Summer Days and Summer Nights: Twelve Love Stories

  “Great!” The resulting smile looked at risk of splitting Arlo’s face in half.

  As Lena headed for the dining room, she wondered what she had just set in motion. Arlo reacted to her kindness like an eager puppy. A decidedly adorable puppy, she had to admit. If she wasn’t more careful with how she dispensed future praise, she could very well find herself making a habit of it.

  * * *

  “You should have seen it, Zeke,” said Arlo as he shot the basketball. “She handled those two old biddies.” The ball banked off the backboard and dropped through the hoop. Zeke caught the rebound and passed it back to Arlo. “And get this. She told me that we make a good team.” He chuckled and shot the ball again. “How about that.”

  The ball rolled around the hoop and fell out. Zeke got the rebound again, but this time dribbled back to the three-point line.

  “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, I told her she could meet us here after work,” said Arlo.

  Zeke shrugged, then sank the three-pointer.

  “Nice one.” Arlo rebounded. He dribbled a few times as he stared up into the evening sky. There were so many more stars out here in the country. “It’s just, I’ve never met a girl like Lena before. And I’ve met a lot of girls. She’s … interesting … and beautiful … and she calls me on shit. I kinda like that.” He passed the ball back to Zeke. “Not that I’m in love or anything ridiculous like that. Love is the worst thing that can happen to a guy. It makes them idiots.”

  Zeke rolled his eyes and bounced the ball hard at Arlo, who caught it and spun it on his finger. Zeke clapped, looking impressed.

  “You think that’s cool? Watch this.” Arlo kept the ball spinning as he passed it back and forth between his hands, then under one leg, then behind his back.

  Zeke clapped again.

  “More Harlem Globetrotter than NBA all-star.” Lena had just arrived and now stood courtside, her arms crossed. “Why am I not surprised?”

  Arlo tossed the ball high, gave her a quick bow, then caught the ball again.

  “How was your first day?” she asked.

  “More exciting than I expected,” he said.

  “And how was your first day back, Zeke?” she asked.

  Zeke gave her a thumbs-up, then caught the ball from Arlo and took another shot.

  “Zeke, I hate to put you on the spot, but I promised Isabella I’d ask,” said Lena. “You caddied for Franklyn this afternoon, didn’t you?”

  Zeke smirked and nodded, perhaps wondering if it should be referred to as caddying or as therapy.

  “Did he talk about Isabella at all?”

  Zeke pressed one hand to his heart and the other to his forehead, making an expression somewhere between rapture and swoon.

  “I thought so,” said Lena. “Still too frightened to ask her out. Ah well. Same as last summer, I suppose. The two of them stealing longing looks at each other across the table.”

  Zeke stuck out his tongue.

  “True,” she said. “But there’s nothing to be done.”

  “What’s this?” asked Arlo.

  “Franklyn and Isabella have been secretly pining for each other for years, but neither has the courage to act on it.”

  Arlo dribbled the ball between his legs. “Sounds like they just need a push.”

  “From whom?” Lena looked genuinely perplexed.

  “Us, of course.”

  Lena and Zeke exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Then she said, “That seems rather meddlesome, not to mention presumptuous.”

  “I prefer ‘solicitous’ and ‘proactive,’” said Arlo.

  “Spin it as much as you spin that ball,” said Lena. “It amounts to the same thing.”

  “Sounds like you’re afraid of shaking things up.” Arlo took a shot, and the ball went through the hoop with a swish.

  “Sounds like you enjoy it,” said Lena.

  “Only when it suits me,” said Arlo. “Think about it. There’s Isabella and that Franklyn, then there’s Brice and Vito. All four of them pining for each other and nobody doing a thing about it.”

  “How did you know about Brice and Vito?” asked Lena.

  “Because I have eyeballs. Don’t tell me—that’s been going on for years, too.”

  Lena and Zeke exchanged a guilty look.

  “Think how much happier both couples might be together,” Arlo continued. “And think about how much easier it would be for us if they stopped whining all the time.”

  Zeke put his hand on Lena’s shoulder and gave her a pleading look.

  “You want to do this, too?” she asked.

  He gave a serious, emphatic nod.

  “If you feel that strongly about it…” She crossed her arms and looked warily at Arlo. “What did you have in mind?”

  Arlo grinned. “Something that’s going to take all three of us to pull off.”

  * * *

  The next day, at Lena’s suggestion, Isabella invited Dr. Elore, Franklyn, Ms. Nalone, and Vito to join her in exploring the new hedge maze that her father had installed for her. Additionally, and also at Lena’s suggestion, Isabella insisted that Arlo and Brice be on hand in case anyone became lost or needed assistance.

  Dr. Elore and Franklyn were mildly intrigued by the idea of a labyrinth, both being enamored with intellectual puzzles. And of course Franklyn relished any event that might put him in close proximity to Miss Ficollo.

  Ms. Nalone and Vito were less enthusiastic about the invitation. Ms. Nalone chafed at the hours missed from direct sunlight, and the event cut into Vito’s usual weight training time. But Ms. Nalone saw it as an opportunity to get Vito and Miss Ficollo together, and Vito became much more interested when he learned Brice would be there.

  Brice was beside himself with worry about what might happen to the resort while it wasn’t under his watchful eye, but he could hardly decline Miss Ficollo’s request.

  “Thank you all for coming,” said Isabella as everyone gathered at the maze’s southern entrance. She gave them a smile that, had it been properly witnessed and documented, might have stood in the Guinness Book of World Records as the perkiest ever achieved. “I’d like to get started on our adventure!”

  “Is there a program?” asked the doctor, who approved of plans, programs, and schedules.

  “I’m so glad you asked, doctor,” said Isabella. “Yes. We can’t wander the maze in one big clump, so we’ll break into groups. There are several entrances to the maze. Ms. Nalone, Vito, and I, accompanied by Lena, will take the southern entrance here. Dr. Elore and Franklyn, accompanied by Arlo and Brice, will take the east entrance. We’ll converge at the center of the maze, which has a beautiful fountain and a delicious picnic lunch laid out for us. Doesn’t that sound lovely?”

  “It certainly does!” said Ms. Nalone, who was pleased that Vito and Miss Ficollo would have so much time together. Perhaps a spark or two might ignite.

  The other responses of approval were more forced. Franklyn had hoped to be in Isabella’s group, and Vito had hoped to be with Brice.

  “Marvelous!” said Isabella. “Then let’s begin. And try not to get lost. It would be a shame if the picnic spoiled.”

  So the groups divided and entered at the same time, from separate entrances. What Lena and Arlo had neglected to tell anyone else was that Zeke was already inside the maze, waiting for the signal.

  * * *

  There are hedge mazes that are like charming paths, and then there are actual mazes made of ten-foot-tall, impenetrably dense hedges. This was the latter. Those who did not know Isabella well might have been surprised that she had a true passion for them. She not only had requested the maze but also had designed it herself. That had been a year ago, though. She knew she might not recall every twist and turn, so she had intended to bring her blueprints, in case one of her guests became lost and needed to be rescued. But she was unable to locate them. Lena had assured her they would turn up eventually, and for the purposes of the day, she had complete confidence in Isabella to lead them th
rough by memory.

  Lena continued to exhibit that confidence, even after it became abundantly clear to Ms. Nalone and Vito that Isabella had a dreadful memory.

  “I could have sworn it was this turn that brought us into the next section,” Isabella said, mostly to herself.

  “Vito, why don’t you see if you can help,” said Ms. Nalone, giving her son a meaningful look. In her mind, there were few things more attractive than some masculine, take-charge action. She assumed, incorrectly, that Isabella felt the same.

  “But I’m awful at mazes,” said Vito, who didn’t mind taking masculine action, but only when it was something he was actually knowledgeable about or skilled at.

  Ms. Nalone sighed in exasperation. She pulled Vito aside, letting Isabella and Lena turn a corner.

  “Don’t you get it?” she hissed. “This is your chance to make a move!”

  “Don’t you get that I’m not going to?” he asked.

  Ms. Nalone released his arm and hurried to catch up with the girls. It was clear that Vito would be no help. Perhaps he was worried that Isabella would reject his advances, crazy as that seemed. Maybe if she spoke to Isabella on his behalf, she could get her to show some glimmer of interest in him, and it would give him the confidence to ask her out. Yes, that’s how it would work.

  “Isabella, dear.”

  But when Ms. Nalone turned the corner, Isabella and Lena were gone.

  * * *

  “How did you know about this bypass?” Isabella asked Lena, as they walked alone down a long, straight path.

  “Oh, I just remember it from the first time we tested out the maze.” Lena felt a stab of guilt. She didn’t like lying to Isabella. But she had promised Arlo she wouldn’t confess that they’d stolen (secretly borrowed, he’d insisted on calling it) the blueprints until after their plan came to fruition.

  “I wish I had your memory,” Isabella said wistfully. “Still, it seems a bit like cheating, don’t you think?”

  “It was more to get us away from Ms. Nalone,” said Lena. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. You were the one who insisted they be in our group. I would have much preferred the Elores.”

  “I didn’t expect Ms. Nalone to start pushing her son on you so intensely,” said Lena.

  “Pushing Vito on me?” asked Isabella, looking bewildered.

  “Hadn’t you noticed? She’s been trying for years.”

  “But Vito’s gay, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t think she realizes.”

  “Good gracious, then she’s the only one,” said Isabella. “Do you think she’ll keep trying all summer? How tedious.”

  “She might give up if you were to make your interest in someone else more plain.”

  “Franklyn, you mean?” Isabella sighed. “Every time I try to get less formal with him, he runs away. He’s made it plain he’s not interested in pursuing that course.”

  “On the contrary,” said Lena.

  “How do you mean?”

  “Would you say young Mr. Elore has a gentle nature?”

  “Why, yes of course.”

  “And a poetic soul?”

  “The most poetic I’ve ever encountered.”

  “Wouldn’t it be feasible, then, that your overtures so overwhelm his sensitive nature with feelings of affection that he simply doesn’t know how to handle his own ardor?”

  Isabella’s eyes grew wide. “Could I have that much of an effect on him?”

  Lena smiled. “I have it on good authority you do.”

  “Oh, Lena!” Isabella took her friend’s hands. “What must I do then to sway his delicate heart?”

  “Perhaps a poem to win the poet? Something that allows you to express your feelings for him without overwhelming him with your beauty at the same time.”

  “But I’m terrible at poetry. I adore it, but I couldn’t rhyme a couplet if my life depended on it.”

  “Then I will help you,” said Lena.

  Isabella squeezed her hands. “Would you? When should we do it?”

  “Why not now?” Lena produced a small notebook and pen from her pocket.

  Isabella’s eyes narrowed. “There’s some scheme at work here.”

  “Scheme, Miss Ficollo?” asked Lena. “I’m not sure what you mean. I always have pen and paper on hand.”

  “In the three years we have been together, I have never known that to be the case.”

  “Very well,” Lena said gravely. “Then may I ask you to simply trust me this once?”

  “Silly Lena,” said Isabella, taking the pen and notebook. “I trust you always. Now, how should it begin?”

  * * *

  “What do you mean, there’s a plan?” Brice whispered to Arlo. The Elores were far ahead of them, but Brice was never one to take chances. And at the moment, that was the problem.

  “I mean exactly that,” said Arlo. “Lena, Zeke, and I have devised a scheme to get Franklyn and Isabella together that requires your help.” Arlo decided it would be premature to let him know that far more than his help would be requested. “And don’t chew your nails.”

  “What?” Brice guiltily pulled his hand away from his mouth.

  “Lena said when I sprang this on you, you might be tempted to fall back on nail-biting as a means of coping.”

  “Nonsense.” Brice turned up his nose in disdain. “And so is this whole wretched idea. What business is it of ours if Franklyn and Isabella get together or not?”

  “Don’t be like that, Brice,” said Arlo. “Think of the looks of joy on their faces when they’re finally united.”

  “Think of the cooing and giggling and hand-holding,” said Brice. “The public displays of affection.”

  “I promise you’ll hardly notice,” said Arlo, who was of the firm belief that the only people who disliked seeing other people kiss were those not being kissed themselves—something he hoped to remedy for Brice. “Look, all I need you to do is take the good doctor ahead while I work on Franklyn.”

  Brice gave him a disgruntled look. “This won’t end well.”

  “That depends on your personal feelings regarding the fulfillment of true love,” said Arlo.

  “Fine,” said Brice. “But you owe me. All three of you.”

  Arlo winked. “Agreed. Now, let’s catch up with our guests.” They hurried toward the Elores as they made a turn.

  “The history of garden mazes is a curious one,” the doctor was saying to Franklyn.

  “Mmm,” said Franklyn, who did not seem at all interested.

  “Really, doctor?” asked Brice, with perhaps more enthusiasm than might realistically be expressed. “I’d be so grateful to know about it!”

  “You would?” asked the doctor.

  “I always love to impart tidbits of knowledge on guests.” Brice smiled. “It gives them a more well-rounded experience here at the Hotel del Arte.”

  The doctor looked pleased. “That is certainly an insightful and admirable goal. Very well, then. I believe the first true hedge mazes were constructed in the mid-sixteenth century, although there are some gardens with mazelike qualities dating back to as early as the fifteenth…”

  As the doctor began her discourse, she and Brice moved slowly ahead, while Arlo and Franklyn lagged behind.

  “You’re the new pool boy, right?” Franklyn asked.

  “Arlo Kean, at your service, Mr. Elore.”

  “Second day on the job, Arlo, and already being invited on special events. You must have made quite an impression.”

  “I’m happy to say, Miss Cole finds me indispensable.”

  “Is that so?” Franklyn looked impressed. “Lena Cole is a devastatingly intelligent and capable woman. You could not come more highly recommended.”

  They had reached a four-way intersection in the maze. The doctor and Brice turned to the west. Franklyn was about to follow them when Arlo said, “Mr. Elore, do you see that?” He pointed to a rolled-up piece of paper sticking out of the hedges in the north corridor,
where Zeke had notified him by text that he’d planted it, after retrieving it from Lena.

  Franklyn stopped and stared at it. “A note of some kind?”

  “Should I retrieve it, sir?” asked Arlo.

  “Do you think we should?” Franklyn asked nervously.

  “Fortune favors the bold,” said Arlo. Without waiting for further waffling, he pulled the paper from the hedge. He unrolled it and made some small show of surprise. Nothing too dramatic. “It appears to be addressed to you, sir.”

  “Me?” asked Franklyn, with the sort of surprise normally reserved for statements like “You have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

  Arlo held out the note. “See for yourself.”

  Franklyn timidly took the offered sheet of paper. Arlo was glad to see that Brice had taken the doctor down another passageway, out of both hearing and sight.

  “Oh, my…” said Franklyn. “Listen to this!”

  “Do you think that’s okay?” asked Arlo. “I’d hate to pry.”

  “I need you to hear it. To tell me if I’m awake rather than dreaming! To make sure I understand the contents of this missive and am not deluded with wishful thinking.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir,” said Arlo.

  Franklyn cleared his throat.

  To my own, dearest Franklyn:

  These gentle words are for your gentle heart.

  Forgive me if I do not play the part—

  I know I should be shy and blushing sweet,

  But Love insists I cannot be discreet.

  I offer you these lines from which we start,

  Though they be more of sentiment than art,

  For without you I’ll never feel complete.

  If you feel the same, tell me next we meet.

  With fondest love and affection, your own dearest Isabella.

  Franklyn gripped the paper, which ruffled as tremors of passion washed through him. He looked pleadingly at Arlo. “Could this be real? I have never thought life could be so cruel as to show me dreams come true, then yank them away. But neither have I ever found it to be so benevolent as to fulfill them so completely.”

  Arlo nodded shrewdly. “You’re wise to be cautious, sir. For all we know, it could have been written by someone else.”