The Last Name Banks
Page 2
“You misses do not walk through jungle at night. Very dangerous place here,” the van driver said in a thick accent.
We all nodded, with wide eyes staring at his own wide, hard eyes through the rearview mirror as Maycee mouthed to me, “No duh!”
Leave it to Maycee, always blunt, but most of the time pretty funny. The three of us tried to contain our giggles so the native would not think we were laughing at him.
We finally made it to the orphanage. It was breathtakingly beautiful even in the dark. The fact that a building stood in such a place was astounding. The architecture had to have been a couple of centuries old. I once watched a special on television about the Monks that live on the island Athos. Many of the monasteries are close to over a thousand years old. With the elaborate stone walkways and the meticulous laying of the bricks, they are breathtaking and one wonders how such design was built with archaic resources such as the Mules.
Anyway, this orphanage resembled such remarkable beauty and I was interested in learning more about its history.
“Here you are. Hacienda Hope, the children’s home. Beautiful, yes? Used to be Iglesia,” the van driver said. Of course. I could definitely see the religious structure. Even in the night, I could see a tall bell tower that often designates chapels.
As we made our way out of the van, Vinny and Steve unloaded all our luggage. And I mean, all of our luggage. They attempted to carry all our bags and suitcases, but even with all of their muscles they were unsuccessful and struggled.
“Oh, we can just come back. We’ll make two trips,” I was saying when a robust woman walked outside wearing a long blue dress and half apron covered in small yellow flower print. “You made it! Precious angels you. I am Josephina. Brother Logan is very busy right now and will meet you later.” She had the same thick accent as the driver.
“Hi, I’m—” I began.
“You are Chloe Banks.” She hugged me quickly and squeezed me to death and I struggled for air as Vinny and Steve lurched forward in protectiveness, but quickly stepped back when they noticed everything was fine.
“I seen all your pictures and you are very, very beautiful. God bless you for coming.” She released me. I gasped for breath as I smiled politely and said, “Why, thank you.” I was touched by her kind words. “These are my two friends—Norah and Maycee.”
Josephina immediately hugged each of them, squeezing them to death as well. “Oh, you need some meat on your bones. You American women! We may be an orphanage but you never eat as good than here. You’ll see. Right this way.” She turned around to lead us through an iron gate archway that led into a courtyard. After just a few steps, she turned around exclaiming, “What is it they say, all organic? Well, everything from scratch here.” She looked at the remaining luggage.
“I’ll say. Definitely no Chipotle,” Maycee muttered.
“What is that you say, dear? Yes, we have lots of peppers. Not to worry. Oh, my! You need much help! You bring many bags,” she laughed. “Oh dear. American women.”
We all laughed. As if finally noticing Steve and Vinny, she said, “I’m sorry. I’m Josephina. I’m just so excited to have American women I forget my manners. How you do?”
“I do just fine,” Steve said as Vinny merely nodded his head.
“Well, that’s wonderful.” She clasped her hands as her chubby robust cheeks protruded in the most adorable way. “Let me help here with this luggage.”
Maycee’s luggage. I hated to admit but it was quite the scene. Endless amounts of it. Not only was there my luggage—which I did pack minimal, but I brought a few cases of supplies for the children—and the generous amounts of luggage Norah so kindly brought filled with new clothes and shoes to donate for the children from her clothing line revenue, but Maycee brought every possible luggage she owned for what reason? To look good on her YouTube channel. That had to have been it. But seriously? We were in the jungle for crying out loud! I was officially embarrassed for Maycee.
“Oh, no. No. I have it just fine!” Maycee protested, a sheepish look on her face as she glanced at her piles of luggage.
“No, let me help. I strong. I carry lots of water jugs all the time,” Josephina insisted.
Maycee couldn’t help but laugh at her determination and thick accent. She was definitely a cute woman. She would be cast perfectly in any movie whose character calls for “sweet, hearty, Latin woman.”
“Well, okay . . . . ”
As we made our way through the beautiful Hacienda, we passed giant wooden chapel doors that were open, displaying one of the most beautiful chapels I’d ever seen in my life. Stained glass windows with saints and angels and beautiful chandeliers hung from the ceiling. It reminded me of a vineyard I had visited once back West in Sonoma. I wondered how they managed the finances for such facilities. I wondered who their beneficiary was.
A younger man who appeared to be in his twenties was sweeping the floors and humming. He quickly turned around and looked up at us under a baseball cap. He couldn’t hide his shock from all the luggage we carried as he muttered, “Women,” under his breath and kept sweeping.
“Oh, my gosh, look how cute that is! I so have to do a few shows there for sure. Super inspirational. I hope the internet works,” Maycee said.
The guy with the broom shook his head again.
“Oh, my, bless his kind soul. There’s Brother Logan. Brother Logan, it’s the American ladies and Miss Chloe Banks!” Josephina’s voice changed an octave when she got to my name. I couldn’t help it, I had to laugh.
He didn’t move but just waved and sort of tipped his hat like gentlemen do. Or was he rolling his eyes? I couldn’t tell.
“Let’s not disturb him. Let’s head this way. He’s preparing a very special chapel message.”
“By sweeping floors?” Norah asked.
“Maybe he’s a kinetic learner,” I said.
“What?” Norah asked.
“Maybe it’s his only way to work out,” Maycee said absentmindedly. “But let’s hope not or I’ll have to fix that pronto. I can maybe lead a yoga class or something.”
“Let’s go,” I said, as I saw the slightest turn of Logan’s head in our direction, as if eyeing us all curiously.
We passed a courtyard with a beautiful fountain and approached what appeared to be the newer edition of the orphanage—but not modern by any means. Screened in bunk quarters.
As Josephina opened our screen door, a tiny room with four bunk beds came in view.
The floor was cement covered in dust.
“Here you are! This is your home for next few weeks.” She smiled proudly and looked around. “Such a blessing to have you here and we so thankful for sleeping quarters Dios have provided for you. Thank you again for coming. I leave you alone to unpack. You look over there,” she pointed, “towards that light, you see restrooms and showers.”
“Thank you so much,” I said, as Norah and Maycee looked like a cat caught their tongue. They mustered a smile and merely nodded as I elbowed them both ever so slightly.
“Yes, thank you, Josephina,” they both said, looking at each other.
“You are welcome. Good night, dears. Sleep tight.”
As she left, I turned to see white sheets and one pillow on each of our beds. A small pink flower was on each pillow. That must have been Josephina’s touch. I could tell already.
“I am never, ever, ever, walking around on these floors barefoot,” Maycee said as she sat down on her bed, a large frown appearing on her face as she looked down to where she would be sleeping each night. “Ugh, I should have brought a mattress cover.”
Norah rolled her eyes at her. “Maycee, cut it out. Yes, this is no Four Seasons but remember—we are at an orphanage for crying out loud. Not a vacation. You’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Exactly. I need to be more than fine to be inspired to write.”
I watched Norah shake her head and get into it with her high maintenance sister, reminding her of the conversation we a
ll had when we were at the pottery painting tea café in The Hamptons. We were each inspired to do something great, to make a difference in this world. To do something different and break out of the hard shells that so often contained our potential.
“Remember, you want to make a difference,” Norah continued.
Steve cleared his throat as he and Vinny stood by the door, helplessly watching the two women bicker like watching a different species interact. Yes, we women are different. So, naturally, my charm kicked in and I took over in that department, which Norah and Maycee completely forgot about due to their sisterly bicker.
“Well, gentlemen, thank you very much. We appreciate it.”
They stood without saying anything. Why weren’t they moving?
Nervously I asked, “Well, surely you’re not sleeping in here with us, are you?” I looked at the empty bunk beds that were in our room. I mean, this place used to be an iglesia. A church! Cohabitating would not look right for the children.
I didn’t think it was just my imagination, but Steve for a few seconds did not take his eyes off Maycee, as if he were entertaining sleeping in our bunk all right.
Clenching his jaw, Steve said quickly as a slight blush appeared on his cheeks, “It’s no problem. Just make sure you spray bug spray, even when you sleep. We’ll be in the men’s quarters right over there.” He pointed across a courtyard to another screened in sleep quarter with the lights on.
He handed me a walkie-talkie. “You need anything, use these.”
And that snapped the sisters out of their bicker into the present conversation.
“You mean, the bugs can get through the screen?” Maycee asked.
“Yes, bugs crawl on the ground here.” Finally Vinny spoke, which was the first sentence I heard him speak the entire day, which completely commanded a presence in the room. I could tell he was thinking to himself, “God what did I do to deserve such harsh punishment? My IQ is lowering.”
Please forgive my best friend’s sister, I wanted to say. I was trying to be kind by inviting her but didn’t realize she’d be such high maintenance. I wanted to tell him. But I couldn’t.
Maycee’s face was covered in the look of horror as if you told her the Silence of the Lambs guy that held innocent women captive in cages lived behind our bunk in the jungle.
“Well, okay, you ladies sleep well tonight. If you need anything, walkie-talkie,” Steve said as he eyed Maycee once last time, practically undressing her with his eyes, and turned around to walk out the screen door.
A few eager bugs flew in as if we were the hopping night club. My jaw dropped at the equal shock of bugs crawling in and at Steve’s obvious attraction to Maycee. She just couldn’t help it. She was gorgeous. As was Norah. Separated by three years, Maycee had perfect, always in-place platinum blonde hair and blue eyes, legs for miles like Cameron Diaz, and Norah had the beach goddess look down with the wavy brunette hair and hazel eyes. But it was no wonder–their mother was a looker and father the epitome of Dr. McSteamy, a top surgeon in Boston.
“Thanks!” I said as the door swung shut. I laughed and looked over at Maycee.
“Steve has a thing for you, Maycee. Can you tell?”
“He sure does,” Norah said.
“Ugh, spare me,” Maycee waved a hand in the air. “No more men for me.”
I understood. Her lame ex-boyfriend was horrible. He completely faked a relationship with her to win favor in her father’s prestigious residency program. She had been burned pretty badly. So, as I said, completely understandable that she would not want to date for a while. Not like she would date Steve.
“Well, sometimes you need a rebound. It totally helps heal the wounds. Trust me,” Norah said thoughtfully.
She sat down on her bed and pulled out her journal her boyfriend, Orien, gave to her before she left as a going away present, with the instructions to read only one entry per day. No peeking. That would be extremely hard for me to do. Not peek?
“Aw, look!” She held up the journal. A picture of her adorable teacup Pomeranian and Orien was taped to the journal entry. “Isn’t he just the sweetest? It says, ‘We miss our number one.’”
She lay back on her bed like a love struck teenager and read with giddy excitement.
“Seriously, where was he even born? He is a living, breathing Hallmark Card,” I said.
“Cheese-ville. If you ask me,” Maycee rolled her eyes, stealing a glance at her sister.
“And I’m one lucky girl,” Norah’s grin was ear to ear, not going anywhere.
Maycee pulled out a notepad and pen from her backpack and put it on her lap to look over a few notes. “Tomorrow, Chloe, I’m going to do a shot in that chapel. After, of course, my duties,” she added quickly. “It was just incredibly romantic looking. Like romantic in the sense of your senses being stirred for something deep and profound. I just hope my internet stick works. I spent a fortune on it.”
I nodded my head in polite not understanding. I wasn’t the artist slash writer type like the two of them were. Norah a fashion designer. Maycee a writer. I was more scientific and methodical in my thinking, hence my nursing degree.
“If it doesn’t, I’m sure you can flirt with Steve enough and he can work something out for you. What will you talk about?” I asked. She had a YouTube channel she recently created over the summer to follow up her hilarious tell-all book that she self-published that made fun of her whole jerk-ola experience with her ex. She had written the book in the span of two days while she was in the Bahamas—which is where she was supposed to be with her jerk of a boyfriend, Josh. Like I mentioned, he basically used her to get a spot with her father’s residency. Once she found out his ploy while at the airport, she upgraded to first class and the best suite in the hotel and ditched him. She flew to the Bahamas solo but she wasn’t void of female influences. She jammed 24/7 to Beyonce and Kelly Clarkson man hater songs, inspiring her feisty woman power book. Who run the world, why girls do. Duh! Was her new motto. She evolved from a male basher to a full-blown feminist over night; encouraging women that they were better off without a man. It was a little extreme if you ask me, but then again I had never ever even been in love before which kept me exempt from the heartache department.
Her book had become practically an overnight success. So much so, she was able to quit teaching and write full-time, which is why she was able to be in Venezuela during the month of September when most people had to go back to work.
“How about that guy from the chapel?” Norah asked.
“That Brother Logan guy sweeping the floor in the chapel didn’t even come over and shake our hands,” I said, volunteering my opinion. Manners are huge where I’m from.
“Well, his hands were kind of full,” Norah shrugged her shoulders.
“He did have nice hair color,” Maycee piped in. “I saw a glimpse of it when he took his hat of for a brief second. If only my hair was naturally that color. Natural blondes are like seven percent of the world’s population. I would think most of them reside in Switzerland or Norway. Maybe one percent in America, but in Venezuela—”
Norah sighed, cutting her off. “Oh, my gosh, how many more times in my life am I going to have to hear you talk about this subject, Mace? It’s okay that you’re not a natural blonde.”
“I’m naturally a dirty blonde,” she snapped her notepad shut. “But the janitor’s hair was like white, white blonde. Like the color I pay my hair stylist hundreds of dollars a month to emulate. Which speaking of, dangit. I didn’t pack my Oscar Blandi root touch up pen. What will I do for the third week of video shoots?”
“I’m sure you can manage,” said Norah as she rolled her eyes. “Be rustic. Wear a scarf. Be as adventurous with your hair as you are with your life.”
Maycee hated not looking polished. Which is why this adventure was going to be fun to see how she would fair. Now that would make a great reality show!
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Maycee concluded.
“And he’s
not the janitor, Maycee. He’s the orphanage’s preacher,” Norah corrected.
“Orphanage’s preacher? Do they have such a thing?” I asked.
I sat on Norah’s bed and looked over at her journal. Orien’s handwriting was extremely unique looking. So unique, one should make a font after his handwriting calling it “Orien.”
“I love his handwriting,” I admired.
“Yeah, it’s so vintage, right?”
“Vintage, huh? Let me see,” Maycee said. We all admired it and grew quiet.
Then the three of us looked at each other with the same look of, “We are actually here. In a jungle.”
Maycee was the first to speak on that thought wave. “Well, at least there are electrical sockets, electricity. And there is internet. I guess I’ll just have to warm up to ole’ Steve, eh? But how about that Vinny, so stoic.”