazing her fingers against his cheek or stepping into his embrace would feel right, but she’d already secreted away those memories. “So, why are you here?”

A slow smile cracked his set profile, and he made eye contact. “Innovation.”