Willa by Heart
Also by Coleen Murtagh Paratore
The Wedding Planner’s Daughter
The Cupid Chronicles
Mack McGinn’s Big Win
26 Big Things Small Hands Do
Catching the Sun
SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2008 by Coleen Paratore
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Book design by Daniel Roode
The text for this book is set in Berkeley.
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Paratore, Coleen, 1958-
Willa by heart / Coleen Murtagh Paratore.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: As her freshman year nears an end, fourteen-year-old Willa finds herself helping plan two weddings, auditioning for Our Town, organizing a book drive, fighting jealousy over her boyfriend’s beautiful new friend, and preparing to become a big sister.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-4076-0
eISBN-13: 978-1-439-10379-1
ISBN-10: 1-4169-4076-6
[1. Weddings—Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations—Fiction. 3. Hotels, motels, etc.—Fiction. 4. Theater—Fiction. 5. Pregnancy—Fiction. 6. Cape Cod (Mass.)—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.P2137Wil 2008
[Fic]—dc22
2007016203
To my beautiful sister, Noreen Mahoney, with my deepest admiration. I love you, Neen.
—Col
Contents
1 Lucky Days
2 Talk About Surprises
3 Maybe She’s a Mermaid
4 My Town
5 Entire Towns of Butterflies
6 The Mystery Girl
7 The Other Side of Bramble
8 Ding-Dong Ding-a-Ling Happy
9 Come Home Cape Cod
10 Beach Date
11 “Mare”
12 Sixteen Bridesmaids
13 Fly, Mama, Fly
14 Auditions
15 The Real Emily
16 Mother’s Day
17 Drawing in the Sand
18 Three Favors for Mum
19 The Lead
20 Summer on Old Cape Cod
21 Cheesecakes
22 Twelve Secret Ingredients
23 Suzanna Jubilee’s Wedding
24 Two Stars Crossing
25 Mum’s Wedding Present
26 I’ve Lost Him
27 Just Follow the Sunny Road
28 Father’s Day
29 Opening Night
30 A Welcome Wash-Ashore
31 A New Day
“Willa’s Pix 3”—Recommended by Willa Havisham
Acknowledgments
When life throws you a pit, plant a cherry tree.
—Willa Havisham
CHAPTER 1
Lucky Days
We’ll begin at dawn.
—Thornton Wilder, Our Town
When I see the sun rise out of the sea, sometimes I think I will burst with thanks for a world so lovely as this. There is such hope in that moment, such possibility.
Before the sun comes, I sit alone on the cliff, staring at the rainbow ribbons out where the water meets the sky, and I wait with the wind and waves, the gulls and fish, the morning star, even the moon sometimes, we’re all together waiting, waiting, until, at some silent moment, the horizon hatches before our eyes and a diamond bird of light bursts upward, wet and shining from its sea-mother nest.
Promise me you will watch the sunrise at least once in your life.
It is a miracle. God grand.
If I miss the sunrise but I am still the first to arrive on the beach, those are lucky days too. I sink my foot in the sand like a flag, an explorer claiming new land. I survey the scene before me and smile. Mine, all mine.
This morning I walk out onto the Spit, a narrow peninsula about a mile long, the Atlantic all around. Bay on one side, ocean on the other. I know this place by heart.
Today I start on the bay path, the calmer, peaceful side. The wind blows soft against my cheeks, the waves lap gentle as a lamb. On the other side, on some days, the surf soars and wind roars mighty as a lion. And all that separates the lamb and the lion is this little strip of land.
Just sand, really. Grains of sand. Millions and millions of them.
Alone, each is barely visible. Together they make a beach.
Once upon a time the Spit was so big there were hotels along it. Hurricanes and nor’easters have taken their toll. So has the pounding of countless feet, beachcombers like me. Each year the Spit gets skinnier. It could wash away any time now. One good storm might do it. It’s important that its backbone, the sand dune, stays strong.
The sand dune runs spinelike down the center of the Spit. When I was little, the dune was a mountain, thrilling and forbidden. Up, up, up I would plod, stand panting victoriously proud on top, then run slip-slide-giggling down.
Now the mountain is a hill. I can see across it in spots.
Frosting the dune is a field of sea grass, long, flowing green hair. Small birds, gray-and-white plovers and terns, for some reason choose to nest here. Then, once they do, those silly little birds imagine they are bigger than they are. They fight bravely to fend off heavy-pawed dragon-dogs running free from their owners’ leashes and the aerial assaults of seagull monsters searching for breakfast eggs.
Yesterday was warm for April. It is cooler this morning. Feathers of fog flit past me like fairies. I swipe them away and laugh.
When I was little and first came to Cape Cod, summers to visit Nana, fog used to scare me. Fog wasn’t weather at all. Fog was a ghost that would swallow me up if I didn’t hurry home and hide. Now fog seems ethereal, romantic.
I reach for the silver heart, the locket Joseph Frances Kennelly, JFK, gave me on Valentine’s Day. He looked so handsome that night, brown hair skimming the collar of his tuxedo, blue eyes glittering in the firelight. I thought I might faint. I kept telling myself, Breathe, Willa, breathe.
He knew I was disappointed when I opened the locket and it was empty. Two halves of a heart, no pictures. The dimple on his cheek deepened as he smiled. “The girl decides who to put in it. But … I hope you decide it’s me.”
“Oh, it’s you,” I said, and I kissed him. I kissed him first. Then we danced in the barn, just the two of us, the most perfect night of my life.
When I reach the tip of the Spit and turn, I can almost feel the ocean current shift. I am on the lion side now. Wind fills my ears and whips my hair back. I close my eyes and breathe it in. Everything seems more alive here. Louder, faster, saltier. Two seagulls are trying to out-squawk each other, battling for the same poor scuttling crab. No fishermen this morning, not a single boat. Maybe a storm was forecast.
On clear days as I walk, I look for beach glass and orange-and-yellow jingle shells. Sometimes I find buoys, lures, castle pails. Last week an emerald earring, just one.
The fog is getting thicker now. It wets my face like rain. I pick up my pace. I’m late anyway. I’m on breakfast duty at the inn.
<
br /> My family owns the Bramblebriar Inn, just outside the center of town. I hope Rosie is making blueberry pancakes, warm maple syrup, sausage on the side … wait … there’s something ahead there on the jetty, out on the final rock. I walk forward, the fog growing thicker. It’s hard to see anything clearly.
As I get closer, I can see it’s not a fisherman, no pole. How odd to be just standing there out on the edge of a jetty on a morning like this. How curious.
I walk closer. The figure turns. It is a girl, about my age. She looks familiar, but I’m not sure. “Hi,” I shout over the wind. The girl stares at me. She cranes her head forward, side to side, looking, as if she, too, is trying to see if she knows me.
I reach the jetty and nearly slip as I step up onto the first boulder. The fog is thickening like pudding. The girl is motioning to come closer, or maybe just waving. I guess we do know each other. “Hi,” I say again, louder. I hop over to the next boulder, then the next, careful not to slip. Wouldn’t want to fall in on a day like this, not able to spot jagged rocks and coral, not to mention the eels. I hop across to another flat spot.
Just then there’s a break in the fog. I can see her face. Dark eyes and skin, long curly black hair. She is beautiful. The girl smiles as if we know each other. I have never seen her before. The wind is picking up, waves crashing in louder, must be nearly high tide. These last several boulders will be covered with water soon. It won’t be safe to stand. “Hi,” I say again.
The girl nods and then turns back toward the sea. She spreads her arms wide like a heron before flight, then raises them above her gracefully and dives.
What? It’s too early in the season to swim. Even for the bravest, Cape water won’t be warm for months. I leap onto the next rock, then the next, and when I reach the last, I look down. I don’t see her anywhere.
I stand there looking, looking. She has to come up for air. I call to the foaming water, “Hey! Are you all right?” Did she swim left or right or straight out? I search and search. It starts to rain. Shivering, I zip my jacket, pull up the hood. I keep scanning the water. “Hello. Are you okay?” Where is she? Why hasn’t she surfaced? My heart is pounding. What if she hurt herself? What if she …
I head back fast along the slippery rocks, and when I reach the beach, I start running, eyes glued to the water as I go. Where did she go? Why doesn’t she come up for air? I’m definitely late now. Mother will be mad. I run toward the beach stairs. My bike is at the top. I’ll phone for help at the nearest cottage. As I run, I stare, eyes burning, fixed on the water, searching, searching. Where is she?
And then all of a sudden, the girl’s head pops up. She looks toward the shore like a carefree harbor seal. I run to the edge of the water and scream, “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she shouts, treading water, wiping hair away from her eyes.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.
“Yes,” the girl shouts, sounding annoyed. “Are you?”
CHAPTER 2
Talk About Surprises
Anything serious goin’ on in the world since Wednesday?
—Our Town
Am I okay? Am I okay? Unbelievable. I’m fuming as I bike home, cold in the rain. Here I was worried about her, trying to help her, and she acted mad at me! Who was that girl, anyway? And she was on my beach, my beach.
It isn’t until I turn the corner on to my street, see the old stone fence and the Bramble Board message, SPRING FORWARD TOWARD YOUR DREAMS, that I feel myself calming down. A girl couldn’t ask for a nicer home than the Bramblebriar Inn.
Happy yellow daffodils, cheery pink and purple tulips, line the winding driveway. I park my bike, head up the porch stairs. Mmmmm, breakfast smells delicious.
When my mother married Sam Gracemore last year, we renovated his grandmother’s old estate and opened the Bramblebriar Inn. People in town said we’d uncovered a treasure. Mom gave up her wedding-planning business and Sam gave up teaching to run the place. I help in the kitchen and take care of the library, the game room, and the Bramble Board.
The Bramblebriar Inn is elegant, but warm and cozy, too. When our guests come back to visit us, again and again, we welcome them home like family.
The main house is three stories high, white with green shutters, four tall brick chimneys, and a widow’s walk on the back rooftop. On a clear day you can see Nantucket Sound. There are thirty rooms in the main house and several smaller buildings on the property; a renovated barn big enough for dances and parties; acres of grass, trees, and flowers; a huge, round garden labyrinth; and a pond where you can swim in the summer and ice-skate in the winter.
“Sorry I’m late, Rosie. Be right there.” I flip my wet sandals off by the door and race up to change. My stepfather, Sam, is the main chef at the inn, but we just hired Rosie to handle breakfast and desserts. My freshman English teacher, Dr. Swaminathan, went to India on family business, and Sam is substituting for him this semester. I’ll miss Dr. Swammy but I’m happy to have Sam back as my teacher again. That’s how I first met Sam. He was my seventh-grade English teacher. From the moment I met Sam, I knew he would be the perfect husband for my mother, the perfect father for me. I spent months playing Cupid, trying to get them together, and finally it worked.
I still call Sam, Sam, but I am planning on calling him Dad on Father’s Day. I think that’s the best gift I could give him. It’s been a long time since anyone called Sam Dad. Sam was married before, long ago, but his wife and son were killed in a car crash. His little boy was only two.
When I come down to the kitchen, Rosie is dicing vegetables with the flair of a celebrity chef on television. She puts me to work squeezing oranges for juice.
Rosie can’t be more than twenty. She has a baby named Liliana. Nana told me that Rosie’s husband ran off after the baby was born and never came back. Nana heard about the situation and helped Rosie get the job here.
I think it must be so sad for Rosie, having her husband abandon her like that, and so hard having to leave her baby to come here, but Rosie doesn’t bring her troubles to work. She’s friendly to me, Mom, and Sam, but she keeps her private life private.
“How was your walk, Willa?” Rosie asks.
“Okay” I say I’ll wait and tell my friend Tina about that annoying girl in the water. “What are you making, Rosie? It smells wonderful.”
“Frittatas, home fries, cranberry nut muffins.”
“Mmmm, can’t wait.”
“Morning, ladies,” Sam says, coming into the kitchen. “Willa, your mom said another magazine called yesterday. You won’t let all this fame go to your head, will you?” Sam winks at me and smiles.
“No way, Sam.” I guess I should tell you I’m something of a celebrity here in Bramble. People say I saved the Bramble Library, which I guess is true. Last September I was elected head of Community Service for the freshman class at Bramble Academy, and we had to find a way to make a difference. My friend Sulamina Mum, she’s a minister, said to pick a cause I cared about. Well, I heard that the Bramble Library was being shut down. They were going to send all of our books, Bramble books, over to the Falmouth Library. I was so mad I couldn’t see straight. That’s another thing you should know about me. I love books. I mean I love, love, love, love, love books. And that was my library, my library. No way would I let them close it.
The freshman class put on dance parties here in the barn and then a fancy Valentine’s prom to raise money, but it still wasn’t enough. It looked like the library was lost, until lo and behold, our favorite inn guests, the Blazers, of the Blazer Buick fortune, came through with the big bucks, and long story short, the Bramble Library lives.
Mom comes in freshly showered after her morning run. She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, then whispers something to Sam, and he says, “Sure, Stella, okay.”
“Willa,” Mom says, “can we talk to you for a minute?”
Rosie looks uncomfortable, like maybe she should leave, but she can’t. The guests will be expecting breakfast at
eight.
“Why don’t we go into the library,” Sam says.
This sounds serious. Oh no, what now? Is everything all right with Nana? Is everything all right with the inn? They aren’t thinking of selling it, are they?
Mom and Sam sit next to each other on the couch. He wraps his arm around her and says something I can’t hear.
“We have some news,” Mom says. “I know this may come as a bit of a surprise to you, Willa … but Sam and I … are going to have a baby.”
What? My stomach somersaults.
Mom smiles at Sam. He nods at her. The tide is changing in my brain.
Sam looks at me, tilts his head to the side, squinting his eyes like he’s trying to read my thoughts, like he’s wondering if I’m okay with this.
Talk about surprises. It was always just me and Mom. Now me, Mom, and Sam. I’ve been an only child for fourteen years. I’m a freshman in high school, for gosh sakes … And now I’m going to get a little brother or …
“Willa,” Mom says, walking toward me, “are you okay?”
I burst into tears. I hug her. “’m so happy for you, Mom. And Sam.”
When I hug Sam, he keeps his hands locked on my shoulders and stares into my eyes like he’s trying to read them. Sam knows that “happy” isn’t the only feeling I’m feeling right now. “Willa …,” Sam starts, but I shake my head no. I don’t want to spoil my mother’s joy. “I’m good, Sam. I’m late for Tina’s.”
Now I really need to talk to my best friend.
CHAPTER 3
Maybe She’s a Mermaid
I’ve got to tell you something, because if I don’t … I’ll burst.
—Our Town
When I get to the Belles’ house, Tina is up in her room sprawled out on her bed, studying the new Hotties catalog.
“Hey, Willa, perfect timing. Which bikini do you like better, this one or this one?”
I look at the bathing suits. “They’re pretty Why don’t you get both?”
“Oh good, Willa, thanks, you’re right.” Tina breathes a sigh of relief. “I was feeling a little guilty because I already ordered three yesterday and I’m reaching my card max for the month, and Daddy’s threatening to cut me off again, but hey, you can never have too many bikinis, right?”
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