“You still look pretty fancy to me,” he said. His rowboat, called a “dinghy,” was on the dock with the oars inside of it. Peter pushed it into the water and then held it close so that Marigold could climb aboard. “I’m surprised you’re not wearing high heels.”
“Ha! No one would wear heels with shorts!” Marigold joked back as she stepped into the boat. It rocked under her weight. It made her slightly queasy, but she sat down and ignored the feeling. She didn’t want anything to ruin this day. “So, where are we going?”
“Just out to Biscuit Island,” Peter said as he jumped in after her. The boat rocked some more as he leaned over to push them away from the dock.
“Biscuit Island? That sounds cute,” Marigold said. She put a hand to her stomach and took a deep breath of fresh air to fight the nausea. She remembered suddenly that she’d been a little seasick last summer when they went sailing, but that it had gone away once they’d gotten going. Peter slid the oars into place and began to row toward his sailboat.
“It’s just a bunch of rocks, really, but it’s still cool.”
“Great,” Marigold said, taking another deep breath. She didn’t want Peter to think she was prissy. And she’d really loved sailing when they went last year. In fact, she’d been thinking that maybe in addition to swimming, she could practice sailing here in Pruet, and maybe start a team at Miss Hadley’s.
“It’s a perfect day for a sail,” Peter said. “Nice breeze.”
“That’s your boat, right?” Marigold asked, pointing to a little blue sailboat.
“Yes,” Peter said, looking over his shoulder. “The one tied to the white mooring.” She remembered from last year that not all boats in the harbor could fit at the dock, so most of them were tied to these volleyball-looking things in the water called “moorings.”
Peter rowed them up to the sailboat, a Cape Cod catboat, he’d told her last summer, and Marigold climbed aboard as Peter tied the dinghy to the mooring. The boat rocked under her and she felt her stomach do another flip. It’s okay, she told herself as she sat down in the boat. You’ll feel better once we’re sailing.
“I think I remember what to do now,” Marigold said as Peter hopped in. “We take this piece of wood out, right?”
“That’s right,” Peter said, lifting the board from the center of the boat.
Marigold was about to stand up and help him, since she wanted to learn, but her stomach told her to stay seated. As Peter raised the sail and untied the boat from the mooring, Marigold noticed a dark cloud in the distance. She didn’t think much of it, because the rest of the sky was sunny.
“All right, Peter said. “Do you want to sail or should I?”
“How about you start,” Marigold said, not trusting her stomach.
“Okay,” Peter said. There was another small boat, with two girls inside, cruising around the harbor. The girls’ sail was full and their ponytails streamed behind them. They waved to Peter and he waved back.
Marigold wished she knew how to sail as well as those girls did. She wished she didn’t feel like a beginner.
“Can I take the tiller?” she asked Peter once they started to pick up speed. She was proud of herself that she remembered the correct term for the long, thin piece of wood that steered the boat. The only way to learn, she thought, was to do this herself, even if she did feel a little sick.
“Sure,” Peter said. “Just try to keep it at the same angle.” Marigold took the tiller and held it steady. “Might as well take the sheet, too.” He handed Marigold the rope that controlled the sail. Maybe she wasn’t such a beginner after all. “Okay. Now keep your eyes on that pile of rocks. That’s where we’re headed.”
“This is fun,” Marigold said. “Thanks for taking me out.”
“I’m glad you asked me to. See, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I just haven’t known exactly how to say it. You know how last year . . .”
But he didn’t finish his sentence. A chill came over them as they looked up and saw that the dark cloud that had been in the distance was now directly overhead. The wind suddenly shifted direction, sending the sail clear across the boat.
In her surprise, Marigold dropped the sheet. She reached for it but got tangled in the line and slipped. The sail puffed as the wind switched again and blew from the other direction.
“We got a squall!” Peter said just as a wave hit the boat, sending water over the side, soaking them.
“Ah!” Marigold cried, holding on to the swinging tiller for dear life.
“Give me the tiller,” Peter said as he grabbed the sheet. Marigold handed him the tiller and gripped the side of the boat as water sloshed up over her feet and soaked her shorts. Peter pulled in the sail as the boat turned and another wave knocked more water over the side.
“What’s a squall?” Marigold asked, her stomach turning all the way over. “Are we going to be okay? I want to go back!”
“I’m trying to get us back,’” Peter said. “But right now, I need you to use that bucket and dump water out of the boat.”
“Okay,” Marigold said, picking up the bucket and filling it with seawater. She dumped the water over the side and then tried to repeat the action. Just as she was about to lift the bucket, another wave came and that was it. She dropped the bucket, turned her back to Peter, and threw up over the side.
“You okay?” Peter asked as she slumped back in the boat.
Marigold nodded, even though she wasn’t okay at all. She felt clammy and gross. She wiped her mouth and turned away, unable to face him. It was pure luck that the wind had been blowing in the right direction. At least her regurgitated lunch had gone out to sea instead of back on her face—or worse, Peter’s.
23 • Old Hat
“Do you need some more wah-tah?” Peter asked once they were safely on the dock.
“That’d be great,” Marigold said, gulping down the last drops from the bottle Peter had on the sailboat. Luckily, she’d been able to rinse out her mouth.
The strangest thing was that it was now a beautiful day again. The squall—which, Peter explained during the awkward rowboat ride back to the dock, was a small, sudden storm that could come out of nowhere—had passed as quickly as it had arrived. Peter had even offered to continue the trip out to Biscuit Island if she was up for it, but she definitely was not. In fact, she didn’t care if she ever set foot on a sailboat again. The worst part, of course, was not that their sailing trip had been ruined. It was that Peter had seen her throw up. She felt certain that he would never want to kiss her again.
“So, is that . . . common?” Marigold asked, still feeling ill as they walked toward the yacht club.
“Nah. It took me by surprise. Normally, it’d be no big deal. If I’d anticipated it, you would’ve barely noticed. Um, are you okay?”
“I think I just need to splash some water on my face,” Marigold said.
“There’s some mouthwash in the bathrooms at the yacht club, too,” Peter said. Marigold nodded and covered her mouth. “I’m not saying you need it, I just thought you might want it because . . . nevah mind. Come on in, I’ll get you a ginger ale, too.”
They were on their way up the steps to the yacht club when a girl’s voice called, “Hey, Pete!” They turned around to see the girl with the windblown ponytail.
“How fun was that?” the girl asked, grinning. She was totally serious! She had enjoyed the squall! “We had the best time out there.”
“It wasn’t that fun for me,” Peter said. “I was with an inexperienced sailor.”
Marigold swallowed hard as Peter’s face turned pink. Marigold looked at the ground.
“I had a wicked good time!” the girl said. “My sister is an awesome sailor, but I wish you’d been with me.”
Peter’s face now turned lobster red. Then, as if noticing Marigold for the first time, the girl turned to her and said, “Hi. I’ve seen you around but we’ve never met. I’m Lindsey, Pete’s girlfriend.”
Girlfriend? �
�Hi. I’m Marigold.”
“Do you guys want to go to Edith’s?” Lindsey asked.
“Sure,” Peter said.
“Thank you, but I think I’d better go back to Aunt Sunny’s,” Marigold said, feeling as though she might throw up again. “I have to do a lot of wedding preparations. And Aunt Sunny’s making scallops for dinner, so I can’t have ice cream anyway. She wouldn’t want me to ruin my appetite.” She was glad she’d taken improvisation classes this spring.
“Okay,” Peter said, his brow furrowed as Lindsey took his hand. “I’ll see you later?”
“Yeah,” Marigold said, calling upon her acting skills to produce a sweet and carefree smile. “I’ll see you later. Thank you for taking me sailing. I really learned a lot.” The Red Sox hat on her head suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. “Um, do you want your hat back?”
“No, that’s okay,” Peter said. “You can keep it.”
Of course he doesn’t want his old hat back, Marigold thought as she headed across the yacht club lawn to the road. He has a new one.
As soon as Marigold returned to Aunt Sunny’s, she flew up the stairs to the attic bedroom. She retrieved her iPad from inside her dresser drawer, tapped it awake, and opened her digital diary. Zinnie knocked on the door, but Marigold told her that she didn’t want to talk. Instead she wanted to write about the whole thing. And she did, sparing no detail. She wrote about the squall and throwing up and the moment that she had met Lindsey. She wrote about how she’d thought for some reason that Peter was like Aunt Sunny’s house or Edith’s Ice Cream Shop—that he’d have stayed the same, just as they had—and then she wrote about how wrong she’d been. She wrote about Lindsey, who was both similar to the Cuties in seeming ordinary, and at the same time different from them, because she really didn’t care about fashion. Her jeans were grass-stained! Her T-shirt was two sizes too big! I must dedicate myself to being more ordinary than ever, Marigold typed, wiping tears from her eyes. Then she closed her iPad and put her head on her pillow. She gazed out the window, where there was a view of Aunt Sunny’s garden blossoming with color. A breeze blew through the open window and a bird chirped in a nearby tree. But Marigold didn’t feel like she belonged in this happy country scene. With her fashion sense and love of lip gloss, she didn’t fit in here at all. She didn’t fit at school. She didn’t fit in Hollywood. As she heard Lily calling her to come down to dinner, she wondered if there was anywhere on this earth where she actually did belong.
24 • Gathering Flowers and Collecting Information
“She’s back!” Zinnie said, rushing to greet Marigold when she heard the front door open. She had been helping Sunny and Lily with dinner, but she couldn’t wait to talk to Marigold. It wasn’t just because she was wondering how the date had gone, though of course she was dying to know. Zinnie had to hear if Marigold had used any of the romantic lines that Zinnie had come up with last night, like “Let’s tie our hearts in a complicated boat knot so they’ll always be together” or “How’d you like to sail away with me?”
But even more urgently, Zinnie needed to talk to Marigold about what she’d overheard that afternoon while Marigold was gone. Zinnie had been trying to complete her submission for Mrs. Lee by writing down a conversation between Aunt Sunny and Lily.
“Just ignore me,” Zinnie had said as she sat at the kitchen table with her notebook. “I’m working on a writing exercise, but I need you to pretend I’m not here.”
“Okay,” Aunt Sunny said. She was washing the saucepan they’d used to make the lemon syrup. Lily spied a box of things the sisters had brought down from the attic. It didn’t take her long to discover the framed pressed flowers that Aunt Sunny had made when she was a little girl.
“These are actual, real flowers?” Lily asked, holding up the pansies preserved under glass.
“They certainly are,” Aunt Sunny said. “I picked them myself when I was about your age.”
“These very flowers?” Lily asked.
“That’s right,” Aunt Sunny said.
“But how can they have they lasted so long?” Lily asked.
“They’re pressed,” Aunt Sunny said. “Plants lose their color because of bacteria and fungi, but those things need moisture to live. If you dry and press the flowers, they’ll keep for a long time.”
“Can you teach me how to do that?” Lily asked.
“I’d love to,” Aunt Sunny said, drying her hands on a towel. “Maybe you can start your own collection of pressed flowers to remember this summer by when you’re back in California.”
“Yes!” Lily said. As sweet as this conversation was, Zinnie didn’t feel like she was getting any great ideas.
“Hi, Tony,” Zinnie said, when he walked in with the scallops, corn, and peas.
“How are my girls?” Tony asked, placing the groceries on the counter and giving Aunt Sunny a kiss. Aunt Sunny smiled and blushed.
“Aunt Sunny is going to teach me how to press flowers,” Lily said.
“How cool is that?” Tony said, and he tousled Lily’s hair. “Your aunt is one smart lady.”
“Are you staying for dinner?” Zinnie asked Tony.
“Can’t tonight. I have to go see about a job,” Tony said.
“That’s too bad,” Aunt Sunny said.
“Can we start picking flowers now?” Lily asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Aunt Sunny said, removing her apron and hanging it on its hook. “Come on. Zinnie and Tony, will you join us?”
Tony’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen. “I gotta take this, but I’ll see you out there in a jiffy.” Tony stepped into the hallway.
“I’ll come,” Zinnie said. “I’m just going to put my notebook away.”
“We’ll be in the garden,” Lily said, taking Aunt Sunny’s hand as they stepped out the back door.
Zinnie went to put her notebook in her writing room when she realized that Tony was in there, talking on the phone with the door closed.
“Sunny has no idea,” she overheard Tony say. Already this was intriguing. Zinnie pulled out her notebook and started to jot things down. “The old girl is a fixer-upper, but that doesn’t mean my efforts won’t pay off.” The old girl? Was he talking about Aunt Sunny? Zinnie leaned her ear against the door. “I can’t wait to really get my hands on this property,” Tony was saying. “As soon as we sign the paperwork, it’ll be mine. I just have to put on a good act until the wedding is over. Then it’s ‘Bye-bye, old girl, hello new beauty.’”
What the . . . ? Zinnie’s heart started to race. Was Tony not who everyone thought he was? Was he a bad person—like a really bad person? Zinnie listened to Tony saying his good-byes and then she darted into the garden.
As soon as Zinnie heard Marigold come in the door, Zinnie tried to catch her. Just as she was rounding the corner, Marigold ran upstairs. Zinnie heard her shut and latch the door to the bedroom. Zinnie followed her up, taking two steps at a time, and knocked on the door. Technically it was her room, too, and she really shouldn’t have to knock, but something told her to proceed with caution.
“How’d it go?” Zinnie asked, leaning against the door.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Marigold’s voice was quiet and small.
“Are you okay?” Zinnie asked.
“Yeah, just don’t come in right now, okay?”
“Okay,” Zinnie said, resting her hand on the door. “I need to talk to you about some stuff. It’s kind of important.”
“Zinnia and Marigold, can you please come shell the peas?” Aunt Sunny called from the bottom of the stairs. The sound of Aunt Sunny’s voice, so happy and relaxed, broke Zinnie’s heart.
“Coming!” Zinnie called back. She went down the stairs to where Aunt Sunny stood, looking expectant.
“How’d it go with Peter?” Aunt Sunny whispered.
“I think she needs some time to herself,” Zinnie said.
“Ahh,” Aunt Sunny replied, “I see.” And she patted Zinnie’s shoulder.
“Heavens no,” Aunt Sunny said. “It becomes ours.”
“Do you have to share it?” Zinnie asked.
“I want to,” Aunt Sunny said. “That’s part of the fun of being married.”
“Yeah, okay, but he can’t just sell it without asking you, can he?” Zinnie asked.
“Good gracious, of course not.”
“That’s great,” Zinnie said, and she sighed with relief.
“Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason,” Zinnie said. The last thing she wanted to do was upset Aunt Sunny so close to her wedding, but what she’d overheard wasn’t sitting right with her. She’d just have to keep her eyes and ears on Tony.
25 • Handsome Horace
Zinnie was dying to ask her about Peter, but Marigold didn’t come out of the bedroom until dinner, and then she barely touched her scallops, which were her favorite seafood, or her vegetables, which she usually ate because she’d read that they were good for the hair, nails, and skin. She hadn’t brought up the sailing trip once during dinner, and now that Aunt Sunny and Zinnie were clearing the table, Marigold was totally focused on Lily and her flower-pressing project.
“What kinds of flowers did you pick?” Marigold asked Lily as they spread the fresh flowers on the table.
“These are impatiens and these are forget-me-nots,” Lily said. “Aunt Sunny told me they’ll press well because they’re flatter than other flowers.”
“That’s right,” Aunt Sunny said, drying her hands on a dish towel. “And you’ve done a good job sorting them. Now, I’ve got plenty of heavy cookbooks to press them with, but will you go and get some clean sheets of paper from the living room, Lily?”
“Sure,” Lily said, and hopped off her chair.
“Time for us to get to work on these tablecloths,” Aunt Sunny said as she placed the stack of tablecloths and napkins that the girls had sifted through yesterday on the table.
The Brightest Stars of Summer Page 11