The Forget-Me-Not Summer (20 page)

Z
innie was out of breath and sweaty by the time she reached the end of the long driveway (the tsunami dance was quite a workout). That was when she saw the faded, grimy Red Sox hat perched on the mailbox with a note stuck through the hole in the back. She snatched it before her sisters could and pulled out the scrolled-up note that was tucked inside. Scrawled in boy's handwriting across the top were the words “To Marigold from Peter.”

“Ooh-la-la,”
Zinnie said. “A love letter . . . from Peter's hat. Love is in the air!”

“Hey,” Marigold said, grabbing the note from Zinnie's hand.

“Hats can't write letters,” Lily said.

Marigold unfurled the note. Zinnie peered over her shoulder and saw the note was actually a poem.

“But they can write poems,” Zinnie said.

“Hats can't write poems either,” Lily said. “Right, Zinnie?”

“Read it,” Zinnie said, ignoring Lily. “Read us your love poem. From your boyfriend.”

“He's not her boyfriend,” Lily said.

“That's right, Lily. He's not my boyfriend, and it's not a love poem.” Marigold sighed. “It says:

Marigold, don't think that I'd forget

that you lost our little bet

you needed my help in the Cape Cod cat

so I'll see you tonight wearing this hat

                                                   
Peter

PS it's never been washed!!! Ha-ha-ha!”

Marigold gave Zinnie an I-told-you-so look. “There, you happy?”

“I need to know exactly how this hat thing happened,” Zinnie said as they turned the corner onto Harbor Road.

“Well, remember that day we went sailing?” Marigold asked. She recounted the day in extraordinary detail. For a girl who didn't like a boy, she sure did remember just about everything he'd said and done. By the time Marigold finished, they'd reached the general store. “See?” Marigold said. “It was just a bet; it had nothing to do with boyfriends and girlfriends.”

“I love Peter,” Lily said as they opened the screen door and the little bell chimed, “And I'm going to marry him and do the tsunami!” Lily danced into the store. Zinnie and Marigold looked at each other and tried not to laugh.

I
t wasn't like the Silver sisters knew everyone in Pruet. They hadn't even been here three weeks. But Marigold, Zinnie, and Lily were able to spot a stranger in town as quickly as anyone else, if not a little quicker, because they'd been strangers here themselves not so long ago. They were going about their usual business in the general store: Zinnie was gathering the items on Aunt Sunny's list in a basket, Lily was pondering the penny candy, debating if she should get Swedish fish or gummy worms, and Marigold was searching the magazine rack when a woman walked in on heels so thin and high and pointy, they could've been used to spear the little fish that swam in the estuary.

“Prada,” Marigold whispered to herself.

“Excuse me, do you know where Charlotte Point is?” the high-heeled woman asked the teenager who
worked at the counter. She was wearing red lipstick. “It's not coming up on my GPS, and I've been driving around for almost thirty minutes looking for it.”

Marigold looked at Zinnie. Everyone knew that Charlotte Point was where Philip Rathbone's house was.

“I know where it is,” Marigold said. “It's at the end of this road.”

“Are you here to see Mr. Rathbone?” Zinnie asked.

“Yes,” the mysterious woman said. She lifted her sunglasses. She had long eyelashes. “I'm one of his producers.”

“Cool. We're from Los Angeles,” Zinnie said, and cleared her throat. “And you can see Mr. Rathbone tomorrow night at the casino, where we're putting on a talent show. Mr. Rathbone is our judge. My play is called
How Forget-Me-Not Remembered
, and it's starring my beautiful sister, Marigold Silver.” Zinnie pointed to Marigold.

“Uh, hi,” Marigold said. Zinnie got a sinking feeling that she'd just embarrassed her.

“I know you,” the producer lady said, aiming her sunglasses at Marigold. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “What were you in?”

“
Seasons
,” Marigold said. “I was in three episodes.”

“Oh, yeah,” the producer lady said, and wagged a long, purple nail at her. “You were good.”

“Thanks,” Marigold said, her cheeks coloring.

“You really should come to the talent show,” Zinnie said. “It's going to be great. Marigold is really good in it. Like, as good as she was in
Seasons
. Like, if you like
Seasons
, you'll love this play.”

“I'm in the play, too!” Lily said. “I wear a pink tutu, and I go like this.” Lily performed her two lines and finished with a twirl near the postcard rack.

“Maybe I'll come,” the producer lady said. “What else is there to do out here in the sticks, right?”

“Right,” Zinnie said, but something about the way the producer lady's lip curled when she said “the sticks” made Zinnie flinch.

“So Charlotte Point is at the end of this road?” the producer lady asked.

“Yes,” Marigold said. “But there's no sign or anything. After the old schoolhouse turn left.”

“Thanks. Ciao,” she said, and click-clacked out of the general store.

“T
wirl,” Lily said, and clapped her hands as Marigold spun around in her vintage dress. The chiffon skirt floated around her like gauzy petals. “Faster! Faster!” Lily said.

“I can't,” Marigold said, slowing down. “I'm getting dizzy.” Lily laughed as Marigold staggered to the bed. But she might as well have been dizzy from happiness. She loved this cornflower-blue dress, even if it was a little plain. Aunt Sunny had taken in the sides, shortened the straps, and removed the one little stain on the sash. She couldn't see if it fitted because Aunt Sunny didn't have a full-length mirror, but she could feel it wrapping around her waist just right and then swishing out in silky lightness. Marigold stood up, regaining her balance. She was too excited for the dance, her first dance, to sit down.

“You look like a princess,” Lily said, gazing at her older sister with her hands clasped in front of her chest.

“I feel like I need . . . something extra,” Marigold said.

“You should fluff out all your hair and put flowers in it,” Lily suggested.

“Hmm.” Marigold crossed her arms and scrunched her lips to one side of her mouth.

“What's wrong?” Lily asked Zinnie as she walked into the room. “Are you sick?”

Zinnie stood in the doorway wearing the tie-dyed dress that had been Marigold's favorite less than a month ago. It was the one she had worn to her audition for the agent. After Zinnie had begged and pleaded, Marigold had let her borrow it. But it just didn't look right on Zinnie. It was too tight in some places and too loose in others and way too long.

“I look terrible,” Zinnie said, flopped on her bed, and curled into a ball. “I'm fat and I'm short and I'm a frizz ball.”

“No, you're not!” Marigold said. “You look . . . cute.”

“Just tell me the truth,” Zinnie said, her lip trembling. “I'm not stupid.” She burst into tears.

“Don't cry,” Lily said. Her own lips were trembling. When her older sisters cried, she did, too. Marigold pulled Lily onto her lap.

“You're pretty,” Marigold said, and handed each of
her crying sisters a tissue. She put a hand on Zinnie's back. “You have the best eyes of anyone.” Zinnie blew her nose. Loudly. Lily copied her and rested her wet face on Marigold's arm.

“This used to be your dress, and you looked like a mermaid or something,” Zinnie said. “I look . . . like a blowfish.” Marigold and Lily both laughed at this, but Zinnie didn't.

“What's a blowfish?” Lily asked, giggling through her tears.

Marigold sighed. “Do you even like wearing dresses, Zin?” Zinnie shook her head. Marigold looked just like Mom as she said, “If you could wear anything right now, would you pick jeans or a dress?”

“Jeans, obviously,” Zinnie said.

“Well, maybe that's your style,” Marigold said.

“My style is T-shirts with animals on them,” Lily said, and dried her eyes.

“Go pick out your favorite T-shirt,” Marigold whispered to Lily. Then Marigold pulled out her
Young & Lovely
magazines, which were stacked neatly by her bed with Post-its marking her favorite looks. As Lily debated between a zebra shirt and a frog shirt, Marigold flipped through the pages for inspiration. “I have an idea,” Marigold said. “Take off the dress and put on your jeans. I'll be right back.”

Zinnie shimmied out of the dress and put on her jeans and an undershirt. “Ah, so much better,” she
said, relaxing on the bed. Marigold returned with Aunt Sunny's sewing scissors.

“The zebra shirt is the best one,” Lily said, putting it on.

Marigold held the dress up, considering it.

“Do you think Aunt Sunny and Tony will fall in love tonight?” Zinnie asked.

“I hope so,” Marigold said, laying the dress on the floor. “He totally likes her.”

“Aunt Sunny and Tony are going to fall in love?” Lily asked. “And get married?”

“Shh,” Zinnie said, and whispered, “We're hoping they do, but we don't want to act too silly about it or Aunt Sunny will get shy.”

“Oh,” Lily whispered. “Is it a secret?”

“Kind of,” Zinnie said; then she gasped. There was a terrible ripping noise. Marigold was using Aunt Sunny's sewing scissors to cut the bottom half of the silk dress. “Jeez, what are you doing, Marigold?”

“Oh, my goodness!” Lily said. “You ripped that dress. You ripped it in half!”

“Here,” Marigold said, handing the mutilated dress to Zinnie. “Put it on.”

Zinnie sighed and pulled it over her head again. Without the bottom the dress seemed to fit.

“Tuck it in,” Marigold said, circling Zinnie.

Zinnie tucked it in.

“Not too much,” Marigold said, and fluffed it out so
that it was a little bit baggy.

“You made that dress a shirt!” Lily exclaimed.

“Yes, I did,” Marigold said.

“It feels like it fits,” Zinnie said. “How does it look?”

“Much better,” Lily said.

“Awesome,” Marigold said. “Now for your hair. Be right back.”

“Is she going to cut your hair, too?” Lily asked. Zinnie gripped her hair in fear.

Marigold returned with Zinnie's hair goop in her hand.

“That stuff doesn't work,” Zinnie said.

“How are you using it?” Marigold asked as she read the directions on the back.

“I wash my hair; then I brush in the goop; then I blow-dry it,” Zinnie said.

“You're blow-drying?”

“It says, ‘Style as usual,'” Zinnie said.

“First of all, with this kind of product, you need to use your fingers to work it through your hair,” Marigold said. “And the hair dryer is not your friend, okay?”

“But you blow-dry your hair all the time,” Zinnie said.

“But I have straight hair,” Marigold said, “and you're a curly girl.” She told Zinnie to dunk her head in the sink and towel-dry her hair. Lily watched as Zinnie followed Marigold's directions. When Marigold felt Zinnie's hair had made the important leap from wet
to damp, she smothered her hands in goop and twisted her fingers through Zinnie's curls until they looked like the cord on Aunt Sunny's old-fashioned phone.

“See,” Marigold said, showing Zinnie her reflection in the little mirror above the sink. “You look great. And if we let it dry just like this, no frizz.”

“Wow!” Lily said. She was sitting on the toilet lid, watching this makeover unfold as though it were the greatest story ever told.

“Cool!” Zinnie said as she looked in the mirror. “I'm always going to wear my hair like this.” She turned her head from side to side, smiling the whole time.

Aunt Sunny appeared in the doorway in her usual khaki shorts, white T-shirt, and a navy blue sweater. “Why, Zinnia, you look so jazzy. Your hair is just a work of art!”

“Thanks,” Zinnie said. “Marigold did it.”

“And that blouse is just dazzling,” Aunt Sunny said. “You all look great. So let's hop to it and get to the dance.”

“But you're not dressed up,” Lily said.

“The dance is for you, not for me,” Sunny said.

“But you have to look beautiful so Tony will fall in love with you!” Lily blurted. Marigold and Zinnie shot her a silencing look. “Oops,” Lily said.

Aunt Sunny laughed. “Is that so?”

“No, no,” Zinnie said. “It's just that it's a special night. Don't you want to look special, too?”

“Can we just see what else you have?” Marigold said.

“I don't see why I need—” Aunt Sunny said.

“Please?” Marigold said.

“Pretty please?” Zinnie added.

“Pretty please with sugar on top and . . . a clam?” Lily added. “Because you like clams so much?”

“Gross,” Marigold and Zinnie said at the same time.

“I can't say no to a clam,” Aunt Sunny said. “Though it does sound positively disgusting.”

Fifteen minutes later Aunt Sunny was wearing a long flowery skirt that Marigold said was so retro it was cool. Marigold paired it with a plain white blouse and a pair of silvery slippers that, like the skirt, dated back to the 1970s. Marigold wanted her to wear high heels, but Aunt Sunny just laughed. She had never, ever liked heels. But she had clearly liked nice clothes.

“Why were we looking in the attic for clothes for the play?” Marigold asked. “The good stuff is here in your bedroom.”

“It didn't occur to me that you'd be so interested,” Aunt Sunny said.

But Marigold was interested. Aunt Sunny's bedroom closet was brimming with stuff that Marigold said was “hip” and “chic” and “totally classic.”

“You need some bling,” Marigold said. Aunt Sunny, resigned to her niece's vision, showed Marigold her jewelry box.

“It's mostly junk,” she said, but the girls thought it
was loaded with treasures. They kept pawing through it, even after they'd found a funky necklace for Aunt Sunny to wear. “A statement necklace” Marigold had called it.

“You may each pick one thing to keep,” Aunt Sunny said, delighted that her nieces thought her collection was cool. Lily found a small hair comb made from tiny shells. Marigold placed it in her curls. Zinnie found a blue bracelet that Aunt Sunny said was “very art deco.” Zinnie thought that it complemented her new top by bringing out the dashes of blue that were somewhat hidden in the pattern. Aunt Sunny agreed.

Just as Zinnie was slipping it on her arm, she spotted the true prize, a gold necklace with a sea horse charm. Zinnie gasped. “Look at that,” she said, picking it up and admiring the sea horse's emerald eye. Marigold promptly plucked the necklace from Zinnie's palm and cooed with admiration.

“This is exactly what my dress needs,” Marigold said, hanging it around her neck and affixing the clasp. The sea horse aligned perfectly with the sweetheart neckline of the dress. As Marigold did a quick and graceful turn, the emerald caught the light and shone, and the layers of the skirt twirled around her like a soft summer breeze. Zinnie was about to protest that she had seen it first, but by then it was too late; Marigold wanted it. And so it was hers.

“Look what I found,” Lily said, lifting a piece of red
sea glass from a hidden drawer of the jewelry box. “Just what Peter wanted for his collection.”

“Oh, yeah,” Marigold said, and then explained to Sunny and Zinnie how Peter collected sea glass and had always wanted a red piece, the rarest color, but had never been able to find one.

“Let's give it to him,” Lily said. “Please, Aunt Sunny?”

“I'm afraid that's the one thing in the box that I can't let go of,” Aunt Sunny said.

“Why not?” Lily asked.

“Because it reminds me of Ham,” Aunt Sunny said. “He found it and gave it to me when we were courting, and I felt like he'd given me a piece of his heart.”

“But Aunt Sunny,” Zinnie said softly, “doesn't everything in this house remind you of Ham? The pictures, the walls, the chairs, the beds . . . everything?”

“I suppose so,” Aunt Sunny said, and then stood up and glanced at her watch. “Look at the time. We really need to get going. Oh, and let's not forget the brownies.”

“We won't,” Zinnie said, and added with an impish grin, “And Marigold, don't you forget your baseball hat!”