Willa by Heart (2 page)

On clear days as I walk, I look for beach glass and orange-and-yellow jingle shells. Sometimes I
find buoys, lures, castle pails. Last week an emerald earring, just one.

The fog is getting thicker now. It wets my face like rain. I pick up my pace. I'm late anyway. I'm on breakfast duty at the inn.

My family owns the Bramblebriar Inn, just outside the center of town. I hope Rosie is making blueberry pancakes, warm maple syrup, sausage on the side …
wait
… there's something ahead there on the jetty, out on the final rock. I walk forward, the fog growing thicker. It's hard to see anything clearly.

As I get closer, I can see it's not a fisherman, no pole. How odd to be just standing there out on the edge of a jetty on a morning like this. How curious.

I walk closer. The figure turns. It is a girl, about my age. She looks familiar, but I'm not sure. “Hi,” I shout over the wind. The girl stares at me. She cranes her head forward, side to side, looking, as if she, too, is trying to see if she knows me.

I reach the jetty and nearly slip as I step up onto the first boulder. The fog is thickening like pudding. The girl is motioning to come closer, or maybe just waving. I guess we do know each other. “Hi,” I say again, louder. I hop over to the
next boulder, then the next, careful not to slip. Wouldn't want to fall in on a day like this, not able to spot jagged rocks and coral, not to mention the eels. I hop across to another flat spot.

Just then there's a break in the fog. I can see her face. Dark eyes and skin, long curly black hair. She is beautiful. The girl smiles as if we know each other. I have never seen her before. The wind is picking up, waves crashing in louder, must be nearly high tide. These last several boulders will be covered with water soon. It won't be safe to stand. “Hi,” I say again.

The girl nods and then turns back toward the sea. She spreads her arms wide like a heron before flight, then raises them above her gracefully and dives.

What?
It's too early in the season to swim. Even for the bravest, Cape water won't be warm for months. I leap onto the next rock, then the next, and when I reach the last, I look down. I don't see her anywhere.

I stand there looking, looking. She has to come up for air. I call to the foaming water, “Hey! Are you all right?” Did she swim left or right or straight out? I search and search. It starts to rain.
Shivering, I zip my jacket, pull up the hood. I keep scanning the water. “Hello. Are you okay?” Where is she? Why hasn't she surfaced? My heart is pounding. What if she hurt herself? What if she …

I head back fast along the slippery rocks, and when I reach the beach, I start running, eyes glued to the water as I go. Where did she go? Why doesn't she come up for air? I'm definitely late now. Mother will be mad. I run toward the beach stairs. My bike is at the top. I'll phone for help at the nearest cottage. As I run, I stare, eyes burning, fixed on the water, searching, searching. Where is she?

And then all of a sudden, the girl's head pops up. She looks toward the shore like a carefree harbor seal. I run to the edge of the water and scream, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she shouts, treading water, wiping hair away from her eyes.

“Are you
sure
you're okay?” I ask.

“Yes,” the girl shouts, sounding annoyed.
“Are you?”

Anything serious goin' on in the world since Wednesday?

—
Our Town

Am I okay? Am I okay? Unbelievable.
I'm fuming as I bike home, cold in the rain. Here I was worried about
her,
trying to help
her,
and she acted mad at
me!
Who was that girl, anyway? And she was on my beach,
my beach.

It isn't until I turn the corner on to my street, see the old stone fence and the Bramble Board message,
SPRING FORWARD TOWARD YOUR DREAMS,
that I feel myself calming down. A girl couldn't ask for a nicer home than the Bramblebriar Inn.

Happy yellow daffodils, cheery pink and purple
tulips, line the winding driveway. I park my bike, head up the porch stairs. Mmmmm, breakfast smells delicious.

When my mother married Sam Gracemore last year, we renovated his grandmother's old estate and opened the Bramblebriar Inn. People in town said we'd uncovered a treasure. Mom gave up her wedding-planning business and Sam gave up teaching to run the place. I help in the kitchen and take care of the library, the game room, and the Bramble Board.

The Bramblebriar Inn is elegant, but warm and cozy, too. When our guests come back to visit us, again and again, we welcome them home like family.

The main house is three stories high, white with green shutters, four tall brick chimneys, and a widow's walk on the back rooftop. On a clear day you can see Nantucket Sound. There are thirty rooms in the main house and several smaller buildings on the property; a renovated barn big enough for dances and parties; acres of grass, trees, and flowers; a huge, round garden labyrinth; and a pond where you can swim in the summer and ice-skate in the winter.

“Sorry I'm late, Rosie. Be right there.” I flip my wet sandals off by the door and race up to change. My stepfather, Sam, is the main chef at the inn, but we just hired Rosie to handle breakfast and desserts. My freshman English teacher, Dr. Swaminathan, went to India on family business, and Sam is substituting for him this semester. I'll miss Dr. Swammy but I'm happy to have Sam back as my teacher again. That's how I first met Sam. He was my seventh-grade English teacher. From the moment I met Sam, I knew he would be the perfect husband for my mother, the perfect father for me. I spent months playing Cupid, trying to get them together, and finally it worked.

I still call Sam, Sam, but I am planning on calling him Dad on Father's Day. I think that's the best gift I could give him. It's been a long time since anyone called Sam Dad. Sam was married before, long ago, but his wife and son were killed in a car crash. His little boy was only two.

When I come down to the kitchen, Rosie is dicing vegetables with the flair of a celebrity chef on television. She puts me to work squeezing oranges for juice.

Rosie can't be more than twenty. She has a baby
named Liliana. Nana told me that Rosie's husband ran off after the baby was born and never came back. Nana heard about the situation and helped Rosie get the job here.

I think it must be so sad for Rosie, having her husband abandon her like that, and so hard having to leave her baby to come here, but Rosie doesn't bring her troubles to work. She's friendly to me, Mom, and Sam, but she keeps her private life private.

“How was your walk, Willa?” Rosie asks.

“Okay” I say I'll wait and tell my friend Tina about that annoying girl in the water. “What are you making, Rosie? It smells wonderful.”

“Frittatas, home fries, cranberry nut muffins.”

“Mmmm, can't wait.”

“Morning, ladies,” Sam says, coming into the kitchen. “Willa, your mom said another magazine called yesterday. You won't let all this fame go to your head, will you?” Sam winks at me and smiles.

“No way, Sam.” I guess I should tell you I'm something of a celebrity here in Bramble. People say I saved the Bramble Library, which I guess is true. Last September I was elected head of Community Service for the freshman class at
Bramble Academy, and we had to find a way to make a difference. My friend Sulamina Mum, she's a minister, said to pick a cause I cared about. Well, I heard that the Bramble Library was being shut down. They were going to send all of our books,
Bramble books,
over to the Falmouth Library. I was so mad I couldn't see straight. That's another thing you should know about me. I
love
books. I mean I love, love, love, love, love books. And that was my library,
my library.
No way would I let them close it.

The freshman class put on dance parties here in the barn and then a fancy Valentine's prom to raise money, but it still wasn't enough. It looked like the library was lost, until lo and behold, our favorite inn guests, the Blazers, of the Blazer Buick fortune, came through with the big bucks, and long story short, the Bramble Library lives.

Mom comes in freshly showered after her morning run. She grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, then whispers something to Sam, and he says, “Sure, Stella, okay.”

“Willa,” Mom says, “can we talk to you for a minute?”

Rosie looks uncomfortable, like maybe she
should leave, but she can't. The guests will be expecting breakfast at eight.

“Why don't we go into the library,” Sam says.

This sounds serious. Oh no, what now? Is everything all right with Nana? Is everything all right with the inn? They aren't thinking of selling it, are they?

Mom and Sam sit next to each other on the couch. He wraps his arm around her and says something I can't hear.

“We have some news,” Mom says. “I know this may come as a bit of a surprise to you, Willa … but Sam and I … are going to have a baby.”

What?
My stomach somersaults.

Mom smiles at Sam. He nods at her. The tide is changing in my brain.

Sam looks at me, tilts his head to the side, squinting his eyes like he's trying to read my thoughts, like he's wondering if I'm okay with this.

Talk about surprises. It was always just me and Mom. Now me, Mom, and Sam. I've been an only child for fourteen years. I'm a freshman in high school, for gosh sakes …
And now I'm going to get a little brother or
…

“Willa,” Mom says, walking toward me, “are you okay?”

I burst into tears. I hug her. “'m so happy for you, Mom. And Sam.”

When I hug Sam, he keeps his hands locked on my shoulders and stares into my eyes like he's trying to read them. Sam knows that “happy” isn't the only feeling I'm feeling right now. “Willa …,” Sam starts, but I shake my head no. I don't want to spoil my mother's joy. “I'm good, Sam. I'm late for Tina's.”

Now I really need to talk to my best friend.

I've got to tell you something, because if I don't … I'll burst.

—
Our Town

When I get to the Belles' house, Tina is up in her room sprawled out on her bed, studying the new Hotties catalog.

“Hey, Willa, perfect timing. Which bikini do you like better, this one or this one?”

I look at the bathing suits. “They're pretty Why don't you get both?”

“Oh good, Willa, thanks, you're right.” Tina breathes a sigh of relief. “I was feeling a little guilty because I already ordered three yesterday and I'm reaching my card max for the month, and Daddy's
threatening to cut me off again, but hey, you can never have too many bikinis, right?”

“Right,” I say, sticking my chest forward, picturing the boring navy blue one-piece in my drawer from last year. I look at the models in the Hotties catalog. It would take a miracle between now and beach season for me to look like a hottie in one of those bikinis. Maybe I should do more push-ups, eat more broccoli or something.

“Here, Willa.” Tina hands me the catalog. “Take it. We get a bunch of these a month—Mom and I are Gold Club customers. Maybe you'll see something you like. And don't be afraid to show off your shape. You have such a cute little shape.”

The word “cute” grates on my ears. I'm sick of being cute. Nobody calls Tina cute. People call Tina gorgeous. She has a face like a movie star's and long, silky blond white hair, like the angel wig I wore in the kindergarten Christmas pageant.

“Tina, wait till you hear this. I have really big news. Mom and Sam are expecting a baby”

“A little sister?” Tina claps her hands, all excited. “Ooooooooh, how
cute!”
She bops up and down on the bed. “A little sister? Oooh, I can't wait. Tell Stella I'll babysit anytime, all the time, for free. Oh,
Willa, we'll have such fun shopping for her, dressing her up, taking her out to lunch….” Tina leans forward, her big brown eyes sparkling, “Just think about all those tiny baby dresses, shoes, pocket-books … oh my gosh, we've got to get her tiny baby ears pierced … and take her to the spa for her first little mani-pedi … in pink, of course—”