Willa: But —
Reason: You’re getting ahead of yourself.
Willa: But —
Reason: No more worrying. Be a warrior.
Willa: But —
Reason: You were headed to the beach with Hope. Now go.
Willa: Oh, all right.
CHAPTER 5
Not a Date or Anything
I wrote my first novel because I wanted to read it.
— Toni Morrison
Having hit Poppy Beach this morning, this afternoon I head for South Cape.
The beach is packed. I have to walk out quite a ways until I find a quiet spot apart from little kids playing ball or music blaring.
I spread my towel and sit down to eat my lunch—a turkey sandwich, dill pickle, blueberries, Cape Cod potato chips, and one of Rosie’s chocolate-toffee-chunk cookies. I think about Rosie, how much I’m going to miss her, but how happy I am for her and Lilly.
Slathering up with sunblock, I lie on my stomach, book propped, and read until I get sleepy. I roll over on my back to take a nap.
Later I feel something tickling my face and when I open my eyes, Tina and Ruby are standing over me. Ruby has a seagull feather in her hand. I push the feather away, wipe drool from my mouth, and sit up.
Ugh, don’t you hate it when you realize someone’s been watching you sleep?
They have also buried my legs in sand. I guess they thought that was funny, too. They stare at me, giggling.
“Where’s your brother?” Ruby asks, adjusting her earrings.
“Fishing,” I say, brushing the sand off my legs.
“I wish he’d catch me,” Ruby says, tossing back her mermaid-long red hair.
“No, me,” Tina, says, laughing, tossing back her mermaid-long blond hair.
“He hasn’t hooked up with anyone here yet, has he?” Ruby says.
“She means, is he dating anyone?” Tina clarifies as if I am in kindergarten.
“Will just got here,” I say, and then I can’t resist. “Besides, he’s dating the daughter of a duke back in England.”
“Really?” Tina and Ruby say, eyes popping, mouths dropping in awe, my hunky half brother’s star soaring even higher in their hot-boys universe.
No, just a little white lie, which never hurt a sand fly, as Nana says.
“What’s her name?” Tina says.
“I don’t know,” I answer.
“And what about black beauty?” Ruby says. “Where’s he?”
“Who?” I ask, my head still fuzzy from the nap, surprised at Ruby making any sort of literary reference. My nose feels burned; I reach up to touch it.
“That gorgeous black college guy you were talking to the other day,” Ruby says. “We heard you inviting him to your house for dinner.”
She’s talking about Sulamina Mum’s nephew, Rob. I invited him to Bramblebriar knowing Sam and Mom would love to meet him since he was related to Mum. Black beauty. Rob would smile about that. Ruby’s right; he is beautiful, tall, muscular, with tightly cropped hair, tiny diamond stud earrings, a gold cross on a chain around his neck. Black beauty. Leave it to Ruby.
“How would I know where he is?” I say.
“It’s important that we find him, Willa,” Tina says, hands on her hips, tossing her blond mane back again for emphasis.
“That’s right,” Ruby says, hands on hips, tossing her hair back, too. “We need to interview him for our book.”
I stifle a laugh at the word book for Tina’s sake only. Tina Belle was my best friend all that time before she and Ruby found more in common and I found Mariel. Their “book” is nothing more than a cheesy album sort of thing with photos of cute boys posing on lifeguard thrones or picking up a raft or running in or out of the waves. The captions underneath describe some of their favorite things, foods, cars, bands, and their favorite places to take girls on dates. Tina and Ruby are sure their “book” will be a bestseller. They want me to get Nana to sell it in her store.
“He’s stationed here at this beach, right?” Ruby says.
Rob is such a nice guy. He’s already complained about Tina and Ruby annoying him. He doesn’t want to be in their silly book. I have half a mind to send Ruby on a wild goose chase, to tell her “no, he’s stationed out at Coast Guard beach,” way out on the outer Cape, but that wouldn’t be very nice. And I’ve already told them one big fat whopping fib about Will and the duke’s daughter.
“Yes, I think Rob works here at South Cape,” I say. “Maybe he has the day off.”
Ruby raises her sunglasses and squints at me like she’s trying to determine if I’m telling the truth. “Are you sure you don’t know where he is?”
“Scout’s honor, Ruby,” I say.
Ruby rolls her eyes at me and readjusts her shades.
“And when will Will be back from fishing?” Tina says.
“I don’t know,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “I guess when he catches something.”
Tina sighs. Ruby sighs. No boys here. Their work is done.
Then Ruby feels the spark of an idea. “Come on, Teen, there’s my dad’s boat. I’ll get him to ride us over to the Vineyard. Maybe we can find Will.”
And they’re off.
I send a warning to my brother across the waves. Hide, Will, hide.
“See ya later, Willa.” Tina throws a bone back to me as she and Ruby walk away.
“Yeah. See ya later.”
I read some more Hope, then touch up my sunblock and head up the beach for a walk. Salty must have gone out on the fishing boat with Will. The Southends better have a heavy lid on the ice chest where they put their catch or Salty’ll be having sushi for lunch today, too. I bend to pick up a green mermaid tear and when I stand back up I see a boy walking toward me.
It’s Jess Farrelly; this time, I’m sure it’s him. His and Luke LeGraw’s band, the Buoy Boys, used to stink, but they’re really good now. Jess is the drummer.
“Hey, Willa, what’s up,” he says, stopping to talk.
“Nothing much,” I say, noting how cute he is, his dark hair long and windblown, a leather rope choker around his neck, cutoff jean shorts with holes ripped in them. He looks like a model for Abercrombie & Fitch. He even smells good.
Jess is staring at me. He isn’t one to make idle chatter. In fact, he rarely ever talks. The girls at school think he’s mysterious, sexy.
“Were you by any chance at Popponesset Beach this morning?” I say.
“Yeah, that was me,” he says. “I saw you.”
The way he says this makes my stomach flutter.
“You and Joe still tight?” Jess says, his brown eyes deep and brooding like I suppose a drummer’s should be.
My stomach flips. “Yes.”
“I heard he’s in Florida all summer,” Jess says.
I gulp and glance away from those eyes. “He’ll be back soon,” I say.
Why am I so nervous?
Jess picks up a shell and throws it into the water.
I notice the muscles on his tanned arm.
“Luke and I are playing over at Poppy Marketplace in New Seabury Friday night. Want to come?”
My heart beats faster. He’s asking me on a date?
“Not a date or anything,” Jess says as if reading my mind. “It’ll be just a bunch of tourist kids dancing; you know the crowd there. It’s a benefit for —”
“No,” I say, cutting him off. “I can’t.” That sure sounds like a date to me.
“Got other plans?” Jess asks.
Those brown eyes are absolutely mesmerizing. I’ve known this boy for years now; why haven’t I noticed how cute he is? Maybe he is just asking as a friend…. And then I think of JFK. My boyfriend, JFK. He’ll be calling later today. No, Willa, say no.
“No!” I shout. “I mean, yes.”
Jess looks puzzled. “What?”
“Yes, I have other plans. Sorry.”
“No worries,” he says, his brown eyes holding my blue ones in a lock. He searches my face as if he�
��s trying to determine something. He shrugs his shoulders, clears his throat, and spits. “Some other time maybe. See ya around.” And off up the beach he walks.
“Yeah, sure. See you around.”
I watch him walk away.
I wanted to say yes.
Later, back at the inn, I change into my running gear and do three miles. I keep picturing Jess’s face. Why? Stop it, Willa. Cut it out.
When I get back from my run, there’s a lady, a man, and three kids, tourists most likely, standing in front of our Bramble Board. This is the display board we have on the lawn out in front of the inn. Sam started it, but now it’s my job to change the inspirational messages. Today it reads:
If there is to be peace in the world
There must be peace in the nations.
If there is to be peace in the nations
There must be peace in the cities.
If there is to be peace in the cities
There must be peace between neighbors.
If there is to be peace between neighbors
There must be peace in the home.
If there is to be peace in the hom
There must be peace in the heart.
— Lao Tzu, 570–490 B.C.
At night when JFK calls, I start to tell him about running into Jess Farrelly on the beach, but then I don’t.
I lie awake a long time, feeling something other than peace in my heart.
CHAPTER 6
The Hot-Pink Sneakers
When you sell a man a book, you don’t sell him twelve ounces of paper and ink and glue—you sell him a whole new life. Love and friendship and humor and ships at sea by night—there’s all heaven and earth in a book, a real book I mean.
— Christopher Morley
When I wake the next morning, I look around my bedroom, my eyes resting on the jug with the yellow top on which I’ve written CHANGE FOR GOOD .
I bought the jar—it was labeled for making sun tea—at the dollar store, then cut a hole in the top. I dumped in all of the coins from my dresser drawers, purses, and school backpack, emptied out my jeans and coat pockets. I’m going to keep putting all of my spare change in there until it’s full and then I’m going to give the money to a good cause and start filling the jug all over again.
I was inspired to make CHANGE FOR GOOD after reading that book, Three Cups of Tea. Funny, isn’t it, how a book can affect you like that?
I made CHANGE FOR GOOD jugs for Sam and Mom and Nana, and then several staff members here at the inn asked for them and then my teacher, Dr. Swaminathan, and … the idea sort of took off, especially when Sam shared the idea at BUC, where he has been filling in as guest minister while the board looks for a replacement for Mum.
Mum! Oh, my gosh. I can’t wait to hug her! And Riley, her husband, such a great guy.
I think about what I was writing yesterday morning in my journal, about how I want to find my next way to make a difference in the world. What can I do? And then I got sidetracked with Rosie going and Mum coming and Tina and Ruby crushing on Will and Rob … and then with Jess on the beach. Was he asking me on a date? He said no, but it sure felt that way.
But what am I going to do? What’s my next community rent? I better come up with something soon. Mum will certainly ask me on Sunday.
Something involving books. That I know. I look at my bookcase, stocked floor to ceiling with all of the books I’ve read and loved. They are like friends to me, truly.
I get up and go look out the window. Overcast and cloudy, it won’t be a beach day, good thing. I got too much sun yesterday. My nose will be peeling for sure.
After breakfast duty, I bike into the center of town.
Bramble was once a thriving seaport village, home of the famous whaler Mitticus Bramble. There are many original homes standing, mostly brick, and some of the side streets are still cobblestone.
Tall, white-columned Bramble United Community borders one end of Main Street. BUC used to be a congregational church, but now it is nondenominational, welcoming people of all backgrounds and beliefs.
The old ivy-covered stone Bramble Free Library, with its reading garden and whale spoutin’ fountain, stands guard on the opposite end of Main Street.
I wonder what my librarian friend Mrs. Saperstone is reading this week? She has been dating my English teacher from Bramble Academy, Dr. Swaminathan. I just love “Dr. Swammy,” as I call him. I sort of had a hand in matching them up and I’ve been coaching Dr. Swammy a bit on what sort of candy he should buy for Mrs. Saperstone and that yes, indeed, he should show up at the library programs she plans. Geesh, that man is Rhodes-Scholar book-smart, but, boy, is he rusty in the romance genre.
Dr. Swammy is helping Nana part-time in her store for the summer. Good thing, because my gramp, who died recently, managed the book part of Sweet Bramble Books; Nana runs the “sweets” side. Dr. Swammy has become a huge help to Nana, ordering and recommending books and signing up authors for events. Jane Yolen’s coming this summer.
I just love my town. In between BUC and the library, lining Main Street on both sides are various stores, restaurants, and clothing shops; Bloomin’ Jean’s ice cream; Hairs to You hair salon; two art galleries; Wickstrom’s jewelry store, where JFK bought my locket; Fancy’s fish market, where Salty would love to work; Cohen’s card shop; the pharmacy; a movie theater; a few tourist shops; and the hands-down best store on all of Cape Cod: Sweet Bramble Books.
As I pass by Lammers’ clothing store, something in the window catches my eye. Sneakers. Hot-pink sneakers. I stop and stare at them.
Oh, my gosh, I love them. They are calling to me. “Willa, come buy us, hurry!”
Now, as my friends and my mother will be the first to attest, I hate to shop for clothes. It’s a painful experience for me. I never think I look good in anything. I can never decide what style or color. But those pink sneakers? They are mine. I can see myself in them. It’s as if they’re already on my feet.
I go in the store. They have my size. I try them on and test-walk about. I feel wonderful. The clerk puts my old sneakers in the box, and I wear my pink back out onto Main Street. And just as I do, the sun comes out and I can hear bluebirds tweeting and angels singing. Just kidding. But this is a very nice new feeling.
Maybe my dreadful shopping days are done? Maybe this is the start of a whole new Willa?
Yellow is my current favorite color; maybe I’m moving on to pink.
CHAPTER 7
The Good Ones
I was born with the impression that what happened in books was much more reasonable, and interesting, and real, in some ways, than what happened in life.
— Anne Tyler
When I enter Nana’s store, her scruffy black-and-white dog, Scamp, slip-bounds over the hardwood floor to greet me. I kneel down so he can lick my face. I laugh. “Hey, Scamp, hey, buddy.”
Scamp lies on his back, four paws in the air, and I rub his stomach the way he likes. I see his sister, Muffles, the old, gray fluffy cat who is always sleeping, over there in her usual spot in the window, basking in the sun, purr-snoring.
“Willa!” Nana calls over to me. “Come give me a hug, shmug.”
A customer hears Nana and smiles.
“Nice sneakers,” Nana says to me.
“Thanks.”
“Did you hear the good news?” Nana asks as she slides a fresh tray of dark chocolate-covered apricots into the glass display case.
Nana is on the board at BUC; she must be talking about Mum coming back.
“Yes,” I say. “I can’t wait to see her!”
“Her?” Nana says. “You mean him. Last time I checked, James Taylor was a him.”
“James Taylor?” I say. “The singer?”
“Yes.” Nana laughs. “He has a new book out and Dr. Swaminathan booked him for a signing Saturday. Mr. Taylor has a brother out on the Vineyard and he’ll be doing a tour of some Cape stores. But we got him first. Isn’t that grand?”
“Awesome, Nana. Way to go!
”
“And you heard Mum’s coming back,” Nana says, weighing out a customer’s order of penuche fudge and placing it into a white-and-gold-lettered Sweet Bramble Books box, tying it up with a gold bow.
“Yes,” I say. “I can’t wait to see her! We should have a party for her.”
A customer asks Nana for a special assortment of her famous saltwater taffy, which he read about in Cape Cod Life magazine, for a housewarming gift.
“This is my granddaughter, Willa,” Nana says. “It was her idea to tie little happy messages on our taffies like Hershey’s Kisses tags. That’s how we finally won the Best Sweets on the Upper Cape Award. Next, we’re aiming for Best Bookstore…. Falmouth, Brewster, and Sandwich keep inching us out, but we’ve got an all-star cast of authors appearing here this month … Meg Cabot, Mary Higgins Clark, Laurie Halse Anderson, Jerry Spinelli….”
The man shakes my hand. “I’m Stanley Hadsell. Nice to meet you. I manage a bookstore in Troy, New York. Market Block Books.”
“Another indie, huh?” Nana says, referring to independent bookstores. “Good. We should compare notes, Stan.”
I head over to the book side of Sweet Bramble to find Dr. Swammy.
There are three or four customers milling about. Dr. Swammy is standing behind the register. He smiles as he writes something inside the front cover of a redjacketed book. He looks up and sees me. He closes the book quickly and slides it under the counter, which of course makes me curious to know just what he’s reading.
“Hi, Dr. Swammy.”
“Hello, Willa. Good to see you. I’ve got some book suggestions for you.”
“Great, thanks,” I say.
Dr. Swammy reaches to the shelf behind him, finds the stack he’s looking for, peels off the yellow sticky note that says Willa, and hands me some books.
When Gramp Tweed was alive, he was the one I counted on to bring “the good ones,” as he called them, to my attention. I’d come here every Friday after school and we’d sit on that couch over there and drink lemon tea, no milk or sugar, and “book-talk” about the characters and themes, and what we liked or didn’t. Now Dr. Swammy and Mrs. Saperstone are my reading coaches. Between the two of them, I know I’ll never be without a good book to read, and that’s a very comforting thought. No matter what changes, or who comes and goes in my life, I will always have my books.
From Willa, With Love Page 3