Romancing the Dark in the City of Light (17 page)

Karen looks up and smiles warily at Summer. Abandoning the pile of papers she’s marking, she comes out into the hall.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” Summer says. “Isn’t it lunchtime for them?”

“They already had it.”

“Are they taking a test?” Their concentration is so intense.

“No, they’re writing stories.”

“Oh. That’s good.” Summer focuses on the scuffed toes of her boots.

“My lesson plan is probably not why you came by,” Karen prompts her.

“Uh, I wanted to thank you for dinner.”

“You’re most welcome,” she says. “I hope you’ll join us again.”

“Yeah, for sure.” There’s another pause. “I wanted to ask, what’s up with Moony’s—uh, Munir’s operation? Is he all right?”

Karen leans into the classroom, and satisfied the kids are behaving, turns back. “Nothing that unusual. But he’s been having a hard time lately.”

“What’s wrong?” Summer asks.

“What isn’t? There were so many fractures, so much internal organ damage.”

“Is his … life in danger?”

Karen takes a deep breath in through her nose and crosses her arms. “No more than it ever has been, although any operation has risks. He’s just worn out. Feeling weaker. And that makes him—us—a little nervous.”

“What about that cough?”

“Oh, that’s just a bronchial infection. I shouldn’t say ‘just,’ but relatively speaking it’s not a big concern.”

“Good. Is he in pain? From like, other stuff?”

She grimaces, like
she
’s in pain. “He’s amazed all the medical personnel he’s ever come in contact with,” she says. “His ability to walk and function as well as he does, is a miracle. They put his chances of surviving that accident at less than five percent.”

“Wow.”

“But he has so many complications, so many problems. And yes, he deals with pain pretty much constantly.” She stares at the green and red construction paper holly bunches on the bulletin board across the hall, sighs, then looks back at Summer. “He just won’t give in to it,” she says with admiration. “I’ve been trying to get him to slow down for years. It’s the only reason I agreed to that stupid scooter. It’s a lot easier for him than public transportation.”

“He has a scooter?”

“His dad recently sent the money for it,” she says with her jaw set. “He spreads himself too thin for an able-bodied kid, let alone someone with his health problems.” She pauses. “You should see what
you
can do with him.”

“Are you kidding? I can’t tell him anything.”

Karen chuckles. “Anyway, we’re hoping this next operation will relieve some of his latest complications, and some pain.”

Maybe it has to do with his bowels or something. If it were a hip replacement or heart reconstruction, they would just say so.

Karen moves toward the door. “I need to get back in there.” She pauses, then says, “Want to come in and say hi to the kids?”

Summer widens her eyes in panic.

“They love Munir.”

“Of course they do.” Summer nods. “Okay. Just for a moment. You’re not going anywhere, right?”

Karen’s already in front of the twenty-some-odd desks. “Class? Time’s up. Pencils down.”

The children oblige.

“I’d like you say hello to our guest, Miss Barnes.”

“Um, Summer’s fine.”

“Hi, Miss Barnes,” say the kids in mostly unison.

A girl with pigtails shoots her hand up.

“Yes, Anna?”

“Are you a teacher?” she asks Summer.

“No, I’m a student here. In the high school.” All eyes are on her. It’s unnerving but they’re filled with wonder and interest and excitement. She hopes it’s contagious.

“Is it hard?”

Summer laughs. “Funny you should ask. It’s a little hard lately because I wasn’t doing my homework. If you miss learning something one day, it makes things harder the next day. Right?”

An African-American girl with braids waves her hand. Karen nods at her.

“Like you can’t do division if you don’t do multiplication.”

“Exactly,” says Summer.

Another boy raises his hand and blurts out, “Ms. Butterfield, can I read my story? Can I? Can I?” He wears a school bus–yellow polo shirt.

Karen says, “How about the first paragraph, Jack? Remember we talked about paragraphs yesterday.”

“Okay!” He stands, smiles shyly at Summer, then recites, “‘The Robot Hamster.’ One night I heard loud noises coming from the basement.” He pauses. “But we don’t have a basement.”

“Oooh,” and “Yeah!” yell all the kids.

“Thank you, Jack.”

“That is awesome,” says Summer. She can’t stop grinning.

Karen holds up her finger and the class goes silent. “Maybe Miss Barnes can come back another day.”

“I’d love to,” says Summer. “Bye, kids. Thank you.” The kids’ voices, their enthusiasm, the bright colors—she has a shocking sensation of floating
with
the current. Not flailing, or drowning. What would it be like to be in charge of a room full of these creatures? A flipping circus. But cool.

Karen follows her into the hall.

“Well,” Summer says, “that was way better than I expected.”

“Do you have younger siblings?” Karen asks.

“No siblings.” Not for lack of wishing for them though.

“You’re a natural,” Karen tells her. She clears her throat. “Uh, Summer?”

“Yes?”

“Your friendship means a lot to Munir. Things that mean a lot to him, mean a lot to me.” She grins awkwardly.

Summer nods. “It means a lot to me, too.” Karen has no idea.

THIRTY-FOUR

Friday night, as promised, Moony chauffeurs Summer to the American church in the seventh. He picks her up on his green Vespa that’s specially rigged so he can do more with his left hand and foot. He makes her wear his new, sleek black helmet, and he wears a scuffed, old white one. She rides behind, leaning into him. He accelerates over cobblestones and weaves like a madman in and out of the Renaults, Peugeots, Citro
ë
ns, pedestrians, green garbage trucks, and buses. Summer’s legs are shaky when they finally arrive.

“Holy crap. After that, I really need a drink,” she says. She hasn’t had any alcohol since her one gulp in the PAIS bathroom yesterday, and does not feel well.

He grins.

“Stop smiling. You’re a closet sadist. Okay, what am I supposed to do?” she asks. It’s not just the ride that’s making her shaky. “It
is
in English, right? Do I have to say why I’m here or how much I drink or something?”

“Yep. Saw a movie. Use first names. Then just listen.”

“Hi, I’m Razorback. I’m an alcoholic?”

“Hi, Razorback,” he says in a falsetto.

She tries not to smile.

The AA meeting is upstairs in a large room with creaky wooden floors. She and Moony are holding their helmets. An older woman in a blue blazer comes over to greet them. “Hi, I’m Lila. Are you visiting?”

“Yes,” Moony says.

“Welcome to Paris, then. Help yourself to coffee and cookies.”

“I’m
not
a tourist. I live here,” huffs Summer. Moony quickly steers her over to the coffee, then they sit down.

Summer nibbles a butter cookie, hoping it will help her stomach. Dad never attended an AA meeting, and the whole setup sounds a little fishy.

The room fills until there are about thirty attendees. They start on time, but people keep coming in: twenty-year-olds, eighty-year-olds, businessmen, tourists, a mother with a baby, middle-aged women, fashionistas, druggie types. Lila leads the meeting. They go around the room and everyone says, “Hi, my name is ______. I’m an alcoholic.” Then as Moony demonstrated, everyone else responds, “Hi, ______!”

Moony says slower than everyone else, “Hi, my name is Moony. I’m here to learn.”

“Hi, Moony!” everyone choruses.

Lila says, “Wonderful. This is an open meeting and all are welcome.” She glances at Summer. “And all that is needed for a closed meeting is a desire to stop drinking.”

Summer says, “Hi, my name is Summer.” After an awkward pause, she says, “Period.”

People say out of unison and a little halfheartedly, “Hi, Summer.”

“Liked me better,” he whispers to her.

“Shut up and learn,” she whispers back.

Summer concentrates on listening, and twirls her nose ring. They talk about steps, serenity, “focus on the drinking, not the thinking,” “just for today,” and of course, “one day at a time.” Then people share long-winded stories or whatever their current thoughts are. Some have thick accents, mostly French, one Russian, and are difficult to understand.

It lasts an interminable hour and Summer squirms. It’s boring and she doesn’t have a problem like these people do, or at least not one she can’t handle herself. At one point, Moony reaches over and takes her sweaty hand. She’ll just enjoy the time with him.

Finally, everyone stands up, hold hands, and says the serenity prayer. It’s over. People linger and chat.

“That’s it?” Summer says. “Aren’t they going to tell me how to stop drinking?”

Lila, nearby and moving chairs, says, “You just do. Then you come here to keep on not drinking.”

“Just stop. Just like that.”

“Take the first step. Admit that you’re ‘powerless over alcohol and that your life has become unmanageable.’”

“Well, what if it hasn’t?” Summer asks. Moony looks up at the ceiling.

Lila shrugs, lugging a chair to the back. “
Tant mieux
.”

“So much the better’?” Summer asks Moony.

He sighs. “Yeah..”

Lila comes back for another chair and says, “There’s a youth AA meeting over in the first, also on Friday evenings. You might visit them.”

Summer pulls Moony out the door behind her. “I’ve got to get out of here.”

They get on his scooter under the glow of a streetlight. “No offense,” Summer says, “but just give me a ride over to the bus stop by the M
é
tro.”

“Okay, you insist.” He starts the motor.

“If I can completely stop drinking, then I’m not powerless, right?” she says into his ear. “So I’ll stop. No question it’ll help me get my schoolwork done. Among other things.”

“That’s great,” he says.

She pauses. “Thank you,” she says softly. “For coming with me.” His generosity floors her.

He turns his head around. At the same moment she leans forward. Their helmets clunk and their noses brush. They both freeze.

Then he kisses her on the lips.

THIRTY-FIVE

Summer kisses Moony back, tentatively at first. She’s drawn in, then carried off in what’s deep and warm as a tropical river that she feels in every watery cell of her being. Through their lips flows a time-lapse video of hot springs bubbling up through soft earth, vast verdant wildernesses budding, growing, and coloring through seasons, under rainstorms of drama, moon phases of heartache, with one sun truth shining above it all:

Despite the fact that she’s a huge pain in the ass, Moony likes her.

Maybe even loves her.

THIRTY-SIX

Summer is safe and strong and capable when she’s with Moony. When her lips are connected to his, she’s—

Her eyes pop open.

She’s not strong or capable. Or safe. She’s a freaking black hole and no one should connect to her. Talk about being in a bad place for a relationship.

Then Kurt’s cold kiss jolts her with mega-guilt.

Summer pulls away from Moony’s lips. She cannot do this. She was just kissing Kurt and Moony knows nothing about him.

But it was so different, so empty, with Kurt. He has some unhealthy force over her and gains strength from her weakness.

She hesitates; Moony hesitates, too. Their faces hover a few centimeters apart. She breathes in the smell of his clean skin, the old leather from the helmet strap. Cookie breath. He’s so
right
.

She leans back slowly.

And she’s so wrong.

Moony turns around and puts the scooter in gear. Summer holds on to him with one arm and grips the seat edge with the other. They fly across the river to the M
é
tro entrance. She straps her helmet to the back with his bungee cord, and says, “Thanks again. See you.” She doesn’t look him in the eye, even though he’s watching her closely. Instead of standing right there at the bus stop, she runs over to and down the M
é
tro stairs.

Yes, her heart is thudding, she’s hyperventilating, and it feels like she’s going to die, but she doesn’t care.

Echoes of that woman witness’s scream from when the lady was killed at
É
toile station fill her head as she rumbles along beneath Paris, staring at the grit and old chewing gum on the filthy floors. She tries to make sense of the evening. Her blood buzzes, her stomach roils, she can’t breathe. What should she do? Pretend it didn’t happen. She’s acting like a thirteen-year-old, she knows. On top of everything else. She groans aloud. The noise of the train, the lights, the people crowding near her, it all feels like a glacier chunk is about to crash down on top of her.

She wishes they hadn’t just kissed!

No, she’s glad. It’s the one true thing that’s ever happened.

But she’ll ruin it for sure.

Ice tinkling in glasses tells Summer that Mom is back and sitting in the living room with someone. She smooths her hair and tries to collect herself.

“Hi, dear,” Mom calls. “Come on in.”

“Howdy, Summer. How ya been, darlin’?” Wild Winston stands. “Happy Friday the thirteenth.”

Summer rolls her eyes, but gives him a peck on the cheek. “I thought you left,” she says.

“Well, I had business in Frankfurt last week.”

Summer goes to the table where all the bottles are on a bright silver tray, and makes herself a Perrier. She squeezes a lime slice into it. It tastes shockingly weak. Blech. But clean.

Winston says, “I visited your school on Wednesday.”

“You did?” Summer spins around. Crap!

“You weren’t there.”

“I was sick.”

“I talked to the head of the school, the dean of students, and the college counselor.” He swills a swig of scotch.

“Yeah? And?” She plonks the crystal glass down and crosses her arms over her chest. He is not her parent. Or her boss. He’s a freaking employee, wannabe boyfriend, and she hasn’t liked him since she was six and he talked to her like she was a chubby, useless idiot.