“I’m glad you came out,” he says.
“Me, too,” I say.
“I’ve wanted to ask you out for at least two years now,” he says.
“Really?” My heart is pounding like a drum. “Why didn’t …”
“You know why,” he says.
JFK. He and JFK are good friends.
“You don’t hit on your friend’s girl,” he says.
And so Jess is handsome and sweet and civic-minded and has integrity, too. Oh, this isn’t good, Willa. This isn’t good at all.
“I’m sorry,” Jess says. “I tried staying away, but …”
“Let’s walk,” I say.
“K,” he says.
At the bottom of the beach stairs, there is no hesitation, no indecision.
There are two choices, walk right to our friends or walk left.
We turn left and head out along the deserted beach, barely lit by stars.
We don’t talk, we just walk, that “something” still screaming between us.
CHAPTER 16
“You’ve Got a Friend”
What one reads becomes part of what one sees and feels.
— Ralph Ellison
“Let’s go, let’s go, up and at ‘em, Willa!” My mother is knocking at my door.
I look at the clock. Seven thirty. Saturday morning. I can’t believe I overslept. “Coming, Mom.”
Stella wanted everyone not on the breakfast shift to report to the staff room at seven to go over, for the gazillionth time, all the details of today’s Bennigan wedding. The ceremony will be at five at the gazebo by the pond, followed by the reception.
I rush to get dressed. I stop when I remember.
Last night. The walk with Jess on the beach.
How the very moment we were out of sight from our friends, we had turned and kissed each other.
I stare at my face in the mirror. I don’t look at the picture of JFK. My eyes rest on the silver locket. The one I didn’t wear last night.
“Willa, now!” my mother shouts, and I rush to get my orders.
Tina texts me, asking where I was last night. She noticed Jess didn’t show up at the party, either. “Details,” she demands, “now.”
I quickly text her back. “I went home, didn’t feel well.”
“Oooh, poor baby,” she replies. “See ya at Sweet B at 2!”
James Taylor, signing at Sweet Bramble Books. I didn’t know Tina liked his music.
Will looks cheerful as can be at the staff meeting.
“So you’re into Tina, huh?” I say.
“You could say that,” he says. “Where did you go last night?”
“Home. I didn’t feel well. Too much pizza.” Another lie slips easily off my tongue.
“Back to Tina,” he says. “Is she tight with anybody?”
“Yes, you,” I say. “I think you’re going to have to break that poor duke’s daughter’s heart.”
“That’s what they call me all throughout the UK,” Will says.
“What’s that?” I say, taking the bait.
“Havisham the Heartbreaker.”
I roll my eyes. Will laughs. “No, really, they do.”
I think about “heartbreaker,” how it applies to me.
Me, Jess, JFK. Who’ll be the one with the broken heart?
After lunch, Will and I bike to Sweet Bramble Books for the big event. There’s already a line out the door and down the street, excited fans waiting to meet James Taylor—and buy lots of Nana’s books, I hope.
We park our bikes. “Come on,” I say to Will, and we make our way into the store.
Tina and Ruby are standing right next to the table where the famous singer is autographing books. As I get closer I hear a lady, probably Mr. Taylor’s publicist, asking Nana to please “move those two girls along now.”
“What’s going on?” I ask Tina.
I notice Ruby is holding their Beach Boys of Cape Cod album-book.
“We thought maybe JT could help us get our book published!” Tina says.
“JT?” I repeat.
Ruby rolls her eyes. “Yes, Willa. Don’t you know anything?”
“Yes, Ruby, I do. I know it’s rude to stalk an author, trying to pitch your own book idea.”
“It’s not an idea, Willa,” Ruby says, red hair flipped back, one hand on her hip. “It’s a book. And we’re not stalking. We’re talking. That’s all. She smiles her most engaging Ruby smile, shining her perfect white teeth toward “JT.”
Mr. Taylor looks over at us and smiles. He chuckles. He’s enjoying this.
His publicist, or whoever she is, is clearly not amused. She leans down to whisper something in the singer’s ear.
Mr. Taylor shakes his head. “No, it’s okay, they’re fine.”
“We’ve got a friend in you, right, JT?” Ruby says, reveling in her Ruby-esque, unabashed self-promotion.
Mr. Taylor laughs and shakes his head, looking up to greet the next person in line.
Tina walks over to Will. He says something and Tina giggles.
“Mr. Taylor,” Nana says, “let me introduce my granddaughter, Willa Havisham.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Willa,” the famous singer says, reaching out to shake my hand warmly.
“Thank you so much for coming to our store,” I say.
“Shall I sign one for you?” he asks.
“Absolutely,” Nana says. “You should see this girl’s collection of books. All she does is read, read, read.”
I smile inside, thinking to myself, Well, that’s not all I do.
“She’s going to be a famous author one day, Mr. Taylor,” Nana brags on. “Just you wait and see.”
“Good for you,” Mr. Taylor says to me. He scrawls Write your heart out, Willa, and then signs his name. He hands me the book and smiles.
What a nice man, so humble despite his fame (Ruby could take a lesson from that!) and funny and handsome, an attribute not lost on the crowd of ladies waiting with cameras for their brief moments with the star.
I turn to look. Will and Tina are gone.
“It was nice to see Tina again,” Nana says. “She hasn’t been around in a while.”
“Oh, you’ll be seeing more of her now,” I say, “now that she’s an aspiring author and has a huge crush on Will.”
I think back to how Nana would always insist I take a bag of candy for my “best friend” Tina whenever I came for my new supply of sweets.
“Tina had a great new idea for saltwater taffy flavors,” Nana says. “A summer-beach line targeted especially for teenagers …”
I think of two teenagers on the beach last night.
“Coconut Oil … Toasted Marshmallow … Chocolate Kisses …”
I think of kissing Jess, how nice it was. How very confused I am.
Back at the inn, I shower and change into a nice dress for the Bennigan wedding. I force my feet into sandals despite the fact they are shouting, “Pink sneakers, please.”
As I pass by the kitchen on my way out to the gazebo, I see Rosie hugging Darryl, then Makita. I walk toward them. They are brushing tears away.
“Please don’t tell Stella yet, Willa,” Rosie says. “She needs to be focused on the wedding today, but I found a perfect apartment for me and Lilly right near the school. I signed the lease and I’m anxious to get settled….”
“Oh, Rosie,” I say, my heart half-and-half, sad-happy for her.
She smiles at me. “It’s just the perfect place for us.”
“When?” I say.
“Tomorrow,” she says.
“Tomorrow?” I say.
“Yes. This is hard and I don’t want to drag it out. I’ve told Sam and he’s okay with it. He thinks he may have found somebody to replace me, a baker from a place he likes up in P’town.”
“Good for you, Rosie,” I say, giving her a hug. “We’ll miss you, but maybe you’ll come back to work here….”
“That’s right,” Rosie says. “Maybe I’ll be back when I graduate. L
ord knows there’s lots of good restaurants on Cape Cod. And Lilly and I will be back to visit often. We’re not going that far away.”
“Friends forever,” I say.
Rosie nods. Then a look of fear passes over her face.
“Don’t worry about my mother,” I say. “Her bark is worse than her bite.”
Salty pad, pad, pads into the kitchen, barks hello, and licks my hand.
Rosie and I laugh. “You’re so smart, Salty,” she says.
“And he smiles, too,” I say. “Watch.”
“Smile, Salty, smile.”
Rosie and I wait.
Salty shows his stuff.
“That’s right,” I say, wrapping my arms around his thick, warm, golden neck. Who cares if he makes my sundress smell like fish? “That’s my Salty Dog!”
CHAPTER 17
Like a Washing Machine
Read the great stuff but read the stuff that isn’t so great, too. Great stuff is very discouraging. If you read only Beckett and Chekhov, you’ll go away and only deliver telegrams for Western Union.
— Edward Albee
When my duties for the wedding are over, I head back up to the main house to change. I keep picturing my mother’s face deftly overseeing each note of the Bennigan affair as if conducting an orchestra. The service, the setting, the flowers, the music, the menu … the one hundred unique cakes displayed, waiting to be served…. Everything perfect. Guests gushing with praise. World-renowned wedding planner Stella Havisham, jubilant, her crown as Queen of the Braviars now back securely on her beautiful ebony head.
I think over some ideas I have for Mrs. Saperstone and Dr. S.’s wedding. There has to be something special involving books since both of them are such huge book lovers. And as for food … I’m thinking about asking some of the restaurants on Main Street to each send a platter of fancy hors d’oeuvres with book-related names—and maybe ask the guests to vote for their favorites and then I could send a write-up about it to the local newspaper….
I go out to check the mailbox.
There’s an oversize envelope addressed to me.
The handwriting is JFK’s, the return address, Florida. My heart begins pounding. I race up to my room, Salty Dog right behind me.
I close my door, plop on my bed, and tear open the envelope.
There’s no note, just his writing on the clear case covering the disc.
For My Girl
Love, Joey
A cry catches in my throat. Salty’s ears perk up. He looks at me. I pop in the song and we listen.
From the first line, I am crying. In minutes, I am sobbing.
Salty Dog barks, worried for me.
The song is beautiful. And the lyrics are good.
Does he really mean all of those things about me?
My mind flashes to last night on the beach with Jess.
“For my girl, love, Joey.”
Oh, JFK, I’m sorry.
Salty tilts his head at me.
I play the song again. I sob some more. I rush for my phone and text him.
“I love it!” I write.
I wait. No response. He must have his phone off. I wish I had his grandparents’ number. Wait, I know….
I hurry downstairs for a phone book, find the Kennellys’ number, and dial.
JFK’s mother answers and gives me the Florida number.
“Please ask him to call me, Willa,” she says. “We haven’t heard from him all week.”
My hands are shaking as I call Florida.
An older gentleman answers.
JFK’s grandfather. “Sorry, dear,” he says. “Joseph’s gone sailing with Lorna.”
Lorna. Sailing with Lorna. JFK loves to sail. After baseball, it’s his favorite thing. My mind flashes back to when JFK took me sailing and how I freaked out when I thought the boat would tip. Lorna probably loves to sail.
I picture TaylorSwiftBeyoncé–Lorna in a bikini, zipping across the waves with JFK. Then maybe they’ll share a romantic picnic on the beach.
I think of the beach last night with Jess. How sweet it was of him to have held back his feelings for me for more than two years out of respect for his friend. How noble of him. I think of how he looked at me and smiled when he caught my eyes on the dance floor. How quiet he is but yet he opened up to me last night and shared some personal things about his family as he walked me home. How his parents are having problems. He’s afraid they’re getting divorced. We talked and talked all the way up the porch steps of the inn. “I had a great time, Willa,” he said. “Thanks. I mean it, thanks.”
Oh, my gosh, I feel like I’m going to explode. My heart is like a washing machine, a jumble of feelings swishing, flipping, tumbling together round and round in the suds. I walk back up to my room. I get out my journal and I write and write, draining out the washing machine … slowly beginning to feel better as I do. Thank goodness for my journal. I don’t know what I’d do without it.
My phone beeps. A new text. JFK?
No. Jess.
He says the lady from Poppy Market called. Tonight’s band canceled on her. He and Luke are playing again.
“Come, k?” he writes.
I drop down on my bed, stare up at the ceiling, the washing machine revving up again. Joey … Jess … Joey … Jess …
Is it possible I like them both?
What should I do?
Who can I talk to?
Mariel? I wish, but I have no way to reach her and I’m not sure she’d understand.
Tina? No. We clicked last night, but what if she slips and tells Ruby and then the whole town will know?
Rosie? No. She’s got too much on her mind.
My mother? No way. Besides, she’s too wrapped up with the reception.
Sam? No.
Salty barks at me, raising his chin at the end for emphasis.
Will. Good idea. He likes teasing me, but I think if he sees how mixed-up and upset I am he’ll do the big-brotherly thing. Maybe he hasn’t left for Tina’s yet.
I go to look for him. He’s not inside. I search the grounds, no Will.
Coming back in through the hallway, the phone rings.
It’s Will’s friend Chauncey from Martha’s Vineyard. He says it’s “urgent” he speak with Will.
“I’m trying to find him myself,” I say. “Is everything all right?”
“Will’s grandmother called here. His grandfather is seriously ill. They need him back home immediately.”
Off I run to Tina’s house with Salty behind me.
Hopefully, Will is there.
CHAPTER 18
Keep It Simple, Please
A word is worth a thousand pictures.
— Elie Wiesel
Tina and Will are sitting side by side in Tina’s kitchen eating cupcakes when I find them and tell Will the news.
“Oh, no, Will,” Tina says. “I’m sorry.”
Will doesn’t say anything. He takes another bite of cupcake, then a long drink of milk. He flicks a crumb across the table. He looks up at the photo board hanging on the wall, overflowing with pictures of Tina and her family.
“Could they fit another pretty picture of you up there?” Will says, smiling at Tina.
“Yeah, they really love me,” Tina says.
“What’s not to love?” Will says.
Tina looks like she’s going to cry.
I look around the beautiful gourmet kitchen. I used to be here all the time.
“When do you have to leave?” Tina says to Will. “Maybe my dad will buy me a ticket to London. Maybe I can come with you?”
“Oh, no,” Will says, “I wouldn’t subject you to the gargoyles. They might eat you alive or dump you in the moat.”
We laugh and then everyone is silent again.
Will looks at me and tilts his head.
My heart clenches. He looks younger, scared, like he needs me to be the big sister here. “Come on, Will. We should get home.”
“Home?” he repeats, staring at me sadly.
Tina puts her arm around his shoulder.
I know what Will’s thinking. How maybe the inn and this town, Bramble, are beginning to really feel like “home” for him…. He’s got me and Mom and Sam and a pretty girl who’s crazy about him, and now he needs to head back across the pond to a cold castle that feels like a morgue and anything but a “home.”
“I’ll meet you outside,” Will says to me.
When he joins me out front, I see his face is wet with tears.
Oh, wow, I guess he and Tina really are falling in love.
When we get back to the Bramblebriar, Will says he needs some time to think. He goes to his room and slams the door.
I hurry to find Sam and tell him what’s going on.
“Oh, poor kid,” Sam says. “I’ll talk to him.”
Sam goes to Will’s room and knocks. Will lets him in. Sam closes the door. I want to go in, too, but I think Will needs a father’s advice right now.
That’s what Will needs … a father.
Later, Sam comes to see me.
“Will’s flying home to London tomorrow evening,” he says.
Will is not in his room, the porch, the game room, the kitchen.
Finally I find him in the library with Salty Dog.
Will is lying on a couch. Salty is sprawled out on top of him, his face right up close to Will’s. They look like they are having a conversation both can understand, which, of course, they are.
When Will sees me, he smiles. “I’m giving Salty instructions for smooth sailing here in America,” he says.
A sob slips from my throat. “But he’s yours….”
“He’s ours,” Will says.
I start crying.
“Don’t worry,” Will says. “I’ll be back.”
“When?” I say.
“Don’t know for sure,” Will says. “All depends on the gargoyle’s condition.”
I stifle a laugh. “You really shouldn’t call them gargoyles.”
From Willa, With Love Page 8
