Song of Summer

by Laura Lee Anderson

  It takes everything I have to pull away and take a deep breath. The world looks distorted: too fuzzy or super clear or something, and my brain is running away with itself. I shake my head and swallow and look away from her, even though all I want to do is take in every inch.

  If I look at her, all I can see is the way her breasts lift her T-shirt off her belly or how the curve of her lower back gives way to a delicious gap in the waistband. I take another deep breath and blow it out slowly, trying to get my thoughts back under control.

  She tilts her head, concerned. “You okay?” she signs.

  I nod and take a few steps down the sidewalk, trying to get myself back to normal. Shaking my head, I take another deep breath. When I look back, her eyebrows are knit together. She’s standing up and has followed me a few feet.

  “You,” I sign. “You… are too much.”

  She smiles slowly and winds a few steps toward me. The curves of her waist are too much for my barely-under-control impulses. I turn away.

  “Too much,” I sign over my shoulder.

  She continues her slow approach and stands in front of me. The fog has cleared and I can see straight again, finally thinking thoughts that don’t involve a citation for indecent exposure. She carefully hugs me around my waist. I take another deep breath and look down at her, half hoping, half fearing that my self-control will yield. She inches up on her tiptoes and kisses me on the cheek. “I love you,” she signs, her hand pressed against my heart.

  I’m surprised that it came so soon. I’m surprised it took so long.

  “I love you,” I sign. I mimic her movement, pressing my hand into the soft warmth of her chest, over her heart. It beats a rhythm that shouldn’t be familiar but somehow is. It beats a rhythm that feels like mine.

  Four Weeks of Summer Left

  Chapter 21

  Robin

  I can’t get it right.

  My fingers stumble over the strings. That lady from The Ellen Show won’t get out of my head. That woman had never heard before. And then she heard for the first time and she started crying. And now she can hear birds and traffic and music. She can hear music.

  My fingers trip again. Stupid new pattern.

  “What’s wrong, Robin egg?” a familiar voice says over my shoulder.

  It’s a half hour before rehearsal’s supposed to start. I haven’t touched my guitar in days, and she’s rebelling against me. That’s what’s wrong.

  “Nothing,” I say. “Just can’t get this sequence down. No big deal.”

  “Well let me see,” says Trent, squatting in front of where I’m sitting on the church steps. His curly head concentrates on my fingers and his wrestler-cut T-shirt hangs off his shoulders, the armholes gaping so I can see to his ribs.

  I play through the sequence, my fingers tumbling over themselves like puppies learning how to walk.

  “Do it again,” he says, so I do.

  “There,” he says, at the point where my fingers start to mess up. “There’s your problem. You’re reaching too far down with your first finger, which crowds the rest of them.”

  “But that’s my strongest finger,” I say. “That’s melody. I need it to be loud. I almost always pick melody with my index.”

  “Try with your middle finger,” he counters. “Don’t get stuck in a rut. Flexibility, Peters. Ever hear of it?”

  “Fine,” I say, and I go through it once, slowly. He’s right. It frees up the rest of my hand so it can continue with the pattern.

  It takes a while to retrain my fingers and get the inflection right, but when I do it’s perfect. Trent’s been watching the whole time. “There you go,” he says, a grin spreading across his face.

  “Thanks,” I say. I continue once, twice, over and over until my muscles remember. One tricky part down. Four to go.

  He sits next to me on the church steps and looks away, down the sidewalk. “Sorry,” he says. “About the jam session.”

  I nod tersely, remembering Ana draped across the back of his beanbag chair and my angry storm out of his house. I was kind of hoping it would never be brought up again.

  “Hey I went to the craft fair!” he brightens up. “Didn’t see you. When’d you go?”

  “Friday afternoon.” My face finds a smile as I remember the evening.

  “Looks like you had a good time,” he says.

  “I did.” I play through the sequence again and again. Perfectly.

  He waits but I don’t elaborate. It really isn’t any of his business.

  “Cool,” he says finally. The front door swings open.

  “Pastor Mark’s ready, guys. It’s almost seven,” somebody calls out. “Quit making out already.”

  “Ha-ha,” I say. I pick up Bender and swing my backpack onto my back. Trent reaches down to get the guitar case. He came to rehearsal empty-handed because he uses the church’s stand-up bass. It is seriously hard to transport those things.

  “I’ll get this,” he says.

  “Thanks,” I say. Why is he being so nice? I make a grab at the door but he catches it and holds it for me. I start to walk through.

  “Hey, Robin,” he says. I turn around. “I really am sorry,” he says. “It’s just… hard. To learn to live without you, you know?”

  I smile. If this music thing doesn’t work out, he could always work for Hallmark, the sappy dork. My guard lowers. “Yeah, I know.”

  His face brightens. “So what do you say… ?” He takes one almost-imperceptible step forward, more of a shift in energy than weight. “You wanna try again tonight? Jam session? Just me and you?”

  My smile turns a little sad and I shake my head. “No, sorry Trent.”

  He nods. “Okay. Okay, yeah. No problem. I get it.”

  I walk into the church, turn off the ringer of my phone (don’t want a repeat of last practice), and go to my spot on the stool at the front of the church.

  Whenever I look at my music, I see a woman hearing for the first time. Whenever I hear the stand-up bass, I see Trent’s eager smile. When I pluck at the strings, I feel Carter’s heart beating against my hand as I signed “I love you” into his chest. My fingers trip. The sequence is wrong again. Zero tricky parts down, five to go.

  Finally rehearsal is over. Dodging Pastor Mark, I pull out my phone to find a text from Carter: “Double date Friday? Bring Jenni?” is on my phone.

  “Double date?” I text as I wander over to my guitar case. “With Jenni and who?”

  “Robin?” I hear Pastor Mark say. Didn’t dodge well enough, I guess.

  “Yeah?” I chirp. I toss the phone onto my closed case and walk up to him, Bender in hand.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, of course,” I nod, conveying confidence I don’t feel.

  “You just seemed really distracted tonight. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that. I’m just… with the job and everything… haven’t had time to practice.” I shrug and try to look apologetic.

  “All right… just remember that we’re counting on you. This whole song is you. That’s it. You set the tone. Do you want me to give the solo to somebody else?”

  “No!” I almost shout. “No, please, Pastor Mark. I can do it, I really can. Next week I’ll sing, I promise.”

  He sighs. “Okay. But remember. If you’re not focused, nobody’s going to be focused.”

  “Sure. Absolutely. Focused,” I say, nodding too fast. Why the heck is Carter talking about a double date? The only person I can think of is Barry, since they had a lesson tonight, but would he really subject Jenni to that?

  “Good then,” he says. “See you in two weeks! Last one before we perform. You’re singing, the choir’s called… it’s the real deal.”

  “Yeah! See you then. It’ll be better. Promise.”

  I wave, leaving Pastor Mark with an anxious smile on his face. I’ll be ready next time. I will.

  I turn to put Bender away and see Trent standing over my guitar case, sta
ring at my phone.

  “Double date?” he says.

  “Trent!” I storm up and snatch the phone out of the case, shoving Bender in and slamming the lid.

  “It makes so much more sense now. Why you won’t hang out with me. Why you’re all spacy in rehearsal. Are you still hanging out with that deaf kid?”

  “What?” I say. “Ana, your favorite microphone-wielding one-girl fan club didn’t tell you? We’re not only hanging out. We’re dating now. Like, in a relationship dating. Why the heck are you looking at my phone?”

  Trent’s lips tighten and he crosses his arms.

  “Oh, right. ‘It makes so much more sense now.’” I copy his phrase, making him sound like a stoned surfer. “Ana ditched you. Now all of a sudden you miss hanging out with me.”

  He rolls his eyes but his face softens for a second. “Come on, Robin. I really do miss you. You left a hole in my heart, you know?”

  I snort. “A hole in your heart? Poor baby.”

  “Fine,” he continues, voice harder. “If you’ve made your choice, you’ve made your choice.”

  I kneel, zipping my case closed. “Thanks so much for your permission.”

  “Can’t wait till you come to your senses, though,” he says. “A relationship without music? For Robin Peters?” He shakes his head and laughs. “What’ll your song be? Oh wait, you won’t have one. No proms, no street buskers, no concerts, no duets, no slow dances, no making out to Neil Halstead… Seriously, Robin. Think about the songs I wrote for you. Or when I asked you to prom by busting out the guitar in English class and singing ‘The Luckiest.’ Or when I got all the choir guys to sing you ‘Sweet Caroline’ on our anniversary. Or when we were chosen for ‘The Parting Glass’ duet last year. Or when we’d just skip study hall and hide out in the auditorium making shit up.”

  I wave him off, but he’s right. “Maybe those were the best things about our relationship, but maybe that’s why it failed. Because that’s all we had.”

  He shakes his head. “And you have so much more in common with a rich Chautauqua New York City kid, deaf or not? Whatever, Robin. Let me know when you want to jam again sometime.” He turns up the church aisle.

  “Hey,” I call after him. “Don’t touch my phone again.”

  “Sure thing,” he says over his shoulder, giving me a sarcastic thumbs-up.

  I stand up, yanking the handle of my guitar case and Bender tumbles to the floor. “Shit!” I scream through clenched teeth and the word echoes through the sanctuary. I glance at the remaining folks. “Sorry,” I say, and my phone buzzes.

  “With Barry,” is the reply from Carter. “Please? Please just do this for me? I owe him.”

  I groan. This is going to be a hard sell.

  I take a deep breath. “Jenni!” I start texting and then stop. It will take more than a text to convince her. Probably even more than the other half of my kingdom. I sigh, find her number, and raise the phone to my ear.

  Chapter 22

  Carter

  We bump over the grassy lot and park at the end of a long line of cars. “Where are we?” signs Barry from the driver’s seat.

  I turn to him and grin. “This is Midway Park,” I sign, spelling carefully so he doesn’t miss it.

  “I can see that,” he signs, pointing to the huge colorful sign. Even in a second language, sarcasm is the first thing he learns.

  “It’s an amusement park,” I sign slowly. “For little kids.”

  “Then what are we doing here?”

  “It’s going to be fun! It was Robin’s idea!” I try for enthusiasm, but I have my doubts, too. The average age seems to be about five years old.

  “We should’ve just gone to the Iron Stone,” Barry signs with a little help. He gives up and grabs a notebook. “I should have insisted on an evening date. There is nothing romantic about a little kids’ amusement park at ten in the morning.”

  “Too late now,” I sign. “Try to have fun. Here they are!”

  Robin’s old Subaru is slowly lurching toward us. After a second, she and Jenni get out. Robin’s wearing shorts and a tank top with sandals on her feet. Both she and Jenni have big sunglasses on their heads and their hair pulled back in ponytails.

  Barry elbows me in the arm and I look over at him.

  “Hot!” he signs.

  “I know!” I sign back. “I told you.”

  “Sorry, man,” he signs. “Didn’t trust you.”

  We get out of the car and Robin gives me a good-natured scolding look. She’d seen the exchange between me and Barry. I grin. I’d almost forgotten what it’s like to have people be able to understand my conversations. Not for long, though, ’cause next week Denise and Jolene are coming in from New York.

  “You look beautiful,” I sign.

  “Nice try. I saw what you said about Jenni,” she signs back, teasing. I hug her and kiss the top of her head. “Barry, this is Jenni,” she signs and says.

  “Hey,” his mouth says, and he holds out a hand for her to shake.

  Jenni laughs a little and takes it, shaking it. “Hi,” her mouth says. “I’m Jenni.”

  Barry nods. “Yeah,” his mouth says. He looks toward the park. “Let’s go!” he signs, and starts to walk away.

  The minute he turns his back, Jenni gets Robin’s attention. “Who shakes hands?” her mouth says, and the girls giggle.

  “He’s okay,” I sign. “Might just take a while.”

  Robin translates quietly and Jenni looks up at me.

  “Thank you,” she signs, her eyes still laughing.

  We get to the little booth and buy some tickets from a bored-looking teenager. Robin waves at him, and he and the girls chat for a minute.

  “Stumpy,” she spells to me as we leave the booth. “It’s his summer job.”

  “Stumpy?” I spell back, slowly, making sure I got it right.

  She laughs and nods.

  “So what do we do with these?” Barry says, and signs, pointing to the tickets in his hand. “Everything is for little kids.”

  Jenni looks at him, impressed, and I do, too. His ASL has progressed much faster than I ever thought. He actually practices at home and tries to hold his own at our dinner table. I’ve come home more than once to find him signing with my mom or dad.

  “Not everything,” Robin counters. She takes my hand and runs for the Tilt-A-Whirl line, which has about four people in it. “Come on!” she beckons over her shoulder, and the other two run to catch up.

  The Tilt-A-Whirl gets us laughing, so we run next door to the giant slide. We grab mats and climb the many, many steps to get to the top, waiting patiently among the little kids. We must do that ride twenty times—all sliding down at once, me and Barry racing, Jenni and Robin racing, me and Robin racing… I take out the Nikon and snap a few pictures of my Robin girl—her mouth open in a smile and her hair blowing in the wind, with the metallic reds and blues of the slide behind her.

  “Beautiful,” I sign as I show her the pictures.

  She shakes her head and laughs, sweaty and pink from all the stair climbing. She takes my hand and beckons for me to follow her into the barnlike arcade, which, thankfully, is air-conditioned.

  Barry spots the quarter machine and changes a twenty, giving each couple ten dollars to split. Robin and I head over to Whac-A-Mole, and I get a kick out of watching her stalk the little plastic creatures.

  I look around for Barry and Jenni and see them playing pinball in the corner. They’re talking as they play, and he keeps reaching his arm around her to hit one of the knobs. I poke Robin, who looks up and grins when she sees them.

  We find Skee-Ball and strike up a tournament. Before long, we’ve collected quite a crowd of bystanders. It’s pretty easy to feel like a pro when your audience averages about seven years old. Any time I win, my side raises their hands and yells, and when Robin wins, her side does the same. By the time she wins it all, we’re practically celebrities. I shake my head in mock disappointment, smile at Robin, and hand my tickets t
o the closest kid. I get lots of sympathetic pats on the arm and the little kid with my tickets gets mobbed. I look over to see Robin leading her side in a little victory dance. I whip out the Nikon for a few shots before she passes off her tickets, too.

  We buy a few bottles of water and I locate Barry and Jenni. He’s unbuttoned a few more buttons of his shirt and there’s a grease stain from the slide on his shorts. I pass him a bottle of water and he hands it off to Jenni, who opens it and takes a gulp.

  “Mini golf?” I sign to him, and he nods.

  We walk back across the park to the mini golf course.

  “What do you think?” I sign to Barry.

  “Great!” he signs back. He signs without speaking. “You think she’s having fun?”

  I look back at Jenni and Robin, who are laughing about something. “Yeah!” I sign. “I think she’s having fun.”

  “Good,” he says.

  We arrive at the mini-golf booth and I buy everybody’s admission. Barry looks through all the clubs, trying to find one that’s straight. I laugh and tell him to give up but he goes through every one, sighting down the shaft and taking a few practice swings like he’s about to go out to the country club.

  I choose a bright-orange ball and grab a club, gesturing for the girls to follow and we start our game. The course is lumpy and worn in some places, which causes Barry’s jaw to tighten.

  At the third hole his ball keeps rolling off the little dimple in the green. I see his brow furrow and his mouth spit out some words. Robin and Jenni laugh and Barry shakes his head, finally getting the ball to stick. I tap Robin on the shoulder.

  “What’d he say?” I ask.

  She laughs and thinks for a second before shrugging. “It doesn’t matter,” she says. “He’s just… upset about the ball.”

  I try to keep my smile and nod a few times. Right.

  It sucks not being in on the jokes.

  As the game continues, I get a few pictures of the girls posing with large wooden fairy-tale characters that are scattered around the course. We wave at the train full of little kids every single time it goes past. By the end of the game, the “conductor” looks a little sick of it, but the kids are still waving and hollering.