Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World (Aristotle and Dante #2)(31)

That didn’t surprise me. “I like coffee. I like it quite a bit, actually.”

Dante made a face. “And you drink it black? Ugh. It’s bitter.”

“I don’t mind bitter.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Everything in the world can’t be sweet.”

“Like me?”

“You’re really pushing it.”

He gave me this dopey smile.

“You’re a dork.”

“So what’s your point?”

I reached for my wallet when the check came.

“Put your money away,” Dante said. “This one’s on me.”

“Big man. Where’d you get all that money?”

“Sam.”

“Sam? Your dad?”

“He said I should pay for something—since I didn’t put anything in.”

“Well, you put in his liquor.”

“Ha. Ha.” He took out some bills and paid the waitress. “Keep the change,” he said, like a rich man.

I just shook my head and smiled.



* * *



We walked out of the restaurant toward the gallery. “You know something, Ari? It’s hard for me to walk beside you and keep from wanting to hold your hand.”

“Pretend you’re holding it in your head.”

“It’s not fair. Look,” he said, pointing his chin at a boy and a girl who were walking ahead of us holding hands. We watched them as they stopped and kissed, smiled at each other, then continued walking, hand in hand. “It’s not fucking fair.”

I didn’t know what to say. He was right—and so what? Most of the rest of the world didn’t see things the way we did. The world would look at that boy and that girl and smile and think, How sweet. If the world saw me and Dante doing the same thing, the world would grimace and think, Disgusting.



* * *



Dante and I stood in the doorway of the gallery. The door was open, an invitation for visitors to walk in and take a look at the art. Emma was lost in thought as she was reading the New York Times. I could see the headline: “Facing the Emotional Anguish of AIDS.”

She looked up and smiled. “Aristotle and Dante,” she said. “Well, it certainly looks like you’ve been camping. Have fun?”

“Yeah,” Dante said. “I’d never been camping before.”

“Never?”

“I’m not exactly an outdoors kind of guy.”

“I see. You’re a nose-in-a-book kind of guy.”

“Something like that.”

“So Ari’s the outdoorsman.”

“Well, I guess you could say that,” I said. “We used to go camping two or three times a year when I was a kid. I really loved camping. El Paso’s so hot in the summer. And it’s so cool up here.”

“You like to fish?”

“Not really. But I used to go with my dad. I think we both read more than we fished. My mom was the real fisherman in the family.”

There was something about her. It was hurt, I think, her hurt about losing her son. She seemed to wear that hurt—but it didn’t make her look weak. Somehow I felt like she was strong—and stubborn. She reminded me of my mom—that hurt she still carried over my brother. He wasn’t dead, but she’d lost him.

“I’m glad you stopped by. I have something for you.” It was the painting. She’d wrapped it up. “I wanted you to have this.” She handed it to Dante.

“I can’t take this. It’s your son’s work. And—”

“I have the work of his I treasure most in my home. The rest is in this gallery. I want you to have it. But it’s for both of you.”

“How does that work?”

“Well, one of you keeps it for a year. And the next year, it goes to the other. Back and forth like that.” She smiled. “You can share it for your whole lives.”

Dante smiled. “I like that.”

I liked that too.

We talked for a while. Dante asked her if she had a husband.

“I had one of those at one time in my life. I loved him. Not everyone you love is meant to stay in your life forever. I don’t have any regrets. A lot of people live their lives in their mistakes. I’m not one of those people.”

I thought about that. I was thinking that maybe I was the kind of guy who just might live his life in the mistakes he made. But maybe not. I guess I’d be finding out soon enough.

She and Dante talked about a lot of things, but I mostly listened. I wasn’t really listening to what they were saying—not really. I was listening to the sound of their voices. I was trying to hear what they were feeling. I was trying to learn what it meant to really listen, because I hadn’t ever been a very good listener. I was too in love with what I was thinking. Way too in love with that.

Before we left, she told us to always remember the things that matter, and that it was up to us to decide what mattered and what didn’t. She hugged us both. “And remember that you matter more to the universe than you will ever know.”





Six


AS WE WERE DRIVING BACK down from the mountains, back into the desert, Dante had a long yellow legal pad on his lap. He was writing down more suggestions for his brother’s name to give to his mother.