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“I got a court for us on Saturday,” he told her, accelerating onto a highway.
Carmen studied the scenery. There were motels and strip developments like there were around almost every airport, but the air smelled heavier and saltier here. She studied her dad's face. He had a tan already. It made his blue eyes stand out. She always wished she'd gotten his eyes rather than her mother's brown ones. His hair looked recently cut, and his shirt was crisp and neatly cuffed. She wondered if he'd gotten a raise or something.
“I can't wait to see your place,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said absently, glancing into the rearview mirror before he changed lanes.
“Isn't it pretty amazing that I've never been here before?” she asked.
He concentrated on the driving. “You know, bun, it's not that I haven't wanted you to come long before this. I just wanted to get settled better before I brought you here.” There was a trace of apology in his eyes when he glanced at her.
She didn't mean to make him uncomfortable. “Dad, I don't care if you're settled. Don't worry about that. We'll have a great time. Who cares about settled?”
He exited the highway. “I couldn't see bringing you into my hectic life. Working so much, living alone in a one-bedroom apartment. Eating every meal out.”
She couldn't talk fast enough. “I can't wait for that. I love eating out. I'm sick of being settled.” She meant it. This was the summer of Carmen and Al.
He didn't say anything as they drove along small wooded suburban streets with big Victorian houses rising on either side. Raindrops burst on the windshield. The sky grew so dark it felt almost like nighttime. He slowed down and stopped in front of a cream-colored Victorian with green-gray shutters and a wraparound porch.
“Where's this?” Carmen asked.
Her dad cut the engine and turned to her. “This is home.” His eyes were distant and a little mysterious. He didn't seem to want to take on the open surprise in hers.
“That house? Up there? I thought you lived in an apartment downtown.”
“I moved. Just last month.”
“You did? Why didn't you tell me on the phone?”
“Because . . . there's a lot of big stuff, bun. Stuff I wanted to say in person,” he answered.
She wasn't sure how she felt about big stuff. She turned in her seat. “So? Are you going to tell me?” Carmen was never graceful about surprises.
“Let's go inside, okay?”
He opened his door and hurried around to her side before she echoed his okay. He didn't get her suitcase. He held his coat over both their heads as they climbed stone steps up to the house.
He took her arm in his. “Careful. These steps get slippery when it rains,” he said, leading her up the painted wood steps of the front porch. It was as though he'd lived here forever.
Carmen's heart was thumping. She had no idea where they were or what to expect. She felt the shape of the apple in her bag.
Her dad pushed open the door without knocking. “Here we are!” he called.
Carmen realized she was holding her breath. Who would be here?
Within seconds a woman came into the room with a girl who appeared to be about Carmen's age. Carmen stood baffled and stiff as the woman and then the girl each hugged her. They were quickly followed by a tall young man, about eighteen, Carmen guessed. He was blond and broad, like an athlete. She was thankful that he didn't hug her.
“Lydia, Krista, Paul, this is my daughter, Carmen,” her dad said. Her name sounded weird in his voice. He always called her sweetheart or baby or bun. He never called her Carmen. She thought that was because it was her Puerto Rican grandmother's name, and Carmen Sr. had sent him several nasty letters after the divorce. Her father's mother was dead. Her name was Mary.
They all stared at her expectantly, smiling. She had no idea what to say or do.
“Carmen, this is Lydia.” Pause, pause, pause. “My fiancée. And Krista and Paul, her children.”
Carmen closed her eyes and opened them again. The soft lights around the room made floaty spots in her vision. “When did you get a fiancée?” she asked in a near whisper. She knew it wasn't the most polite phrasing.
Her father laughed. “April twenty-fourth, to be exact,” he said. “I moved in mid-May.”
“And you're getting married?” She knew that was an incredibly stupid thing to say.
“In August,” he said. “The nineteenth.”
“Oh,” she said.
“Quite amazing, isn't it?” he asked.
“Amazing,” she echoed faintly, though her tone wasn't the same as his.
Lydia took one of her hands. Carmen felt as though it no longer belonged to her body. “Carmen, we are so thrilled to have you this summer. Why don't you come inside and relax? Would you like a soda or a cup of tea? Albert will show you your room so you can get settled.”
Albert? Who ever called her father Albert? And what was all this about getting settled? What was she doing in this house? This wasn't where she was spending her summer.
“Carmen?” her dad said. “Soda? Tea?”
Carmen just turned to him, wide-eyed, not quite hearing. She nodded.
“Which? Both?” her dad pressed.
She looked around the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances like rich people had. There was an oriental carpet on the floor. Who had an oriental carpet in their kitchen? There was an old-fashioned southern-style fan overhead. It turned slowly. She could hear the rain beating against the window.
“Carmen? Carmen?” Her dad was trying to mask his impatience.
“Sorry,” she murmured. She realized Lydia was poised at the cupboard, waiting for orders. “Nothing for me. Could you please tell me where I should put my stuff?”
Her dad looked pained. Did he see how distressed she was? Did he notice? Then the look vanished. “Yes. Come with me. I'll s
how you your room, then I'll bring your suitcase right up.”
She followed him up carpeted stairs, past three bedrooms, to a bedroom facing the backyard with a thick peach-colored carpet, antique furniture, and two Kleenex boxes cased in Lucite—one on the bureau and one on the night table. It had curtains and a dust ruffle all right. And she would bet one billion dollars there was at least one box of baking soda in the refrigerator downstairs. “Is this the guest room?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered, not understanding what she meant. “You get settled,” he said, using that idiotic word again. “I'll bring your suitcase up.”
He started for the door. “Hey, Dad?”
He turned. He looked wary.
“It's just that . . .” She trailed off. She wanted to tell him it was pretty inconsiderate not to give her any warning. It was pretty harsh walking into this house full of strangers without any preparation.
In his eyes was a plea. She felt it more than she saw it. He just wanted it to be nice between them.
“Nothing,” she said faintly.
She watched him go, realizing she was like him in another way. When she was with him, she didn't like to say the hard things.
Dear Bee,
The summer of Carmen and Al didn't survive past the trip from the airport. My dad is now Albert and is marrying Lydia and lives in a house full of Kleenex boxes and is playing father to two blond people. Forget about all the things I imagined. I'm a guest in the guest room of a family that will never be mine.
Sorry, Bee. I'm being self-absorbed again. I know I'm a big baby, but my heart is rotting. I hate surprises.
Love you and miss you,
Carmen
“Lena.”
Lena looked up from her journal as Effie appeared in her doorway. Effie scrambled in and sat on her bed. “People are here, you know. The party's starting.”
Lena had heard voices downstairs, but she was prepared to pretend she hadn't.
“He's here,” Effie continued meaningfully.
“He?”
“Kostos.”
“So?”
Effie got a look on her face. “Lena, I'm not kidding; you've got to see him.”
