Willa by Heart (16 page)

I'll call JFK tomorrow.

Everything was perfect, the food, the music … and the cake … the Bramblebriar signature wedding cake was the hit of the party. “It's delicious, just delicious,” people said. Some asked for seconds. Mama Blazer had thirds. In fact, so many guests raved about the cake that Mom sent a waitress into the kitchen to get Rosie.

She came out shyly, wiping her hands on her apron. I motioned for her to come forward. I took the microphone from the emcee. “Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce my friend Ms. Rosalita Torres, the finest baker in Bramble.”

People clapped, and Rosie nodded her head, pleased but modest.

And then all of a sudden Mama Blazer came rushing up like a cyclone, a bit tipsy from all the champagne, I think, and hugged Rosie so hard she nearly knocked her over, golden boa feathers flying everywhere. “Rosie, sugar,” Mama B.
gushed. “You've got talent, honey. That's the best cake I've ever tasted, and believe me, I know cakes. Give me your phone number, honey. Papa B. and I are going to make you famous!”

Don't know when I've seen such a lovely wedding. But I always cry. Don't know why it is, hut I always cry. I just like to see young people happy, don't you? Oh, I think it's lovely.

—
Our Town

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Suzanna says, hugging me, then Mom, then me again as the last of the guests head off to bed. “Thank you, Stella, thank you, Willa. It was all that I dreamed of and more. And I
loved
the wishing well full of charms, Willa, and the dancing….” She leans down to unstrap a glittery sandal. “My feet still think they're dancing….”

Miss Shirley Happyfeet from Truro outdid herself again. She had Mama and Papa B. leading a conga line, and then she choreographed the sixteen
bridesmaids in a “clam cakes number,” sort of a high-stepping, leg-flashing Cape Cod version of the Rockettes, that had every guy in the place going wild.

The Bramblebriar signature wedding cake and the silver charms were the talk of the evening. “The wishing well was your idea?” Mom said. “How creative.”

But even though it should have been one of the happiest nights of my life, I kept seeing JFK's face in my mind. Then one of the bridesmaids would pull me back on to the dance floor and Jace would swing me in his arms and I'd start having a good time again, and then a minute later my stomach would clench remembering JFK.

I just need to talk to him, to explain that the maid of honor and best man are
required
to dance together. It's just a custom, that's all. It's way too late to call his house. Maybe I'll write him a letter, then in the morning I'll bike over and tape it to his front door so he'll get it first thing.

Dear Joseph,

Why did you run off from the wedding so quickly? I was just dancing, that's all. He was the
best man and I was the maid of honor. We had to dance together. It's a wedding tradition. Please don't be mad. I'll see you at Mum's wedding, okay?

Willa

I change into pajamas, snuggle into bed, but cannot fall asleep. So many thoughts swirling inside. Why did JFK have to get so mad? Couldn't he at least have stayed for a minute so we could talk? But I was dancing sort of close to Jace. I can see why JFK would be angry. How would I feel if I saw him dancing with Mariel?

I pull on a sweatshirt and head to Sam's office. I climb up the narrow flight of stairs, push open the door, and step out onto the widow's walk.

Ahhhh
… cool, fresh air hits my face. The sky is jet black and speckled with stars. Bramble stars. I close my eyes, breathe in and out, feel the soft, breeze on my cheeks. I take a deep breath and let it go. It is so quiet and peaceful up here.

When I open my eyes, I see a
flash
in the sky, one star burning brighter than the rest. Then all of a sudden the star bursts and shoots downward.
And then
another flash,
a second star glowing brighter, brighter, and then it, too, begins to fall. I've never seen a shooting star before, now twice in one … The trail of the second star crosses the path of the first. They make an X in the sky.

I start to cry. It's so beautiful.

A sign, but what does it mean?

I'm wide awake now, so I head down to the kitchen to put the twelve charms in Mum and Riley's wedding cake. It's only my second wedding, but I have a feeling this will become one of our Bramblebriar traditions.

People had such fun with the charms at Suzanna's wedding, saying how something might be a good sign of this or that.

I know Mum will like the idea. She's forever saying signs are all around us. Beautiful surprises at every turn. If we look for them with an open heart.

Back in bed, I lie awake thinking about today, the expression on JFK's face—was he angry or jealous? I can't wait to drop off the note and talk to him tomorrow.

We invited everyone from Bramble United Community to join us here at the inn tomorrow
after Mum and Riley's wedding. The Blazers will have left by then to set sail on the
Cape Queen.

Mum told me she just wanted a simple brunch, but I knew she was concerned about costs. Mom and Sam and I decided that the reception would be our treat.

Mum will be so surprised. I can't believe she's getting married tomorrow. I can't believe she's leaving Bramble….

I start to cry again. This time for a different reason. Why is everything so complicated all of a sudden? Just this spring life was so perfect, and now this summer it's all crazy. I hug my fluffy old one-eared koala bear, soft against my cheek.

Just before I fall asleep, I see the two stars kissing on the clear black slate of my mind. X marks the spot. A sign maybe.

But is it good or bad?

Now there are some things we all know, but we don't take'm out and look at'm very often. We all know that something is eternal. And it ain't houses and it ain't names, and it ain't earth, and it ain't even the stars … everybody knows in their bones that something is eternal, and that something has to do with human beings. All the greatest people ever lived have been telling us that for five thousand years and yet you'd be surprised how people are always losing hold of it. There's something way down deep that's eternal about every human being.

—
Our Town

I wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of rain rapping on the roof.

I forgot to hang the rosaries.

I look at the clock and leap out of bed. Mum's wedding is in two hours.

There's a knock on my door. “Come in, come in,” I shout, moving around, still half asleep, trying to decide whether to shower first or go down and eat breakfast first or …

Rosie is holding a wooden tray. “Thought this would save you some time,” she says. Warm blueberry muffins, juice, and coffee. Rosie smiles and shakes her head. “I don't know how you're doing it all, Willa. Two weddings back-to-back, and the maid of honor at both.”

I take the tray and set it on my bed. “You are so sweet, Rosie, thank you.” I give her a hug. “Are you managing the kitchen alone this morning?”

“No,” Rosie says. “Daryl and Maggie are here.”

“Your cake was such a hit yesterday, Rosie. You'll have to tell me the recipe.”

“I don't know about that,” Rosie says with a smile. “Your friend Mrs. Blazer said to keep it a secret. A tip-top secret. ‘Don't even write it down,' she said.”

“Oh, no.” I see the note I was going to drop off at JFK's.

“What, Willa? What's wrong?”

I tell Rosie what happened last night.

“Give it to me,” Rosie says. “The girls can handle the kitchen. What's his address? I need some fresh air anyway. Your friend Mrs. Blazer has my head swimming with all of her plans and ideas.”

My dress for Mum's wedding is pale pink, a simple but elegant linen. I have blisters from yesterday's high heels. My feet sing
Thank you
when I slip on sandals.

I pick up the silver locket from my dresser.
Should I wear it or not?
And then I think, of course, if ever there was a day to celebrate two halves of a heart locking together as one, today is the day And JFK will be there. Hopefully he's reading my note right now, realizing how he overreacted.

Every pew in BUC is packed. People are standing all around the perimeter, spilling out into the gathering space and out the front door, in the rain, with umbrellas.

I keep looking for JFK. I don't see him anywhere.

Riley's cousin Birch, the only relative Riley
keeps in touch with, took buses all the way from Alabama to be the best man. Birch is older than Riley. He has darker skin, a salt-and-pepper speckled beard. Like Riley, he moves slowly, deliberately, shoulders hunched like they've carried a ton of weight in his lifetime. When Birch laughs—which, like Riley, is quite often—his eyes laugh too.

“Miss Willa,” he says, nodding at me at the back of the church. He crooks his crisp, tuxedoed arm upward, and I wrap my hand around it.

As we walk up the center aisle of BUC, this place I love so much, tears begin to well in my eyes. I am so happy for Mum and so very sad that she's leaving.

When Birch and I reach the front, we part and take our respective positions. The music stops and everyone stands. Up in the choir loft Mrs. Bellimo, in a stunning red hat with real roses around the brim, starts to play the organ. I know all the songs at BUC, we do a lot of singing every Sunday, but this is a melody I've never heard before. It has a soulful sound, like humming, rising up from someplace deep.

Mum and Riley process down the aisle together. Mum in the beautiful white satin and lace-trimmed
gown we shopped for in Mashpee together. Riley in a white tuxedo with a rainbow-colored cummerbund and matching rainbow tie. I smile knowing he chose them to match Mum's multicolored minister's robe.

But today Mum isn't a minister. Today Mum is a bride. Today she's wearing a wedding dress, marrying the love of her life.

I scan the aisles for JFK. I don't see him anywhere.

When the ceremony is over and Mrs. Bellimo booms out the wedding march, there is not a dry eye in the place as Mum and Riley process out, smiling and glowing and laughing and waving, the happiest day of their lives.

Birch and I join the bride and groom for some photographs at the altar, and then we go outside with the others. Mom hands me one of the tiny vials filled with birdseed we planned to shower the lovebirds with.

Finally the rain has stopped and the sun is showing who's boss again.

Mum and Riley appear in the doorway, and a swell of cheering rises up.
“Congratulations!”
we shout, and toss the seeds, clapping, whistling,
cameras flashing, all eyes on the happy couple.

Riley looks past us, his chin tilted up toward the sky. He smiles and points to something. “See that, Sully? God sent you a present.”

We all turn to look.

A rainbow painted perfectly on that shimmering blue Cape Cod sky.