The Cupid Chronicles (14 page)

“Am I too late?” Suzanna says, all excited and out of breath.

“Oh no,” Jessie shouts. He walks toward her like he's possessed.

“You're right on time,” Luke says, moving forward. “What a
fox!”

Sam's eyes are dinner plates. Stella elbows him. “We've got a holiday to put on tomorrow,” she says. “Let's start wrapping this up.”

“Hey, guys, wait,” Ruby says in a desperate voice. “It's getting late, and I almost forgot. We have to do the drawing for the Pats box seats.”

The boys aren't sure which way to turn. Fox? Football? Fox? Football?

“All right, NOW,” Ruby demands their attention. “Super Bowl! Box seats!” She holds the basket with the names inside over her head. “Pick one, Willa.”

I draw out a slip of paper, but before I can unfold it, Ruby pulls it from my hand.

“Okay,” she says, “the winner of the two box seats, compliments of the Sivler family, for the Patriots Super Bowl game is …”

The boys crowd in.

“… Joey Kennelly.”

Ruby sticks the paper in the pocket of her jeans.

CHAPTER 19
 
Grabbing the Glad
 

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter.
Present mirth hath present laughter.
What's to come is still unsure.
In delay there lies no plenty,
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty.
Youth's a stuff will not endure.

—Shakespeare,
Twelfth Night

We made $1,300 at the Turkey Tango. The twenty-nine Blazers came in handy. There were even two unexplained Bens in the jar. Mama and Papa B, I bet. I knew we could do this! Just a few more successful events and well save the Bramble Library.

The good smells of Thanksgiving are wafting through the inn. We're all just waiting for the turkey Mama and Papa B invite me to play Monopoly. Suzy-Jube is “catching up on her beauty sleep,” Mama B explains. Papa B picks the top hat. Mama B picks the car. I pick the little dog that looks like Scamp.

The Blazers have a variation on the traditional Monopoly rules. Every time you pass go and collect $200, you have to put twenty bucks “income tax” in the center. If you land on “Free Parking” you win it. “Makes a nice year-end bonus,” Papa says.

When I land on Community Chest, I tell the Blazers about Sam's definition of “community rent,” how we all have to give back something good. The Blazers look at each other and smile.

“That reminds me of that quote you had up on your Bramble Board last month,” Mama B says. “The one about spending yourself to get rich.” She winks at Papa B.

Gramp Tweed sits next to me at dinner. “I'm going to try to see an old Doane Stuart School chum of mine when Nana and I are in the city next weekend. Chas Butler is an old-school philanthropist. He's frugal unless he believes; but if he believes, he's Santa Claus. I think maybe he'll help the library campaign.”

“Is he from Bramble?” I figure only someone from Bramble would care.

“No,” Gramp says. “But Chas loves books the way we love books.”

“Thanks so much, Gramp.” I hug him. “Good luck making Santa believe.”

“Save some of that love for me,” Nana says to Gramp.

Gramp laughs and kisses Nana. “Come on, Mrs. Tweed. Time to go. We've got a big day tomorrow.”

Black Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, is the busiest day of the year for most retail stores. Everybody starts shopping for the holidays. Books and candy are popular presents. Nana and Gramp let me work in the store.

It's Friday so I check to see what Muffles is keeping warm.
A Christmas Memory,
by Truman Capote, and a book about writing,
Bird by Bird.

“Capote's one of my favorites,” Gramp says.
“Christmas Memory
is a gem. And
Bird,
well, it's food for the writer's soul. I think you'll like it, Willa.”

“You haven't steered me wrong yet, Gramp. Thanks.”

It amazes me how Gramp knows just about every book in the store. And he knows his customers, too. He asks Mrs. Pasternack how her book club
liked last month's selection. He hands a new mystery set at an opera house to Mrs. DeBatista. She's a mystery buff and an opera lover. Gramp asks Mr. Cohen if his grandson liked the book he suggested for his birthday. He shows Mr. Tompkins a new fly-fishing title.

I don't know how Gramp keeps all of those books and all of those people in his head like that, but he does. And his customers trust him, just like people trust Mrs. Saperstone. If they say a book is good, the book is good.

I'm helping a customer when I happen to look out and see JFK walk by across the street. A minute later I see Ruby She crosses over and comes in.

“Oh hi, Willa.” Ruby has a strange look on her face.

“Can I help you find something?” I ask.

“I'm good,” Ruby says. “Hey, did you see the new heart lockets at Wickstrom's?”

“No.” I turn a stack of new books by a favorite author face out on the shelf.

“You can open the heart,” Ruby says, “and there's room inside for two tiny pictures, one on each side, you know … like for a girl and her boyfriend.”

“Willa,” Gramp calls, “would you please wrap Mrs. Miller's order?”

“Sure, Gramp.” When I finish, Ruby is gone.

Extra workers come in at four. Nana finishes refilling the Swedish fish bin and says “come upstairs with me, Willa. I want to show you my new dress.”

It's black velvet with shiny silver beads around the neckline.

“After the show, Alexander's taking me to dinner and then dancing at the Rainbow Room.” Nana is so excited. “Do you think it's fancy enough?”

“Oh, it's fancy, Nana. You look beautiful. Gramp's a lucky guy And I'm proud of you for walking every day.”

“I've lost nine pounds,” Nana says, “and I feel ten years younger.” Her happy face saddens a bit. “I know Stella thinks we're foolish driving off-Cape in the winter at our age, during our busiest season, no less. You know how Stella feels about business. But you only live once, right? You've got to grab the glad while you can.”

CHAPTER 20
 
Suzanna Jubilee's Advice
 

For such as I am all, true lovers are,
Unstaid and skittish in all motions else
Save in the constant image of the creature
That is beloved.

—The Poet of Love,
Twelfth Night

I wake up Saturday to the sun streaming through my window. It's going to be a beautiful day. After brunch I finish my homework and then head downstairs to talk to Suzanna. There are Blazers everywhere, grabbing the glad where they can. Charades in the living room. Poker in the den. Mama and Papa B are dozing by the fireplace. As I pass by Papa snorts and they wake up.

“Suzy's tummy's feeling crummy,” Papa B says, patting his paunch in solidarity.

“No reflection on the food, of course,” Mama B says. “Everything here is just delicious, honey. Your daddy's an excellent cook. It's just that Suzy-Jube's been eating like a bird for the pageants, but here, the temptations were just too great.”

I did see Suzanna tackling the bacon station three times this morning.

Mama B smooths the spot next to her. “Sit a bit.” I do. Papa B sits on my other side. I'm trapped between friendly bears. Mama B lifts a thick album off the table. “This gives us a chance to brag a bit anyhoo. Let's look-see Suzy-Jube's modeling album. Your mama saw it earlier and she said to be sure to show you, too.”

“Oh, sure,” I say. Thanks a lot, Stella.

Chickles opens to a bald-headed baby who looks like every other bald-headed baby She turns a few pages. Now Suzanna has a huge wisp of white hair sticking up straight on her head like a duck. I dig my fingernails in.

“And here's Suzy-Jube when she was three,” Chickles says.

I keep checking the clock as we travel on. On and on and on.

Suzanna in a pink tutu, blue tutu, new braces, sparkly cape, purple gown, yellow gown … I smile and nod while inside I'm thinking about JFK. The peppermint kiss and the almost invitation to the movies and was that really his name Ruby swiped out of my hand for the Pats box seats and why hasn't Ruby mentioned her date with Chris Ruggiero and what if she likes JFK again and what's with the whole heart locket thing? I need to call Tina.

“And here she is today,” Papa B says.

Suzanna Jubilee is wearing a red bathing suit with a “Miss Brewer County” sash and tiara. She looks like Marilyn Monroe, shapely and gorgeous, with those white waterfall curls. I bet Suzanna has no trouble getting any boy she likes.

“Isn't she a beauty?” Papa B says in a quivering voice. “And she's the sweetest, nicest girl you'd ever meet.”

“Beautiful inside and out,” Mama B says. “And our baby girl's gonna be the next Miss Daisydew USA. If she can just work on her talent.”

Yes, finally I'll find out. “What exactly is Suzanna's tal—”

“Now, Mama, stop.” Suzanna walks in. “I don't want to hear another word about the talent portion of the competition. It's just one eensy-weensy little
part of the scoring and I've been practicing, hard. You'll jinx me if you keep on—”

“Won't mention it again, sugarplum,” Mama B says.

“Not a word,” Papa B promises.

Oh, please, I'm dying to know.

“Hello, Willa,” Suzanna says, looking at me. “Such a pretty little thing.”

I pull my shoulders back and stick out my chest.

“I'd love to see the ocean up here,” Suzanna says.

“Oh, sure,” I say. “Let's go.” I've been hoping for a chance to talk to her.

It's warm so we grab two bikes from the shed. “The beach is close,” I say.

People stop and stare as we go by. A boy walks smack into a tree. A man in a jeep swerves up on the curb, just missing a telephone pole.

Suzanna laughs. “Don't worry, Willa. Happens everywhere I go.”

Nature's not immune to Suzy-Jube's charms either. At Sandy Beach, the wind whistles loudly and gulls collide in the air. Fish leap up on the sand to see her. The tide rushes in … and stops.