Someone Like Summer (12 page)

B
Y THE TIME
we got Dalí outside, Maxine was on her way back in.

“Wait!” I said to Esteban when he tried to pull me close. “Let the poor dog pee first.”

I could smell the Lavanda Puig cologne. I hoped Dad couldn't. He always said he wouldn't go into the Accabonac General Store mornings for coffee, because all the truckers wore aftershave and stank like hookers.

When Dalí was finished, I tied his leash to the
porch railing and held my arms out to Esteban.

After a while we could talk.

“How are you doing, Swan Man?”

“You are the only one in the wide world I would do this for, Anna.”

“I didn't know all the details of Maxine's business. That was news to me.”

“I find Maxine okay.”

“All that talk of death didn't bother you?”

“I can see it might bother you. It made me regret we could never put Papi in a grave. There was no Papi at the end, just the
grito de mi madre
. A neighbor come to Mami where she was sweeping the sidewalk in front and said they have taken him. I still hear her scream.”

“How old were you?”

“Six.”

“I'm so sorry, Esteban.”

“When she told me he was gone, for a while I was glad. He was not an easy parent. When he came home, no matter day or night, no matter who was watching television or if they were in the middle of a
telenovela
, he switched channels
to what he wanted. It was always what he wanted in everything! It took me a while to appreciate he really was gone. Forever. Then it took me a while to realize how I had loved him. He worked so hard for us, Anna. Our lives would never be the same without him. I cried all the time for a whole year. Then when I was old enough, I followed his example and became a support for my
familia
.”

“I don't know how you got through it.”

“
How
is that I believe,” Esteban said. “Mother Mary got me through. If you believe, you can get through anything.”

“Shall we take a walk?” I untied Dalí, and we went down the private road behind our house.

Esteban said, “Anna, I have good news. I have money saved for a trip home I planned for Christmas, but now Ramón will sell me a green card. Because I am not rolling in
dolares
, he will not charge me what he charges others.”

“You can buy a green card, E.E.?”

“I told you. I bought my driver's license from him.”

“What are they? Forgeries?”

Esteban shrugged. “They are better than nothing,” he said. “I am lucky Ramón will not charge me full price.”

Dalí was rolling in a field, and I knew what he'd smell like later. Larkin would have to get out the M from The Body Shop and spray it on him. She swore it took away the stench on Dalí, but nothing really did.

“I don't think I like Ramón,” I said.

“You don't have to like him. I used to respect him very much, but that was my bad. Now I see he is wrong about many things. He is wrong about you, and I believe he is wrong about Mitzi Graney.”

“Ramón doesn't even know me,” I said. “What's wrong with Mitzi?”

“Ramón teaches that white females may have disease. Whoever becomes a Blood Brother cannot date a white. Before Virgil took the oath, he worried that your girl friend might have been a run-around, promiss, promisc—”

“Promiscuous?”

“Yes. Playing around with many.”

“He's no judge of character, your friend Virgil.
Mitzi was never promiscuous. And I suppose he
wasn't
promiscuous before he met Mitzi?”

“He wasn't. He had his sweethearts at home, but girls we know there do not allow that. Ramón teaches that any
gringuita
over the age of fourteen has probably had sex of some kind. He believes most white girls are
gatas salvajes
, wild cats, loose women.”

“That's so not true, E.E.! Do you think I'm a loose woman? Do you think Mitzi Graney is?”

“Ramón teaches that you never know, but he is probably wrong.”

I said, “Probably?”

We walked along silently for a while. I thought of times I'd tried to seduce him, how he'd resisted, and I wondered if he thought I always did that with boys.

I asked him, “Why didn't you tell me this before?”

“The wine energizes the tongue, sweet Anna.”

I thought of Esteban's hands holding mine so many times, stopping us when we were making out.

“Don't ‘sweet Anna' me! So
that's
what stopped you?”

“You might have loved that fellow called Trip. Mitzi told Virgil you were Trip's
amor
last summer.”

“We never had sex, Esteban!”

“When I was under Ramón's spell, I wondered about you. But I have seen Ramón make bads about people. He is hard on Chino. He now says the devil controls Chino because Chino won't become a Blood Brother.”

“So Ramón was controlling
you
, and maybe still is where we're concerned.”

Esteban took my hand. “No. I grew away from him, but he was never the true reason. No other person could tell me to keep away from you. I am not a sheep like Virgil. Anna, what I feared was if you had been experienced, you would see I was not.”

“And you think I am?”

He went right on with what he was saying. “I have been with only one girl for such a purpose back home. She was a friend of Gioconda and I
was unable. That made me afraid also.”

“And I have been with zero boys that way. We're two virgins,” I said. “I used to wonder why I wasn't hot for most guys, and then after we met I wondered why you kept stopping us from doing anything. I wondered what was wrong.”

“There is something of another nature wrong with me now. Anna, do you know where I will sleep from now on?”

“At Casa Pentecostal?”

“I try to tell you that we can't stay there. The pastor can't harbor illegals and still qualify for a tax-free status. No. As of tomorrow I sleep in a bed another of us sleeps in from eight
A.M
. until four
P.M
. I am now a hotbedder. I have half a bureau drawer for my clothes and a corner in the packed closet.”

“Where is Gioconda staying, and the others?”

“I waited for them, but they did not wait for me. They went ahead and took a place too small. Sometimes I am like the dog whose bark has been removed. I am macho, and smart, Anna, but it is hard for me to show it.”

“I know you're smart.”

“Tonight no one did. I am the dummy saying nothing at the table. Then your father asks where do you boys live? Do you pay rent?”

“Sometimes Dad doesn't think.”

“He thinks. He's out to get me, Anna!”

“But he didn't get you, Esteban! When you said you didn't have any uncertainties you couldn't handle, you put him in his place.”

“Why do I have to put him in his place? Did anyone else there have to put him in his place? He does not treat me like a dinner guest. He treats me like some hood rat who somehow got into his house.”

“What's a hood rat? I never heard that before.”

“A punk, a street character. A hood rat tries to be serious about wanting to be buried in a casket, because there are worms in the soil, and worse—maggots, though maggots would not be something to say at the dinner table.” Esteban was talking so fast, I had to strain to hear him. “But your
padre
—he doesn't care what
he
says at his own table if a hood rat expresses an opinion.
He answers him singing the song about the worms crawling in and out.”

“Oh, E.E., calm down. Don't let my father get under your skin that way. He's already forgotten the conversation.”

“I am the dummy saying nothing at the table. Then your father asks where do you boys live? Do you pay rent?”

“Shhhh. Hush. Let's not talk about my father.”

“He won't go away. He will always be there looking down on me. He is a friend of Charlie Annan, who calls us ‘brown bugs.' That's what he calls us, like we're
cucarachas
.”

“Okay. Gioconda calls me ‘white whore.' Does that make me a white whore?”

“No. But I have to be a man, Anna! If we are to have a future, I have to be a man as you become this college woman.”

Right at that moment Dad's old truck came rattling down the driveway, kicking up the gravel, wheels squealing the way they always did when he was in a hurry or mad at something or both.

W
E HURRIED BACK
inside the house, where Larkin was rinsing dishes and putting them into the dishwasher.

“Where did Dad go?” I asked her.

“Someone just called to tell Kenny that Charlie Annan is having a secret meeting at the American Legion Hall,” she said, “and guess what it's about—that hiring hall your father supports.”

“Why doesn't Daddy just stay out of things Charlie Annan cooks up?”

Larkin said, “Because the hiring hall is important to Kenny. Charlie Annan is also planning to go after the contractors who hire illegal immigrants. It's against the law, you know.”

She glanced at Esteban quickly, then looked away as though she wasn't sure it was okay to talk about it. Esteban excused himself and went to the bathroom.

Larkin said, “Your brother and Maxine went into the house to watch football.”

At least we were spared a ball game on Dad's giant screen.

I said, “Are you
sure
that's why Dad left, Larkin?”

“Of course I'm sure.”

“Sometimes when he's angry, he runs away. Goes for walks or drives. You know how he gets quiet when he's steaming inside? Maybe this whole plan backfired on me, and he's mad because I'm seeing Esteban.”

“Annabel, I know what he's mad at. He's mad at Charlie Annan. Charlie is going to put your dad out of business if he keeps going.”

Dalí smelled so strongly of whatever he'd rolled in that I thought of putting Vicks up my nose to stop the odor, but I didn't think Vicks VapoRub would be very romantic later.

“Maybe he isn't mad about Esteban,” I said. “Dad was relatively calm about Esteban being here. He was a little sarcastic, but I'd say he was calm.”

“Oh, honey, your daddy is
tired
. He's worn out! He's not calm, he's exhausted!”

“He doesn't usually run off to meetings where he wasn't asked,” I said. “That isn't like him at all.”

“It isn't like Charlie Annan to turn on him either. They're old friends. How do you think Kenyon got that plush job?”

“Don't ever tell
him
that.”

“Let's just relax now until your father gets home,” said Larkin, tying the dish towel to the door of the refrigerator. “Do you know what I brought with me? A superb movie we three will love. Particularly Esteban. Part of the reason I picked it is it was filmed in his country.”

“In Colombia? What is this film?”

“
Maria Full of Grace
. Kenny would have liked it too, poor man, who never does anything anymore but work! The actress is Kenny's type.” She walked down to the end of the screening room, fidgeting with the DVD player. She finally got it ready by the time Esteban reappeared. “I think Kenny likes Latino women,” she said. “I know he is mad for Jennifer Lopez.”

“Jennifer Lopez was born in the Bronx of New York.”

“I didn't know that, Esteban,” said Larkin.

I waited for him to say that we'd seen the movie, that it was filmed in Ecuador, not Colombia. Instead, he shot me a look and shook his head as if to tell me not to say anything.

“Catalina Sandino Moreno was the first actress to be nominated for an Oscar for a movie spoken entirely in Spanish,” Larkin said. “But don't worry, Annabel, it has English subtitles for us.”

Esteban said, “What is someone called who speaks three languages?”

“Trilingual,” Larkin said.

“Two languages?”

“Bilingual,” said Larkin.

“One language?”

“What?” Larkin asked.

“American,” he said.

We all laughed. It wasn't the kind of joke I'd ever heard Esteban tell. I figured he was more PO'ed than he'd told me on our walk. Dad had gotten to him, for sure.

Esteban said, “It's a joke my
vatos
tell. It's not that funny.”

Larkin said, “It's funny and it's true.”

I made myself an iced tea and asked Esteban what he wanted to drink.

“More sangria, thank you. I never had it before.”

Larkin said, “I thought it is what you drink with paella.”

“It should be if it isn't,” said Esteban. “Very tasty, Missus.”

“No, call me Larkin. That's what everyone calls me. I'm not a Mrs. anymore. My husband
and I divorced five years ago.”

“Do you have
familia
?”

“If you mean children, no.”

“That is a great pity.”

“I don't think so. I have my Dalí. When he gets just of the age a son would be ready for college, Dalí will be off to doggy heaven, which doesn't cost a thing.”

I couldn't remember Larkin ever talking much about her past. But then I couldn't remember ever asking her about her life, either. All I could remember was that she wanted to go to UCLA and her father was afraid that would result in her marrying a Californian. Since Esteban had come into my life, my world was narrowing down to just the two of us. I wondered what it would be like in a few weeks when school started.

We four settled back on the couch, Dalí beside Larkin.

I was still uneasy about Dad's just taking off like that to go to a meeting. It was hard to believe, even though Larkin seemed to accept
it without question.

I thought it could be his way of showing what he thought of my little dinner party, not bothering to even stay for dessert. The strawberry-rhubarb pie I'd bought was sitting on the kitchen counter, two pieces carved out of it. It was Kenyon's favorite, so I knew he and Maxine were eating it watching the game.

I wondered how much time Esteban and I would have at evening's end, and if we could go for a drive, or another walk—someplace we could be alone. When Kenyon took Maxine back to his apartment, Esteban and I could go inside to my room and listen to Shakira. I wanted to talk more about Ramón, too. I wanted to know if Esteban knew that Virgil asked Mitzi to get tested for AIDS. I wanted to know more about Ramón's influence on Esteban, how much of it was still there.

Esteban had always insisted he wanted our first time together to be as perfect as we could make it. He didn't want us to be whipped by sand and wind down on the beach, or somewhere we
could be interrupted or found out. He said he wanted us to always have it right, or it could go away. He had even started a song about it: something he called “Don't Be My Summer.” “Someone like summer, someone in sun, June July August, over and done? Don't be my summer, be my all year.”

He was trying to find an ending for it. He had actually written it in English, but then he switched to Spanish, saying it was more intense in Spanish. In Spanish it worked better if the lyrics just went “You're someone like summer, someone in sun, June, July, August, over and done?…” He said he would have to work on it until it was right.

“Why not just leave it in English?” I'd asked him.

“Because the English is wrong for it.”

“I like it, though.”

“But I have to sing it, and it has not the same melancholy it has in my own language.”

“Why do you like melancholy so much?” I'd asked him.

“It's the heart of life's stories, Anna. Great songs don't celebrate joy unless they are parade marches.”

I hadn't liked
Maria Full of Grace
that much when I first saw it, and as I watched it in the screening room, I tried to dismiss the plot and concentrate on the Spanish. That didn't last long. The actors spoke too fast. I thought again about taking Spanish as a second language. In the fall, when the tourists left our town, there were always advertisements on supermarket billboards for SSL classes. The high school offered one too, but Dad would probably attend that one, since it was a night class, popular with business-people.

Every time the thought of SSL came into my head, it had a path that led to a fantasy future when I would be in Esteban's homeland, meeting his family. I already knew that besides his mother, stepfather, and Gioconda there were his twin sisters, another sister, and his two brothers. Esteban had mentioned several times that his father had suddenly disappeared, just as
Chino's brother had.

Sometimes I tried to imagine myself living in Providencia with Esteban. I knew that was where he wanted to live his life. I didn't know if I could bear to be that far from the United States. When I thought about it, I'd tell myself,
Slow down, Anna B. Put it in the Put It Off file
. But you can't stop yourself from daydreaming, from imagining a future with someone you love, no matter how unlikely it seems. I had never really been in love before. I didn't know what I was willing to risk, or even if I
was
ready to risk at all. Since I'd met Esteban, I didn't think any further ahead than graduation from high school. Now suddenly it began to register what it meant that Esteban was undocumented. I could lose him without doing anything to cause it. One day I could turn around and he'd be gone.

When the phone rang, Larkin pushed
PAUSE
on the remote and said, “I hope it's Kenny.”

Esteban excused himself and went into the bathroom again.

 

I looked up at the nails coming through the roof and I thought of that night. It was my most frequent, hot daydream. I'd go over and over Esteban loving me for the first time, looking at me with those serious brown eyes, bringing his lips to mine, our bodies pressed together. I'd felt as though we both had wings. Then I remember him shouting “
Basta!
” Next came the trip to get the paella and then the very couch I was sitting on, I was lying on with the Swan Man. It was the beginning of becoming a woman, of feeling finally what the songs and poems said you felt. Before Esteban, I'd thought all the words like
swooning, rapture, thrill, tremble
were
hyperbole
. My mother's favorite word. The times Dad used to dream of putting the family in a trailer and going off to see the USofA, taking our sweet time, maybe being gone for years, I'd say, “What about school?” Mom would whisper in my ear, “Shhhh. It's Daddy dreaming, Annabel. It's just hyperbole.”

“No! No!” Larkin cried out, her voice so shrill, Dalí jumped down from the couch and went toward her.

When she closed her cell, she said, “Get your brother, Annabel. Kenny's in Seaview Hospital. He's had a heart attack.”

 

The plan was for Larkin to drive to the hospital immediately with Kenyon and Maxine. Esteban and I would meet them there, after I let Dalí out a last time, turned off the lights, the stove, the TV—made sure the house wouldn't go up in flames and Dalí wouldn't get cramps from holding it. One of Mom's rules had always been never to leave a house in a hurry; be sure it would be there when you headed home again.

We were still in the driveway when Esteban turned off the motor and shook his head.

“
Coño!
Anna, I can't go there.”

“Yes, you can. Why can't you?”

“It's impossible.”

“Charlie Annan won't be there, if that's the reason. And even if he is, I
have
to be there! You can just go on! It's my dad, E.E.! It's—”

He cut me off. “I can't
drive
! I can't see right.”

“What do you mean?”

“The wine. I now see two roads and four trees.”

“Oh my God, are you seeing double?”

“
Sí. Sí
. You will have to drive.”

“I can't drive, E.E.! I never learned!”

“If
policía
arrest me drunk, that would be big trouble for me. I have no residence, and my driver's license is the Ridge Road address. There would be questions.”

“Esteban, you don't sound drunk. I didn't see you stagger!”

“There is no argument here. I cannot walk the straight line. I cannot drive. I did not know the wine would make my eyes go
loco
.”

“Then I have to call a taxi!” I said.

“I'm sorry, Anna.”

“So am I! How could you get drunk?”

We got out of the Pontiac, and he said, “I can go there with you in the taxi. I am not that drunk.”

But inside the screening room, while he waited for me to telephone Seaview Ride, he fell asleep on the couch, the nails coming through
the roof above him. Sticking out of his back pocket was a small envelope with a blue ribbon on it.

On the outside he had written: “For Anna to see because she wanted to. xxEE.”

I left him sleeping there.

I opened the envelope in the backseat of the taxi. There were four photographs. I knew they were the pictures of his family that he had promised me he'd send for. I couldn't deal with that then. All I could do was put them in my bag and ask the driver to hurry.

“Please stop saying that, lady,” he finally said. “I'm going too fast as it is.”

So am I
, I thought. What if something happened to my father? With everything else he was handling, he had to come home that night and discover I'd gone against his rules, gone behind his back to date someone he didn't know, and didn't know anything about. He'd probably guessed Esteban was an illegal. Then he must have known I had fallen hard for him too, because never in my life had I disobeyed him in
such a major way. Who could blame him for worrying about what I was capable of under those circumstances? He'd already had a major loss he was just beginning to recover from with Larkin. Now there was me to worry about, when I'd
never
given him any big problem. I was always his good girl.

They were operating on Dad when I got to the hospital—emergency bypass. We walked and waited and drank coffee and waited. While everyone was down in the cafeteria getting something to eat, I looked at the photographs Esteban had gotten for me.

One was of a large woman, taller than Esteban, with her arm around him while he looked up at her, smiling. He seemed very young, but there was no mistaking Esteban. On the back he had written, “Mi madre and me.”