The Cupid Chronicles (2 page)

Tina's not done. “And since when are you the dating expert, Willa? I know you matched up your mother and Sam, but other than one date with—”

“Hey, Willa. How's it going?”

I turn around and there he is. My one date. Joseph Frances Kennelly.
JFK.
Conjured up before me. In the flesh. Sea-blue eyes. Sandy hair. That dimple to die for. He's even gotten cuter, if that's possible.

Boing.
Cupid's arrow hits. My heart's beating like a bongo and my hands are shaking so bad that the brass buttons on the cuff of my uniform blazer are clanking like cymbals on my soda can,
clank, clank, clank.

Breathe, Willa, breathe.

“Hi, Joseph. When did you get back?”

Shortly after our one and only date, JFK's family moved to Minnesota. Then last month, we heard Mr. Kennelly might be named publisher of the
Cape Cod Times.
Tina burst in during Sunday brunch at the Bramblebriar Inn where I live. “JFK's coming back! JFK's coming back!” Our guests looked up in alarm.

“Not that JFK,” my mother assured them. “More coffee, anyone?”

“We got in yesterday,” Joseph says. “I'm still unpacking my stuff.”

“Well, welcome home,” I say. “I missed you.”
Oh no.
“I mean we all missed you.”
Oh no, that's even worse.

There's a mountain-sized moment of silence.

“So what are you doing for Halloween, Joe?” Tina throws me a life preserver. “Want to go candy collecting? A bunch of us are going. You don't need a costume.”

“Yeah, okay.” JFK looks at me. “Sounds good.” He's still looking at me.

Jump in, Willa. Jump in.

“And then later on,” I say, “we're having a party at the inn, in the barn.” I am making this up on the spot. “Lots of food, music …”

“Sounds good.” JFK's face is red. He drops a book. “See ya'.”

“Way to go, Willa.” Tina is shocked. “A party, huh? What will Stella say?”

Good question. My mother isn't the easiest person to deal with. After my first father died in a tragic accident before I was even born, Stella opened a wedding-planning business to support us, but her own heart was too broken to ever love again. And she wrote a rule book the size of a dictionary to
make sure I kept my mind on school. I spent years wishing for a father, trying to find “Mr. Right”—the right husband for Stella, the right father for me—with no luck. Then Nana somehow convinced Stella to come home to Cape Cod and then Sam Gracemore moved in next door and he turned out to be my English teacher, and the rest, as they say, is history Except for the rule book. Stella still loves those rules.

“I don't know, Tina. I hope she says, ‘great idea, have fun,' but I have a feeling it will be much more complicated than that.”

“Tell Stella and Sam to think of it as …
community service,”
Tina says.

“What?” I nearly choke on my cheeseburger.

At Freshman Meeting this morning, I was elected Community Service Leader. Actually “elected” is stretching the taffy. No one else volunteered. But I kept hearing Nana saying “We're lucky ducks, Willa. We've got our health, home, and a happy family, and when you've got a lot, you've got to give a lot back” and finally my hand went up.

“Tina, how is a party in the barn considered
community service?”

Tina huffs like I'm hopeless. “Think of it as a way to bring the guys and girls in our class together, to see
who's compatible, who can dance …”

“Tina, that's not community service. That's a
dating
service.”

Tina crinkles her eyebrows and smiles. “Exactly, Willa. What's the problem? Are you forgetting who's back in Bramble?”

JFK's back JFK's back.
The bell rings.

“Okay Tina. I'll give it a try. Come on, we're late for class.”

“Ooh, fun,” Tina says. “A party in the barn. Now, what are we going to wear?”

CHAPTER 2
 
Be a Leaper
 

Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell.
It fell upon a little western flower …

—Shakespeare,
A Midsummer Night's Dream

My mouth full of licorice, my heart full of hope, I nearly skip home along Main Street.
JFK's back. JFK's back.
The yard by Bramble United Community, “BUC,” is filled with giant sunflowers bobbing like they're talking in the breeze. A black face rises up from the yellow sea. Sulamina Mum waves and walks toward me with a bouquet.

“Hey little sister.” Mum gives me a hug. “How's high school?”

“So far so good, Mum.”

Sulamina Mum is the minister of BUC, “a home for every heart.” Every weekend, people from all different religions “come together to be grateful,” as Mum says. Just about everyone in Bramble belongs. BUC is never boring and the bagels are good.

“Who you playing Cupid for these days?” Mum says. Mum knows I hitched up Stella and Sam and she gives me credit for Nana and Gramp Tweed, too. My grandmother owned the candy store in town and Mr. Tweed owned the bookstore. I invited them to a picnic. They did all the rest. After their wedding, which I helped plan, they combined their businesses into Sweet Bramble Books, happy as taffy on teeth. It's great for me, too. Now I can buy my favorite things, books and candy, one-stop shopping.

“Got a dark handsome stranger up your sleeve for me?” Mum asks all serious. She lets that sink in a bit, and then starts in with her deep belly laugh.

“My matchmaking days are done, Mum. Right now I need to find a cause.”

“A cause?”

“You know … a worthy cause, a charitable need, raise some money, do something good. I'm the new Community Service Leader for our class and I'm supposed to quote unquote, ‘scout out an opportunity to make a better Bramble and then organize and inspire classmates to participate.' Got any ideas?”

“Well, there's lots of ways to make a difference,
Willa. I'd say pick a cause you care about. Something close to your heart. Then you'll surely succeed.”

I tell Mum that JFK is back and how I invited him for Halloween and how now all I have to do is convince Stella to let me have a party in the barn.

Mum bursts out laughing. “Well, aren't you something, little sister. When I was young it was the fella who did the asking out.” A sad look flits across Mum's face. “Here, give these to Stella.” Mum hands me the sunflowers. “Maybe they'll help.”

“Did you have a fella, Mum?”

“Oh, no …”

“Come on, Mum. Tell me.”

Mum squints at me. “Nothing 'bout love gets past you, does it, honey?”

She sits on the step. I sit down too. We cast very different size shadows.

“You wouldn't know it looking at me now, but when I was a high-school senior I had a mighty fine man calling on me.
Mmmm, mmmm, mmmm.
When Riley Truth looked at me, my knees'd turn to pudding. Chocolate pudding.”

“What happened to him, Mum?” This is exciting.

“Well, right around the time I got my calling for the seminary, Riley got his calling too. From the United States Army. He went overseas and I went
north and north and north. Then the years piled up and letters stopped coming …” Mum's lips quiver. She wipes her eyes. “'Nough about that.”

“Well, where is Riley now? Why don't you call him, Mum?”

“Oh no, honey. What's over's over.”

“But look at how mushy you still are, Mum. That's Cupid working. And I bet Riley Truth still loves you, too. You should track him down.”

“Oh no, Willa. I couldn't.”

“Yes you can, Mum. If I was brave enough to invite JFK—”

“Stop it, Willa. Now.” Mum's voice is angry. She foists herself up.

It's like I've been slapped. I've never seen Mum mad.

She turns to me. “I'm sorry, Willa.” Her kind brown eyes are glistening. “It's just I'm a big old chicken hawk,
squawk, squawk …”

“It's okay, Mum. Don't be afraid. Be a leaper.”

“A what?”

“A leaper. Come on, Mum. You're the minister. Take a leap of faith. Believe in yourself. Just leap right over the scary part and land on the other side.”

Mum sticks her chin up, sways her head side to side. “A leaper.” She laughs. “I like that. I might use it in my sermon Sunday. But I'm not promising any—”

“Gotta go, Mum. I'm late.”

The sunflowers are garden-warm in my arms, but when I see the Bramble Library, I turn cold. There's a strange sign on the door.
CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
The shutters are drawn on the windows. I hope Mrs. Saperstone is okay. Sam will know. I hurry home.

The Bramblebriar Inn is dressed for autumn, pots of red and yellow mums, pumpkins, cornstalks, goofy scarecrows, maple leaves dancing on the cobble-stone fence. Guests are relaxing in wicker chairs, reading, talking, napping. There's a short plump man in a fancy suit and a tall plump lady in a mink coat reading the Bramble Board. New rich guests, I bet. Sam started the tradition of the Bramble Board. Now I put up the quotes. Today it reads:

It is by spending oneself that one becomes rich.
Sarah Bernhardt

“Mom, Sam, I'm home!”

My parents are in the kitchen. It's our busiest time of day. Sam is lifting a pie out of the oven. Stella's arranging miniature quiches on a tray. Butternut squash soup is simmering on the stove.
Hmmm, yum.

“Good,” Stella says. “We need your help.” She nods toward the cheese and fruit.

Sam winks at me. “Nice flowers, Willa. How was school?”

“So far, so good. Hey, Sam, there's a closed sign on the library.”

Sam nods. “Budget problems. The council's talking about curtailing nonessential services—”

“Nonessential services! The library isn't a nonessential—”

“Okay, Willa,” Stella interrupts. “What's essential right now is making dinner.”

There's a watering can on the floor by the door. I fill it and stick the flowers in. An orange barn cat stares up at the sunny faces and then nestles underneath.
The library is too an essential service.
I grab an oatmeal cookie and a glass of milk and begin slicing the cheddar cheese. I tell them about being elected Community Service Leader and how Tina and I are thinking of planning a little party on Halloween …

“Well,” Stella says, looking at Sam. “That was quite a day you had, Willa. Any chance you squeezed in some algebra?”

I change knives and start slicing the apples.

Sam laughs. “I'm proud of you, Willa, about the service thing. A college professor called it ‘community rent.' How we all have an obligation to pay rent—some of our time, or talent, or treasure—otherwise known as money—to help others.”

Stella looks up when Sam says “money.”

“So what are you planning to do?” Sam asks.

“We haven't decided yet.” I arrange the fruit and cheese on a platter and open a box of crackers. “But Tina and I were thinking if we got the class together on Halloween we could start brainstorming ways to serve—”

“Right now it's time to serve our
guests,”
Stella announces, standing up. “You take the cheese, Willa. I've got the quiche.”

I knew this wasn't going to be simple.

CHAPTER 3
 
The Honey-Do List