Summer Dreams

by Hebby Roman

He laughed. "Not that. I would have gotten a business degree if I wanted to work in a resort the rest of my life. But catering to a bunch of rich people isn't my idea of a meaningful vocation."

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if catching and hitting a hard, round ball was more meaningful. But she stopped herself from making that cynical observation, realizing that playing major league ball could be ennobling, demanding a player's complete devotion, almost to the point of consecration of mind and body to the game.

  "Don't you want to hear my philosophy, Natalia?" He asked. "We've kind of wandered from my original observation."

  "Sí, I want to hear it, if you want to share."

  "I'd like to share everything with you, Nieta, you know that."

  There it was again, his unconditional devotion. He certainly wasn't shy about expressing his feelings. But she didn't know how to respond. Besides her family, she'd never been showered with such ... such love. Having admitted the word, even silently, was sobering. Was Esteban in love with her?

  "I can see I've left you speechless." Lifting his right hand from the steering wheel, he touched her arm. "I won't push you. You know that, don't you? But I won't lie, either, not about how I feel."

  He hadn't come out and said he loved her, at least not in so many words. But it was obvious in his touch, his choice of words, and the expression in his eyes. And how did she feel about him? She cared for him as a brother. Desired him as a lover. Was that what being in love meant?

  "Since I can see you're not going to ask, I guess I'll tell you my philosophy anyway," he said. "It's really quite simple. Actually, I borrowed it from Pura. I leave everything in God's hands. If I'm meant to play in the major leagues, it will happen."

  "I didn't know you were religious."

  "Define religious," he countered. "I believe in God, Natalia. I even attend Mass most Sundays."

  "I haven't seen you there." She couldn't keep a note of doubt from creeping into her voice.

  "Because you and your grandmother are sleepy heads and come to late Mass," he replied. "I go early."

  "Oh," she said. Thinking about Esteban attending Mass on a regular basis was a revelation. Had the bad boy really changed so much?

  "Well, what do you think?" he asked.

  "About your philosophy?"

  "Sí."

  "You're right, it's Pura's philosophy. I've tried to adhere to it at times, but it's difficult. Don't you find it ... passive?"

  "Nope, not so long as you have your priorities straight, you let God handle the tough stuff, the things not in your control. You can't control everything, Natalia."

  She leaned back, realizing the depth of his subtext. What he was saying but not saying. If they felt this way about each other, let nature take its course. What was that old cliché: 'it was bigger than the both of them?' Did she believe that?

  "And what are your priorities, Esteban, other than playing ball?" She kept to the subject of his career, not wanting to uncork the part about them. "You've hinted at having another ambition, and it isn't hospitality management."

  "You won't laugh?"

  "Of course I won't laugh," she said.

  "I want to be a teacher like you and Pura. There I've said it." He turned in the driver's seat for a split second and glanced at her. "It took me a long time to find the courage, but I said it."

  "You want to be teacher?"

  "Not exactly a teacher, I guess. More of a coach, a baseball coach. I want to work with youths who need direction, who, with a little help and self-discipline, can find a better life for themselves."

  He wanted to give back what had been given to him. He wanted to offer other youths what Pura had offered him---another chance. Tears sprang to her eyes and burned at the back of her throat.

  "That's wonderful," she said and gulped, fighting back the sentimental swamp engulfing her. Though the pay was low and society often belittled her profession, she'd always believed there was nothing more important than teaching children. Children were the future.

  "But what about your baseball career?" she asked. "You were so excited about the scout coming."

  "I'm still excited," he said. "But I can't control the outcome. If it's meant for me to join the major leagues, I will. That doesn't mean I won't coach later."

  "You'll have to return to school and get your education degree."

  "I've already taken a few courses. I enjoyed them."

  A thought struck her. She remembered seeing him that day on campus and wondering why he was there. Playing her old tapes, she'd assumed he was there to meet a woman, but now she knew better. He was serious about this.

  "So, if the Royals don't sign you, you'll go back to school for your education degree?"

  "Not quite. I'm committed to the autumn showcase I told you about. If nothing comes of that, I'll go back to school."

  "You've set a deadline?"

  "Sí." He flashed a grin. "Remember what you said that first day you came home."

  "Not really," she murmured. "Probably something silly."

  "No, it wasn't silly. In fact, it got me to thinking. You said you were twenty-seven years old. And you said it with conviction, as if it explained why you'd broken your en ... why you'd decided to change the course of your life." He paused and his voice took on a bantering note, "And though I'm much younger than you---"

  She slugged his arm.

  "Hey, don't hit the driver," he said. "You could cause an accident."

  Yeah, in a pig's eye. Her knuckles had bounced off his rock-hard biceps.

  Esteban was a rock. Her rock, she thought, with a feeling of tender possessiveness. Her Esteban. Had she always loved him but been afraid to acknowledge it?

  Giddy, indefinable feelings swept her---intense and frightening feelings---like nothing she'd ever experienced before. A sense of bliss so sweet she could almost taste it. Was this what it felt like to find the love of your life?

  "As I was saying," he cleared his throat. "Before I was brutally ambushed, you made me realize I'd reached the ripe old age of twenty-five. Now, compared to your advanced age ..."

  Raising her fist again, she shook it menacingly, doing her best to keep a straight face.

  "Okay, okay, I won't tease you anymore." He reached out and took her fist in his hand, uncurling her fingers and twining them with his own. He held her hand in his lap while steering with one hand. "Twenty-five is still relatively young but not for certain professions, like major league ball. I knew it was time for me to make a decision. So I made it. This is my last season in Double A ball. If something doesn't happen, I need to move on with my life."

  "That makes this scout's visit that much more important, doesn't it?"

  "Sí, it does." He gave her hand a squeeze. "But either way, I'm content."

  "Really?"

  "Sí, really." He leaned down and brushed the top of her head with his mouth. He released her hand and pulled her close, putting his arm around her.

  She moved into the warm comfort of his embrace. Closing her eyes, she leaned against his shoulder, reveling in the nearness of him. A feeling of peace settled over her, as if she'd come home after a long time away. As if she'd found what she'd been searching for all these years.

  And her feeling of rightness with Esteban wasn't just about his revelations for the future. True, his wanting to be a coach had made her see him in a new and different light. But it was so much more than that. His every action, his every word, underscored the man he'd become. A kind and generous man, a simple but intelligent man, a man who shared her values. A man she could love with all her heart.

  But the real wonder was that he seemed to return her love. Not that he'd said the words …yet.

  When they reached Pura's farm yard, Esteban cut the engine and got out. He went around and opened her door and helped her from the car. Hand-in-hand, they walked to the porch and in front of the door, Esteban leaned down and touched his lips to Natalia's. Soft and quick as the flicker of a butterfly's wings, he kissed her and then
stepped back.

  "Are we on for Monday?" He asked.

  "What did we say we'd do on Monday? I forgot."

  "Drive into Taos and try to find those education books you wanted me to read."

  "Sí, they will give you good preparation for your courses. I hate to see you spend money for them, though. I have them back in Dallas." She paused and then said, "I really should return home and pack."

  "Not yet, por favor." He kissed her again, gently, coaxingly. "We're having too good a time."

  "We are, aren't we," she agreed, smiling.

  "Buenas noches, Natalia. I have the early shift at work and then my Sunday game. You and Pura will be there, right? Starts at three. Okay?"

  Going up on tiptoe, she pecked his cheek. "Three it is."

  She waited inside the screen door, waving until the lights of his Corolla disappeared around the corner of the house. Then she turned off the porch light.

  Chapter Seven

  A nasty, incessant bee buzzed in Natalia's ear. She turned over and pulled the pillow over her head. Reaching out with one hand, she fumbled for the alarm clock and pressed the lever to turn it off. But the shrill buzzing continued, starting and then stopping with fiendish regularity.

  Sitting up in bed, she realized it wasn't her alarm going off. The sound came from her purse. Her cell phone was on vibrate. She glanced at the time and wondered who would call before seven o'clock in the morning. And then a thought struck her, and her heart squeezed, driving a dagger into her chest.

  Madre de Dios, don't let anything be wrong. Por favor, let Esteban be okay, she prayed.

  She leaned from her bed and grabbed her purse, diving for the cell.

  "Bueno," she answered.

  "Bueno? Are you going native, Natalia? This is the United States. You're supposed to answer with hello."

  She knew that voice. And the subtle criticism. The voice belonged to Hector García, her ex-fiancé. She'd expected him to call, but as the weeks passed, she'd accepted the fact he might not. But to call at seven in the morning was unusual, though Hector was accustomed to rising early before the stock market opened.

  "Hello, Hector, how have you been?"

  "I'm fine, and how are you?"

  "Just great. It's been a wonderful summer."

  "I see," he replied.

  Too bad if he'd expected her to be devastated because they'd broken up. She hadn't meant to sound so happy, but she couldn't help herself. And she wasn't trying to rub it in, either. Her joy was genuine, hard to disguise.

  Why should Hector be hurt if she was happy? According to her sister, he hadn't wasted any time finding someone else to date. At least, she'd taken her time, not jumping into the relationship with Esteban, putting him off for weeks. Even now, they were taking things slow.

  "You didn't call this early just to chit-chat, Hector."

  "It's after eight here, remember?" he said. "And past nine on the east coast. I wanted to call before the market opened."

  "So you're calling from the office."

  She didn't know why that bothered her, especially now, but it did. He couldn't take a few moments from his full social life to call? Oh, what did she care? She was over him.

  "Yes, and I don't have long to talk. And you're right, I didn't just call to chit-chat," his tone dripped with sarcasm.

  "Sí, dime."

  "What's with the Spanish? Speak English."

  She ignored his criticism and refused to respond. If she wanted to speak Spanish, then she'd be damned if he would stop her.

  "Natalia, are you still there?"

  "I'm here," she said.

  "Good. I called because I'm coming up there. I'll probably be staying several weeks. I have a leave of absence from the brokerage. I need to work on the resort."

  She wasn't surprised he was pursuing the ski development. When Hector got an idea for making money, he seldom let it go.

  "And?" She prompted, wondering what the development had to do with her.

  "Well," he sounded hesitant for the first time, "I expect to see you."

  "Why?"

  "Oh, come on, Natalia," exasperation colored his voice. "We were engaged for years. I want to remain friends."

  Pura stuck her head in the door and whispered, "Who is it?"

  Placing her hand over the cell, Natalia said, "It's Hector. He's coming here to work on developing that resort idea he had."

  Nodding, her grandmother offered, "Ask him to supper."

  Natalia opened her mouth to protest, thought better of it, and decided to get it over with. This way, she would be killing two birds with one stone, satisfying her grandmother and allowing Hector his visit. But why did Pura want him to come to supper when she didn't even like him?

  "Hector, sorry. That was Pura. She wants you to come to supper. When do you get in?"

  "This Saturday," he said. "I'll be staying in Santa Fe at the Hilton. I'll give you a call when I arrive."

  "Okay. Why don't you plan on Sunday supper."

  "Sounds great. See you then." A loud buzzer whirred in the background. "That's the opening. Gotta go, Natalia. Talk to you soon."

  "Goodbye, Hector." She clicked off her cell and arched an eyebrow at her abuela.

  "Why are you so eager to ask him to supper? I thought you didn't like him."

  "I don't, but you need to see him, mi Nieta. You need closure before you'll be completely free to go on."

  "I don't need any closure,'" she said. "I'm just fine."

  "Por favor, listen to your abuela. I'm old and wise."

  "Okay, Abuelita, I'll see him one last time."

  "And ask Esteban to come too." Pura smiled and wagged her head. "That should make for an interesting evening."

  ***

  "Would you like another slice of roast beef, Hector, or another helping of mashed potatoes?" Pura inquired.

  "No, thanks," he replied, patting his flat abdomen. "Dinner was delicious, but I have to watch my weight."

  "I hope you've saved room for dessert. Natalia made it," Pura said, a note of pride in her voice. "She told me it's your favorite, peach pie."

  Natalia gritted her teeth and glanced across the table at Esteban, wondering what he was thinking. If she'd had her way, he wouldn't even be here, but Pura had made certain he showed up. Sometimes, she could cheerfully throttle her grandmother for her mischievous meddling. And this was one of those times.

  But there was no help for it. She couldn't leap up and explain that her abuela was a consummate liar when it suited her. Could she? The facts were that she'd made the pie because a neighbor had given them a bushel of ripe peaches, and she hadn't told her grandmother it was Hector's favorite, either. His favorite dessert was a flaming concoction called Bananas Foster. Not homely peach pie.

  Either Esteban saw through Pura's devious machinations or he didn't care if she made her ex-fiancé's favorite dessert, because he flashed her a reassuring smile and said, "How fortunate. It's my favorite, too. I'd love a piece of pie and some coffee."

  Hector, who looked bewildered, fell in and said, "Yes, I'll have a piece, a small piece."

  "Bueno," Pura cooed. "Natalia, you clear the table. I'll get the coffee and pie."

  Tracking her gaze from Esteban to Hector and back again, Natalia wondered about the wisdom of leaving the two of them alone together. Since Esteban had arrived, a few minutes after Hector, the two had been like flint and tinder, ready to flare into spontaneous combustion.

  Stacking the dishes with as much efficiency as possible so she didn't have to make too many trips, Natalia offered, "I think there's a ball game on the radio. Esteban, why don't you turn it on?"

  "Sure, I'll get it." He rose and walked to the ancient Philco, switching it on.

  "Don't you have a television set, Natalia?" Hector asked.

  "No, Pura doesn't believe in them," she replied from the kitchen.

  Carefully, she lowered the dishes to the drain board. Turning on the faucet, she sprinkled soap powder in the sink and plunged the
dishes into the sudsy water. Returning to the dining area, she overheard Hector ask, "Aren't you a ballplayer, Esteban?"

  "Sí, I play Double A ball."

  "Kind of old to be playing ball, don't you think," Hector observed.

  Natalia purposely pushed between the two men and bent to retrieve the silverware and glasses from the table. She moved with calm efficiency, but inwardly, she seethed at her ex-fiancé's dig.

  "Funny you should bring that up, I've been thinking the same thing. I am getting a little old for ball," Esteban agreed. Catching Natalia's gaze, he winked.

  Relaxing a fraction, she turned at the doorway to the kitchen with the glasses clutched to her chest. "Esteban is going to quit after this season if he doesn't get signed," she said.

  Esteban's head came up, and he gave her a sharp look. She wondered why. Hector glanced at Esteban and back to Natalia, his eyes narrowing.

  "How nice. Making plans together?" Hector asked.

  Natalia understood Esteban's look. He didn't want her to acknowledge their closeness. Again, she wondered why. Was he ashamed?

  Pura rescued her by calling from the kitchen, "Have you finished clearing the table?"

  "Coming," she replied.

  She deposited the glasses and silverware into the sink. When she returned to finish clearing the table, she was relieved to find the men listening to the ball game and not speaking.

  Helping her abuela, she brought in plates of pie and cups of coffee. While serving the men, Hector abandoned listening and turned to Esteban again. "What happens after you stop playing ball?"

  "I return to college and get my education degree."

  "You want to be a teacher?" Hector laughed.

  This time, it was Natalia who shot Hector a sharp look. She knew he thought teaching was a dead-end job, a chomp's vocation because you made so little money. But she wished he wouldn't express his negative opinions in Pura's home. After all, her abuela had dedicated her life to teaching.

  "Actually, I want to be a coach," Esteban replied. But Natalia saw the effort it cost him to answer calmly. The knuckles on his hand shone white; he was gripping his coffee cup so hard.

  Hector obviously didn't get the undercurrents because he asked, "Do you have another vocation, something to see you through college?"