Someone Like Summer

by M. E. Kerr

  “For the first time tonight I really saw Esteban. He wanted badly to go to that movie. He watched it so intensely. Trip would have chosen Star Wars or something with Angelina Jolie in it.”

  “Well, Trip isn’t from Colombia.”

  “And for the first time Esteban and I talked about my plan to be a social worker. We didn’t talk about it very long. I think it depressed both of us, thinking about the future.”

  Kenyon was finishing packing his things to take to his new apartment. He was such a long drink of water compared to Esteban, using his long arms to sling shirts across to his suitcase on the bed. My bottom bureau drawer was almost empty.

  He said, “Sis? Do me a favor. Don’t sleep with that guy for a long, long time. He’s not the kind of fellow who’s going to appreciate easy.”

  And that very second there went the condoms in one of his big hands, from the bureau to his bag.

  Kenyon added, “You’re just starting to get to know him, Anna B. What’s the big rush?”

  “No one’s rushing,” I said, “but since when did you appoint yourself pope?”

  “All I mean is their women usually hold out for marriage—at least the ones they respect and marry do.”

  “So I’d be a slut if I was easy?”

  “Even if easy wasn’t part of the equation.”

  Did I need that crack of lightning over the roof for emphasis?

  “And where are your girlfriends this summer? Where’s Mitzi?” Kenyon asked.

  “We’re not kids anymore, Kenyon. We have jobs, boyfriends, lives.”

  “Don’t be in too big a hurry to grow up,” he said.

  THIRTEEN

  MITZI GRANEY STOPPED in at the library to check out Tender Is the Night. Seniors at Seaview High had F. Scott Fitzgerald on their summer reading list—any book of his. I’d chosen The Crackup, which was almost like a journal, a dark and depressing one, I thought. Kenyon said I was just too untouched by life so far to appreciate it.

  “I already read some of Tender,” Mitzi said. “It’s so old-fashioned. This character has his shorts in a twist over whether or not some babe’s a virgin. Speaking of which, you could have lost your V and be pregnant, for all I really know about you anymore. Claire said when she visited you, she got stuck with Trip because you were never around.”

  “Claire always had the hots for Trip anyway.”

  “But where’ve you been? Your cell phone isn’t even connected. I still haven’t got my Mac fixed or I’d have e-mailed you. What’s going on?”

  “I’m helping my brother get settled at Dr. Annan’s.”

  “That’s not what I hear. Virgil says you’re seeing Esteban Santiago.”

  “I was going to tell you. Dad’s so against it. He took my cell phone away. I didn’t want word to get around town before I tell Dad myself.”

  “Oh, that’ll be a pretty scene. Did this start the night we went to Jungle Pete’s?”

  “I saw Esteban before that, playing soccer in the fields behind the school. Now I see him whenever we can manage it. I’ve been telling Dad I’m with you Monday nights. It’s Dad’s poker night, so it’s not likely he’d want to reach me. Do you mind that I did that?”

  “Of course not. But be careful, Annabel.”

  “Careful about what?”

  “Dating one of them from Ridge Road isn’t as easy as you think.”

  “You sound just like my dad, saying ‘one of them.’”

  Mitzi said, “They’re different, Annabel. At least the ones in that house are. By the time you learn that, it’s too late.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you heard about Ramón? He got Esteban and Virgil to leave Holy Family for the Casa.”

  “Esteban said Ramón is spiritual, deep.”

  “Deep!” Mitzi spat out. “He’s not deep. He’s trouble! Call me when we can really talk. Can we make a date now?”

  “I was just going to ask her that myself,” Esteban’s voice said suddenly, and there he stood at the checkout desk, grinning at us.

  He said, “Someone took our paella book, Anna.”

  It was a sunny July Monday, so it was quiet in the library. A lot of people were at the beach or on the tennis courts and golf courses. Monday nights Esteban and I saw each other for sure. Other times we fit each other in, depending on where Dad went and what jobs Esteban was on. Whenever he could, Esteban came to the beach where I took my lunch every day.

  Even though Mitzi had met him when we were at Jungle Pete’s, I introduced her to him, glad that for once he was taller than the girl. Mitzi was five-foot-two, dark Irish, with green eyes. At Seaview High we were part of the Vestal Virgins, a group that was getting smaller and smaller every year. We’d named ourselves that in fun. The fast crowd called us The Pesty Virgins.

  Esteban put on the charm, laughing down into her eyes, that funny one tooth of his sticking out. “Hello, Señorita Graney.”

  Mitzi flashed him a smile and touched my arm. “Call me. Please, Annabel? I miss you so!”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “I will see that she does,” said Esteban.

  “My good friend,” I told Esteban as she left.

  “Virgil’s gringuita.”

  “Is that what you call me, too? A gringuita?”

  “If that’s all right with you.”

  “I’m never sure if gringa is a good thing to be called.”

  “I’m never sure if Latino is.” Esteban chuckled. Then he leaned on the front desk and told me, “Te quiero. Can I say that to you in here?” He looked around, then looked back at me with those serious brown eyes.

  “Me, too. Estoy enamorada.”

  “Lovely, mi dulce. Your Spanish is good!”

  “It’ll be even better after I start the SSL course in September.”

  “I’m glad you’re going to do that. It is better to make love with you in my language. It is made for love.”

  I could feel my cheeks get hot and I knew they were red. He could always do that to me. “When will we meet tonight?”

  Then he seemed to be stalling, to want to say something he couldn’t. I waited him out until he had to speak. “I planned I’d have tonight off, but now it seems I don’t.” He looked so guilty. Our plans had changed before when we had to cancel things, but I hadn’t seen that look on his face. His eyes couldn’t meet mine.

  “What do you have to do tonight? Dad is going to Larkin’s after his poker game. Kenyon has moved out. We would have the place to ourselves.”

  “I don’t take the chance to be at your house, Anna. You know that. I feel I am going to be beat up any minute. Your father will crash through the door and punch me hard.”

  “Then we’ll go someplace else,” I told Esteban. There wasn’t anyplace else that private, but we often went down to Main Beach at night with his boom box and a blanket.

  “Not tonight. I’m sorry. There is a special man coming to La Casa tonight.”

  “The church? You’re going to church instead of keeping our date? You were just in church yesterday!”

  Esteban said, “This man coming to our church is the Latino Billy Graham. You know the name Billy Graham?”

  “The preacher.”

  “Yes. This man is like him but for us. There is little opportunity to hear this man, they say. I would ask you to come too, but I do not think he would have an interpreter.”

  “Are you going with your sister?”

  “She has dinner to get for everyone. I made no plans to go with anyone, Anna. Ramón and Virgil may go. I believe it is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to hear a great Latino preacher.”

  “I want to come with you, E.E.”

  “You know, I like to be E. E. Santiago. Estrella is the birth name of mi madre. E is lucky for me. She gave me my Santa Cecilia medal.”

  “Did you hear me say I’d like to go to church with you?”

  “I heard you, Anna. I heard you.”

  “Well?”

  “What for, Anna? His messag
e will not be for you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll see what the Casa is like.”

  “Come if you want to so badly,” said Esteban.

  I didn’t believe there was a heaven, but if there was one, my mother would be looking down and grinning. Anything to get me to church—any church.

  “I do want to come. I want to know everything about you, even if it involves going to church.”

  “I have the God you don’t believe in to thank for getting you to my church,” said Esteban, smiling, touching me playfully under the chin.

  “What is this preacher’s name?”

  “Antolin. He goes by one name only.”

  “Like Larkin.”

  He frowned and shook his head. “Are you serious about this? Antolin is not in the same sentence with Larkin.”

  “I’m sorry, Esteban. I shouldn’t kid around.”

  “No, you should not.”

  “I am really sorry.” I was. Why couldn’t I just accept the fact that Esteban was religious? I wondered if it threatened me in some way, if it divided us.

  Esteban said, “Be careful, cariña. Antolin may cast a spell on you. They say he is very, very dynamite.”

  “Would you like it if I was religious?”

  “What is anything without God?” Esteban said.

  “I can’t believe in a God. I wish I could, but I’m an atheist.”

  “No one is an atheist, Anna. That means you declare flatly there is no God. You mean to say that you are an agnostic. That means you just don’t know.”

  “I’m with the ones who declare flatly,” I said. “Who taught you the difference between the two?”

  “I learned most of my English in school, at home. But here I took ESL at the high school on Tuesday nights.”

  “Why, Esteban?”

  “Why did I take more? The better you speak, the easier it becomes to get good jobs. A man who was in our house is now boss of a construction crew. He can be boss of all the ones who work with him because he is able to speak for them. They don’t understand what the gringos say they want done.”

  “May I really go with you tonight? Is it okay?”

  Esteban sighed, shrugged. “All right! I wanted to give you a pañuelo, anyway. Now you will need it to go with me.”

  “A bandanna like the one you wore when you first came to my house?”

  “Yes, I got you one not even knowing you were coming to the Casa. I just wanted you to have one.”

  “Another present, E. E.?” I’d never given him a gift, because I was afraid he’d feel he had to reciprocate. “Thank you, Esteban, but I hope you’re not spending all your money on me.”

  “Only what little is mine to spend. I send the most to my family, but I like to give things to you. Then you always have something I picked out. Tonight, wear the pañuelo like a scarf, a belt. Tie it on your wrist or ankle. Yellow, blue, red: the colors of our Colombian flag. We all wear our colors, but in church we are una gente. One people.”

  “Why don’t I wear the American flag?”

  “Because at the Casa we wear the colors of our homelands, and you are my guest. You will see plenty of red, white, and blue. It will be the three colors you will see the most of, but in our flags. Virgil would be a big exception, because he would wear green, white, and red. For Mexico.”

  Since we weren’t busy in the library, I told Miss Chidister I was taking a small break. I knew she was wise to what was going on with Esteban and me. When I’d asked her if she would suggest Spanish classes to the programmer, she said she was sure I could wait until fall when the high school taught SSL evenings. “He’s not going anywhere, is he?” she said.

  “Who are you talking about?” I tried to play dumb, but she winked at me and shook her head, as though she was in on our secret.

  Esteban and I went out the back door and sat on the bench where the employees who still smoked sat. Esteban was in bib overalls, the high kind he didn’t wear a shirt under, just his skin and his religious medal. I’d noticed Miss Chidister giving him a look. We didn’t have a dress code in the library. Customers came in shorts all the time. There was just something slightly naked-looking about Esteban and his brown skin, shoulders, arms; you could see his nipples.

  “Does Mitzi ever go to the Casa?” I asked him. I’d know the answer to that myself if I’d ever hang out with her again. Free time wasn’t anything I knew about since Esteban.

  “No, no Mitzi. Virgil and Ramón don’t bring guests.”

  “What made you three leave Holy Family? The music at the Casa? I hear it sometimes when I’m driving to the IGA Sundays.”

  I knew I was trying to keep him with me, stalling, asking questions, anything.

  “I like the music at Casa Pentecostal. I do. Very much. But that is not the reason. At Catholic church it is the same thing over and over. A sermon that has nothing to do with us, then recitations, some even in Latin.”

  “Still? I thought they stopped that.”

  “Not in all churches. Has there ever been a Hispanic pope? There are not even many priests here who can speak our language. Even though I speak English, things I say in confession have no discussion. They say how many Hail Marys to recite for penance and tell me to go.”

  “Is it different in Providencia?”

  “Catholic churches are often the same everywhere. But here we are needy in a new way, in a country we don’t know. A nun came to our door once where we all live. Chino was very sick, and we thought she had come to help him because we tried to get a nurse nun to visit him. This nun knew nothing about Chino. She had come to collect for the new convent. The one they built overlooking the ocean. You know how much that cost? Millions of dollars, and they go from house to house of poor people who have trouble even paying the rent.”

  “It isn’t fair, I know.”

  “What is, Anna?” Then he stood up. “I see there is a notice about computer lessons. Find out when they give them, would you please, Anna? I need to learn what everyone seems to know. I will never get anywhere if I do not become modern.”

  “If you get a computer, we can e-mail each other.”

  “Ramón has one I can always use. I just have to learn how. I feel dumb not knowing how. And I am not dumb, Anna!”

  “I know you’re not. And I’ll help you.”

  “They say never let your girlfriend teach you how to drive, so maybe it is the same with computers. Besides, I do not want you to see I know nothing about the internet. You and your friends know so much. I want to learn, Anna.”

  “I’ll find out when the classes are.”

  “Thank you. I have work to finish and I am already too long away. Can you meet me in front of the Casa? Six o’clock? I must go home and change first, also get you your pañuelo. How will you get there?”

  “Kenyon will drive me.”

  “I hope you will not feel disappointment,” Esteban said.

  I said, “I won’t. I’ll be with you.”

  I think that was all I cared about that summer. The war in Iraq seemed to have nothing to do with me. I’d hear my father arguing about it with Larkin. He was for it and she was very definitely against it. I was in some kind of limbo, incapable of any opinion that didn’t have to do with Esteban Santiago.

  FOURTEEN

  IN FRONT OF THE CASA there was a tent where inside a man sold small flags and pañuelos. They were in boxes with labels saying Argentina, Colombia, Costa Rica, Cuba, República Dominicana, on and on. Ten dollars for the little flags; fifteen for the pañuelos. There were also small lapel pins for five dollars.

  Esteban waited for me by the tent, his black hair parted on one side, neatly combed like his sideburns. He wore jeans and a guayabera, a lightweight blue cotton shirt with four pockets.

  “This is my Canul Jr. Number One,” he said proudly. “The other is yellow. I wear them on special occasions only.”

  Around his neck he wore the yellow, blue, and red–striped bandanna. I tied my pañuelo to my yellow belt. I was all in y
ellow except for the red and blue stripes in my pañuelo. I wore a long skirt, sandals, and a lacy blouse.

  The first thing I noticed was many flags hanging above the pulpit. Esteban whispered softly, “The blue and white is Argentina. Red and white, Peru.”

  “Green, white, and red, Mexico,” I said.

  “Sí, Anna! You remembered.” He named a few more countries that went with the flags, until it was hard to hear him.

  The building was packed. I did not see anyone there I knew. While people filed by, a woman began singing “Cristo Salva,” a man behind her playing a bass guitar, joining in on the chorus. Then others did, and then Esteban did too. He knew all the words. He sang loudly, as though he was proud of his voice, and he held my hand and smiled up at me.

  Soon a drummer began beating time, and a pigtailed man wearing a blue and red pañuelo around his forehead played the electric piano.

  “Remember Ramón? He’s sitting behind the piano, in the pañuelo from Peru.”

  “Yes, I remember him.”

  “He speaks in tongues. He works for your father, too, sometimes.”

  Soon we could not hear each other at all, there were so many worshippers, and then suddenly we could hear each other, for the place became hushed, the white-and-gold curtains rustled, and a man with the same pañuelo Esteban and I wore came out on the stage and went up to the pulpit. His pañuelo was peeking from the pocket of his light-blue suit, a royal-blue shirt under the coat open at the neck. He wore a red carnation in his buttonhole. He looked very young and thin, and as he stood there with his head bowed, the roar came up from everywhere.

  “AN-TO-LIN! AN-TO-LIN! AN-TO-LIN!”

  It seemed so spontaneous and heartfelt, I couldn’t help feeling excited, feeling part of it, the same way sometimes a great marching band (usually one I saw on TV) would thrill me.

  Antolin finally looked up, paused to regard us for a moment, then shouted a question in Spanish. Everyone stood.

  I heard a microphone voice translate: “When I feel scorned, what do I do?” Hearing English, I gave Esteban a surprised look.

  Then the congregation shouted back in Spanish, and the translation came again in English: “Seek God!”