Willa by Heart (4 page)

“Then I ate so many I got sick of them.”

Nana laughs. “That's okay. Tastes change. Now you're my chief saltwater taffy tester.”

Cape Cod is famous for its saltwater taffy, in every flavor you could wish for.

Over on the book side of the store Muffles meows and leaps down from her sunny window perch. When Gramp Tweed was alive, every Friday he would leave a new book for me on that window ledge. Muffles would sit on it until I came.

It was just this past December that Gramp died of a heart attack. We all miss him like crazy,
Nana especially. She still has some really bad days. Though she is never the one to feel sorry for her-self, never wants us to worry about her. But I do. Nana has had heart trouble of her own. I keep reminding her to take a walk every day.

Muffles meows, rubs her gray coat against my leg, circles around me, and meows again. I pick her up and scratch under her neck the way Gramp did. I rub my nose against her tiny wet nose. I bet Muff misses Gramp too.

“Did you hear Mom and Sam's news?” I ask.

“About the baby?” Nana says, looking at me over the bridge of her glasses.

I nod.

“Yes. Stella called me this morning.” Nana doesn't sound pleased. She shakes her head and sighs. “That daughter of mine never ceases to surprise me. What is she thinking of? A baby at her age?”

“But Nana, Mom only just turned forty. Lots of women have—”

“I know, I know, but the older you are, the greater the risks of something going wrong and …”

“Nothing will go wrong,” I say. “My mother is the healthiest person I know. She's strictly vegetarian now, and she jogs five—”

“Jogs blogs,” Nana says. “Stella better slow down. And forget the vegetables. She better start eating some good American Angus beef, or she won't be getting enough protein. And how is she going to run an inn and take care of an infant and…”

I walk away so Nana can rant and rave in peace. Let's just say Nana and Mom don't always see the world through the same pair of sunglasses.

There's a new display of books on the main table.
Our Town
by Thornton Wilder. I pick up a copy and read the back jacket:

Our Town
was first produced and published in 1938 to wide acclaim. This Pulitzer Prize-winning drama of life in the small village of Grover's Comers, an allegorical representation of all life, has become a classic.

Sounds good.

You are holding in your hands a great American play. Possibly
the
great American play.—Donald Margulies

It touches the soul like a miracle.—Albert Einstein

The
Albert Einstein? Wow.

I grab two more chocolate-covered strawberries and plop down on the old tweed couch. Gramp and I used to sit here and “book-talk” every Friday afternoon after school. I open
Our Town
to act 1:

“This play is called ‘Our Town.' …”

A long while later I'm still reading. There are chocolate smudges on the pages. I don't want to put the book down.

“You should try out,” Nana says.

“Try what out?”

“The play.
Our Town.
Upper Cape Repertory is holding auditions—a week from next Friday, I think it is. My friend Gail George dropped off those flyers on the counter. That's why I ordered in the books.”

“Mmmmm, maybe. Can I keep this copy?”

“Of course. Any book you ever want. Gramp always said you were his best customer.”

I give Nana a hug. She smells like lavender. “Are you doing okay, Nana?”

“Fine as I can, honey. Day by day.”

“You're getting out for your walks, right? And you're taking your heart medication, right?”

“Willa, you are such a worrywart.” Nana shakes
her head, laughing, pushing me toward the door. “Go home now, but come back this weekend, I need you to rate some new taffies for me. Summer's coming and I've got to be ready.”

I take a yellow flyer off the counter and stick it inside
Our Town.
I fill a bag with my current favorite flavors of saltwater taffy: lemon lime, chocolate, and peppermint.

“Thanks for the book, Nana, and the candy.” I hug her again.

“Anytime, honey. Anytime.”

Our guests are having cocktails and hors d'oeuvres on the front porch when I get home. I grab a small plate of cheese and crackers and a handful of grapes and sneak up to my room. I finish reading
Our Town.
I know whom I want to play.

Emily. She's the star of the show. She loves her town the way I love Bramble. Everyone is so kind and good to one another. Emily is the smartest girl in her school, and she's in love with a boy named George Gibbs. She tells him, “All I want is someone to love me.” And he says, “I will, Emily.” And she says, “And I mean for
ever.
Do you hear? For ever and ever.” And then the
next scene is their wedding day.

It's just so perfectly romantic. I want that part. I am perfect for that part.

Now, if only JFK will play George….

Is there no one in town aware of social injustice and … inequality?

Oh, yes, everybody is…. Seems like they spend most of their time talking about who's rich and who's poor.

—
Our Town

“April break is turning into a nightmare,” Ruby Sivler complains to me and Tina at lunch on Monday. “An absolute nightmare.”

“You're going to Mexico, right?” Tina says, looking all concerned.

“No-o,” Ruby says. “Well … yes … we
were.
Mommy booked us four deluxe beachfront suites at the brand-new Grand Highness Royale in
Cancún. She booked them last July.
Last July.
That's how long ago she booked them….”

Four beachfront suites. It's just Ruby and her sister, her mom and dad. They each need their own suite?

“And then some storm hit last month and destroyed the entire beach. All the cute little striped cabanas, the palm trees … I guess the waves washed right up and ruined all three pools and the hot tubs, too. Can you imagine?”

“Hurricane Igor,” I say, “it was awful. Lots of people lost their—”

“Well, anyway,” Ruby says, cutting me off.

“Thankfully our travel agent has connections, and she was able to book us back to Grand Cayman Island. We were just there last year, so it'll be
boring,
but at least I'll get my spring tan.”

“Thank goodness for that,” I say.

Tina looks at me and rolls her eyes.

Tina's right. Ruby is harmless. It's just that she also seems to be totally clueless about the real world. People lost their houses, their businesses, some lost their
lives
in that hurricane, and all Ruby can think about is how it inconvenienced her
vacation?

I can tell Tina sympathizes with Ruby. They have a lot in common. They used to be best friends before I moved to Bramble. Tina's rich too. Her family always goes someplace tropical every holiday break, winter break, spring break…. My family is middle class. Although Sam says we're rich by world standards. He's always cutting out articles in the paper about countries where children have to beg for food or where mothers have to walk for days with babies strapped on their backs just to fill jugs with clean water. It's like Mum was trying to tell me. The job is never done. There is always another way to help make the world a better …

Tina elbows me hard. “Look,” she whispers.

JFK is heading toward our table. I finger the chain of the locket around my neck.

“Come on, Ruby,” Tina says, standing, trying to block Ruby's view of JFK. “Let's get dessert. They've got fudge fancies today.”

“Ooh, yummy,” Ruby says.

I don't even have time to worry about my hair or anything before JFK sits down across from me. “Hey,” he says, and smiles.

“Hi, Joseph.”

“You're wearing it, huh?”

“Yep.” Why do I still feel like entire towns of butterflies are hatching in my stomach every time I see him? We're a couple now. When does it get less scary?

“Do you want to do something Saturday?” he says.

“Sure.”

“Like what?”

Anything. Anything. Dinner, a movie, watching the clock tick …

“I don't care, whatever. How about you?”

“Maybe we could hit the beach for a while, grab a pizza at Zoe's after?”

Butterflies be gone.
I take a leap. “How about if I make us a picnic? It's supposed to be warm all week.”

JFK smiles. My left hand holds my right hand down to resist touching that dimple. And those eyes, those eyes. Could they be any bluer?

“Sure, but I invited you,” he says. “What do you want me to bring?”

Yourself. Those peppermint lips
… “How about dessert?”

He laughs. “I don't know. That might be out of my league.”

“A Frisbee maybe?”

“Frisbees I can do. I'll bike to your house around two. Good?”

“Good.”

Oh, yes, very good. Very, very good.

After dinner I look for Sam. He's in his study on the third floor. It's a small yellow room, lined with books from floor to ceiling, with a narrow stairway leading up to the widow's walk. Years ago wives would pace back and forth up there, hoping to spot their husband's ship. The seafaring life was harsh, though, and many men never made it home.

The door is ajar. Sam is at his desk, writing furiously fast. Catching fireflies, I bet. That's what we call those moments of inspiration when words are coming fast and free in our heads, and we have to catch them
quick, quick,
like lightning bugs in a mayonnaise jar, before they fly away.

I stand patiently in the hall, waiting. I'm curious to know what Sam is writing, but I won't inter-rupt a moment like this. When Sam first showed me and Mom this room on their first official date, he said he was working on a book. He hasn't mentioned
it since. I peek back in again, then again.

When Sam finally stops writing, I knock.

“Willa, hi, come in.” Sam closes the notebook and slides it into the top drawer. He doesn't want to tell me what he's working on. “What's up?”

I tell Sam how I'm searching for a new cause for our class. Saving the Bramble Library was good, but now it's time to move on. And where to begin? So many bad, sad things in the world. So many people to help …

“Willa,” Sam says, eyes shining. “I'm proud to be your …
in your
family.”

I know he was going to say “proud to be your father.” Just wait until June, Sam.

“It really doesn't matter what you choose,” he says. “I imagine you are going to do many important things in your life. This is just the next way you'll make the world a little better. We are so lucky here in America, not all Americans, but us, our family, we are healthy, fed, educated. We are even lucky to have the luxury of looking around to wonder how we can share a bit of the goodness we've been given.”

“But Freshman Class Meeting is Friday, and I'd like to have a proposal.”

“Anything you do will be more than has been there before.”

“I don't want to ask people for any more money….”

“Forget about money,” Sam says. “Money is a Band-Aid. People connecting with people is where the real good stuff happens. Person to person. Teaching someone how to read. Helping someone find a job….”

“But Sam, where do you begin?”

“Inside. Listen to your own voice, Willa. I always find that if I shut up long enough and listen, the answer comes.”

I am dying to ask Sam what he's writing, but I respect that if he wanted to tell me, he would. “Thanks, Sam, good night.”

“Night, Willa, sweet dreams.”

“Oh, wait, Sam, what are we reading next in class?”

“Follow the yellow brick road.”

“The Wizard of Oz?”
I laugh. “Isn't
Oz
a little young for high school? We've been studying Shakespeare all year with Dr. Swaminathan.”

“And that's wonderful. But I don't know when I'll get another chance to teach literature again, so
I thought I'd do some personal favorites.”

“But Dorothy and Toto, Sam? What's to study? Everybody knows the story.”

“Actually, many people only know the movie version. The original book by L. Frank Baum is brilliant in its simplicity. I think it is the finest, uniquely American fairy tale. The quintessential journey theme, searching for the thing we think we want most, trying to find a way back home …”

That night I write in my journal. “On June 18, for the first time ever, I will say ‘Happy Father's Day, Dad.'”

Dad, Dad, Dad.

Sam will be so happy.