Song of Summer (21 page)

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.”

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 from 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. For, after all, he's just a 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.”

“I have one talent,” I say. “One. And that one talent is something that he will never experience.”

“I beg to differ. You can carry a tray of eight full cups of coffee without spilling a drop,” Violet counters.

I give her a look. “That's not a talent,” I say, but I'm smiling.

“You're right,” she says, shaking her head and looking to the heavens. “It's a God-given gift.”

Carter

Barry and I sit in the den, back to our ASL lessons. I teach him idioms as Denise and Jolene drive back home across the state, taking their easy conversation and bits of city life with them.

Barry waves a hand in front of my face. I look up at him. “Am I doing this right?” He signs a few words and I laugh.

“No! The words ‘Square' and ‘Mind' put together are an insult like ‘blockhead.' The words ‘Mind' and ‘Frozen' put together mean you're shocked- can't think. You just said, ‘When I remember there are only about two weeks of summer left, I'm a blockhead.'” I laugh again and joins me.

“Okay,” he signs, and I notice something on his wrist—a knotted string bracelet. I turn his hand over and grin. “What's this?”

He blushes to the roots of his reddish-blonde hair. “Jenni… ,” he signs. “She makes them. Macramé?”

“Very nice,” I sign, and he rolls his eyes.

My phone buzzes, but it's Jolene, not Robin. “I had such a good time!”

I smile and text back, “Me too! One month left…”

“Robin?” Barry signs.

I shake my head. “Jolene,” I reply.

He sits up straighter, a glint in his eye. “What's happening with you two?” he signs.

I shrug. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” he signs, and I laugh. Denise taught him that one two days ago.

“We dated,” I sign. “In ninth grade. A
loooong
time ago.”

“I knew it!” he signs. “Tell me more…”

I give Barry a good, hard look. I guess he's the closest thing I've got to a best friend here. I sigh and pull out my little notebook.

“No writing during lessons!” Barry signs, copying the phrase he's seen so many times.

“Trust me, you don't want to try to figure this out in ASL,” I sign.

He reaches for the notebook. I hand it over. “So tell me about Jolene,” he writes, and hands the pen back to me.

I laugh.

He kicks his feet out on the table, hands folded behind his head, and waits as I write. “When Jolene and I were dating, I was obsessed with music culture—music videos, concerts, T-shirts, you name it. I couldn't really hear it, even with my hearing aids—just indistinct thumps and noise, but I liked the adrenaline and the spectacle of it all. Around that time, we both got permission from our parents to get cochlear implants. We went into surgery just two days apart. Everything seemed great. She healed up and was switched on six weeks later. Her life has never been the same since.”

Barry's starting to look bored, so I show him what I've written. His eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You have a CI?” he signs.

I shake my head and take up the pen again.

“The wound wouldn't close,” I write. “It wouldn't heal. My body didn't want it. So the doctors removed my CI on the same day Jolene was switched on. ‘We'll try again in a few years,' they said. But I decided to be happy without it. I tossed my hearing aids. I'm not going to try again. I like my life the way it is.”

I show him again, then show him the scar over my right ear. He takes the pen up. “Good for you, man,” he writes.

I give him a look. “You could have signed that,” I sign.

“Not fair!” he signs. He learned that one from Trina. “You get to write!”

I laugh. “Would you rather I signed the whole story?”

“What?”

“Exactly.”

My phone buzzes. It's Robin. “Want to hang out tonight?”

“Love to, but I'm in a lesson with Barry,” I answer. “Won't be done until seven or so, and I can only stay until sunset. Can't ride the bike after dark.”

She answers with a frowny face.

“Don't worry—I'll see you tomorrow,” I text. “At your church concert, right?”