A lovely summer situation. Did she just say that?
My mother laughs. “This reminds me of the summer Scott Wickstrom and Seth Muhlfelder both had a crush on me. Or was it I had a crush on them? Both, as I recall. Scott and I had been going to the movies together, and then Seth invited me sailing.”
“You like to sail?” I say.
“I used to love it,” my mother says.
I think about Lorna and JFK sailing.
“So you were dating Scott, but then Seth and you went sailing.”
“Yep.” My mother shakes her head back and forth, smiling, clearly enjoying this stroll down memory lane.
“And so what did you do?” I say. “How did you decide?”
“I didn’t do or decide anything,” my mother says. “I enjoyed the attention and giggled about it with my girlfriends and by the end of the summer, it was over.”
“Well, who did you end up sticking with?” I say. “Scott or Seth?” Scott the boyfriend. Seth the drummer. “Was Seth a drummer?” I ask.
“Gosh, no,” my mother says, laughing.
My heart is beating fast. So much rides on my mother’s answer. “And so who did you end up with?”
“Neither,” my mom says.
“What?”
“Sophomore year started and classes were challenging and there was cheerleading practice….”
“You were a cheerleader?” I say. How did I not know this before?
“Captain,” my mother says. “And then a really cute boy on the varsity basketball team, Ryan Butler, who was a junior, caught my eye and by spring I had the courage to ask him to the Sophomore Soiree and he said yes.”
“What happened to Scott and Seth?” I say.
My mother shrugs her shoulders and smiles. “They moved on and dated other people, too. That’s what you do in high school.”
“But that was years ago,” I say.
My mother swats my arm playfully. “Hey, come on, Willa. I’m not a dinosaur.”
We laugh.
“I know,” I say. “But things are different now.”
“Really?” my mother says. “Two boys liking the same girl, the same summer? One girl liking two boys at the same time? It’s an age-old story, Willa. It’s how it’s supposed to be. How will you ever know you’ve found ‘the one’ if you’ve only ever dated one boy?”
“That’s exactly what Tina said.”
“Smart girl,” my mom says.
“Yes indeed,” Sam says. He’s standing in the doorway, beaming at us. “Like mother, like daughter. Smart and beautiful, too.”
Mom smiles at Sam and when she does, I see just how very much she loves him.
“Will’s flight get off okay?” I say.
“Yes,” Sam says. “Great kid. It was nice having him here. A man can sure feel outnumbered in this family of strong women,” he says.
“Oh, Sam,” my mother says.
“How about we go out to dinner?” I suggest.
“Sounds good,” Sam says.
“I’d love some chowder and a lobster roll,” Mom says. (My mother refuses to drop the “er” and do the “a’” thing.) “Let’s hit the Raw Bar at Poppy Marketplace.”
Poppy Marketplace? What if the Buoy Boys are playing again tonight? I start to say, “No, can we go somewhere else,” but I can see my mom’s got her heart set on that lobsta’ roll.
CHAPTER 23
The Moonrise
Blessed be the inventor of the alphabet, pen and printing press! Life would be to me in all events a terrible thing without books.
— Lucy Maud Montgomery
When we pull into the parking lot across from Poppy Marketplace, I hear the music playing.
Mom reads the blackboard out front. CONCERT TONITE, THE BUOY BOYS, 7–9 P.M.
Oh, no, just what I was afraid of.
“That’s your friend’s band, right?” Mom says. She raises her eyebrows and smiles.
I nod. “Come on. Let’s go eat.”
We make our way along the crushed-shell pathway. A little boy comes toward me with a three-scoop-high ice cream cone covered with rainbow sprinkles. It’s so big he can hardly see over it. I move to prevent a collision.
The dance floor is there on the right, crowded with little ducks doing their thing. Luke is singing “California Girls,” and then a dancing mother with a baby in her arms moves, and I see him, Jess, on the drums.
I stop walking. He spots me, too. His eyes widen, surprised. I nod. He nods.
“Let’s get a table,” Mom says, and we head to Bobby’s for dinner.
I order a cup of chowder. Mom and Sam order chowder and lobster rolls.
The courtyard door swings open and who comes in but JFK’s parents, the Kennellys. There aren’t any free tables left. Mom motions for them to join us. Oh, no.
When my chowder comes, I can barely eat it. I put one oyster cracker on top at a time and swirl it around until it’s covered with soup.
The adults talk about news in town. Mum being back. Mrs. Kennelly meeting James Taylor. Plans to replenish the sand on the Spit, plans for resurfacing a beach parking lot, the controversy over the wind towers planned for Nantucket Sound. My mind drifts off. I hear Jess and Luke playing “Surfin’ Safari.”
“How are your boys doing?” Sam asks the Kennellys.
“Poor Joey’s just about had it with Florida,” Mrs. Kennelly says. “I’m sure you’ve been hearing that, Willa.”
I turn my attention to her, feeling my stomach clench at the sound of Joey’s name.
“He’s really not getting any baseball experience,” Mrs. Kennelly says, “and the heat is killing him, just stifling this time of year. He got a buzz cut, but …”
JFK got a buzz cut. Why didn’t he tell me that? I try to picture him bald.
The grown-ups order another round of drinks. They’ll be here a while. The music has stopped; the Buoys must be taking a break.
“I’m going to go walk around,” I say.
I find Jess in the pizza place. “Hey, Willa,” he says.
My heart feels all fluttery inside. “Hi, Jess.”
He’s just about to cash out. “Want a slushie?” he says. “They’re good.”
“Yes, sure, thanks.”
He pays for our order and we find a spot to sit atop a picnic table in the mini-golf area. I notice how my knees look next to his.
A group of young girls comes forward within inches of us and stops. They are all dressed up, wearing lots of sparkly stuff. They whisper and giggle and stare at Jess.
“I’ve got groupies,” he says in my ear. “They’ve been here all three nights.”
I laugh. “I see. Listen…. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it last …”
“No worries.” Jess shrugs his shoulders. “I was just letting you know. Luke and I lucked out. Some problem with whoever they booked. The crowd likes us. The manager may hire us for the summer. Good thing. I need the cash. I want to buy a car.”
“Don’t you have to be sixteen to drive?”
“I am sixteen,” Jess says. “Oh.”
“You’re dating an older guy,” he says.
The slushie slushes down my throat. “Am I? Are we … dating?”
“I’m in,” Jess says, locking those gorgeous brown eyes to mine. “What about you?”
“Jess … come on!” Luke is standing there looking annoyed. “Where the heck have you been? Let’s go, second set.”
Jess tosses his plate and cup in the trash, stands up. He touches my hand. He looks at me. “Will you stick around?” he says.
“Jess … now,” Luke says. “Come on, dude. Let’s not lose this gig.”
I am so conflicted, so confused. “I don’t know, Jess,” I say. “I’m here with my parents and …”
“No worries,” Jess says, shrugging his shoulders and walking.
“Maybe,” I call after him. I need some time to think. I watch until he is out of sight.
One of the groupies is looking up at me with this smarty
-pants smirk on her face.
“He’s way too old for you,” I say.
She tosses her head and runs off to join the other sparklers.
Instead of rejoining my parents, I walk across the street, past the Popponesset Inn, out to the beach. I turn right and head toward a lifeguard chair. I climb up and sit where Ruby sat the other night.
The water is ink blue, white frothy foam waves lapping in against the sand. A few lights twinkle offshore from distant boats. Way over there, the lighthouse beacon.
I close my eyes, breathe in and out.
What do I do about JFK and Jess?
I think about what my mother said, about what Ruby said, but what do I think? How do I feel? It isn’t their life; it’s mine. From the moment I first met him, I fell in love with JFK. But yet, I feel something so strong for Jess now. Is it love? What is love? Life was so simple when my two favorite things were books and candy. Now my two favorite things are …
A gull squawks. I open my eyes. There before me is an amazing sight…. There should be megaphones announcing this, a stadium crown assembled to watch….
The moon, a gigantic golden sugar cookie, is rising up out of the sea right before me.
A moonrise?
Oh, how beautiful.
I have seen the sunrise countless times, but the moonrise … never.
Why this moment? Why this night? Is this coincidence or a sign for me?
I think I hear a giggle. Water splashes.
Is this a mermaid gift?
Later, at home, in bed, I open Out of the Dust. It’s written in free verse, sort of like a poem. I think about how JFK loves to write rap lyrics. “It’s like poetry, but it’s music,” he says.
I put on my headphones, listen to my song. How sweet of him to write a song for me and have it recorded. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
No, actually, I don’t know what love is.
I have absolutely no idea.
Life was so easy when I was seven or eight … the age of those sparkly little “groupies” flirting with Jess tonight … scrunchie things in their hair, bags of candy in their hands.
I thought love was supposed to feel wonderful.
No one said how much it would hurt.
CHAPTER 24
Lovebirds and Love Hurts
Though reading may not at first blush seem like an act of creation, in a deep sense it is. Without the enthusiastic reader, who is really the author’s counterpart and very often his most secret rival; a book would die.
— Henry Miller
On Monday I’m not scheduled to work. I get up early and sit at my desk, sketching out plans for the S.’s wedding reception on Saturday. I need to check the lighting in the library garden. I’ll ask Sam to help me string twinkle lights among the trees. Mom will certainly let me borrow a few folding banquet tables for the buffet, and tablecloths and linens, dishes and glasses, too.
I head into town and speak with the owners of the restaurants Mrs. S. and Dr. S. are patrons of. It’s a bit too complicated to come up with hors d’oeuvres with a literary theme on such short notice, but each kindly agrees to supply a platter of appetizers for “A Taste of Bramble’s Best” in honor of the bride and groom. I promise to make little name cards saying which restaurant each dish is from. Mom already said she’d take care of the cake. I’ll borrow a punch bowl and cups from the inn. There’s a nice punch recipe in the file in the kitchen. As for the champagne toast … I’ll have to ask Sam and Mom how much champagne to buy for twenty guests. I’ll ask the S.’s what kind of music they’d like played and maybe Jess will help me put together a few sets and Mom will let me borrow her new iPod party thing…. Decorations? The garden is in bloom. The whale spoutin’ fountain is so pretty. I know…. I’ll bring pennies … give one to each guest and ask each to share a “wish” for the newlyweds and then toss the coin into the fountain. That will be a unique and original twist just for the S.’s wedding….
I look over my notes and make my To-Do list.
Outside, I bike straight to Mum’s.
She’s so happy to see me. “Come in, come in!”
She makes us tea. We sit at her kitchen table.
“How are you doing?” I ask.
I don’t mention the cancer, but Mum knows what I mean.
“I’m fine, little sister, I’m fine. I’ve got a good doctor. She says they found it early. I start radiation a week from today.”
“What can I do to help?” I ask.
“Use your life to make a difference,” Mum says, “and say ‘thank you’ every day.”
We laugh.
“I know, Mum. I got it. But what can I do for you?”
“You can check in on my man if they decide to keep me in the hospital for any reason. He’s trying to act all big and strong, but I know he’s scared.”
“Sure, Mum. I’ll come visit Riley. We’ll have him over to the inn for dinner and I’ll whup his butt at chess or bocce or croquet.”
“You’re not going to make me exercise, are you?” Riley says, coming into the kitchen.
“Morning, Mama,” he says to Mum, bending down to kiss his wife.
“Morning, sugar,” he says to me, tapping my cheek.
“Darn right she is,” Mum says. “Gotta make sure you’re as healthy as can be. You’ve got some years on me, old man. I want to make sure you’ll be rocking next to me on that porch out there when our rocking chair days come.”
Riley stands and pulls Mum up out of her chair. “Baby, we’re a long way from rocking chair days.” He takes Mum’s hand, wraps his arms around her body, and they start dancing, real slow and sexy like.
“Hmm … hmmm … it’s getting hot in this kitchen this morning,” Mum says.
“You cooking something, Mama?” Riley says.
They laugh.
“See you two lovebirds later!” I say.
Back home, there’s a text from JFK to call him at his grandparents’.
I find his grandparents’ number. I am so nervous. What if someone saw me and Jess together at the beach Friday or saw us at Poppy Marketplace last night?
JFK answers. “I miss you!” he says.
“I miss you, too,” I say.
“What’s up?” he says.
I tell him about Will having to go back to England.
“Bon voyage,” JFK says sarcastically. He didn’t like Will, didn’t trust him.
“You misjudged him, Joey,” I say. “Will is actually really nice.”
I tell him about Ruby’s mom and Mum both having breast cancer.
“That sucks,” he says.
“I know,” I say. “I hope they’ll be okay.”
“Did you go to the concert the other night?” JFK says.
He says it fast. It takes me a second to realize he really said it.
My heart starts drumming, boom, boom, boom.
“Yeah … no … well, just for a little while, but then I felt sick and went home.”
There is complete silence. Silence, silence, silence.
“Are you there, Joey?”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
There is a strange edge to his voice. Is it anger?
“Yeah, I’m here. In Florida. Thousands of miles away. And my girlfriend and a guy who I thought was my friend …”
“Wait, Joey.”
“Wait nothing, Willa. I thought we were tight. I thought you loved me.”
“I do, Joey, I do.”
Click.
He hung up on me. I redial the number. An answering machine picks up. I redial. The machine picks up again.
How did he find out? Who would have called him to tell him?
And then I know. Ruby. It had to have been. I sit. I feel physically sick inside. What have I done? Have I lost JFK for good? I rush to get the locket. I put it on. I open the two halves of the heart. I close them so Joey and I are kissing.
I collapse on my bed. I cry and cry. Oh, my gosh, this hurts.
I hate you, Ruby. I ha
te you, Ruby. Reason: You have no proof it was her, Willa. Willa: Shut up, Reason. I hate you, too.
CHAPTER 25
A Perfect Wedding
The books I read are the ones I knew and loved when I was a young man and to which I return as you do to friends…. I’ve read these books so often that I don’t always begin at page one and read on to the end. I just read one scene, or about one character just as you’d meet and talk to a friend for a few minutes.
— William Faulkner
Mrs. S. and Dr. S. process into BUC arm in arm to the music of Vivaldi. She is wearing a beautiful knee-length white lace dress with a red sash. Dr. S. is in a white tux with a red shirt and matching silk handkerchief in the top pocket.
They are glowing, simply glowing, so very, very happy.
The ceremony is brief. The readings are from their favorite poets.
Mum’s short-sweet sermon speaks to the beauty of two kindred spirits finally finding each other in the autumn of their lives.
“This is your time,” she says in that warm, melodic voice that almost sounds like she’s singing. “This is your time. Your perfect time. All that was before has led you two together. To honor and love and treasure each other. To enjoy this delightful season. Autumn. Amazing autumn.” Mum pauses and seeks the face of her own beloved, Riley. He smiles and nods and she nods back.
“Of all the seasons,” Mum continues, “the autumn is God’s finest. The trees don their fanciest, most colorful robes and dance all night and day.”
The library garden is lit by the hundreds of twinkle lights Sam helped me to string earlier. He had held the ladder so I could do most of it myself.
There are small vases of flowers from the Bramblebriar gardens and votive candles on each round table.
The food is delicious. Everyone is so pleased.
I circulate, quietly giving each guest a penny and telling them the plan.
Sam pours champagne into flutes. Ginger ale for me.
I clear my throat. “I’d like to offer a toast.”
From Willa, With Love Page 11
