Page 44 of The Texas Murders

“How long has he been driving a truck?” I ask.

“Five years or so,” she says. “He’s always been a bit of a loner, so it suits him.”

Trying not to come across like I’m prying into her personal business, I gently ask how she likes him being on the road so much.

“It works for us,” she says. “I work long hours. He works long hours. When we do manage to get free time together, we make the most of it. We’re thankful for what we get.”

“That’s a healthy way of looking at it,” I say. “My relationships always seem to fail because we can only focus on the time we don’t spend together instead of the time we do.”

“What about that bartender?” she asks. “How’s that going?”

I shrug. “It’s all a bit up in the air.”

“What’s with her professor?” she asks, and can’t hide her smile.

We both laugh out loud, thinking of Neil Stephenson and his pretentious demeanor.

“I think he’s got the hots for Megan,” I say.

Ava makes a face telling me that she disagrees.

“What?” I ask.

“I think she might have the wrong skin color,” Ava says.

Thinking of his love of Native American literature and the way he followed Ava around like a puppy the other night, I realize she might be onto something.

“Either way,” Ava says, “I’m pretty sure you don’t have anything to worry about. That girl only has eyes for you.”

“Thanks,” I say. “That reminds me, I probably should call her and tell her I can’t stop by the bar tonight.”

I excuse myself and find a secluded spot on the balcony, looking down on the plaza. The sun is sinking, and a band is setting up on a gazebo in the middle of the lawn.

“Hey,” Megan says when she answers. “Sorry we missed each other last night.”

I remember that I didn’t take her call because I was talking to Willow.

Megan tells me she’s got the night off and was going to spend it working on her dissertation, but if I want to hang out, she’d set her computer and books aside.

“Bad news,” I say. “I’m in Santa Fe.”

“Over by Galveston?”

“No, no. Up by Albuquerque.”

“Oh, lucky you. I love Santa Fe.”

“I wish you were here with me,” I say, as the band starts to play an interesting folk-rock mix, with a woman with a beautiful vocal range singing in Spanish.

I picture Megan and me down on the lawn, dancing to the music. Then I think about what Ava said about focusing on the time you get to spend with the person you care about, not the time you spend away.

“I’ll be back in El Paso in a few days,” I say. “How about we go out then?”

“Rory Yates,” she says in a playfully coquettish tone, “are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes, I am.”

“I’m glad you can’t see my face right now, because I’m blushing.”

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