Forget Me Not (9 page)

There are persons both of superior character and intellect

Whose superiority quite disappears when they are put together.

They neutralize, anticipate, puzzle and belittle each other.

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Mom and Sam are in the kitchen having coffee early Thursday morning before Rosie and the others arrive.

“Willa assures me she has everything under control for the wedding,” Mom says. “Oh, and I’m putting them in the Norman Rockwell suite on the third floor.”

“That’s a very nice room,” Sam says. “Thank you.”

“And you said you think they have twelve or thirteen friends coming,” Mom says. “I’m assuming they expect to stay here. I’m saving the Whitman Lodge by the pond.”

“Great,” Sam says, “thank you.”

“I’ve got a luncheon today,” Mom says, “the Caldor rehearsal tomorrow, and then Saturday, as you know, I’ll be completely tied up all day with the wedding and
reception. All I’ll have time to do is shower and show up in the Labyrinth Saturday night at six.”

“Stella…” Sam says. There’s a long pause. “I appreciate your willingness to bend a bit on this one.”

“What do you mean ‘bend a bit’?” There’s an edge to my mother’s voice.

“I just mean that I know how you like to run things, and this was sprung upon you at the last minute and…”

“Sam, honey,” Mom says. “She’s your
sister.
I’ll deal with it.”

Way to go, Mom.
I like the new bendable Stella. I think of that little green rubbery toy I had as a child. You could stretch and bend him every which way. What was that guy’s name?

“Morning, Mom. Morning, Dad.” I head to the corner area where we keep a small refrigerator, pantry, and bread box for our family’s special food things. Rosie, Makita, Darryl, all of our employees, are welcome to have the meals we serve guests at the inn, but the stuff in this section is just for the family.

I open the bread box and reach for the two chocolate-cherry muffins I stashed there yesterday. They’re gone. I check our refrigerator, the cabinets. I ask Mom and Sam. No, they haven’t seen them.

“That’s odd that you say that, Willa,” Sam says.
“Yesterday I was looking for a block of cheddar cheese to make a sandwich. I could have sworn I just bought one. Oh, well, I’m headed up to take a shower. A nice, long shower. Maybe the last one I’ll take in peace this week.”

“What are you talking about?” Mom says.

“Oh, nothing,” Sam says, winking at me, “just don’t want to waste water.”

When Sam leaves, the phone rings. Mom answers it. “Oh, yes, Ruthie, hello! This is Stella. Yes, me, too. You’re where? Okay. I’ll come pick you up. No, it’s not a problem at all. I’ll be there in a little over an hour. I’ll come to the passenger pickup zone. I drive a silver SUV.

“Willa,” Mom says. “I’m off to get your Aunt Ruthie and Spruce. They took an earlier flight. Don’t tell Sam. Let’s surprise him.”

“Good for you, Mom.”

“What?” she says, cocking her head suspiciously.

“Nothing. I mean that’s nice of you.”

When Sam comes downstairs, he says he’ll be back in a bit and goes outside.

I look out the window and watch him walking slowly through his Labyrinth. When he reaches the center, he sits on the gray stone bench. He closes his eyes. I look away. This is Sam’s special way of connecting with God. I leave him to his private prayers.

I go get my wedding planning book and bring it down to the kitchen table to look over the plans for Ruthie and Spruce’s wedding. Ceremony, set. Reception…Sam will set up tables on the pavilion by the pond and I’ve ordered a tent just in case. Flowers…I have a feeling Ruthie will want simple, so I’m going to make her bouquet and the table centerpieces myself from the wildflowers on our property…daisies, cornflowers, thistles, and Queen Anne’s lace. I love that name,
Queen Anne’s lace.

That reminds me of a funny story I read once about the origin of wedding customs. Back in the 1500s, most couples got married in June because they took their annual bath in May and still smelled pretty good by June. Just to be safe, though, brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide body odor. And that’s where the custom of a wedding bouquet comes from.

Dinner, set. I went over the menu with Rosie yesterday. She told me all of the ingredients she’ll need and I made a shopping list.

Rosie will make the cake Saturday morning along with the Caldor cake, and I’ll add the charms to each. For music, I hired “The Wedding Man.” Mother gave me his card. She said he’s not very original, but he’s punctual and cheap. He brings a stock supply of dance songs and takes requests. I’m not sure what Ruthie and Spruce will want for their “first song,” but Mr. Manny, aka The Wedding Man, says he’s got pretty much anything they might ask for.

Oh, my gosh, I forgot to ask Mariel if she’ll sing at the ceremony. Must do that first thing this morning.

When Sam comes in, he says he’s off to get groceries.

“Oh, good,” I say. “Can I come? I have a list for Ruthie’s wedding dinner.”

“Sure,” Sam says. “I’d appreciate the company. Shopping’s a lonely sport.”

We drive to the Stop ‘N Shop in Mashpee. It’s early and the market is nearly empty. A few hours from now it will be packed. We each take a cart and split up. I’ve
never shopped on my own before. This is fun. I start in the produce section since I have a lot of vegetables on my list. The tomatoes and basil are coming from Sam’s garden, but I need garlic, shallots, asparagus, broccoli, red peppers, and avocadoes, lots of them. Rosie says avocado is the vegetarian’s cheese.

The pasta is next. There’s an organic foods section. I figure that’s what Ruthie would want. I find a nice whole wheat pasta—linguine—and put several boxes in my cart. I choose a bottle of olive oil.

Next, French bread for the bruschetta. It smells so yummy in the bakery section. My stomach growls. I didn’t have breakfast yet. I use the silver tongs to take two cinnamon Danish pastries from the display case, one for me and one for Sam, and pop them in a little white bag.

Sam and I meet up at the checkout counter. Sam’s cart is full. We bag the groceries in the yellow plastic Stop ‘N Shop bags. “Good thing we have two carts,” Sam says. We eat the Danish on the way home.

Mother’s car is in the side driveway. Sam will be so surprised.

“Now the unloading,” Sam says. “I don’t know
which I hate more, the shopping or the schlepping it home and unpacking.”

I take two yellow shopping bags in each hand, the stuff that needs to be refrigerated, and Sam takes three bags in each hand, and we head into the kitchen.

Mother moves toward us like a storm cloud.

“She’s a monster,” Mother says. “Why didn’t you tell me she’s a nutcase? Do you know how much carbon dioxide an SUV emits each year? My hair’s a rat’s nest because the air conditioner was a ‘senseless waste of energy’ and so we had to drive with the windows down. I offered them a bottled water, thinking they might be thirsty from their trip, and you would have thought I was offering her hemlock.” We hear footsteps coming. Mother looks toward the doorway and lowers her voice. “The nerve of her making me feel guilty in my own car, doing her a favor picking her and her tree man up from the airport…”

“Samuel!”

We turn and there’s Aunt Ruthie. Short and skinny, with long, dark brown hair and Sam’s big blue eyes.

Sam sets down the grocery bags.

She comes toward him. They hug briefly. She taps his tummy. “Chunking up a bit, are we? And this must be Willa, my wedding planner.”

Mother huffs audibly.

“Hello, Aunt Ruthie. Nice to meet you.” I attempt to hug her, but she shakes my hand instead.

“What’s this, Sam,” Ruthie says like a sergeant at boot camp. I swear Sam clicks his heels and stands taller at attention.

Ruthie waves her hands over our yellow grocery bags like she’s discovered hidden enemy ammunition.

“Groceries,” Sam says quietly.

Duh
, I think. Isn’t that obvious?

“
Sssch, ssssch, ssssch
,” Ruthie makes a loud disapproving clucking sound. “Sam, Sam, Sam…what in the good Goddess’s name am I going to do with you? Where are your reusable hemp bags? Do you know how many millions of barrels of oil it takes to produce these awful, awful throwaway plastic bags? They end up on the bottom of oceans and lakes and kill the fish and…”

“
Excuse me
,” my mother says in her general’s voice. She composes herself and smiles sweetly. “But we have groceries to put away and a breakfast to put on and so may I suggest that we continue this conversation later?”

I run outside to get the rest of those awful, awful bags. My mother and Ruthie are like two planets colliding.

There’s a boy by the trunk of Sam’s car. At first I think he’s Jessie, from school, but no.

He looks at me for a brief second, then turns and runs.

Who the heck is that?

If the sea teaches any lesson,

It thunders this through the throat of all its winds.

“That there is no knowledge that is not valuable.”

—Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sam says he’s going to take Ruthie and Spruce on a little “sightseeing jaunt.”

“Good, drop her off at the ferry dock in Hyannis and buy her a one-way trip to Nantucket,” Mother whispers.

“Stella, I’m sorry,” Sam says. “I should have warned you.”

Sam leaves and I help Mother with last-minute things for the Caldor rehearsal dinner tomorrow night. The doorbell rings. It’s Ruby’s father, Mr. Sivler.

I hear him explaining to Mother how the Bramble Beach Association is filing a legal injunction against the Audubon Society, claiming the superiority of
people and their pets over wild animals like the plovers.

He must be the person who wrote that awful message about serving the plovers piping hot with fries. I have half a mind to say something, but I have no proof.

Mr. Sivler asks Mom to sign a petition. He gives her a flag, #279. “Bring this with you when your family is at Sandy Beach,” he says. “This is how we’ll identify property owners.”

“Does he think he owns the ocean, too?” I say to Mom after Mr. Sivler leaves. “And what’s he doing, going door-to-door like that, running for mayor or something?”

Mom laughs. “He’s the president of the Bramble Beach Association—the BBA is just trying to protect our rights.”

“Well, I’m not using that flag,” I say. “I think it’s stupid. We don’t own that sand. That beach was here a long time before we were, and those birds, well, I think we have an obligation to protect them. So what if people are a little inconvenienced.”

“Now
you
sound like you’re running for office,” Mom says.

“Maybe I will,” I say.

The Bramble Animal Shelter isn’t open yet. I bike over to Mariel’s to ask her if she’ll sing at Ruthie’s wedding.

“I’d be honored to, Willa,” she says. “If I can. When is it?”

I give her the details about the music.

“I love ‘Imagine,’” Mare says, smiling. “John Lennon. I sang it solo at my eighth-grade graduation. My momma was so proud.” Her face brightens up. “Guess what? She may be coming home!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Mare.”

“Daddy is determined to have a
quinceañera
for me and Momma says she wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting her.” I’m looking at my friend’s face, so happy. I’m smiling, but inside I’m thinking her mother just better not let her down.

I bike past the Bramble Library, then decide to pedal back and stop in.

Mrs. Saperstone is in the children’s department staring out at the whale spoutin’ fountain.

“Willa, hello! Come see the new benches and wildflower garden we’ve added out in the courtyard.”

We walk outside. It’s nice here. “How did your talk go the other night?” I ask.

“Went well, I think,” she says with a smile. “The group of ladies staying at your inn certainly seemed to enjoy themselves.”

“The Red Hats,” I say. “They’re fun.”

“Yes, they are,” Mrs. S says. “I’m going to get one of those hats, maybe start a Bramble chapter.”

“Did Dr. Swaminathan come to your talk?” I ask, picking up a penny from the ground and casually tossing it into the fountain.

Mrs. Saperstone laughs. “You are such a sweet girl.”

“What?” I say innocently. “What?”

“You don’t fool me, Willa Havisham. Don’t you think I realize who set Javid up to coming? All dressed in a smart summer poplin striped suit, with a box of my favorite chocolate cranberries, no less.”

So, Dr. Swaminathan’s first name is Javid. “Listen,” I say, “if you need a good wedding planner, give me a call. I don’t have business cards yet, but you know how to reach me.”

“
Willa
,” Mrs. Saperstone says in a shocked voice,
looking around, laughing. “We’re a long way from the altar, but it sure is fun to be dating again.”

Next, I go for a quick ride to the beach. A day I don’t see the water is like a day I don’t read. Every day it’s different. Every day I learn something new.

It’s high tide and the waves are sweeping powerfully onto shore. I listen as they talk to me.
Things are changing, things are changing, pay attention, pay attention.
I have an odd feeling something major is about to happen in my life.

When I get home, Sam is pulling into the parking lot. Aunt Ruthie gets out first. Sam introduces me to Spruce. He doesn’t look like a pine tree at all. He’s a tall, thin, handsome man, Asian, with dark, thoughtful eyes and a kind smile.

“Nice to meet you, Willa,” he says, reaching out to shake my hand. “Thank you for planning our wedding. Ruth and I appreciate your efforts.”

“My pleasure,” I say. “I hope you’ll be happy.”

“Happy would be nice,” Spruce says quietly.

“No, Ruthie,” I hear Sam saying, sighing loudly like he’s got a headache, which I imagine he probably does. “I don’t know what my carbon footprint is. Or Stella’s, either. But I think she wears a size seven shoe.”

“Not funny, Samuel,” Ruthie says. “I’ve just found the first way we can trade. Let me go get my questionnaire upstairs and I’ll start carbon emission calculations on this household. It’s nothing short of global ignorance not to know the extent of the damage you are doing to this planet, Samuel.”

I look at Spruce. He looks uncomfortable and his eyebrows are scrunched like he wishes Ruthie would be quiet.

“Right off the bat,” Ruthie says, “there’s a huge problem with having two large truck-size vehicles in one tiny family of three. Haven’t you heard of carpooling? Public transportation?”

I’m thinking Ruthie ought to be grateful that my mother drove all the way to Boston to pick her up this morning, but I keep my mouth closed.

Good time to get away. I bike over to visit Salty Dog. He licks my face, all happy to see me.

Mr. Sweeney says, “Good news, still no owner, yet.”

Thank you, thank you.

Now I just need to find a way to convince Stella to let me adopt him. Maybe if I offered to work extra shifts all summer. No, I already do my fair share for our family. Or, maybe I could promise to keep Salty in my room and train him to stay away from the living room and dining room and all the good furniture. No, I have a feeling that dog has a mind of his own, used to roaming the wide open beach like he owns it. I doubt I’d be able to restrict him like that.

I stop by Sweet Bramble Books. Both sides of the store are packed with tourists.
Good!
There’s a new endcap of
Edward’s Eyes
by Patricia MacLachlan. I loved her book
Sarah, Plain and Tall.
On the back jacket of the book is a photo of the author hugging a dog. The flap copy mentions Cape Cod. It’s a skinny book. I have Dr. Swaminathan ring it up for me with our family discount. I’m about to mention Mrs. Saperstone when Nana calls me from the candy side.

“Willa,” she says. “Come see! I started wrapping the taffy in tags last night and already people are noticing. And I had an idea of my own. I set up a little suggestion box and listen to this. Some boy gave us a good one.” She holds up a paper to read:

Don’t be daffy. Eat your taffy.

“He was very handsome, had a British accent. I thought about you, but…”

“I have a boyfriend, Nana.”

“I know, I know,” she says.

When I get home, I go to look for Aunt Ruthie.

She’s standing outside facing the Labyrinth.

“Hi, Aunt Ruthie,” I say. “Do you have a few minutes to go over the wedding plans?”

She turns to me. She’s crying.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I don’t know if I can go through with this.” She lets out a sob, then turns and runs into the inn.

Life sure is full of surprises.