Wish I Might (7 page)

As I come up over the bluff to the beach just before sunset, I see the warm orange glow of the bonfire and hear music playing. At the top of the old, weather-worn gray beach stairs, I pause and look down.

The Buoy Boys are playing.

I don’t see Tina or Ruby, but there are lots of other friends from school. Chandler and Caroline … Emily, Kelsie, Trish, Shefali, MacKenzie, and Allison.

Chandler and Caroline wave up at me. “Hey, Willa!”

That’s nice. I walk down to join them.

We talk about how we did on our final exams. We laugh about the mermaid spotting. “Silly tourists,” Caroline says.

Trish and Kelsie roast marshmallows. Shefali announces that her sister is engaged and maybe she’ll get married at the Bramblebriar. Chandler asks who’s entering the sand castle competition this year. “They always award trophies for the top three,” she says.

I haven’t built a sand castle in years. I think about Mariel’s sweet sand castle story, about the mermaid wedding cakes. I hope Mare’s having a good time in New York City with her mother. I am so happy for her.

A good song comes on. We start dancing. After a while, I start to unwind. I love to dance. Who needs a boyfriend? Who needs a best friend? When there’s good music …

An unmistakable laugh.
Tina.

I turn and look. Sure enough.

There is Tina Belle in full flirt mode. That would be Tina showing all of her beautiful, five-years’-worth-of-orthodontia, perfectly straight, brilliant white teeth all the way back to the molars.

Right now, Tina is flashing those molars at my brother.
Great.
Where’s a lifeguard when you need one?

Will is sitting on a jetty rock, looking all British-movie-heartthrob handsome.

Tina pulls on his hand. “Come on, Will,” she says, “let’s dance.”

I hear another unmistakable laugh, more like a barnyard cackle, actually.
Ruby.
Of course.

Ruby Sivler is in full flirt mode, too. For Ruby, full flirt mode is wearing a limbo-low-cut top and shorts so short-short, if they were any shorter, they’d be invisible.

“Come on,” Ruby says to Will, grabbing his free hand. “Dance with me.”

Chandler makes a sucking-in-of-air sound. “Uh-oh,” says Caroline.

Suddenly the beach is silent. Tina and Ruby vying for the same boy?

Even the waves stop waving and listen.

Tina flips her blond hair back, period, end of sentence. She yanks on Will’s hand. “Come on, Will. Let’s go.”

Ruby flips her red hair back, exclamation point. She pulls on Will’s other hand. “Dance,” she demands.

I look at my brother caught in the flirt-fire.

I actually feel a bit sorry for him.

Tina pulls on his left hand. Ruby pulls on his right.

Tina yanks harder. Ruby yanks more.

If Will were a wishbone, he’d snap.

I move forward to defend my brother from these bad, bad Cape Cod girls.

“That’s enough,” I say to Tina and Ruby. “Give it a break.”

They look at me, shocked, not quite believing their ears.

“You heard me,” I say. “Back off. He doesn’t want to dance.”

Everybody’s watching. Tina and Ruby look around, embarrassed.

“Grow up, Willa, will you,” Ruby says.

“Yeah, Willa,” Tina says, trying to save face, too. “Grow up.”

The two of them strut off in a huff. I notice they walk off in different directions. Good. Trouble in best-friends-forever land.

“What did you do that for?” Will says to me.

“Huh?” I’m confused. “I was helping you.”

“Helping me? How? Keeping me from a night of snoggin’ with two beautiful—”

“Snoggin’?” I say. “What’s that?”

“Snoggin’,” Will says as if I am stupid. “Snoggin’. Kissing. How old are you, anyway? Thanks a lot, Willa.”

He shakes his head, annoyed, and walks off, most likely to find Tina and Ruby.

I turn to leave the party, feeling even more alone.

Snoggin’? Who knew?

Grow up, Willa. You’re not four, you’re
fourteen. Everybody on the planet probably knows what snoggin’ means.

When I reach the top of the beach stairs, four boys are getting out of an old Volvo station wagon. As they walk toward me, I see that they are college-age, lifeguards most likely. One’s wearing a Boston College sweatshirt. “BC” is the college JFK wants to go to one day. JFK and a hundred thousand other kids.

As the lifeguards pass by I smell their cologne. They are joking with one another about something. I turn toward my bike, not wanting them to see me. I feel like I’m in kindergarten.

If Tina and Ruby were here, they’d already know these boys’ names. They’d already be in on the joke. They’d know what they all did today and where they’re staying. They’d know what cologne they are wearing.

Such a baby, Willa. Not even knowing what snoggin’ meant.

I reach into the basket of my bike for the green stainless steel water bottle JFK gave me. I use this all the time now instead of all the plastic bottles that just get thrown away. I take a long drink.

“You’re Willa, right?”

One of the college boys has stopped to talk to me.

He is movie-star, music-mogul, magazine-cover handsome. Dark-skinned, tall, built like a rugby player, faded jeans, white polo shirt, diamond stud earrings. He smiles. I nearly faint. My legs are like saltwater taffy.

“Go ahead down,” the movie-star-music-mogul-magazine-model calls to his friends. “I’ll catch up.”

I gulp and take another drink of water.

The college boy leans in closer for a good look at my face. There aren’t any lights in the parking lot, just the last wisps of the sunset and the glow of the fire from down below.

His eyes are brown and beautiful. I can’t help but stare into them. There’s light and motion in those eyes, like they’re talking in some sort of sign language,
eye language,
conveying a wisdom and compassion that’s somehow so familiar to me….

“It is Willa, isn’t it?” he says, smiling again.

Oh, my gosh, is he gorgeous. I find my voice. “Yes. How do you know me … my name?”

He laughs. “Oh, sorry, my bad.” He extends his hand to shake mine. “I’m Robert—my friends call me Rob. You know my aunt. Sulamina Mum.”

“Oh, my gosh,” I say. “Mum? You’re kidding! I thought I knew you somehow. I love Mum. I miss her. How is she? How’s Riley? How’s their new house —”

“Great,” he says, shaking his head, laughing like he finds me amusing.

“Sorry,” I say. “I talk fast when I get excited.”

“No problem,” he says. “That’s sweet. You’re sincere. Straight from the heart. That’s what Aunt Sully said about you.”

I have to look away from those mesmerizing brown eyes. I finger the locket around my neck to remind myself I have a boyfriend.

Rob runs his hand over his closely cropped black hair. “Aunt Sully told me to look you up when I got here. She sent me some pictures of you from her wedding.”

“I was her maid of honor,” I say.

Rob nods. “Yes. I wish I could have been there. Aunt Sully told me all about the Bramblebriar Inn, too. Sounds like a nice place.”

“Where are you staying?” I ask.

“With my roommate, Brad. His family has a place in Mashpee. Brad talked me into lifeguarding here for the summer. We just got here today.”

“Well, welcome to Cape Cod,” I say. “I hope you have a great time.”

“That’s the plan,” Rob says.

I hear girl voices.

Tina and Ruby are coming out of the restroom. They see me and Rob and their mouths drop. They
look at Rob. They look at me. They look at Rob. They look at me, their eyes wide as teacup saucers.

Willa and the movie-star-music-mogul-magazine-model.

Tina and Ruby are so stunned that for once in their lives they are speechless.

Oh, how I wish I could savor this moment. But it’s getting dark, and I need to bike home while there’s still some light.

“I could show you around Bramble if you’d like,” I say, savoring, savoring.

“That would be great, Willa, thanks.”

I don’t introduce Tina and Ruby. I pretend like they’re not even there.

“What time are you done lifeguarding?” I ask, raising my voice to be sure Tina and Ruby can hear me.

“Five,” he says.

“Come over for dinner, then,” I say. “My mom and dad would love to meet you.”

“I’d like that, thanks.”

Rob takes off down the beach stairs to join his friends. I take a sip from my water bottle, drop it in my basket, hop on my seat, and sail.

Oh, my gosh, was that ever fun.

Biking home I’m giddy thinking about making Tina and Ruby jealous, but the feeling soon wears off as my mind starts remembering my worries.

Just a few weeks ago, at the start of the summer, everything felt so right. That was before JFK left for Florida. Before Mariel left for New York. Before Tina became Ruby’s best friend. Before Will Havisham showed up and tipped my world upside down. Before Salty Dog turned traitor. Before the possibility that my birthfather might still be alive.

What happened to summer being simple and fun? Hot dogs and suntans and fireflies? Not this summer, oh, no. This summer makes me wish it were January.

It’s dark when I get home. The inn is lit up so cheerily, though, huge American flag blowing in the breeze, smaller flags lining the driveway, white votive candles in sand-filled brown bags, pots of red geraniums in between.

Inside it’s quiet, everyone off to a beach, no doubt, to watch a fireworks display. Just about every town on the Cape puts on a good show.

I know a spot where I can see several all at once. The widow’s walk on the roof.

I head upstairs to the top floor of the inn, down the hall to Sam’s office, still painted the cheery sunflower yellow color it was when he first showed me and Mother the estate, on that happy Fourth of July two years ago when Sam invited us here for a barbecue. It’s a small room, small but big with books—wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling, shelves and shelves and shelves of Sam’s favorite, page-frayed, finger-worn, much-loved books.

Sam’s old mahogany sea captain’s desk is cluttered with notebooks and stacks of papers. I’m sure there’s a journal here somewhere. I’m tempted to look, but I don’t. I would never want someone to read my private thoughts. I would never invade another’s privacy.

I am curious, though, about “the book.”

That first night we came here, Sam told me and Mother he was “working on a book.” I was excited to ask him what he was writing, but Mother was babbling on about advice for renovating the building and we never got around to it. Sam kept turning the conversation back to Mother, back to me. That’s Sam for you. Always putting other people first, drawing them out, focusing on them.

Over the past few years, I’ve noticed Sam scribbling notes here and there and I’ve asked him how his book is coming along, but he always changes the subject. Which of course makes me even more intrigued. Is it a book about the Cape? Fiction or nonfiction? Science fiction? Poetry? Mystery? Fantasy? A memoir?

I smile at the quote from Shakespeare’s
The Tempest
on the wall:

The passageway up to the widow’s walk is narrow, the stairs are steep. For a second I wonder about Sam’s ancestors, Gracemore women of a century or more ago, who maybe climbed these same stairs, long skirts gathered up to keep from tripping, stepping out onto the widow’s walk, hoping to catch a glimpse of a husband’s
boat safely home once more, praying the wild, ferocious sea had not that night made her a widow.

I smile, remembering how trembling excited I was that first Fourth of July night I walked up these stairs. Sam and Mother were getting along beautifully. I felt certain that finally, finally, this was the one. This was the man who would make my mother happy, the man who would be a wonderful husband for her, a wonderful father for me.

What if Billy Havisham is truly still alive?

How will Mother react?

How will Sam react?

When I push open the small door, the cool night air greets me and the wind gently strokes my cheeks. Above me is the black licorice sky, the vanilla cookie moon, a million sugar-speckled stars. Below is the endless, charcoal-dark ocean, some marshmallow whitecaps lit by lanterns from the bobbing boats poised in the harbor to watch the fireworks.

Over there is the town of Cotuit, that way, Falmouth; out there is the Woods Hole lighthouse, sending out its trusty beacon in a sure and steady beat; and there, way in the distance, are the lights of Martha’s Vineyard.

I wonder,
Has Will gone home to the Southends’ house or is he still at the bonfire with my friends? Why
did you leave the party, Willa? That was your group, your friends.
I wonder if Mum’s nephew, Rob, and his buddies joined in the bonfire party. Most likely. I’m sure Tina and Ruby have met Rob by now, their cute-guy radar going off the charts.

And here I am, alone.

I sigh and wrap my arms around me in a hug.

Look around you, Willa. Look, look. You are enmeshed in beauty—above you, below you … all around.

I breathe and smile and feel at peace.

How do I forget to stop and soak it in?

To be as small as a grain of sand in the midst of infinite grandeur.

For a moment I imagine Gramp Tweed “book-talking” with God and the angels in heaven. How silly we humans must seem, scurrying about with harried expressions, bundles of worries on our backs. When all around us there is—

Bang, bang, bang, shhhhhhhhhhhh
… The sky explodes now with sound and color and energy. One cannot describe fireworks with words. It happens too quickly, there is too much to hear, too much to see, too much to feel all at once. I think of JFK, somewhere in Florida, watching fireworks tonight. Of Mariel in Manhattan, maybe watching a show on the Hudson
River. Of my mother and Sam, no doubt linked arm in arm on their blanket on Falmouth Heights Beach. Of Nana visiting friends in Chatham tonight. Their eyes all glued to the sky. So many people who care about me. I am a lucky duck indeed.

My eyes fill with tears.
Thank you, God. Thank you. Thank you for reminding me how small I am. How safe I am. How very much I am loved.

I wish I had my journal with me. I would try to write a few sentences to paint this picture around me. But some things can’t be captured on a page. There aren’t enough words, or maybe there are too many words. Maybe all a writer can really do is invite the reader to see. To please stand still and look. To stop, look, and listen. That funny little line I learned in nursery school, teaching us what to do before we crossed the street.

There’s a volley of firecrackers in a backyard a few houses down. I see a young girl holding a sparkler, her expression so carefree, happy.

Enjoy it, little girl, enjoy it. Every little spark, every second.

You’ll grow up soon enough, and nothing will feel simple again.

I crawl into bed and choose a new skinny-punch.

A classic.
The Pearl
by John Steinbeck. A poor fisherman finds a pearl and suddenly his life is changed forever.

I read for hours, listening to the sounds of guests coming in for the night downstairs, voices talking, laughing, faucets running, toilets flushing.

There’s a knock on my door.

Mom and Sam. Stopping to say good night. Sam has his arm around my mother in the doorway, their happy faces lit by the hallway sconce.

“Love you, Willa,” Mom says.

“Love you,” Sam says.

“Love you, too,” I say. “Good night.”

What if my birthfather, Mother’s first husband, is really still alive? What if that destroys their happiness? Breaks up our perfect family? I think about how they had a miscarriage earlier this summer. I remember how
happy I was to think that maybe, after being an only child my whole life, I might finally have a little sister or brother.

I write in my journal and mull and worry.
Willa the Warrior,
I remind myself. Tomorrow I will talk to Mother. I owe her that. Surely by now Tina and Ruby have told their parents. This town is so small. Mother deserves to hear such shocking news from me, her daughter, not that blabbermouth pooch-queen Sherry Sivler.

There, I feel better now. I have a plan. Action, not worry, that’s the key.

I reopen Steinbeck’s
The Pearl
and dive back in, reading, reading, reading until the Bramblebriar Inn is hushed for the night. Only the crickets still cricketing outside.

When I reach the last line, I sigh and smile.

“
And the music of the pearl drifted to a whisper and disappeared.
”

I close the cover and savor the moment.

Savoring, savoring … oh, to write a book like that.