My stomach sinks ever so slightly as I hand over the money in exchange for the book. I think I was hoping to keep this pure, like how my mom did it, but I could still figure it out with an app.
Google Translate, maybe? It would take a while, but I guess it’s better than nothing.
“Thanks, Mr. O’Reilly,” I call as we head out the door. I’m relieved to see the rain has stopped.
Blake opens her mouth to say something, but I grab her hand, excited to get to work. The postrain humidity instantly clings to my arms and legs as I pull her down the steps and across the street.
“Strategy meeting at Hank’s. Blake, we’ve got some French to translate.”
9
Even though I’m semidry by the time we slide into a bright red booth, Judy gives us our milkshakes for free, chattering away about how I look like a limp rag.
“We missed ya last Sunday,” she says as she slides two towering chocolate shakes onto the table, her arm reaching up to lean casually against the booth.
“My dad had work,” I say, pulling the new book and my mom’s list out of my bag. “But we should be in this weekend.”
She pops her pink bubble gum and gives me a warm smile, glancing back at the kitchen to make sure her husband, Hal, isn’t listening. He’s got a thing about not telling people specials before the day or else they aren’t “special” anymore. “We’ve got your dad’s favorite on the menu. Hal’s making his meat loaf,” she whispers with a wink. She nods to Blake. “Bring your friend! I’ll make sure you get an extra-big slice.”
“All right, Judy,” I say, even though I bet the last place Blake wants to be this Sunday is eating meat loaf at Hank’s Diner with me. I’m honestly surprised she’s still here now.
But I glance across the table, shocked to see she’s nodding enthusiastically, totally game for the heartburn-inducing meat loaf Hal puts out once or twice a month. I smile to myself as Judy trots away to take another customer’s order.
I send a quick text to my dad to let him know Blake will be driving me over to the Carters’ before I begin to scroll through the translator apps available on my phone. I tap on Quick Translate, an app with 4.3 out of 5 stars, supposed to be able to take photos of words in real time and translate them. I let out a groan as the page takes a century to load. “I forgot how bad the service is here. The second you pull open those heavy glass doors, you lose about three bars.”
“What was your mom’s tattoo?” Blake asks, reaching out to take the book off the table. She flips through the pages with her thumbs, leaning forward to take a quick sip of her milkshake.
“It was on her arm,” I say, swiping out of the app store to bring up the photo of my mom from the Fourth of July. I turn it around to face her, zooming in on the words. “It says, ‘An invincible summer.’ ”
Blake studies the picture, nodding, before turning her attention back to the book, while I turn my attention back to the small blue and white app taking a million years to download onto my phone. I let out a long sigh. “This is going to take—”
“Au milieu de l’hiver, j’apprenais enfin qu’il y avait en moi un été invincible.”
My head snaps up to see Blake reading from the book in perfect French. Her eyes move from page number 158 up to meet mine, my heart hammering noisily in my chest.
“You speak French? Why didn’t you say something!”
“I wanted to, but someone was a little too eager to get over here to let me get a word in edgewise.” There’s a teasing glint in her eyes, and I feel my cheeks begin to burn. “Took it since middle school. I was thinking about maybe minoring in it in college.”
My phone pings, the pointless, no-longer-necessary app finally starting to download. “So do you know what it means?” I ask, sliding around the table and sitting down in the booth next to her.
I peer over her tan shoulder at the book, and she taps the sentence she just read aloud. “It means something like, ‘In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.’ ”
I nod slowly, taking it in, trying to find a connection. Trying to find something hidden in there. Something about her and her experience.
I squint at the words, thinking of Matt and junior prom, and the past three years without my mom, filled with ups and downs. Thinking of the taped-together SAT results I found in my mom’s box of things.
But nothing about those words makes any of that come together for me.
“Well, that’s just great,” I say, throwing my hands up. “I mean, what does that even mean? Leave it to me to tear through a bookstore, expecting this quote from some old French dude to tell me some long-lost secret about my mom.”
Blake laughs and pulls out her phone. I watch as she types the translation into it, sending the words to me in a text. She leans on her elbow, looking directly at me, her sun-streaked hair hanging over her arm. “Well, maybe that will change. It may not mean anything now, but maybe it will one day. Maybe you just need to finish the list or something first.”
“I am deep in winter, Blake! Nothing about this summer is invincible,” I mutter, reaching out to grab my milkshake and taking a long, slow sip.
“Not yet,” Blake clarifies, giving me one of her big, ear-to-ear smiles, which makes me remember how she convinced me to light a sparkler in my living room ten years ago. I have a feeling I’d probably still go along with that. “I mean, maybe it didn’t
