Someone Like Summer (8 page)

“She has no right—” I began.

But Esteban took my hand and began to pull me toward his car. “Trouble!” he shouted. “Back at my house! The police are there!”

T
HE
S
EAVIEW
S
TAR
wrote it up this way:

Tuesday morning word of what had happened at Ridge Road had reached Dad's cell phone. Some of his crew would be missing, but for once he was more worried about his date with Larkin than his business. As I was getting ready to leave the house, Dad was trying on shirts—horrible plaid polyester short-sleeved shirts. He was taking Larkin to lunch for her birthday. I couldn't remember him ever having lunch in a restaurant. Mom always made him lunch at home. Now he always ordered takeout.

“Which one looks good, Annabel?” He was beginning to go bald, so he wore this old cap inside and out. But anyone could still see Kenyon in his face and body. He was tall and tan like Kenyon and I were, and he kept himself in good shape, kayaking on Accabonac Bay, bowling and fly-fishing down at the ocean.

“They all look awful, Dad. Wear a long-sleeved
white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled. Wear your good belt.”

I was wondering if E.E. was okay, hurrying to get to the library, where I could make calls. All I knew then was that the police had raided the house on Ridge Road.

I wasn't used to seeing my dad so vulnerable. I wondered if he'd ever been nervous about what to wear on dates with my mother. I doubted it. They'd known each other since grade school, and started going steady when they both went to the same community college. Mom was never that much into clothes, either. Mostly she wore jeans and T-shirts, except Sundays at church, when she wore a skirt and heels. Not the dagger-point kind Larkin wore.

“Are my khakis all right?” Dad asked.

“They're fine. How come you're taking her to
lunch
?”

“She's making dinner for me and Kenyon. She says it's her chance to get to know him. I wish this was on another day. I'm probably short half a work crew thanks to Charlie Annan!”

“Just relax, Dad. Your face is bright red.”

“Are people wearing socks anymore?”

“No one wears socks with sandals, Dad. No socks. Just your loafers. No cap. I have to go. I'll be late for work.”

“You were invited to dinner too, you know.”

“Larkin knows me already. I promised Mitzi I'd come over.”

I felt guilty lying, and bringing Mitzi into it again. I still hadn't called her. Everything was so complicated trying to arrange times to see Esteban, and I didn't want to take on her problems with Virgil. I was curious to hear what she had to say, but at the same time I didn't want to hear her put down Latinos, particularly the poor guys from Ridge Road. I wasn't crazy about Ramón, but I had an idea a good Catholic girl like Mitzi just couldn't stand Ramón talking Virgil into leaving Holy Family.

Dad was too involved with Larkin to keep close track of me. He had never been the disciplinarian in the family, anyway. That was Mom. The funny thing is, I never would have lied to
Mom about seeing Esteban. I would have minded her, at the same time pleading my case, appealing to her as the only one who knew me. I still think she was. Mothers and daughters have something different going on than fathers and daughters.

 

Kenyon was waiting for me outside the library. He was angry about the raid at 7 Ridge Road, as Dad was. Kenyon disapproved of it on moral grounds. How could the city displace people with no warning, and no promise to help them find shelter? Our father feared that the eviction would permanently scare away half his work force.

“Here's the key to my place,” Kenyon said. “It's an extra for Esteban, if he has no place to go.”

“Thanks, Kenyon. You lock your door?” I'd forgotten that at Cornell he'd locked his dorm room door. At home we never locked up. Dad used to say all a lock did was make a burglar break your window.

“Anyone could get to the kennels from my place,” Kenyon said. “Tell Esteban to remember there are valuable animals there. They
all
are to their owners.”

“I don't know where Esteban and his homies are. I have to wait for his call.”

“His homies,” Kenyon said. “Are you going to start talking like him?”

“That's what they call each other.”

“Sis…”

“What?”

“Never mind.” He shrugged his shoulders and sank his long hands into his pants pockets. He brushed back a strand of blond hair that fell across his forehead. “Will you meet Esteban at my place when you reach him?”

“If it's all right with you.”

“It's okay, I guess…. How involved are you with this boy?”

“How involved am I with Esteban? You're beginning to sound like Dad, Kenyon.”

“Have you joined the Casa Pentecostal yet, Sis?”

“When you dropped me off there, how many whites did you see waiting out front? Did you ever think
they
might not want
me
to join
them
? You and Dad are pains in the butt, Kenyon!”

“Well, we're two guys trying to look after a motherless young girl.”

“Sorry. I know you're always there for me.”

“It's not easy.”

“How come I suddenly need looking after?” I asked him.

“Oh, how come,” he said. “How come?”

 

When I got inside the library, Esteban reached me. I'd left a message on his cell phone to call me there before ten. Miss Chidister usually arrived at ten fifteen in the morning.

“Anna? I would not call you at your workplace if you had not left the message on my cell.”

“It's all right. We're not open yet. Where are you staying?”

“In the basement at Casa Pentecostal. I keep the furnace company.”

“You can stay at Kenyon's apartment until
you find a new place.”

“Tell your brother thank you, but I have Gioconda with me. And my homies, Ramón, Dario—all but Chino. We can't find Chino.”

“Then at least meet me there tonight. Kenyon is going to dinner at Larkin's with my dad.”

He took down the address.

“How come your homies didn't show up for work?” I asked Esteban. When I'd left the house, I'd heard my father on his cell to the crew boss asking how many they could count on.

“We let the dust settle,” Esteban said.

“I don't know what you mean, E.E.”

“We wait for
la migración
to get out. He called them, your fine Dr. Annan, so now you cannot anymore praise him.”

“Are you sure he did?”

“We know he did. He always said he would report us to
la migra
. You see, sweet girl, many of us are undocumented.”

Us. I let that sink in, and then I said, “But you're not?” My heart was suddenly beating as I waited for the answer.

“I am, Anna.” Then in a singsong tone Esteban said,
“Porque no tengo papeles.”
If he was trying to make light of it, for my benefit, his voice cracked as he spoke, spoiling any nonchalance.

“You have no papers?”

“That is what I am sorry to tell you, Anna.”

“But you drive. How did you get a driving license?”

“Ramón knows how to get things. He is expensive, but he can get many things necessary.”

I thought of Dad saying once that Latinos who did many jobs instead of one specialty often were undocumented. I knew there were many working for him, special ones he liked and had trained, but I didn't ask Dad about it. I didn't think about it. Even after I met Esteban, I didn't ask him, because why would I think he wasn't here legally?

But now I was worried for him, afraid of what could happen to him. He must have heard that in my voice, for he quickly said, “We won't
discuss that stuff.” He had picked up “stuff” from me. He called his belongings his “stuff,” his problems “that stuff,” even sometimes romance, as in the sentence, “We don't have the time or place for this stuff.”

“I will be at the deli until six forty-five,” he said.

“Come right after, okay?”

“I will rush to you,
cariña
. Before you become angry with me for not telling you I have no papers, I tell you now I am almost sure I can get a green card.”

“I'm not angry with you, E.E.”

“I prayed to Santa Cecilia for forgiveness every time I did not tell you the truth.”

“What do you mean every time? Did you tell me a lot of lies?”

“I went to school to learn English so I could disguise myself, Anna, not just to get ahead. The better you speak, the less they suspect.”

“I understand. You were trying to survive.”

“But I
do
want to get ahead since I meet you. Anna, if I become documented, your father will
not disapprove of me,
sí
?”

“I think a green card would help things.”

Did Dad know Esteban was an illegal? I had no way of knowing. I didn't tell Esteban that sometimes I believed the real thing my father found wrong with him was something Esteban couldn't change. A green card wouldn't stop Dad calling him Pedro, or Juan, or José. And no matter how much more Spanish I knew in time, I would always be a
gringa
. I would always be
flour
—never
flower
.

“I will be at the address seven on time!”

“I can't wait.” I couldn't. I wanted to put my arms around him and tell him everything would be okay, all the while I was thinking,
Will it be?
He could be caught and sent back to Colombia, couldn't he?

“I will see you, Anna!”

S
UDDENLY
I
KNEW
why Dr. Annan's veterinary hospital and the new Seaview Animal Shelter were both off by the airport. I could hear the dogs barking from the inside and from their runs. It made me all the more nervous, as it got to be seven-thirty, then eight, and still no Esteban.

Finally I used Kenyon's phone to call Esteban's cell.

I expected to hear him answer himself, or talk to his voicemail.

Instead, Gioconda said, “Do you think my brother is a fool, white whore?”

“No, I don't, Gioconda. May I speak with him?”

“He is working, and he will not come to that address. We know what is that address.”

“It's no secret. I told him Seaview Vet.”

“What trouble waits for Esteban at Dr. Annan's, Flour Face?”

I hung up.

I hadn't thought of that: Charlie Annan had been involved in the Ridge Road eviction. Had I ever told Esteban that Kenyon was staying in Charlie's garage apartment? Had I told him that would have been where he was staying if he had taken Kenyon up on the offer?

I hadn't thought of a lot of things, and neither had my brother. If Esteban had accepted my brother's offer, Charlie Annan would have intervened unless Esteban sneaked in and out. Charlie hated illegals and anyone who supported them except Dad. And
that
was a sore point between them. Esteban could never admit he stayed at Kenyon's apartment, another blow to
what was left of his ego.

I couldn't call Esteban at the Pantigo Deli. The only phone there was used for takeout orders, and obviously his cell was with Gioconda, probably at Casa Pentecostal, where so many were staying. He'd told me once that Gioconda did not have a job, that her job was to feed and care for everyone in the house. He said when she wasn't doing that, she was watching Cristina. I remember I thought that maybe Cristina was a small child living with them, but Esteban said Gioconda watched
El Show de Cristina Saralegui
on television; Cristina was the Latina Oprah.

I'd never find Esteban that night. When Kenyon got back, he could drive me home, but that would be hours away.

Here was my chance to call Mitzi. We used to call and e-mail each other several times a day, even when school was going and we saw each other there. I'd become a fair-weather friend, for sure. I didn't want any bad news. I didn't want to hear Esteban trashed.

“Did you hear
already
?” Mitzi said the minute she heard my voice.

“About the eviction? Everyone knows.” Even though the
Seaview Star
was published on Wednesdays, the whole town was talking about Ridge Road.

“I don't mean that. I mean did you hear Virgil and I are finished? He's been avoiding me, breaking dates, that kind of thing, and finally before he went to the Casa to hear Antolin, I said, ‘What's going on?' ‘Nothing,' he said, ‘and that's the trouble,' he said.”

“What did he mean?”

“He said he doesn't feel anything for me anymore.”

“Has he got another girl?”

“He said there is no one else. He said he hasn't had time to meet anyone else.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Annabel, he works the same long hours your Esteban works. How could he find someone else? Besides, we've had trouble, and a big fight over something you won't believe. I don't know if
I can even tell you, it's so weird.”

“Tell me.”

“He wanted me to take an AIDS test.”

“Why?”

“I don't know why. He couldn't tell me why. He just said everyone should take one.”

“Oh, Mitz, do you think maybe
he
has AIDS?”

“I don't know what to think. And now it doesn't matter what I think. He's dumped me.”

“Is there any chance you could have gotten AIDS if
he
has it?”

“Yes. But he says he does
not
have it.”

I'd wondered if they were having sex, but the fact I didn't know for sure showed how much we'd lost touch. Just last year we'd bet that by the time we were seniors, we'd be the only Vestal Virgins at school. We figured most juniors and seniors at Seaview had or were having both intercourse and outercourse. Mitzi and I agreed intercourse was okay if you were really in love with a guy, but we swore we'd
never
do outer-course, even though oral sex was no big deal anymore. It
was
to us. It was too one-sided, we'd
heard, too much the big male ego trip.

“I
want
to be tested now,” Mitzi said, “tested for everything! But I can't go to Dr. Oliver. I'm afraid he'd tell my mother.”

“Just go to Seaview Hospital. Women for Women will set up an appointment for you. Mitzi? I'll go with you if you want me to. Then we can catch up with what's going on in our lives.”

“Thanks, Annabel. I'd love to have you go with me!”

“Definitely. Say when.”

“I'll make an appointment. I can't talk anymore now. I'm meeting Jackie Goldman to read each other's F. Scott Fitzgerald papers. Have you done yours yet?”

“Thanks for reminding me. I almost forgot.”

“I'll tell you everything when I see you.”

 

I'd brought
Corazón Libre
with me, the Mercedes Sosa CD. I wanted to hear it with Esteban, but I played it for myself again. I'd heard it five or six times. Besides the song about the forgotten children, there was
“Todo Cambia,”
“Everything
Changes,” and
“Tonada del Viejo Amor,”
“Song of an Old Love.”

When Kenyon listened to her sing, he said her voice was haunting. He Googled her and found out she was in her sixties. Her voice had been compared to Billie Holiday's and Edith Piaf's. She was to Argentina what Joan Baez had been to America: a folk singer with her country as a cause.

It made me love Esteban even more, to know that was his first gift to me, and that Sosa was his mother's favorite singer. I had asked him to show me photos of his family. He said they were all back in Providencia, but he would have some sent.

Then I listened to some music Kenyon had brought there, realizing it was really from Mom's collection of old forties and fifties singers he must have transferred to CDs. Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Tony Bennett: the ancient sad crooners rhyming
heart
with
part
and
miss you
with
kiss you
.

Next I heard knocking on the downstairs door, and Esteban calling my name.