Irises (25 page)

“Yes,” Mary said.

“Which center are you talking about?” Renata asked.

“The one in Socorro.”

“I know that one. You're going to paint something o
n that
?”

“On one of the outside walls.”

“Cool. What you gonna paint?”

A strange feeling came over Mary as she listened to Renata and Marcos. Renata and Mary had grown up together; they were in many ways closer than she and Kate. But just then, a
s Renata
talked to Marcos, Mary wanted Marcos to be talking only to her. “Wow,” Mary said, amazed at what she was feeling.

“What?” Marcos asked.

“Nothing. I was just remembering something.” Mary felt she had probably done more lying that morning than she had in her entire life.

Marcos took a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. He turned it toward Renata and Mary and spread it on the table.

“What is that?” Renata asked, squinting.

“Two eagles,” Marcos said.

“Oh!” Mary exclaimed. One of the eagles was exactly like the one in the drawing she had given Papa.

“Is it that bad?” Marcos asked.

“No,” Mary said. She was unable to say anything else.

Marcos looked somewhat confused, but he went on, “This
one's an American bald eagle and this one's the Mexican golden
eagle
— you know, like the kind on the Mexican flag, only here I have it flying. I didn't do a very good job at showing the two eagles with their wings spread.” He stopped and looked into Mary's eyes, waiting for her reaction.

Mary felt pride, as if she herself had done the drawing. “It's great,” she finally said.

“Really?” Marcos asked, excited.

Renata clapped as if something wonderful had just happened. Mary could tell by the way she looked at her that there was no jealousy or envy in her heart.
She's a better person than I am
,
she said to herself.

“I didn't say the drawing was great,” Mary said. “I meant the idea is great. You don't have any perspective on the wi
ngs, an
d the eagles look like skinny chickens, but the idea i
s good.”

Renata elbowed Mary. “She's kidding, she's kidding. The eagles are awesome, just fab!”

“It's a start,” Mary said, trying not to show any more emotion.

“We're still on for Saturday morning, right?”

“I never told you I could go.”

“That's right. You said you were going to check. I'll call you on Friday.” A few boys at a nearby table were staring at Marcos. He nodded in their direction as if telling them that he'd be right there. Then he pushed himself off the bench and picked up his tray.

Mary didn't want him to leave. “Work on the drawing,” she said quickly. “You'll need to have a detailed sketch before you start painting.”

“Yeah. I'll work on it.” He smiled at Mary and winked at Renata, then went to the table with the boys.

When he was out of earshot, Renata said, “Oh. My. God. What was that all about? You have A LOT of explainin
g to do.”

“There's nothing to explain. Mr. Gomez asked me to help him with some drawing, and then he asked me to help him with that mural.”

“You're in love with him.”

“Pleeease! Don't be silly. I don't even know him. Besides, he's in a gang.”

“I saw you light up like a Christmas tree when he was talk
ing to you. You'll have to work out this gang thing, but you're in love with him. You don't even know it yet, but you are.”

“I have to go to my locker. You coming?” Mary picked up the uneaten half of the orange. Suddenly she thought of Kate. She searched for her one last time around the cafeteria, but Kate was nowhere to be seen.

Her heart, the same one that had just soared, plummeted to the ground.

 

T
hey pulled into the El Camino Hotel and parked in front of number 157. She could see a light in the room through a crack in the curtains.
Nothing's going to happen
,
she told herself.
I just need a place to rest.

“Are you sure you're all right with this?” Andy asked. There was something that made her feel safe in the way he said that. “I can drive you home if you want.”

For some reason his words reminded her of Simon. She and Simon had gone out for three months before they kissed in his car, and when they kissed, she felt Simon's lips tremble as if he
were afraid she was a mirage too beautiful and good to be true.

“What was your boyfriend's name?” Andy asked.

“Simon.”

“You were thinking of him just then, weren't you?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“You said earlier that you broke up with him. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that right about now, you'd probably be thinking about him. What's he like, Simon?”

“Simon is your standard nice guy,” Kate said. “He's hardworking, dependable, steady.” She let go of the door handle and leaned back in the car seat.

“Why'd you break up with him?”

“I'm not sure what happened.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I think he broke up with me. He wanted to get m
arried. He
wanted to take care of me and Mary and Mother.”

“And . . .”

“I asked for more time, but I guess he could tell that I w
as really saying no
.” Kate exhaled. “Maybe there's someth
ing seriously
wrong with me. I don't know. I've had this stupid dream about going to Stanford for so long that I've never let anything or anyone interfere with it, not a nice guy like Simon, not my little sister, not anything. If Father hadn't died, I would have ended up fighting him to keep that dream.”

He turned the ignition switch on for a moment and opened both of the front windows. Immediately a cool breeze blew through the car. She heard the roar of noise from Interstate 10 and imagined each truck that went by as a wave crashing on a beach.

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” he said. He reached over and gave her hand a tiny squeeze. “Do you love Simon?” He didn't take his hand away.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the warmth of his hand.
More
. What she felt asked for more. With Simon, she was content, full, at peace. With Andy she felt the need for more conversation, more emotion, more touch. Which of the two feelings was love? She opened her eyes and remembered that he had asked a question.

“I'm sorry, what did you ask me?”

He chuckled. “Do you love him? Do you love Simon?”

She shook her head. “Mary has never dated anyone and s
he kno
ws more about love than I do. She says that when she paints, she sees this light in whatever she's painting, and this light is the same as a light she recognizes inside of her. This recognition of lights is what she calls love. It's all very joyful, but it involves hard work at the same time to keep them together. I think that something along those lines is probably what it means to truly love another person.”

“Wow,” he said.

“What?”

“I was just thinking about your sister's love. That's beautiful, but unreal, not human. Most of us have to settle for th
e regular
human kind of love. Regular human love is all we've got.”

“And what's regular human love?”

“Wanting the other person physically and emotionally, hurting with their absence, needing them, that's part of it.”

She closed her eyes again as she spoke. “I've always felt that my dream to go to Stanford, to be a doctor, is similar to how you defined love. It's wanting something very badly, searching for it at all costs, needing it. I always felt ashamed when Father used to preach against ambition, because I knew I had it in me in the worst possible way. And now I don't know whether I've been blinded by it so I can't see what is really good for me
— like Simon.”

“Or it could be that Simon is not the right person for y
ou. You can't
really force yourself to want someone. You do or you don't.”

“I thought I wanted Simon.”

“Is he like you? Is he ambitious?”

“No, not in the sense of wanting what he doesn't have. He's happy already. He's going to run one of his father's restaurants. He's content with that.”

“Maybe you need someone more like you, someone who believes there's nothing wrong with ambition. It's how God gets things done in the world.”

“Like you? You're ambitious too?”

“Sure, why not? You seem surprised.”

“It's just that I never imagined the Church of God attracting someone ambitious.”

“There are different kinds of ambitions. The saints were ambitious.”

“Are you a saint?” She pretended to be shocked.

“Hardly.” He let go of her hand and gently stroked her cheek.

She smiled. “How are you ambitious?”

“I guess it started when I was a small boy. My mother used to watch these mega evangelists on TV. You know, the ones who preach to auditoriums and stadiums full of people, with choirs larger than most churches. I'd watch them with her, and then I'd stand in front of the mirror with a Bible in one hand and preach. I was pretty good at it too.”

“You are good at it,” Kate acknowledged.

“Thank you. So that's how it started. I love to preach. I love the energy that you feel when a room full of people is silent, waiting on every word you say. I was called to it. I wanted to be like those preachers whose words moved people to tears. So I looked for opportunities to speak in public. I joined the speech club in high school. I got super involved with our church youth group. I couldn't wait to have my own church. I went to college, got a master's degree in four years when it usually takes six. Now I'm twenty-two and my dream of being pastor of my own church has been realized. These are things that I've wanted desperately, just like you want to go to Stanford. God works through our ambitions. He puts them there for a purpose, so we can do His will.”

“Will you be happy at a place like the Church of God?”

“For a while,” he said, looking at her. “You have to start someplace.”

“Then after a while you'll want a bigger church.”

“Yes.”

“That's part of your ambition, to move on to a bigger church?”

“Yes. For me, it's a question of finding a place where all of my potential is fulfilled, where all of my talent is tapped.”

“And the Church of God doesn't do that?”

“It's a beginning. But I wouldn't be true to myself if I said that it's enough. After a year or two, I'll move on. We need to find the place where we can have the greatest impact. There's nothing wrong with that.”

“Do the deacons know?”

“Know what?”

“That you plan to move on in a year or two?”

“No. You need to keep that confidential, okay?”

She thought of Mrs. Alvarado and her electric organ. The image made her sad.

“In a way, me wanting to move on to a bigger church eventually is like you and Stanford,” he went on. “Why Stanford and not UTEP? You can study to be a doctor at UTEP. Why go all the way to California? The quality of the school, sure, but also the prestige, the status. I've come to terms with the side of myself that wants those things. They offer the opportunity to reach more people. People in a big church need a good pastor as well. That's my calling. Some people are called to work with the poor, others are called to work with the rich. Am I shocking you?”

“No.” He was not shocking her, but he was unsettling her somehow. His words were breaking through an inner shell, revealing an image of herself she had never known was there. To have something to say, she said, “It's hot in here.”