Perfectly Ridiculous (8 page)

“Well, start up a carafe and I'll let the boys know we've earned a break. I want us to get to know one another. This is going to be so fun, like one big slumber party this week. I think I have one of the best groups I can remember in past years.”

I hide my confusion as I head to the stove, grab the beat-up aluminum
cafetera
, and fill it to capacity with generous amounts of ground coffee. I put the teakettle on to boil the water and wait. The whole time Libby and Claire are talking and laughing like they're old friends, and I'm feeling like I'm in another dimension. As if
Inception
has come to life and I'm left to make heads or tails of my world.

“So, Claire, what type of help can you offer me this week? Do you like to cook?”

“Heavens no!” She laughs.

“Claire's an actress. Maybe she could play one of the parts?” I offer.

“Oh, I was going to be Queen Esther, and I wondered how I'd ever get the kids to believe in her beauty.” Libby laughs. “Do you think you could read the lines in Spanish?”

“I can have them memorized by morning.”

“Oh my!” Libby claps her hands. “Did you hear that, Daisy? I have my Queen Esther!”

I try not to be offended that she never thought of me to play the heroine queen, but I take to the coffeepot with a new vengeance. I stare at the two of them, who seem to have become fast friends in a matter of minutes, and I seriously wonder if I'm cursed. Maybe there's something hanging over the generations of my family members that I know nothing about. Maybe no matter how hard I try, I will be thwarted in everything in which I try to better myself. This does not bode well for my power-of-positive-thinking prayer.

“I know, right?” Claire says in response to something Libby said, and they both break into laughter, while I'm the third wheel.

There's a knock at the door.

“Can you get that, Daisy?” Libby asks. “We're talking.”

“Sure, no problem.” I open the door and the guys are all standing there in their boy-band perfection. I am totally waiting for them to break into song. I look back at Claire and see her reaction to the guys, and there it is! I want to say to her,
I know, right?
But I can hardly do that with Libby thinking the guys are all ready to sweep us off our feet with Latino flair.

“Is that coffee we smell?” Leo, aka Vampire Boy, says.

I open the door wider. “Yes, come on in.”

“What else smells so good?” Jose asks.

“It's dinner. I found a recipe for the pork bones the neighbor brought over. I added some beans and rice and seasoned it with chopped onions and garlic, and you know, I think it's going to be really filling.”

“You did that yourself?” Claire gets up and looks into the pot. “It smells really good, Daisy.”

“I know, huh?”

Jose puts his chin on my shoulder and looks over into the pot. “Daisy, I think I might have to marry you.”

Libby laughs at this, and if I didn't know better I'd think Claire was serving as some kind of magical pixie dust in the room. I watch as she continues to stare at the guys and takes in Leo's eyes.

“Claire,” Libby says, “this is our team for the next week. Oscar is the tall one there, Jose is the one with the curly hair, and Leo is the one Daisy calls a vampire because of his blue eyes. J.C., the only blond, isn't here right now. He is the one who will be going to Pepperdine with Daisy. He's from Arizona. Gentlemen, this is Claire.”

“Hey, guys.” Claire goes right back to talking with Libby as if the guys don't exist, and I'm wondering if her acting skills have gotten better or if she's just not into the whole Latino thing.

“Where's J.C.?” I ask the guys. “Claire, J.C. received the same scholarship I did, so he's doing the same mission trip. Isn't that cool? I'll have a friend at Pepperdine before I get there.”

“We haven't seen J.C.,” Oscar says as he looks at the others.

“He wasn't in the classroom with you?”

“I haven't seen him since lunch,” Oscar answers. “Did you see him, Jose?”

Jose shakes his head. “He was going to walk that toddler home who came with the bottle. That was the last time I saw him.”

Something in the pit of my stomach feels off, and I decide I'd better look for J.C. “Claire, can you take over the coffee? I'm going to go see if he's in one of the outbuildings.”

Claire looks at me like I've grown another head. “I don't know how to make coffee. I just order what I want at Starbucks.”

“Leo, you go look for J.C.,” Libby orders.

“I'll go!” I grab my shoes before Libby has a chance to protest. I turn the heat off the soup and cover it.

“I'll go too,” Leo says. “It's getting late.”

“Did you see which way he went? Didn't you think to ask where he was going?”

“Because he is a . . . how you say—big boy?”

“J.C.!” I yell once we get outside. I cup my hands around my mouth. “J.C., are you out here?” Little kids scatter at my voice, and I look at the cracked earth and wonder how these kids make it in this environment. The rains have just come, but the earth is already dry and parched and it's the middle of winter. “It's a harsh life down here.”

“You have no idea. But the kids are so excited. They've been hanging around all day. The one J.C. took home couldn't have been more than two, and he came in just a diaper with a bottle in his hand.”

“J.C.!” I yell again, and a little boy comes out from behind one of the scrappy buildings. He has wide brown eyes and his head is shaved, no doubt to ward off the lice that can find him in the outskirts of the city. I scratch my head unwittingly. “
Tú veo amigo?
”

“Your Spanish is terrible,” Leo says.

“Hence the reason for an interpreter. You ask him.”

Leo rambles something off that sounds like gibberish, and the boy answers him in just as quick a manner. I realize why I don't speak another language.

“
Gracias
,” Leo says. He begins to run and I follow. He takes out his cell phone and hands it to me. “Dial 107! Tell them to come to the mission. Tell them the canal!” With that, Leo runs ahead of me, and I'm left grappling with the cell phone. I follow after him while I dial.

“
Emergencia
,” the voice answers.

I try with English, and she answers me back. “Oh, praise God, you speak English.” I tell her about the mission and the canals.

“
Sistema de Canales
?” she asks, and I realize with horror that she wasn't speaking English.

“
Sí
,” I answer, praying I've told her correctly while my legs carry me farther without thought. “Yes!”

“
Emergencia
?” The woman is rambling faster than I can understand, but I know she's asking me if there's an emergency.

“
Yo no se
,” I tell her honestly. “I don't know. Just come.” What was the word for
come
? I couldn't remember to save my life. Or someone else's, for that matter.

“Hay alguien en el canal?”

“Is someone in the canal?” I repeat with joy at my understanding.

“Sí.”

“
Yo no se.
” I'm working in the kitchen!
La cocina
! If we had a food emergency, I'd be fine. I think with annoyance at how little the phrases of high school Spanish are helping me.

My heart is pounding a mile a minute as I race to keep up with Leo, who runs to what seems to be the end of the earth and then halts abruptly. He holds his arm out to let me know not to go any farther. I hear him call J.C.'s name again, and this time I hear J.C. answer.

“Thank you, Jesus!”

I catch up with Leo and he stops me. In the middle of this seemingly desert environment, there's an aqueduct made of cement. Clearly this country has few lawyers because there's no fence and not a protective sign in sight. Just a crevice that opens up in the middle of the dirt expanse.

I can't imagine how the kids in the town have been protected from this danger. I look down and see little water, no more than a trickle. J.C. is perched up against one of the cement walls, but he's slouched over and appears weak as he looks up at Leo and me.

“Are you alone?” Leo asks him.

“Yes, I was on my way back. The baby's home safe.” His voice sounds hoarse.

“Are you hurt?”

J.C. nods, and in his nervousness he breaks into Spanish. “
Escorpión
.
Tenaza!
”

I look at Leo's dangerous blue eyes.

“He got stung by a scorpion.” He looks back down into the canal where a steady stream of water is splashing J.C. “Before or after you fell?”

“After.”

“Can you walk?”

“I stumbled after I got stung. I may have broken my arm, and my ankle's twisted.”

“What do we do?” I ask.

“You called 107?”

“They're still on the line.” I hand the phone to Leo and he rambles, waits, and rambles some more.

“They're on their way, J.C.,” Leo says. “I gave them better directions to our location. We have to try to get you out of the canal. The water can rush through at any time, and if your arm is broken, you won't be able to swim.”

This is terrible. “Can I get you something to make you more comfortable?” I ask.

He shakes his downturned head, and I find myself wishing for a look at his gray-green eyes.

“Run back to the house and tell Libby. See if she has any antivenom there, and find a rope if you can.” Leo stares back at J.C., who is at least twelve feet down.

“Will he be all right?”

Leo ignores me. “Have you had your tetanus?” he asks J.C.

J.C. nods slowly.

“Daisy, go back to the house now!”

“Will he be okay?”

Leo's eyes turn dark. “The antivenom. Run!”

I run back to the house as fast as my legs will carry me, praying out loud the whole time. My breath is labored, but I keep shouting to God, afraid for J.C.'s life. God wouldn't take someone like this. J.C. only came to help.

I can barely speak as I strike open the door. “J.C. Canal. Scorpion. Antivenom!” I manage through my struggling breath.

“Oh my goodness! Scorpions aren't out in the day!” Libby shouts and throws back her chair as she gets out of it. “The antivenom is in the classroom!” She runs outside, and I follow her to the building, where she opens a locked cabinet with a key she wears on her wrist. “I have to lock everything or it will be stolen and sold,” she explains. “How long ago was he stung?”

“I don't know,” I tell her. “I need a rope too. He's in the canal.”

“Did you call 107?”

“I did. They're on their way.”

“It has to be administered within four hours, but the sooner the better.”

“He's been gone all afternoon.” My anxiety can't be hidden. “He sounded weak, and I think his arm is broken too, so he's in a lot of pain.”

Libby's expression warms and she rubs my shoulder. “He'll be fine, Daisy. The sting isn't that dangerous to him. He's an adult. I'm more concerned about getting him out of that canal before any water comes. Just calm down or you'll be of no use to anyone. The antivenom is only a precaution. Give him the shot somewhere above his heart, maybe in his arm. Not the broken one.”

“No, not me.” I step back.

“You have to go, I don't know where he is exactly. You'll get there faster.” She opens another cabinet and pulls out a tired-looking rope. “Give him this cold pack to place on the sting and see if you can't find the scorpion for the medics.”

I shake my head again.

“Go, Daisy!” She pushes a bag of stuff at me. “Make a paste of the baking soda after you've given the shot. The shot first! Then bring him back to the house if you can get him up.”

“But his arm . . .”

“Then wait for the medics.” Libby's voice gets low. “Daisy. You're fine. You're doing fine.”

I nod and she pushes me out the door. I run, whispering a mantra to myself. “I can do this.”

As I get to the edge of the canal, there's no sign of Leo, and I look down to see him in the canal next to J.C. Leo has taken off his shirt and wrapped J.C.'s arm in it.

“I've got the antivenom!”

“Throw it down!” he yells. I hear a siren wailing in the distance.

“I think help is coming. There's a cold pack in there. Smack it and it will turn cold. Put it on the stinger site. Do you see the scorpion?”

“It stung me up there and I jumped,” J.C. says. “That's how I ended up down here.”

Immediately I start doing the Mexican hat dance and look around my feet, but I don't see any sign of the monster.

“You need to wear shoes out here. These kind come out in the wet weather, but usually not during the day,” Leo says. “J.C. just got lucky.”

“Give him the shot above the heart!”

Leo nods, but he's already done the deed. J.C. doesn't look any the worse for wear, yet I still can't help but dread the upcoming week. I want everything to go perfectly, but my head can't help getting in the way of optimism.

I look down at my flip-flopped feet and feel as if I've got creepy-crawlies all over my body. I start to pray,
Lord forgive me for not getting on my knees, but the last thing we need is another scorpion sting. Please let J.C. be all right, and Lord, make the days here pass like a brisk wind. Amen.

J.C. stares up at me from under his shaggy mop of blond hair, and he grins with his Hollywood style, as if he's comforting me and wants me to stop worrying. I may not know my place here yet in Argentina, but I know that grin finally made me feel like I belong here.

 8 

Into the evening, the commotion has died down, the dishes from supper are washed, and we all sit around the table trying to find our bearings without Leo and J.C. Leo accompanied J.C. to the medical clinic just as a precaution, and there's a definite tension left hanging in the air.

“Your pork stew was tasty,” Hank says to me. “You keep this up and we may have to keep you, and you can forget college.”

I smile. “It was just reading directions.”

“We have to work out the sleeping arrangements for tonight,” Libby says.

“The girls will sleep in the other loft, and you and I will sleep in our room and pull the curtain,” Hank says. “It's only for a week. If they can sacrifice, so can we.”

Libby doesn't say another word and it's apparently been decided.

“I think we'll have to have J.C. in here in the living room. Not sure he should be out in the classroom with a broken arm. Too many things he could fall on,” Hank says.

“I can't have him in here with the girls.”

“You'll be right there. What could possibly happen?”

She doesn't have an answer for this. She rises and pours herself another cup of coffee.

“We'll need the snacks ready for the kids at 9:30 sharp for the first group. It's ants on a log. You just put peanut butter—not too much—on three inches of celery and then three raisins.”

I nod.

“Hank, what about J.C. tomorrow? You can't leave him in here all day. Daisy will be in here cooking. I've left her a full day's agenda.”

“Then she'll be too busy to make a pass at the invalid,” Hank says plainly, and the rest of the guys laugh at this.

Libby purses her lips.

“J.C. isn't Daisy's type. You don't have a thing to worry about,” Claire says. “She has this thing about being loyal to doofuses until the day she dies. Too much poet in her blood, I think.”

“It seems we're shorthanded again, but I suppose the Lord will have to provide. Maybe one of the local girls can help Daisy in the kitchen.” Libby walks back to the table.

“I'll help where I can in between Queen Esther's role,” Claire says, and Libby smiles and pats her on the cheek.

“You're a kind girl, Claire. I'm so excited for you all to meet the children tomorrow. They will steal your hearts and change your lives.”

My stomach finally unclenches for the first time since I've been in Libby's presence. It does me good to hear her talk so warmly about the children, and it gives me unprecedented hope that I'll get through the next week.

“Boys,” Libby continues, “there are extra cots in the back outbuilding. I think you should take them and shake them out and use them. It will be more trouble in the morning to clean them up, but if the scorpions are out, it's better not to be on the cement floor. Here's the key to the outbuilding.” She hands it over.

Jose shakes his curly hair. “That gives me the willies.”

Oscar nods in agreement.

“I've never seen a scorpion out there. But think of the children. They often don't have the luxury of a cot. One year we did a fund-raiser to buy more, but often the parents take them for themselves.” Libby stares at her espadrille-clad feet.

I watch Claire shudder and lift her feet ever so slightly off the cement floor.

“We can't let J.C.'s crisis interfere with all we have to do. Boys, you get out in the classroom and finish up, and Daisy will start preparing J.C.'s cot. Daisy, face it toward the door so he's not looking up into the lofts, if you will.”

I nod.

Libby walks toward me, looks me up and down, and sighs. “You've certainly changed the way we do things around here this week.”

Oscar and Jose pick up their coffee mugs, bring them to the sink, and walk out without a word.

“I expected the Latino culture to be more talkative—you know, social,” I whisper to Claire.

“Daisy, quit that whispering!” Libby shouts. “Go out and get one of those extra cots before Jose locks the building. J.C. should be back soon. They'll probably have him on steroids or antibiotics.” Libby clicks her tongue in an annoyed way. “I just hope we haven't lost another pair of hands. Hank, is there anyone down at the plant we can borrow? I think I've got everyone from the church that can spare the week.”

Hank shakes his head. “You've got everyone, as far as I know. We'll be fine. You always worry and it always works out. It's time for some of that faith you're so famous for.”

“If Claire and I are going to be in here cooking, I can look after J.C.'s medications,” I say. “As long as you can trust us.”

Libby's mouth flattens. “Yes, that would be beneficial if I didn't have to worry about J.C. in here all day. Are you two sure you can handle it? I can call Claire when it's time for her to play Esther.”

“Is there a menu for what we're supposed to make?” Claire asks.

“Everything is on the chart there for the weekly schedule. Daisy seems to be finding her way around the kitchen very quickly.” Libby glares at me. “You're a quick study, Daisy. I may have been wrong about you.” Then she turns toward her beloved. “Claire, I'm so happy you've joined us. It takes a very special girl to give up her free time and come to a foreign country not to vacation”—Libby glowers at me—“but to go where they're needed when called upon.”

“I called her!” I hear myself say, but with that, I decide suddenly that it's unhealthy to force someone into liking me. Libby has the choice of not liking me, and I'm not going to keep hiking up the same tree only to fall out of it and wonder how I got there. Libby . . . Chase . . . Max. It's a pattern with me. If people don't like me, I try harder instead of just understanding that not everyone is going to like me and moving on to people who do. Like Claire.

“I'll go get the cot.”

The door is wide open, and I see the guys at the outbuilding across the cracked, parched dirt field that has probably seen its share of pickup soccer games. I wonder about these children milling around in anticipation for the biggest event the small village has going on—I wonder if any of them will get to go to college. I wonder if my financial degree might make any difference in their life. In mine . . .

“You all right?” Oscar asks. He scratches his upper lip.

“Yeah, I'm fine. I need to get a cot for J.C. Libby is going to set him up in the house.”

“She's not worried you'll pounce on him?” Jose laughs.

“I guess I've earned her trust. Either that or she gives J.C. more credit.”

Jose gets a cot down from an old wooden shelf in the shed and dusts it off. “J.C. would be a fool if he didn't take the opportunity to plant one on you while he's in there.”

“Very funny.”

“I'm not joking. He's not in your league, though. I think you need that Latino thing going on. Do you tango?”

“Badly.”

“Didn't you tango in town with some of the experts on the street?”

“Didn't have time. We dropped Claire at the hotel and came straight here.”

Jose tucks the cot under his arm. “I'll take it in for you. Daisy, you really don't look so good. Are you sure you're okay?”

“Jose, why do you think Libby dislikes me so much?”

Jose looks at the house, then back at me. He shrugs. “Does she like anybody?” He puts the cot down and places a hand on my shoulder. “Do you know what I think it is?”

“What?”

“I think you can tell who likes you and who doesn't. Most of us don't pay that close attention.”

“Yeah,” I say absently. “Maybe that's it. I just thought people should get to know you before they don't like you. I'm very likable.”

He laughs. “Of course you are. And Libby is very unlikable. So maybe it's a compliment.”

“It's not.” I shake my head.

A car pulls up in the yard, and I expect to see J.C. and Leo in Hank's boat of a car, but it's Max in a blue compact. My heart starts to pound, and I'm angry at it for betraying what I feel at the sight of flaky Max.

“Who's that? Local volunteer?”

“That's Max. I knew him in California.”

“Ah,” Jose says. “I'll get the cot in the house.”

“I'll be in the classroom setting up camp for the night,” Oscar says.

Suddenly I'm alone, waiting . . . as Max walks the seemingly endless expanse of dirt between us.

“Hi.”

“Where have you been?”

“I got tied up at work. I couldn't make it back out here last night. How's it going?”

“Fine.” I shrug. “Did you get me the candy?”

“Oh.” He slaps his forehead. “I totally forgot. But I have your money.” He digs into his back pocket.

“Forget it. There's nothing I can do with it here.”

“No, I want to give it back to you before I forget.” He hands me a few crumpled American dollars. “You're mad at me. I let you down.”

“No. I'm mad at myself. I don't think I trust the right people, and it's made life more complicated than it needs to be. I want to be drama-free.”

“Is that possible with Claire in your life?”

“Drama-free with the exception of my best friend's drama.”

“Where does that leave me?”

“Max, why are you here?”

“I was able to get away from work.”

“I don't even know what kind of work you do.”

“You never asked.”

“I'm asking now.”

“I drive a bus for an old-age home. Take them to the pharmacy, doctor's appointments. That kind of thing.”

“They didn't have any candy at the pharmacy?”

“What do you want from me, Daisy? I can't drive the bus here.”

“I guess I want answers, Max.” I hate how shrewish I sound, but my words keep coming. “I don't want you to be shrouded in mystery, and if you are, then I guess I don't want the drama in my life.”

He nods curtly. “Fine.”

“That's all you have to say?”

“My mom is sick, Daisy. I'm working to take care of her, and I come home at night and have to see to her needs. It's not like I'm out partying. I thought you knew me well enough to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

“Max, I'm sorry. I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me that?”

“I don't know.” He holds a palm up. “You're right. Drama sucks. I should have told you, but I thought you had enough to worry about down here, so I didn't. I'll see ya.” He twists in the dirt and walks toward his car.

He'll see me? When? I'm compelled to go after him, but something stops me in my tracks—like a physical pressure. Soon the feeling passes, and I walk toward the main house thinking sometimes this is all the closure one is ever going to get. He never even told me what was wrong with his mother, so how close were we anyway?

“That's so true!” Libby is saying to Claire as I walk inside the rickety structure. “I do wonder what J.C. was doing down by the canal in the first place. I suppose I should have warned you all it was there. Daisy, come on over here, I'm about to show you how to feed an army on a dime.”

I walk over to the kitchen and see a pot full of pinto beans soaking.

“These have been soaking all night so that they won't cause . . . well, it's just the way we prepare them. We soak them all night, and then the next day we cook them, wash the pot, and soak the next batch of beans.”

I nod.

“Was that Max out there?” Claire asks.

“Yeah. It's over.”

“Did it ever start?”

“I guess not. I'm done with guys.”

“So soon?” Libby asks.

“I have a terrible record. Libby, will the beans crack while they're soaking?”

Let's face it, flatulence is the perfect discussion when avoiding the subject of my love life. I'm paying special attention to the cooking lessons because obviously my love life is going nowhere quick, so I might as well hone my skills.