“Here you go, kids,” Edith said, handing them their cones. Marigold slid some money over the counter, and they all tasted their ice cream.
“Yum!” Zinnie said. It tasted a lot like Aunt Sunny’s brownies—chocolaty with a peppermint finish, but nothing could be as good as the real ones, straight from Aunt Sunny’s oven.
“This is so good I think I’m going to cry,” Lily said, and everyone laughed.
“Glad you approve,” Edith said. “Now, I’d love to catch up and find out what you’ve been up to all summer, but I’m hoppin’ like a flea on a griddle this afternoon. So come by some morning, and we’ll have a longer conversation.”
“Bye,” Marigold said as she and Peter and Lily all headed outside.
Zinnie lingered. “I know you’re busy, but one more thing.”
“What’s up, buttercup?” Edith asked, holding a finger in the air to give the customer next in line the one-minute signal.
“Who’s that?” Zinnie asked, gesturing to the girl in the booth. After all, if she was going to have to find another three adventures this week, she had to get started.
Edith gave the girl a long look and then shook her head. “Probably just a summer person. You know, I have people coming over from the Vineyard to try my ice cream.”
“She looks . . . interesting,” Zinnie said.
“Ask her name,” Edith said with a shrug. “Make a friend.”
Zinnie thanked Edith and walked toward the booth. The girl’s head was bent over her notebook as she sketched something—it looked like she was drawing a comic book panel. Zinnie was about to tap her on the shoulder when she thought better of it. She didn’t want to interrupt her. She knew that focused expression—it was that of someone deep in the creative process, and she wasn’t going to get in the way. She moved through the crowd and out the door, where she saw her sisters and Peter. She walked as quickly as she could to catch up with them without dropping her ice cream.
9 • Rathbone’s News
Marigold basked in the glow around Peter and herself as they walked toward Aunt Sunny’s house, eating their ice cream and soaking up the late afternoon sun. It was kind of hard to eat an ice cream cone while holding hands with someone, and their palms were starting to get a little sweaty, but they were managing somehow. Marigold didn’t want to let go, and it seemed like Peter didn’t want to either, even if it slowed them down. Zinnie and Lily had finished their ice cream a minute or two ago and had run ahead to Aunt Sunny’s house to tell the story of how her surprise brownie recipe had become an ice cream flavor. Marigold and Peter were alone for the first time this summer. She was so much in the moment with him that she almost didn’t recognize the figure approaching from the opposite direction: Philip Rathbone, the film director.
As he came closer, Marigold felt her palms tingle with nervousness. She noticed that he was starting to look a little more like a local instead of a famous Hollywood director. He’d ditched his jeans for cotton shorts, his black button-down for a Pruet T-shirt, and his fancy loafers for scuffed-up boat shoes. He was even wearing a Red Sox cap, which was basically part of the local uniform. Peter, who must have noticed that Marigold’s palm was getting sweatier by the second, let go of her hand and discreetly wiped his own on the back of his shorts.
“You okay?” he asked.
Marigold nodded.
“Mr. Rathbone,” Marigold said as they were about to cross paths. “It’s me, Marigold Silver.”
“Of course,” Mr. Rathbone said as he walked toward them. “I remember you.” Marigold smiled and breathed a sigh of relief. She supposed a part of her might never get over the moment when he didn’t recognize her last summer after he’d broken her heart by cutting her from a movie. Even though this was their third summer in Pruet, it still amazed Marigold that the Philip Rathbone, one of the most successful directors in the world, had a summerhouse nearby. The Silver sisters were used to living near celebrities in Los Angeles. They often saw them around—at the Farmers Market or in the cool vegan restaurant up the street—but because Pruet was so small and special, this was different. This was actually knowing one.
Of course the sister who knew him best, the one who he’d never forget, was Zinnie because she had saved his nephew, Cameron, from drowning in the harbor last summer. Marigold had read somewhere that if someone saves the life of a person you love, he or she becomes totally unforgettable. Like, even if you wanted to forget about him or her, you couldn’t.
“Nice to see you again, Marigold,” Mr. Rathbone said.
“How’s Cameron?” Marigold asked.
“He’s doing great. He’s up in Maine this summer, having a blast at a sleepaway camp.”
“Cool,” Marigold said. She was about to tell him that she’d been accepted at PAM and was starting next year when Mr. Rathbone turned to Peter.
“Who’s your friend?” Mr. Rathbone asked. He smiled at Peter, who was just as tall as he was.
“I’m Peter Pasque,” Peter said, extending his hand for a shake.
“No kidding,” Mr. Rathbone said as he shook his hand. “You aren’t by chance related to Jean and Mack Pasque, are you?”
“They’re my parents,” Peter said.
“Of course,” Mr. Rathbone said. “You look just like your father. How funny to run into you. I was having lunch with your folks just a few hours ago.”
“Really?” Marigold asked. She wasn’t sure why, but it was hard to imagine the three of them at the same table. Mr. Rathbone was so Hollywood—he looked like he ate nothing but sushi—and Mack and Jean were just so Pruet. She was sure they preferred to eat fish they caught themselves. She tried to imagine what they might talk about.
“They didn’t tell me they met a new member today,” Peter said. “We don’t get a lot of new members around here. It’s pretty much the same crowd year after year. What kind of boat do you have? A schooner? A sloop?”
“Oh, I don’t know the first thing about sailing,” Mr. Rathbone said. “And I don’t have a boat because I get seasick.”
“Then why’d you join the yacht club?” Peter asked.
“I didn’t join the club. I’m renting it out for next ten days. I’m directing a new TV show, and when the writers came up with the idea of an episode that takes place in a seaside town, I thought that Pruet was the perfect place to set it—and film it.”
“How exciting!” Marigold said.
“It is,” Mr. Rathbone said. “Pruet is an ideal location. There was another spot up on the Cape that was going to let us use their yacht club, but then my niece told me that she thought this was a much better location. And she was right. It is.”
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Peter said. “Will you just be using the yacht club, like, before it opens in the mornings or something?”
“We’ll be using it all day, every day, for ten days,” Mr. Rathbone said.
“That can’t be right,” Peter said. Marigold watched as his neck turned red. “See, the yacht club is where our sailing team practices. We have races all the time. Our tricentennial regatta is in two weeks. How are we going to win if we have nowhere to practice?”
Marigold noticed that his accent seemed more pronounced.
“Hmm. I don’t know,” Mr. Rathbone said. “Your parents didn’t seem concerned about this.”
“I just don’t see why they would rent it out now,” Peter said as he played with the bill of his Red Sox cap.
“I don’t know what to tell you except that when I made my offer, your parents assured me that it would not only cover the lost business, but allow them to do some much-needed construction on the roof,” Mr. Rathbone said. He tilted his head and was smiling, as if to offer an apology to Peter, but Peter’s brow furrowed and his jaw flexed. “I know the storms here this winter were brutal and definitely took their toll.”
“Um, maybe you can still use the docks? You won’t need the docks all the time. Right, Mr. Rathbone?” Marigold asked hopefully. But he just shook his head.
&
nbsp; “Not all the time. I’ll have to check the production schedule. Hopefully, we won’t cause too much trouble for you, Peter.” Mr. Rathbone shifted his stance. He was starting to look uncomfortable. “Anyway, I have to run. I’m actually meeting my producers at the yacht club right now.”
Peter stood totally still, and Marigold could feel frustration wafting off his body.
“One more thing,” Marigold said to Mr. Rathbone as he was walking away. “Will you be doing any casting here?” She knew her question would probably annoy Peter, but she just had to ask.
“Yes. Mostly extras, but a few speaking parts, too. I know there are some professionals here.” He winked at her. “And I want to help the community as much as possible.”
With that, he turned around and headed toward the yacht club.
“‘Help the community’? Gimme a break. What about our regatta? And where are people supposed to keep their boats if he’s using the docks, too?” Peter asked. His voice had an edge to it that made Marigold’s stomach knot up.
Marigold was caught between two feelings. She was empathizing with Peter, who was clearly distraught, while at the same time tingling with excitement at the prospect of acting for Mr. Rathbone and being on a set.
“There’s no way this is true,” Peter said, shaking his head.
“It’s only for ten days,” Marigold offered.
“During summer!” Peter said.
“I’m sure your parents have a plan,” Marigold started.
“This is awful,” Peter said. He threw his ice cream into a nearby trash can. “I need to talk to them.”
“Peter, wait!” Marigold said, her ice cream dripping all over her fingers.
“I gotta go,” he said, and broke into a run.
10 • A Moment with Aunt Sunny
“Are the creative juices flowing this morning?” Aunt Sunny asked the next day as she emerged from the back door carrying two mugs of coffee. Zinnie was sitting at the picnic table under the tree, putting the final touches on her first blog post. “The Great Bat Caper,” as she’d titled it, had been a fun post to write. She’d actually made herself laugh as she typed, recalling Marigold’s shrieks and Lily’s annoyance at her sisters’ reactions to the “poor, innocent bat.”
As she hit “publish,” she smiled up at Aunt Sunny, who was still in her bathrobe. She placed the two mugs of coffee in front of them. It wasn’t real coffee—which is what her mom called the kind with caffeine. This was Aunt Sunny’s special morning drink, which she made both for herself and Zinnie: half decaf coffee and half warmed-up milk, with two generous teaspoons of sugar, stirred well, with a sprinkle of cinnamon on top.
“You look triumphant,” Aunt Sunny said as the early morning light filtered through the leaves of the beech tree. The neighborhood was starting to wake up. More birds joined the chorus, and in the distance Zinnie heard a lawn mower.
“I just published my first post,” Zinnie said, and sipped the delicious coffee.
“That is a triumph,” Aunt Sunny said. “Since you’re finished, may I join you?”
“Of course,” Zinnie said. She loved how Aunt Sunny always treated her writing as though it were just as important as any other person’s work.
“Tell me about this project,” Aunt Sunny said. “You started to yesterday, but we were interrupted when Marigold arrived with the big news about Mr. Rathbone.”
Zinnie was surprised when Marigold had come home so quickly yesterday, especially since it seemed like she and Peter would want at least a few hours to stare into each other’s eyes. If Max were her boyfriend, would they do that too?
“I still can’t believe that Mr. Rathbone will be shooting scenes for his TV episode at the yacht club,” Aunt Sunny said. “Jean says Peter is not happy about it. But anyway, I want to know what you’ve been writing about. Tell me, what is the theme of your blog?”
“I’m going to be comparing summer on the East Coast to summer on the West Coast. My idea is that each post will be about a summer adventure I have, first here and then in L.A.,” Zinnie told Aunt Sunny. “But because we’re only here for about two weeks, I need to have four adventures a week. I’ve got the first one down, but I’m a little worried about trying to have so many adventures in such a short period of time. I’m hoping the adventures will find me, like the way the Great Bat Caper did, but I think I might need to seek them out somehow.”
“I see what you mean,” Aunt Sunny said, taking a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “Let’s think about this. I’m sure Mr. Rathbone’s TV episode will drum up some action.”
Zinnie nodded. “I couldn’t stop thinking about headlines last night. Like, ‘L.A. Meets Pruet,’ ‘Sailing into Hollywood,’ ‘Big Lights in a Small Town.’”
“You’re a born writer,” Aunt Sunny said. “And then, of course, there’s the fun fourteenth.” Aunt Sunny’s face broke into a huge smile. “Three intrepid sisters and their trusty aunt Sunny take to the river in a great family tradition!”
“True,” Zinnie said. There was bound to be adventure on the fun fourteenth. She could tell that Marigold wasn’t that excited about it, so Zinnie was going to be extra enthusiastic. The fun fourteenth clearly meant a lot to Aunt Sunny, and the idea of hurting her feelings was too terrible to contemplate. Zinnie was determined to have enough eagerness for both herself and Marigold—she’d learned how to make a fire and pitch a tent during her wilderness weekend in the Angeles National Forest, and she was ready to show off her skills. “It’s going to be so great! I can’t wait!”
“Me either,” Aunt Sunny said. “And then the tricentennial, of course! That’s four posts right there.”
“But what about the others?” Zinnie asked. “I can’t just wait for adventures to find me. Do you have any ideas for places I could go looking for some?”
“I’m sure I can think of something. But we need more minds on this task. I can spread the word,” Aunt Sunny said.
“Edith can help,” Zinnie said, the idea coming to her with pleasing speed.
“And maybe people can email you with suggestions,” Aunt Sunny added.
“That would be awesome,” Zinnie said, sighing with relief. Aunt Sunny knew everyone in Pruet, and with more people brainstorming, four additional adventures felt more than possible. They felt inevitable.
11 • Sunshine of the Night
“Aha!” Aunt Sunny said, holding a red lantern out for Marigold. “I knew I’d find it if I looked hard enough! Isn’t it a beauty?”
“Yes, it’s so cool and . . . vintage,” Marigold said, mustering up as much enthusiasm as she possibly could for an old camping lantern.
“My sisters and I called this lantern ‘sunshine of the night,’ because it shone so brightly for us,” Aunt Sunny said wistfully.
They were in the kitchen, where Marigold had just put a batch of peanut butter cookies into the oven. Zinnie and Lily were in town picking up some ice cream to go with the cookies for dessert, and Tony was outside grilling the fish he’d caught that afternoon. Peter’s family was coming over for a picnic tonight, and Marigold was hoping the cookies might cheer him up about the yacht club.
“It hasn’t seen the light of day in thirty years, but I bet with a little TLC, we’ll have it working in no time,” Aunt Sunny said, gazing at the lantern as if it was made of gold instead of rusty metal.
“Awesome,” Marigold said.
“Just the sight of this lantern fills me with memories of my sisters, and now I get to pass it on to you,” Aunt Sunny said, wiping off the dust with a dish cloth. “As the girl of honor, you’ll be the one to guide the rest of us.”
“I can’t wait,” Marigold said a little too loudly. She was trying hard to appear enthusiastic for Aunt Sunny, but she was having a hard time getting excited about her fun fourteenth. In fact, she was dreading it.
Camping wasn’t her thing. Zinnie was the one who was into it. Marigold preferred to sleep indoors, in a bed, and with a bathroom nearby. What was so great about sleeping outside?
“We’ll dig a latrine,” Aunt Sunny said, as if this were no big deal.
“Okay.” Oh no, thought Marigold, and she smiled even more broadly to cover up her disgust. Since the whole idea was to celebrate her growing up, shouldn’t she have a say in this? “I have an idea,” she said as Aunt Sunny cleaned off the various small parts of the lantern. “Wouldn’t it just be easier if we camped in the backyard? We could still roast marshmallows there, right? And I hate for you to go to all this trouble.”
“It’s no trouble at all!” Aunt Sunny said as she used some Windex to clean the lantern’s glass sides. “I’ve been looking forward to this ever since I had the idea this spring. You deserve to be celebrated, and I think you’ll love the river. There’s something about this ritual that is deeply enlightening. Sometimes we need to take a journey to find what we didn’t even know we were looking for.”
“Oh,” Marigold said. The only thing that would make this truly fun, she thought, was if Peter could come, too. To sit under the stars with Peter, late into the evening, would be awesome. In fact, it would be totally unforgettable.
“Anyone home?” Jean called from the hallway. “It smells heavenly in here!”
“We’re in the kitchen,” Aunt Sunny called back. Marigold’s heart beat faster in anticipation of spending time with Peter, who she hadn’t seen since they’d run into Mr. Rathbone yesterday. She was really hoping he would hold her hand again. “Check out what I’ve unearthed!”
“Hi,” Marigold said as the Pasque family walked into the kitchen. Jean was carrying a green salad, Mack held a couple bottles of sparkling water, and Peter trailed behind with a potato salad. One look at his pale face told Marigold that he was still distraught. “I’m making peanut butter cookies.”
“Cool,” Peter said, and smiled, but Marigold couldn’t feel his smile the way she usually could. Normally, the sight of it spread sparkles to her fingers and toes. But tonight it was as if something inside him had been tamped down. Was it just his disappointment over the yacht club, or had he for some reason decided he didn’t like her anymore?
The Silver Moon of Summer Page 5
