Summer Days and Summer Nights (34 page)

“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.”

Franklyn examined the paper. “It does appear to be her handwriting, which I have noted in the past to possess a distinctive perkiness.”

Arlo peered over his shoulder. “It
looks
like hers. But could it be a forgery?”

“I suppose,” admitted Franklyn. “But to what end? Furthermore, the tone of the letter is very much in keeping with her speech.”

Arlo thought he heard a bit too much Lena coming through, but was grateful Franklyn was not particularly objective in his analysis. “True. So the evidence confirms that this letter is from Isabella.”

Franklyn shook his head in wonder. “How can a man be so lucky?”

“Lucky?” asked Arlo. “More like doomed.”

“Doomed? What do you mean?”

“It seems clear she means to have you for her own,” said Arlo sadly.

“Yes,” said Franklyn, a dreamy smile spreading across his face.

“With passion that deep,” continued Arlo, his voice mournful as he adopted the more poetical speech of his companion, “she will be satisfied with nothing less than the union of your two souls.”

“Do you really think so?” Franklyn stared at the note, glassy-eyed and beatific.

“I'm afraid you can kiss freedom good-bye. From now on, your lips belong to Miss Ficollo.”

“Oh, God.” Tears sprang from Franklyn's eyes.

“There, there.” Arlo patted his back. Then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Wait. Maybe if we leave this garden maze right now, you can still escape love in the arms of Miss Ficollo.”

Franklyn looked at him in horror. “You must be joking!”

“You would prefer love and Miss Ficollo to freedom?” demanded Arlo.

“I would prefer love and Miss Ficollo to all the riches in the world! To all the knowledge one could gain! You say I should avoid her embrace, but I have longed for it since the moment I first saw her. Her eyes transport me. Her voice soothes me. Her words move me. There is no one in this world I find more beautiful, more noble, or more true.”

“That's how you really feel about Miss Ficollo?” asked Arlo.

“That times a thousand and more!” declared Franklyn.

“Why have you never told her?” asked Arlo.

“It is my own damned shyness that betrays me,” admitted Franklyn. “When I look into her radiant face, words abandon me.”

“Well,” said Arlo, “you do a fine job telling her how you feel when you're
not
looking into her radiant face.”

“I beg your pardon?” Franklyn looked confused.

Arlo took Franklyn by the shoulders and spun him around. Standing a short way down the south corridor were Isabella and Lena.

“Dearest Franklyn.” Isabella's eyes were wet with tears. “Is that truly how you feel?”

Franklyn seemed frozen, unable to move. But then he broke free from the ice of his own dread. “Fortune
does
favor the bold. And so I say yes, Isabella! I have loved you for so long, I cannot remember a time when I didn't! You are my one true love, now and forever!”

“This is the part where you kiss her,” murmured Arlo, and gave him a push.

Franklyn first stumbled, then ran into Isabella's waiting arms. They kissed, long and deep.

Lena strolled over to stand beside Arlo. “So far, the plan is going well.”

“I'd say so,” agreed Arlo. “Lovely verse, by the way.”

“It was easier than I expected,” said Lena.

“Careful,” said Arlo. “Some people say love is contagious. You might start writing verses of your own next.”

“I believe my constitution can handle it,” said Lena. “But what about yours?”

“Fortunately, I have been vaccinated against love by a mixture of intelligence and good common sense,” said Arlo.

“That is a relief,” said Lena.

They watched the lovers kiss in silence.

It is this author's considered opinion that people talk entirely too much. Words, which should be used to communicate, are often used for the exact opposite purpose. As our two heroes stood next to each other, unprotected by their word shields, witnessing the union they orchestrated together, each could not help but be intensely aware of the other's presence. Of the other's warmth, of their distinctive scent, of the rise and fall of their chest. Of any perceptible movement toward them. Perhaps Arlo leaned ever so slightly in Lena's direction. We might even suppose it was unintentional. But, as all the world knows, there are naturally attractive forces between particles, and the closer the particles, the stronger the attraction. So that slight movement exerted itself upon Lena, who in turn leaned slightly toward Arlo. This continued for several minutes, the space between them gradually shrinking as the longing for each other grew. But before contact could be made, an opposing force appeared.