by Toni Draper
“I had no idea. I thought you were a professional firefighter.”
“I am. It’s just not all that I do.”
As if suddenly remembering Isa was there, Mena said, “Alex, I’m sorry I can’t talk for too long, I have company. Isa’s here with me, but there is something I wanted to ask, so you have perfect timing. I’m gonna need to revisit the scene of the crime one of these days, and I was wondering if you could recommend a hotel, a place to stay.”
“Here in Flagstaff, I presume?”
“Yep, that’s close enough.”
Alex hesitated only for a moment. “You’re more than welcome to stay here with me.”
“Alex, I really wasn’t fishing for an invitation.”
“I didn’t think you were, but I have plenty of unoccupied space. As a matter of fact, I’ve considered turning my place into a bed and breakfast. I could experiment with you as a guest.” She laughed. “And, of course, Isa is welcome too. The more the merrier. Bring her along.”
Warming to the idea, Mena admitted, “That sounds great. If you’re sure you don’t mind? And it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition.”
“Not at all. I’ll look forward to it, and to introducing you to the love of my life, my daughter, Kimberly.”
Chapter 15
Sydney rose before the sun made an appearance on the horizon the next morning. The hopefulness she was beginning to feel instead of helplessness that had been weighing upon her so heavily was already instilling her with boundless energy. She had hardly slept at all.
After a quick cup of coffee, she gathered her books and papers, secured her laptop in its bag, and headed for the university, making a beeline for Epstein’s office.
“Sydney, good morning. I was surprised to see your appointment on my calendar. What brings you here? Come on in.” Stephen Epstein, Academic Dean at UMD, smiled and ushered her past him into his workday domain. “Have a seat. Make yourself cozy. Can I offer you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you. I’ve already had three.”
He moved to the Keurig on the credenza where he prepared one for himself before sliding into his seat, bracing himself for what was coming. “What is it that has you so worried and nervous? Or is that just the caffeine?”
“Something very unexpected has come up. A personal matter that I’m afraid might take a while to resolve. I think I might need an earlier out than originally planned.”
“You’re scaring me, Sydney. Are you talking a sabbatical? How much time? Starting when?”
“Don’t worry, Stephen. I should be able to finish the fall semester out, but I hope to have everything wrapped up here before Christmas.” Sydney hated to do this to the man. He’d been so good to her over the years. Instrumental in her promotions. Supporting her research, travels, and endeavors. He’d been a good friend. And, while she knew she wasn’t irreplaceable, the first semester of the year would be starting in just a few weeks, and as a department chair, she wasn’t sure how loud the clamoring would be to take over her position. She wished she could give him more notice.
“I’m sure Elena will cover for a while, regardless of when I leave. She’s been interested in the position for some time now, and I think she’d appreciate the chance to get a feel for what’s involved with it. It would give you a chance to see how she’d do before either of you would have to make a permanent commitment. That should also give you enough time to search for an appropriate candidate”
“I just don’t know what to say, Sydney. I must admit, I’m a little shocked. I had no idea this was coming. It sounds like you’re talking an early retirement. Are you? Has UCLA finally convinced you to pull up stakes?”
With a sly smile, Sydney slid an envelope containing her letter of resignation across the desk.
He opened it, and as he read, he peered over the top of his glasses. “So this is it, huh? Our days together are now numbered. Do you mind if I ask where you’re going?”
“Arizona.”
“Are you kidding me? Who the hell goes to Arizona? I thought you enjoyed the winters here, the cold weather. You sure won’t see any snow in that godforsaken hotter than hell place?”
Sydney laughed. “Come now, Stephen. Surely you know it snows in the northern part of the state, where I’m currently looking to relocate.”
“Regardless, I’m sure you must have a good reason. And, in all seriousness, you’ve done us a great service here for many years. I just hope you’re here long enough for a hell of a send-off. We owe you that much, at least.”
“Thank you, Stephen. I’ll keep you posted.”
“And Sydney, if it really can’t wait and you need to leave sooner, we’ll manage. Do what you need to do. It’ll be okay.”
“Thanks again, Stephen. I’ve been blessed to have such a good man as you as my dean.”
“Señorita Mendoza, can we sing the song today?”
“Hoy no, mi’jo, tal vez mañana. Not today, sweetie, maybe tomorrow.”
“¿Pero, por qué? But why?”
“No tenemos tiempo. We don’t have time.”
“Pero tenemos casi media hora. But we have almost half an hour.”
“Sí, pero tenemos algo nuevo para aprender hoy. Yes, but we have something new to learn today.”
Much to Mena’s delight, she was taken out of the ESL program and returned to teaching Spanish full-time. The children, equally exuberant in their desire to jump back into the language they loved learning with a teacher who made doing so fun in class, wanted to sing the body parts song, but having already proven rhyme had enabled them to retain the words for face, head, hands, feet, mouth, teeth, eyes, ears, and nose, they were about to move on to the next chapter: articles of clothing.
This time, in lieu of melody, they were going to combine words with action. Mena had strung a rope across the middle of the classroom, and on the floor beside it there was a basket full of clothes and a bag of wooden pins. Today was wash day; they’d be doing laundry, hanging clothes, colgando ropa, and continuing to prove that efforts to think outside of the book would make all the difference in learning.
When Mena had first started teaching, she was overwhelmed by the amount of planning and preparation involved. She’d had no idea how much work went on at home by educators after the last bell. But then, she had been hired by a private school with limited funds and was expected to teach various levels of the language to children with different acquisition abilities, ranging from the ages of five to thirteen. While the little ones loved reading and games, the older ones were a bit more of a challenge. The eighth graders were prone to boredom and far from fans of it, keeping her on her toes and always thinking of ways to reach and inspire them. By her second year, after having made it through probation, she felt substantially more confident. These days, she thrived on the energy that went into constantly revising and revamping her curriculum.
“I want you to think way back, to the end of last May,” Mena closed up the day’s lesson, “to when we learned about the Spanish explorer, Hernán Cortés, and the Conquest of México. We read an interesting story about an Aztec princess who lived in the land now called Mexico City, then called…what?” she prompted.
Several of her students responded, “Teotihuacán!” Mena looked pleased they had remembered.
“What do you remember about the story? Do you remember the woman’s name?” Mena went to the board, picked up a marker, and began her infamous failings at artistic creations by scribbling stick people and what were supposed to be geographical illustrations.
“So here we have…”
“The United States.”
“En español, por favor. In Spanish, please.”
“Los Estados Unidos.”
“Let’s practice our directional words…and under los Estados Unidos…”
“Detrás de…” one of them guessed incorrectly.
; “Nice try, but…” Mena shook her head.
“Adelante de …” someone else shouted out.
“Tampoco. That’s not it either. I can see we’re going to have to review more than history.”
Groans in anticipation of a grammatical review filled the room. It was Rachel who, by process of elimination, came up with the right translation, “Debajo de…”
“Eso es. That’s it, pero, en frase completa. A complete sentence, por favor.”
“México es el país debajo de los Estados Unidos.”
“Muy bien. Very good.” Mexico is the country under the United States on my map. Careful now…” She joked playfully, daring them to mock her drawing, lest they pay the consequence of having more than one essay question to answer this time.
Glancing at the clock, Mena saw that there were only five minutes left before the class would end. “Bueno, clase, se nos acabó el tiempo. Voy a poner su tarea en la pizarra. Quiero que repasen la historia de la conquista de México. Se encuentra en las páginas once y doce.” She pointed to the book and reminded them to study pages eleven and twelve, where they’d find the history of the conquest of Mexico. “Y no se olviden que mañana hay prueba.”
The class grumbled at the reminder that tomorrow, there would be a test.
“We’re all products of our pasts. It’s important, muy importante, that we don’t forget it. Hasta mañana. Qué les vaya bien.”
“Adiós, Señorita Mendoza.”
As the children picked up their books and backpacks and headed out the door, Mena gathered her own things and tidied up, starting by erasing the board. It had been a long day. She was glad tomorrow was Friday, even though it was also the end of the marking period, which meant she’d have many papers to grade over the weekend, to somehow squeeze into her already overfull agenda. Thank God it would be a long one. She decided to get as much done as she could Friday night and started off as soon as she got home by readying her ride. Isa was invited to spend the night. She’d become a good friend, and Mena no longer felt as awkward around her, especially now that she was seeing Mike.
She hooked up the hose, went into the garage in search of a bucket, and grabbed a sponge on her way out. It had been a while since she’d given the Jeep a good cleaning, so she worked her way from the inside out. With most of the windows open in the house, she tested her lung capacity by shouting, “Alexa, play Enrique Iglesias.” Given the device’s song selection, Mena thought, Alexa must have been kicked to the curb a time or two herself.
With impeccable timing, Isa pulled up as “El Perdedor” came on.
“Oh, no! Isa quickly exclaimed. “We can’t be having this. Mujer, it’s time to move on from these depressing songs.”
“What are you talking about? This song is so beautiful.”
Isa looked at her with her head tilted down and her eyes rolled up.
“Okay, it might be sad, but it’s still beautiful. Don’t you know that sad songs say so much?” Mena realized if she continued to quote “Rocket Man,” she’d soon have royalties to cough up. She laughed. Isa was the best at lifting her spirits. She was starting to feel like her old self.
“Well, if you insist on listening to Kiké, at least pick a tune with a little more bounce.” She looked around for the source of the sound and realized it was coming from inside the house.
“Just tell me what you want.”
“Bailando.”
“Alexa, play ‘Bailando’ by Enrique Iglesias.”
As the song began, Isa said, “That’s much better.”
Mena had to admit, music had a certain sorcery about it. Just a few beats in, and her mood was lightening up.
“We could call this Carwash Karaoke. James Corden, eat your heart out.” Isa laughed as she moved to beat on the brim of Mena’s ball cap, danced and sang her way over to the bucket, and pulled out the soapy sponge before throwing it across the Jeep’s hood and hitting Mena with it, right on target. Naturally, Mena’s instinct had her retaliate by way of turning the hose onto her assailant. Just like that, they were ensconced in a water war.
After they’d finished washing the Jeep, putting everything back in its place, and exhausted from all the playful maneuvers, they went inside and ordered a pizza. While awaiting its arrival, they took turns showering and finished just as it was being delivered.
Mena brought two beers out and saw Isa was already working on her second slice. “It must be nice to be young,” she sighed.
Isa smirked. “You know, you never told me about you and Sydney. She told me a little of your story while we were hanging out waiting for you to wake up, but, as you know, there’s two sides to every story, and the truth usually lies somewhere in the middle.”
Mena looked at her with a quizzical smile. “Do you really expect me to believe you haven’t read my short story yet? I know you better than that.”
Isa pulled her hat down over her eyes.
“I thought so, so there’s nothing else to know.”
Packed up, out the door, and on their way, Mena handed over the printout of the MapQuest directions to her navigator, who was already snoring loudly in the passenger seat.
Mena knew just how to wake her. She slid Gloria Trevi’s CD into the player and advanced it to her version of “Como yo te amo.” She didn’t have to wait long.
The intro had barely given way to the singer’s emoting when Isa began to stir, wrinkling her nose and brow. “Oh, no. No way. Where do you come up with this stuff?” She twisted around in the seat and reached for her backpack. Pulling it into her lap, she unzipped the front compartment, quickly ejected the CD, then pushed in her replacement.
Mena teased, “Oh, come on. The violins, the cello, even. I just don’t understand where you get your music appreciation.”
Isa looked at her and said, “Really.” She shook her head. “Well, not from the depths of a dark depression, obviously. But I was ready for you this time. I knew what was coming. Now, this one, it’s a love song, just of a different nature.” She winked at Mena. “And I don’t want to hear any objections from the driver either.” She sat back in her seat as Rihanna sang “Te Amo.”
Mena had to admit—to herself, if not to Isa—the song was catchy. She soon began bopping her head to the beat.
“And what is this?” Isa motioned to the maps Mena had piled in her lap while she was sleeping. “I mean, who does this?”
“Uh, people who need to know where they’re going.”
“Are you kidding me?” Isa tossed the papers onto the floorboard and asked, “Siri, how do I get to…” She reached down for the page on top to look for the address again before continuing.
Music helped make the drive time more enjoyable. The banter between the two women also helped immensely as they whiled away time, promoting and debating different songs and singers until they reached their destination.
“Are you sure this is it?” Isa asked. “I thought she said it was a cabin.”
“She did, and it is, just not like the Lincoln Logs that we imagined.”
“This place is ginormous.”
Mena pulled up the driveway and beeped, not wanting to make it all the way to the door before Alex knew they’d arrived. But she needn’t have bothered; both Alex, and a girl who looked to be about seven or eight and she assumed was Kim, were there to greet their visitors before the sound of the Jeep’s horn had completely dissipated.
Alex hugged her, then turned to Isa with the same affectionate welcome before introducing her daughter. “Kimmy, I’d like you to meet some friends of mine, the ones I told you about. This is Isa, and that’s Mena.”
Isa went up to her and said, “Your mother told me lots of things about you, young lady. I know all your secrets. Like how ticklish you are.” She lunged for the girl’s sides and moved her fingers lightly like a butterfly over her hip area, eliciting shrieks of delight. They becam
e fast friends after that introduction.
Once inside, both women marveled at how, if it were possible, the house was even more gorgeous within. The planks of flawlessly shellacked pine making up the floor had obviously been carefully chosen to match the similarly stained knotty cabinets that added a splash of lighter color in the luxury of a wide-open space. With cathedral ceilings that rose to open beams that matched the rest of the woodwork and walls that complemented their golden tones in contrasting hues of colonial blues, burnt oranges, rustic reds, greens, and grays, the next thing they noticed was the breathtaking view. Both the backyard woods and the mountain peaks in the distance, were visible on all sides by way of floor-to-ceiling glass walls that let in lots of natural light. If that weren’t enough, the place looked like it could easily grace the cover of any home interior magazine. It was elegantly, yet comfortably decorated, artistically adorned, and immaculately clean.
Feeling slightly insecure upon looking around and making mental comparisons between her humble abode and this dynamic dwelling, Mena unbelievably and doubtingly asked, “Are you sure it’s okay that I brought Chesa and Emi along?”
“Are you kidding? They’re part of the family. I wouldn’t expect you to leave them behind.” Both women smiled, and Kimmy beamed. It didn’t take the girl long to fall in love with both animals, and as the children, two- and four-legged, escaped down the hall to where they could romp and play, Alex showed Isa and Mena to their rooms and walked them through the rest of the spacious place.
“Your home is beautiful, Alex,” Mena said. “Are you sure you want to allow strangers inside to mess it up?”
Alex bit her nail. “Well, I would be here to keep an eye on them. I said a B and B, not a Vrbo.”
“Even worse!” Isa chimed in. “Haven’t you seen ‘The Shining?’ or ‘Pacific Heights?’”
Mena tried to silence her, but she was on a title-dropping cinema roll.