Song of Summer

by Laura Lee Anderson

  We sit at the high counter and grab slices from the box. Jolene takes a bite and makes a face. “Not like New York pizza,” she signs.

  I take a bite of my own thick-crusted, pepperoni-topped slice, a silent reply echoing in my brain: Actually, it is New York pizza. It was made here, in New York. New York is a lot bigger than one city.

  But Carter just laughs and agrees, nodding and signing “Yes!” with one hand. He puts down his pizza.

  “Remember that time when,” he signs, and that’s all I catch. His hands take off at a speed I’ve never seen before. Jolene picks it up, then Denise, and the conversation hops from person to person so fast it’s impossible for me to keep up. I catch a few words I know—hungry, pizza, cheese—then it looks like some giant mess happened. I laugh when the girls laugh, but I have no idea what’s going on. The girls go to the kitchen to refill their pop and Carter looks at me, glowing. “This is my real life,” he signs. “This is what it’s like back home.”

  I nod and squeeze his hand.

  “You doing okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I sign.

  “You understand everything?”

  “Maybe… ?” I weigh my hands back and forth with a confused smile and he laughs. With his voice. Like that day weeks ago sitting right in this spot. Cloud nine is way below me.

  I come back to Earth when the girls reenter, pop in hand.

  “What have you been doing in NYC?” Carter asks.

  “Not much,” Denise answers. Then she starts talking about coffee and this guy who’s really snooty… Jolene takes it over, impersonating the snooty guy with a quirk in her eyebrows and a tilt of her neck, and Carter laughs with her, like he just laughed with me. The laugh I have heard twice in three weeks she gets after only two hours. The meal continues in a haze of half stories and not-quite-understood jokes.

  By the time pizza is finished, my brain hurts from translating and my ears are aching for music, voices, sound of any kind. Every single conversation boasts how much Jolene knows him—how much she’s always known him. And how much I don’t.

  By the time Denise goes upstairs to call her boyfriend, Carter is practically a different person. He and Jolene reminisce and I nod occasionally, not bothering to stop them when they sign too fast or don’t explain a joke. I’m the third wheel with my own boyfriend.

  Keeping an eye on the clock, I break up their conversation at eleven, signing, “Sorry, it’s time for me to go.”

  His face falls. “You want me to walk you to the car?” he asks.

  “No thanks,” I sign. Of course I want him to walk me to the car. Why did he even ask? He always walks me to the car.

  He looks closer “You sure?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Okay… ,” he signs.

  I sigh. “Nice to meet you,” I sign to Jolene. “Bye to Denise, too. See you again soon!”

  Jolene waves at me. “Great to meet you, too!” she signs. She stands up and gives me a hug. “See you tomorrow!” They’re coming for breakfast tomorrow at the restaurant.

  Carter walks me to the door and waves, shutting the door behind me.

  I let out the breath that’s been sitting in the top of my chest. My shoulders relax for the first time all evening, and I shake my wrists out like I’m about to start a solo. Trudging up the hill to the gatehouse, I inhale the scent of sweet flowers and trees I smelled on the night Carter first kissed me. The final notes of a concert waft through the air. Audience members mill around in resort wear, stopping at the coffee shop or the ice-cream shop and discussing the concert or tomorrow’s plans. I blend into the crowd and bathe in voices that aren’t mine, letting them wash over me. Little staccato laughs and deep baritone drones and soothing murmurs. I never knew I could miss speech so much. My sigh joins the cacophony. My throbbing headache starts to ebb.

  A man is playing his violin on the lawn in the park. The familiar tunes wash over me—“Beautiful Dreamer,” “Yellow Rose of Texas,” “My Old Kentucky Home.” I dig in my pocket for a dollar for his violin case. First, I wish that Carter was there, and then I’m glad he’s not.

  It doesn’t sit well.

  Chapter 26

  Carter

  “Save me!” Jolene signs, one-handed, as Trina drags her to the door of the den and the glitter-covered craft table that awaits.

  I grin. Okay. I tap Trina on the shoulder. “Let her go,” I sign.

  “But I want—”

  “She did crafts with you yesterday. Plus, I… promised her… a bike ride.”

  Jolene looks at me, surprised.

  “You did not!” signs Trina. “You’re lying!”

  “You’re right,” I sign. “I was lying. But not anymore.” I look up at Jolene. “Want to go on a bike ride?”

  She nods.

  “I promise I will take you right now,” I say. I look down at Trina. “See?”

  “Not fair!” She crosses her arms.

  “Maybe we’ll do a craft when I get back,” Jolene signs to her. She looks up at me. “Bike ride… ?”

  “I promised,” I sign.

  She throws on her shoes and we head out the door, out the gate to the parking lot. The sun is shining, and for once the humidity from the lake doesn’t make you feel like you’re swimming everywhere. A perfect day for a bike ride.

  “You know you’ve never taken me on your bike?” she signs.

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  “Well, here’s the deal…” I explain how to be a good passenger and hand her the helmet.

  “Where are we going?” she asks after scrunching it down over her curls.

  “I don’t know,” I answer. “Let’s see.”

  Her weight is different from Robin’s— she’s taller and a little curvier—so it takes time for me to get used to the balance. Once I do, though, it’s smooth sailing.

  We coast through little main streets until I find myself on more and more remote roads. We pass Amish kids working in fields and a buggy or two on the road. Jolene releases me to wave as we ride past. The horses toss their heads but never break their trot.

  Finally, I realize where the bike is taking us—to the overlook where I first took Robin. I smile to myself and pull into the lot, parking the bike, and unbuckling my helmet.

  “So loud!” Jolene signs after setting her helmet on the bike and before finger combing her hair. The corners of her hazel eyes crinkle, and I see that they’ve turned their customary summer green. With an Irish mother and Puerto Rican father she looks white in the winter and Hispanic in the summer, which is when her eyes turn a brilliant dark green. One time we were walking to the 7-Eleven when some photographer asked to take our portraits for a series he was doing on “The Diversity of New York City.” She ate it up—used one of the photos as her profile pic for ages.

  “So loud!” she signs again.

  I nod and smile, signing, “Yes!” I “hear” the bike the same way I “hear” a parade or a thunderclap or a train—the vibrations in the air and the ground and a very distant roar. I know it’s loud. I can feel that it’s loud. I can feel that it gets louder when I gun the motor. But I’ve never heard anything loud. Even when I wore hearing aids, nothing was loud. It was just… not silent all the time.

  “Oh my God,” Jolene signs, walking to the crest of the hill. “This is beautiful!”

  “It’s where I took Robin for our first date,” I sign.

  “So cute,” she signs.

  “What do you think of her?” I ask. We sit on the grass at the top of the hill and I pull out my phone, snapping a picture. The Nikon’s back in my room.

  She shrugs. “You want the truth?”

  “Yeah,” I sign, and I know it’s going to be bad. Nobody says, “Do you want the truth?” and then follows it up with, “I love her and she’s amazing.”

  “I think she’s… sweet. But insecure.” It takes her a while to find the right words. “Is she always that uncomfortable?”

  “She’s different aroun
d you guys,” I protest. “She’s usually bubbly and bright and funny…” but she’s right, of course. The past few days Robin’s seemed like a different person. We went to Grape Country Dairy and she kept apologizing for it. She loves that place. I didn’t understand.

  Jolene shrugs. “All I know is what I saw, Carter. I saw a hearing girl who’s not comfortable in a Deaf world. That’s all.”

  “Speaking of hearing girls, where’s your CI?” I’d been meaning to ask her ever since Robin pointed it out.

  Her tan skin turns redder and she picks at little blades of grass before answering me. “I… was sick of things being weird between us. I thought it might help. Did it?”

  I smile. “I guess so… ? To be honest I didn’t really notice one way or the other.”

  She nods.

  “But thanks. It’s a nice gesture.”

  “You’re welcome.” She smile and plays with a patch of clover.

  I wave to get her attention. “Is it like you remember?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I guess so.” She looks out at the lake for a while before talking again. “I don’t even wear it all the time in New York. I keep a case in my purse and take it out on the subway, on the street. I’d probably wear it all the time here. This place is so much quieter than New York. It’s… peaceful.”

  I smile. “Too peaceful,” I sign.

  She laughs and turns away, the wind ruffling her hair, and my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and glance at the screen.

  Carter! Church performance is this Sunday!

  I sigh and type, “Sure.” Sunday is the day after everybody goes back to New York. I’ll probably want a distraction anyway, even if it’s church and music.

  “What’s that?” Jolene asks.

  “Nothing.” I put the phone in the pocket.

  “Didn’t look like nothing.”

  “Robin is singing at her church,” I sign. “So I’m going on Sunday.”

  She shakes her head, a smile playing on her lips.

  “What?”

  “Nothing!” she teases, using my word against me.

  “What?!”

  She looks me up and down. “You’ve got it bad, Carter,” she signs. “Music AND church? Never thought I’d see the day…”

  I shrug. “It’s important to her.”

  “And she’s important to you,” she signs. “It’s sweet. You’re so stubborn, I never thought you’d change for anybody.”

  “I’m not changing,” I argue.

  She holds her hands up in surrender before signing, “Okay, fine. I never thought I’d see the day you willingly go to a concert. At a church. But I guess you do those things all the time, since it’s not a change for you.”

  “You always have to be right, don’t you?” I sign, smiling.

  “I don’t always have to be right. I always am right,” she signs back.

  I laugh and shove her shoulder. She tries to balance on the steep hill for moment, her eyes wide, hands spread, before toppling over in a giggling heap. I laugh and hold my left hand out to help her up while signing “Sorry!” with my right hand. She waves me off, pretending to be mad, and gets up on her own. I reach over to help her brush cut grass off her shirt and see something flash out of the corner of my eye. It’s a guy in a white wrestler-cut T-shirt and gym shorts. That Trent guy. Robin’s ex-boyfriend. The hotshot musician with an early admission scholarship to Berkeley or something.

  He jogs up to us, Frisbee in hand, smile gleaming. It’s so similar to the first time I saw him, I wonder if this is all he does—plays Frisbee at the overlook, waiting to interrupt my dates. But this isn’t a date. Not really.

  “Hey,” his mouth says, overenunciating. Probably yelling. “Who’s this?” He points at Jolene, who smiles in return.

  “Jolene,” her mouth says clearly as she sits up. “And you are… ?”

  She must be talking too because he startles. “I’m Trent,” his mouth says in a quick recovery, the smile spreading back over his face.

  “Nice to meet you,” she says and signs.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” he replies. His eyes bore into me, speaking so I can see every word. “Does Robin know you’re here? With this girl?”

  I reach for my little pad of paper but it’s not there. I haven’t needed it for days. I shake my head and look away.

  “Sign it to me. I’ll translate,” Jolene signs, and I shake my head again. “Not worth my time, or your time,” I sign. I don’t want to talk to this guy. Robin and I are no business of his.

  Jolene turns to him, signing as she speaks. I guess she can’t bear to leave his questions unanswered. “Robin wouldn’t care. We’re just friends. I’m only here for a few days.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Robin wouldn’t care? Let’s see about that.” He holds up his phone. “Smile.”

  Chapter 27

  Robin

  “Picture mail: Trent,” says my phone.

  I sigh and shove it back into my apron. Whatever it is, it can wait.

  “How’s that bacon cheeseburger coming, Fannie?” I call back to the kitchen.

  “It’s workin’, it’s workin’!” Fannie yells. “Less than two minutes.”

  I glance out to the restaurant. Barry doesn’t seem to mind the wait on his burger. He’s looking deep into Jenni’s eyes, and the two of them laugh about something.

  It’s been days since I’ve seen Carter just by himself. Since we’ve gotten to laugh like that. If that is his “real” life, then I don’t know if I fit well at all.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Violet rasps. She drops a penny in my hand as she always does. She’s a firm believer in actually paying the penny to hear your thoughts. It’s not so much a cute saying as a verbal contract.

  I sigh. “Carter’s sister and her friend Jolene go back to the city tomorrow.”

  “Aw that’s too bad,” she says.

  “Is it?”

  She scolds me with her eyes and takes the coffee pot off the warmer. “Yes,” she says. “It is.”

  “I just feel like I have to impress them all the time!” I protest.

  “Order up!” Fannie dings the bell and I stick ketchup and mustard bottles into my apron pockets as I grab a tray and load it.

  “That’s only natural.” Violet’s filling up the farmers’ coffees as she yells across the restaurant to me. They grunt their thanks. “It’s just part of being with somebody—feeling like you have to impress their friends. You are an impressive person! Fastest-learning waitress I’ve ever trained.”

  I smile and slide the plates in front of Barry and Jenni. “Everything look good?” I ask. Jenni nods, her eyes sparkling, and grabs a fry off of Barry’s plate. He bites his lip and steals one of her onion rings. Match made in heaven. A billion little ginger kids in their future.

  I return to the coffee counter where Violet is refilling the sugar shakers. I pull out the sugar pitcher and start unscrewing lids.

  “Look at what a great job you did when they were in here just a couple days ago!”

  I shake my head. They’d come to GCD for “brunch.” Like we serve brunch. The only “brunches” around here are after-church potlucks, where everyone brings breakfast casserole. They were plenty polite and seemed to enjoy the food, but I kept screwing up their orders I was so nervous. I brought Jolene an iced tea when she asked for a water. Repeatedly. I tried to play it off by giving her free refills, but halfway through the meal she was like, “No, actually I just want water.” I felt like tearing off my apron. “This is not the real me!” I wanted to scream the whole time. “I’m a talented musician, not just a diner waitress!”

  But I can’t tell that to Violet. She is a diner waitress. GCD is her life and she’s proud of it. And I guess that’s the way it’s always been with me, too. It just didn’t feel like I was enough for that sophisticated city crowd, with their stylish clothes and their own secret language.

  My apron pocket buzzes a reminder. The picture mail from Trent. I pull it out fr
om my pocket. “Can I get this?”

  Violet arches one perfectly penciled eyebrow. “If you share with the class.”

  For some reason she doesn’t mind me being on my phone as long as she gets to see whatever I’m doing. I think she’s more anti-secret than anti-technology.

  I shrug. What could be so bad?

  Violet situates herself over my shoulder and I pull up the picture. It’s Carter looking stony and Jolene looking startled. They’re sitting close together in a grassy patch dotted with little clover. It takes me half a minute to figure out where they are but I finally see—the overlook. Where we had our first date.

  “He said you wouldn’t mind,” is the caption. “But I thought you should know.”

  I shake my head and Violet whistles low under her breath. Whatever. Whatever, whatever, whatever. I don’t care.

  “Mind your own business,” I text back to Trent and shove the phone in my pocket.

  “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like,” Violet says as she communicates not-so-secret messages to Fannie with her eyes, “them sitting there together like that. He wouldn’t cheat on you, Robin. He just wouldn’t do it.”

  I nod and cross my arms on the counter, slumping over them. “I know,” I say. “But sometimes I feel like maybe he should, you know? I mean, she’s kind of perfect for him.” A tear pricks the corner of my eye, so I look up at the dingy wallpaper, willing it away.

  “Of course she’s not perfect for him! If she was perfect for him, then he would be dating her, wouldn’t he? And he’s not. So there must be something wrong.” Violet leans her face into mine and I can smell the menthol on her breath. “Now is not the time for pity parties, Robin Peters. Now is the time to believe in yourself and stand by your man.” She sings the last part, dispensing Tammy Wynette’s famous advice, and launches into humming the chorus of, “Stand by Your Man.”

  By this time, Fannie has bustled around to the customer side of the counter. She blocks my view of the dingy wallpaper and speaks over Violet’s soundtrack. “Chin up, Robin girl. Don’t let her get under your skin. There will always be man-stealin’ hussies, but you are so pretty and smart and talented. He would be a fool to let you get away.”