Sam touches my shoulder. “Don’t forget your gift,” he whispers.
“These are for you, Mum.” I hand her a bouquet of sunflowers, and then another, and another, and another and another, until the whole front seat is filled with happy, sunny yellow faces.
Two other faces look out at me.
Riley smiles and winks at me, then raises his chin and looks straight ahead.
“Oh, Willa …” Mum’s voice cracks. She doesn’t say anything for a few moments. “You are the child … the daughter I never had.”
Mum looks at me with so much love, like she’s making a mental photograph of me, every surface of her face quivering, moving, like the sea.
“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,” Mum says, sniffing. She hitches herself up higher in the seat, a smile springing out on her face.
“I’m going to toss one of these sunflowers out the window every hundred miles or so, in every state we go through. I’m going to plant seeds all the way South, so when you come to visit … soon, I hope … you’ll know right where to find me. Okay, honey? Just follow the sunny road.”
“Okay, Mum.” I smile my all-time bravest smile.
Then they pull away, waving, horn beep-beeping.
Sam puts his arm around me, safe and solid like a harbor.
At the corner the truck slows down.
Mum tosses out the first flower.
She leans out the window and waves.
She waves and waves, and I wave too, until we can’t see each other anymore.
Then Sam hugs me and I start to sob. Sam is crying too.
Sulamina Mum was the sun in Bramble.
It won’t ever be as bright without her.
CHAPTER 28
Father’s Day
GEORGE: Oh … I don’t think it’s possible to be perfect, Emily.
EMILY: Well, my father is, and as far as I can see your father is.
There’s no reason on earth why you shouldn’t be, too.
—Our Town
When Sam and I get home, Nana meets us at the front door. “Stella needs you upstairs,” she says to Sam.
I can tell something is very wrong.
“Let’s go out on the porch,” Nana says softly to me.
She sits on the wicker couch. I sit beside her. One of the guests, a nice woman, a teacher from Rochester, New York, walks toward us like she wants to chat, but then she sees the look on Nana’s face and sets off down the stairs.
“Honey, I’m sorry,” Nana says, reaching out to put her hand over mine. “I have some sad news. Your mother lost the baby this morning.”
Lost the baby. I always think that is such a stupid thing to say. Lost the baby. Well, where did you lose it? The supermarket? The post office? The dentist’s office? Where?
“No,” I say.
“I’m so sorry, Willa. I know it’s a shock.”
“No,” I say.
Nana shakes her head sadly. “The chance of miscarriage is greater when a woman is Stella’s age and …”
Miss carriage. The carriage is missing. Well, where could it be? I feel so angry I want to explode.
“You didn’t blame her, did you, Nana?” I stand up, my body shaking. “You didn’t say she should have slowed down or eaten more meat or—”
“Willa.” Nana sounds shocked. Then she reaches up and gently touches my face.
“Oh, Nana, I’m sorry,” I fall back down beside her, crying.
She smooths my hair, rocks me back and forth. “It’s all right, honey. I know, I know….”
***
Sam takes Mom to the hospital for a surgical procedure. When they come home, she is groggy and crying.
“Let’s just let her sleep,” Sam says.
In the morning I bring her a cup of tea. “Willa,” she says, propping herself up, smiling bravely, but then she starts crying.
“It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay.” I hug her and smooth her hair.
At school Tina is so kind to me. All my friends are. JFK says he’s sorry, but he doesn’t hug me. I can’t worry about him right now. My mom, my family, needs me.
Sunday is Father’s Day. Mom is still in bed.
“It was such a blow,” Nana says when she comes to drop off a casserole. Friends and neighbors keep bringing us food. I guess that’s what people do when something sad happens. They bring food.
“She was so happy, and then so sad,” Nana says. “Give her time, honey. There are many hard things to face in this world, but few harder than the loss of a baby.”
And I was going to be a big sister.
Father’s Day.
I looked forward to this day for so long. I planned to say that word, “Dad,” to Sam, but now I can’t. It would be too sad for him. For three whole months Sam thought he was going to be a new dad, a new father to a sweet, tiny baby, maybe even a boy.
I see Sam out working in the garden.
I want to talk to him.
I see Sam heading to the kitchen to start preparing dinner.
I want to talk to him.
It’s late and the last guest has finished playing a favorite song on the piano. A breeze is lifting the curtains, better to hear the crickets chirping.
Go, Willa, the voice inside me says. Go, now.
Sam is sitting in the library, his head nodding forward into a book.
“Sam?”
He sees me and smiles. “Willa.”
He isn’t annoyed that I’ve disturbed him, caught him nearly falling asleep.
I walk to his chair. I stare steel-straight into his eyes. Blue to blue.
“Happy Father’s Day … Dad.”
Sam’s lips quiver.
“Thank you, Willa. You don’t know what a gift …”
“I can’t imagine how sad you must be losing the baby,” I say. “I know how much you and Mom wanted … I did too … and I know it’s not nearly the same….”
“Willa,” he says. He shakes his head. “It is so hard to lose the baby. But the gift you are giving me …” He sucks in a deep breath and smiles his beautiful, wonderful special Sam smile.
“We chose to have a baby. But you, you chose me to be your dad. And I am deeply honored.”
CHAPTER 29
Opening Night
Look, it’s clearing up. The stars are coming out.
—Our Town
It’s June 21. Opening night for Our Town.
JFK and I finally had a chance to talk after practice the other day. I explained about how I was just dancing with Jace, and he said, “Don’t worry about it,” but I could tell he was still mad.
“Give him some time to cool off,” Tina said. “Boys have big egos. Give him some space. He’ll come around.”
How much space does he need? I can’t stand us not talking to each other.
Every night at practice as I heard him say “I love you, Emily,” staring into Mariel’s eyes, every time I watched them kiss in the wedding scene, I felt my stomach being wrung out like a towel, twisted, twisted, twisted, until every last drop dripped out.
The director finally told us her name after our final rehearsal last night.
Abilene Muhlfelder.
“Why didn’t you tell us before?” I asked.
“Because it was irrelevant,” she said. “In Our Town, I am the director. And you are the Stage Manager. And Mariel is Emily. Our other identities have no place in this theater hall. No place on this stage.”
Opening night is sold out. I find a crack in the red velvet curtains and spot them there in the first row. My family Mom and Dad and Nana.
Tina said she would be here. I’m sure she’s out there somewhere. And Mrs. Saperstone, and all my friends. I feel Gramp here too. I picture Mum, then force myself to focus. On cue I walk out onto the stage. I feel the heat of the lights on my face.
I am not Willa. I am the Stage Manager. I take a deep breath and begin:
“‘This play is called “Our Town.” It was written by Thornton Wilder; produced and directed by Miss Abil
ene Muhlfelder….’”
I finish my first lines, and other actors take the stage, and as much as I try to stay in character, I can’t help thinking, You are JFK, not George; you are Mariel, not Emily.
That night on the beach you said that when you kissed her in the wedding scene, you’d be acting, but when you kiss me, it’s for real….
And then it’s act 2, the wedding scene, and Emily—Mariel—is processing in on Mr. Webb’s arm, and she meets up with George—JFK—and they come to stand together in front of me. In this scene I play the minister. I have to marry them.
JFK and Mariel have their backs to the audience, facing me. I alone can see their eyes.
The rings are exchanged. He kisses her.
And then, for the briefest moment, JFK tilts his face ever so slightly toward me, and with the eye that only I can see—not Mariel—not the audience—JFK winks at me.
On the outside I retain the composure of the Stage Manager.
Inside, Willa and the entire towns of butterflies are doing a happy dance.
CHAPTER 30
A Welcome Wash-Ashore
This town’s gettin’ bigger every year.
—Our Town
The curtain closes on opening night to thunderous applause. The actors with the smaller roles walk back out on stage first, and then the Gibbs family, the Webb family, JFK, then Mariel, then me. I hear Mom and Nana shouting, “Bravo, bravo.” Sam whistling. Tina cheering like she’s at a Patriots game, “Go, Willa! Go, Willa!”
Backstage, Mom hands me a bouquet of yellow roses. Sam takes pictures. I see Mariel Sanchez’s father, his face brimming with pride, shaking his clenched fists victoriously in the air. Mariel is being interviewed by the arts and entertainment reporter for the Cape Cod Times. The photographer checks the spelling of her name for the caption.
Mariel was the perfect Emily. Too bad her mother wasn’t here.
I am dying to talk to JFK, but it will have to wait until after the cast party.
Abilene Muhlfelder shakes my hand. “Well done,” she whispers.
JFK’s father, Mr. Kennelly, walks toward me with a woman I have never seen before. “Willa, if you have a minute, I’d like to introduce you to Mrs. Emma Barrett.”
The pretty woman, silver white hair, pale blue gray eyes with specks of amber, maybe Nana’s age, extends her hand. “It is so nice to finally meet you, Willa,” she says.
Behind us, Mariel and her father are leaving. I don’t see JFK anywhere.
“I’ve just moved into New Seabury,” Mrs. Barrett says. “My husband and I recently retired. We’ve always wanted to live on Cape Cod. It’s been our dream for so many …”
I’m trying to focus on this nice lady, but I want to go find JFK, now.
“… and we’ve been subscribing to the Cape Cod Times,” she continues, “trying to learn as much as we can, in anticipation of becoming ‘good wash-ashores,’ as they say. We know that transplants aren’t always welcomed with open arms….”
Mr. Kennelly laughs. “You are the most welcome sort of wash-ashore, Emma.”
Mrs. Barrett smiles. “Well, thank you, Stephen. We will certainly try to—”
“Excuse me,” I say, flustered and trapped. “But I need to go. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Barrett. Welcome to Cape Cod.”
“Wait a second, Willa,” Mr. Kennelly says.
“Yes, just one moment, please,” Mrs. Barrett says. “I wanted to tell you, Willa, that my husband and I followed the story of your saving the Bramble Library. That was wonderful. And then more recently we read your editorial letter urging people to help support the work of the new Come Home Cape Cod organization, and well, we thought, good for her. Look at how one girl is making such a difference.”
This is lovely, but I really need to find my boyfriend.
“Life has been good to me and Jonathan. It’s time we gave something back.”
Good, good, good, but I really need to go …
“And so, in celebration of our fiftieth wedding anniversary, we have decided to put a half a million dollars into an endowed trust fund, from which Come Home Cape Cod will be able to draw money to build one new house a year for a deserving Cape Cod family. And I just wanted to personally thank you for inspiring us.”
“Aaaah,” I gasp, speechless.
I feel a hand on one shoulder and then on the other. Mom and Dad are behind me, eyes bright with pride. They heard the whole thing.
And so did JFK.
He is standing behind my parents with a smile on his beautiful face. He winks at me and nods toward the door like, Come on, let’s get out of here.
“Are you sure I’m still good enough for you?” JFK says. “When word gets out about this, television crews will be descending on Bramble and thousands of guys all over the country will see you on the morning news, see how pretty you are….”
Pretty … I like that. That’s light-years better than cute. But what about Mariel? And so I just blurt it out.
“Tina saw you and Mariel together on the beach the night of Suzanna’s wedding.”
“What? You mean the night you were dancing all hot and heavy with the cowboy?”
“He was the best man, Joseph. It’s a tradition. The maid of honor and best man have to dance—”
“Well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.”
“At least I didn’t kiss him. Tina saw you kissing Mari—”
“Tina’s wrong,” JFK says, angry “Tell Tina to mind her own business.”
“Well, what were you doing with Mariel, then?”
“I was being a friend,” he says. He stands up, angry, walks away a bit, turns around. “Mare was upset that night. I felt really bad for her. She had sent her mother a letter asking her to come home for opening night, telling her that she was going to play Emily in Our Town, just like she did. Her mother never responded. Mare’s letter got returned, no forwarding address. I was just being a friend, Willa. That’s all.”
CHAPTER 31
A New Day
I always say: happiness, that’s the great thing! The important thing is to he happy.
—Our Town
My alarm goes off. I look at the clock. If I hurry, I can make it.
When I get to the beach, there is already someone sitting on the top step of the beach stairs by the wild pink rugosa bushes. My spot.
Mariel smiles when she sees me.
“Good morning,” she says.
“Good morning.”
Mariel slides across the step, making room for me.
I sit down.
We stare out at the horizon.
It’s the end of June. School’s out.
Two whole long, glorious months stretching out like forever before me.
Later I’ll take my summer reading list to Sweet Bramble Books, grab a bag of taffy, then pack a lunch, head to the beach, and read all afternoon. I’ll bring my journal too. So many memories I want to capture before I forget.
JFK’s team is out on the Vineyard. Tina’s off on a shopping spree with her mother.
Maybe I’ll ask Mariel to join me.
I made a promise to Mum to be nice to her, and besides, I think we could be good friends. We have a lot in common. Maybe even more than Tina and I do.
So much has happened in the few short months since I first saw Mariel standing on the jetty. I was so angry at this mysterious girl for disrupting my perfect little world. My beach. My boyfriend. My library. My town.
Today we sit silently, lost in our thoughts, waiting for the same sun.
A red ribbon tops the orange one now. It is almost time.
Our Town was a good experience, but I don’t think acting is my talent. The reviewer said I gave “a solid if uninspired performance” as the Stage Manager, but that a Bramble newcomer, Miss Mariel Sanchez, was “brilliant in the role of Emily.” She “lit up the stage” and “conveyed an emotional depth truly stunning in one so young.” The headline read, A STAR IS BORN IN BRAMBLE.
And yet, surprisin
gly, I am not jealous. Mariel has her gifts and I have mine.
Maybe I’m meant to write the plays, and Mariel to perform them.
“Should be soon,” I say.
“Yes.”
We sit, side by side, waiting.
Mariel has as much right to be here as I do.
Bramble is her town too.
There is plenty of beach for both of us. Plenty of boys. Plenty of books.
I close my eyes and smile. I can picture it all by heart.
“Here it comes,” she says.
And then, there it is.
A new dawn.
A new day.
Thank you.
Recommended by Willa Havisham
A Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh
Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë
Leaves of Grass, Walt Whitman
My Ántonia, Willa Cather
Our Town, Thornton Wilder
Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
The Scarlet Letter, Nathaniel Hawthorne
Their Eyes Were Watching God, Zora Neale Hurston
To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
Walden, Henry David Thoreau
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum
Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë
Acknowledgments
Since my first book, How Prudence Proovit Proved the Truth About Fairy Tales, was published in the summer of 2004, followed that fall by 26 Big Things Small Hands Do, and that spring by my first novel, The Wedding Planner’s Daughter, and during the writing of the next five books, The Cupid Chronicles; Mack McGinn’s Big Win; Kip Campbell, The Funeral Director’s Son; Catching the Sun; and now Willa by Heart, I have been honored to visit with many schools, libraries, bookstores, reading councils, and other organizations where it has been a joy to talk about reading and writing and books, books, books.
Each experience has inspired me to dig deeper, and I am profoundly grateful for the questions, comments, and kindness of countless people: teachers, librarians, booksellers, parents, principals, and, most of all, the young readers who share their wisdom, energy, and enthusiasm, like fireflies, like sunflowers, like shooting stars.
Willa by Heart Page 12
