The Brightest Stars of Summer (11 page)

Zinnie instantly knew which prompt she was going to use first.

M
arigold could hardly contain her excitement as she got ready for her afternoon sail with Peter. Zinnie was sitting on her boat bed reading that book by Mrs. Lee, Lily was downstairs helping Aunt Sunny make the lemon syrup that would go between the cake layers, and Marigold was facing the difficult task of deciding what to wear.

Marigold had been thinking of this as a date, but she wasn't sure if that was what it was or not, especially given the way Peter was acting. Again, she wished that she could ask Pilar, who always seemed to know about these things even though she'd never had a boyfriend. It was probably because Pilar always had high school girls as babysitters, which was like having a bunch of older sisters who had to be nice to her. What would Pilar say if she were here now? Would
she think Marigold was doing a good job of being ordinary? Marigold missed her so much.

Marigold's “gut instinct,” as her mother would say, was to get all dressed up. Finding the perfect dress, or just the right pair of capri pants and matching sandals, or a cute top that would bring out the color of her eyes, was something that relaxed her, so it was actually hard for her to just throw something on, Zinnie style. But if she wanted to be ordinary, she supposed, this was what it was going to take.

She'd been thinking about seeing Peter all day while she and Zinnie went about their wedding preparations. That morning, they'd gone through the attic in search of Aunt Sunny's tablecloths. After Aunt Sunny had taken Lily to camp, Marigold and Zinnie pulled on the dangling cord that lowered the staircase leading to the attic. Marigold thought this staircase, which was hidden in the ceiling until you pulled the cord, was like something out of a mystery novel or a movie. Up in the attic they found a whole dresser full of tablecloths. There were lacy ones, floral ones, plain white ones, and ones that had designs embroidered on them. As Aunt Sunny had instructed, they laid them out, measured them to see which table each would fit, inspected them for moth holes and stains, and then put them in either the “yes” or the “no” pile.

There were also lots of mismatched linen napkins. Marigold applied one of her rules of fashion as she
sorted through them, which was that things didn't always have to match exactly. In fact, it was better that they didn't. If she was wearing a bold striped skirt, she wouldn't wear a top that was exactly the same, or even was the same color as one the stripes. She would choose a different color or a smaller pattern. She thought she could mix and match the tablecloths and napkins in a similar way. She imagined Peter coming to the wedding and admiring her work.

After she and Zinnie had their “yes” piles of tablecloths and napkins all sorted by size, shape, and color, they continued their treasure hunt. They discovered a bunch of blank notebooks, which were small, with a blue paper cover and a place to write a name and a class. The notebooks looked strange to Zinnie and Marigold because there wasn't a lot of paper in them.

“They must've used them in the old days for school,” Marigold said.

“Oh, I have the best idea!” Zinnie declared. “We can write guests' names on them, and then on the inside they can write their favorite memories of Sunny and Tony and maybe what they wish for them in the future.”

“And they can write them while sitting in that super-cute desk,” Marigold said, pointing to an old school desk with a chair attached.

They also found a cart with a slide projector, which could somehow be repurposed; a drawer full of old
seed packets that would make very cool place cards; botanical charts from the 1970s; and a whole chest of camping equipment—flannel sleeping bags, a camp stove, a tent, and some lanterns. The camping equipment didn't seem to have any wedding decor potential, but never having gone camping themselves, the girls thought it was intriguing and delightful. They discovered a collection of framed flowers. Marigold also found a box labeled “Beatrice,” their grandmother's name. She opened it up to discover a glass bluebird, about the size of Christmas tree ornament, sitting in a nest of tissue paper. Marigold was afraid to handle it because it was so delicate. After she showed it to Zinnie, she placed it back in the box. When their stomachs began to rumble, they went down to the kitchen for lunch.

Aunt Sunny surprised them by coming home from work to join them. She had made them chicken salad sandwiches for the day's lunch, and now she sliced up some apples. When Marigold and Zinnie described how many tablecloths they had uncovered, Aunt Sunny explained that they'd been handed down for generations. Some of them had even belonged to her great-grandmother, who used to ride to Boston from Pruet in a horse-drawn buggy.

“A horse-drawn buggy?” Zinnie said. “I'd love to ride in one of those.”

“The horse-drawn buggies are long gone,” Aunt
Sunny said. “But the tablecloths remain, though I don't think I've ever used them. I've been too afraid they'd get ruined.”

“It's almost as if they've
been
ruined if all they're doing is sitting up in the attic,” Marigold said, thinking of Aunt Sunny's closet full of vintage clothes, most of which she didn't wear anymore. “It's like you don't have them at all.”

“You're right,” Aunt Sunny said. “I say we give them a second life.”

“They will think they've time traveled!” Zinnie had said. “Like, they went to sleep when there weren't even cars and they'll wake up to airplanes and the internet.”

“Let's give lots of things in that attic a second life,” Marigold said, returning the conversation to the practical realm. “There's so much we can reuse. Like the old school desk and those little blue notebooks.”

“Test booklets,” Aunt Sunny explained. “Back when I started teaching, students handwrote their answers to essay questions in those booklets.”

“The framed flowers are pretty,” Marigold said.

“I pressed those flowers myself when I was just a girl. I loved collecting them, looking up their Latin names, and categorizing them. And of course I loved the way they looked in their frames.”

“We can hang them around the wedding tent,” Marigold said.

“I wish there was a way to reuse that camping equipment,” Zinnie said.

“My sisters and I had such fun camping,” Aunt Sunny said. “There was one summer in particular when we slept outside almost every night. We must have been about your age. That summer, the song “Stand by Me” was so popular. We sang it together a million times.” Aunt Sunny began to hum the tune, and though they were tone deaf, Marigold and Zinnie both chimed in with the chorus, because everyone knew the words to that song. “It really brings my sisters back.” Marigold noticed tears welling in Aunt Sunny's eyes.

“I also found a glass bluebird,” Marigold said. “I think it belonged to Grammy.”

“Oh, the bluebird!” Aunt Sunny said. “Yes, she loved that bluebird. I bought it for her from a glassblower at a crafts fair, and she said it always reminded her of our summers together.”

For a moment, Marigold pictured her grandmother's hands as she last remembered them—soft and wrinkled—holding the glass bird, and she felt a lump gather in her throat. Some grandmothers pinched cheeks, but Grammy used to press the back of her hand lightly against Marigold's face when she saw her. She always smelled like lavender.

“It needs to be at the wedding,” Zinnie said.

“On top of the cake,” Marigold added.

“I love that idea,” Aunt Sunny said, bringing a
tissue to her eyes. “Beatrice will be with me on my wedding day.”

After lunch, Aunt Sunny decided to take the rest of the day off. She picked Lily up from camp early to spend some special alone time with her. They went for a swim at the hairy cow beach, and now they were busy with the lemon syrup.

Marigold smiled to herself as she heard Lily laugh downstairs. Even if Lily was having a hard time fitting in at camp, she was enjoying being with Aunt Sunny. As Zinnie turned the pages of her book, Marigold put on a plain white T-shirt and jean shorts.

“Is that what you're wearing?” Zinnie asked, laying her book in her lap.

“Yes,” Marigold said. “Why?”

“Don't you think you should dress up a little more?”

Zinnie had been acting strange ever since that boy Max had come over. First, she'd been in a horrible mood during dinner. She hadn't even wanted to go looking through Aunt Sunny's attic, which was something she normally would have loved because of all the old stuff up there. After dinner, she'd stormed off to her writing room and slammed the door. And then, later that night, she'd wanted to stay up chatting about Peter. In fact, she wanted to think of romantic things he and Marigold could do together after they went sailing. Just as Marigold was drifting off to sleep, thinking about her reunion with Peter, Zinnie
said one last strange thing.

“Um, Marigold, do you think that you could, like, not talk to Max that much?” Zinnie asked.

“What do you mean?” Marigold asked, half asleep.

“It's just, he's more of
my
friend,” Zinnie said. “So could you, just, I don't know, don't try to be his friend?”

“I guess so,” Marigold said.

“And if it turns out he likes you, could you promise not to like him back?”

“Uh, okay,” Marigold said. It was pretty clear that Zinnie had a crush on Max. It was tempting to tease her, but Marigold decided not to. She remembered her first crush—the movie star Clint Lee. It seemed silly to her now, but she would have died of embarrassment if anyone had given her a hard time about it.

Zinnie's crush was making her act weirder than ever. Her odd behavior was continuing today. Marigold could hardly believe that Zinnie was giving
her
fashion advice—not the other way around.

Hopping up from the bed, Zinnie opened the closet door, and said, “There's got to be something in here that'll look better.” Zinnie stepped inside the closet and riffled around through the clothes. “Here!” Zinnie pulled out a sea-foam-green sundress that the old Marigold would have paired with silver sandals and a long, loopy necklace. Marigold let herself touch the fine jersey fabric that draped so well and felt so nice and light on a summer day. But then she backed away
and stuck her hands in her jean shorts pockets. She had to stick to her rules.

“Really?” Zinnie asked. “Why not?”

“I'm just dressing more casual this summer, okay?”

“Casual doesn't have to mean old T-shirts,” Zinnie said, pointing to Marigold's current ensemble. “You still want Peter to say ‘ooh la-la' when he sees you today, right?” Marigold had to admit that Zinnie had a point there. She did want Peter to say “ooh la-la.” And seeing the sea-foam-green dress had awakened her fashion sense just enough to open her mind to at least the possibility of a nice shirt.

“Here, this is casual, too,” Zinnie said, and held out a sleeveless, coral-colored top with a ribbon trim and a sweet little button closure in the back. It wasn't nearly as nice as the sea-foam-green dress, Marigold decided. It was sort of a happy medium between the dress and what she was wearing right now.

“I guess I could try it on,” Marigold said, taking the top to the bathroom to change. Her digital diary wasn't the only thing she was feeling more private about these days.

“Much better!” Zinnie said when Marigold returned. She handed her a pair of navy espadrilles. “And these will look better than those old sneakers.”

“Why do you care so much about what I'm wearing?” Marigold asked as she slipped on the espadrilles, which went perfectly with the top. She was proud of
Zinnie for having picked them out.

“I just want you to look, you know, like you,” Zinnie said. “You've been dressing like someone else lately. It's practically Halloween around here!”

Marigold added the final detail, the one that was sure to remind Peter of his feelings: the Red Sox hat he'd given her last year.

“I told you—” Marigold started.

“I know, I know. You're going casual this summer,” Zinnie said, handing her some lip gloss. Marigold hesitated. “Oh, come on! You know you want to!”

Marigold tried to turn it down, but it was too tempting. She allowed herself this shimmering, cherry-scented indulgence. She looked in the mirror and exhaled. It was a relief to shine, even just a little.

M
arigold arrived at the yacht club in her nicer-than-usual but not-nearly-as-fashionable-as-before ensemble a few minutes early to meet Peter. She was waiting for him in the gazebo on the yacht club lawn. It was the spot that Zinnie had assured her was the most romantic.

“Peter!” Marigold called, waving from the gazebo as he walked down the yacht club driveway. “Today I have your hat,” she said, holding it up.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter said, smiling. “Are you sure you want to go sailing? I know you don't like to mess up your nails.”

“I don't care about that stuff anymore,” Marigold said as she followed him down the dock. She was happy he was teasing her. It was friendly and felt familiar. “Can't you tell? I'm much more laid-back now.”

“You still look pretty fancy to me,” he said. His rowboat, called a “dinghy,” was on the dock with the oars inside of it. Peter pushed it into the water and then held it close so that Marigold could climb aboard. “I'm surprised you're not wearing high heels.”

“Ha! No one would wear heels with shorts!” Marigold joked back as she stepped into the boat. It rocked under her weight. It made her slightly queasy, but she sat down and ignored the feeling. She didn't want anything to ruin this day. “So, where are we going?”

“Just out to Biscuit Island,” Peter said as he jumped in after her. The boat rocked some more as he leaned over to push them away from the dock.

“Biscuit Island? That sounds cute,” Marigold said. She put a hand to her stomach and took a deep breath of fresh air to fight the nausea. She remembered suddenly that she'd been a little seasick last summer when they went sailing, but that it had gone away once they'd gotten going. Peter slid the oars into place and began to row toward his sailboat.

“It's just a bunch of rocks, really, but it's still cool.”

“Great,” Marigold said, taking another deep breath. She didn't want Peter to think she was prissy. And she'd really loved sailing when they went last year. In fact, she'd been thinking that maybe in addition to swimming, she could practice sailing here in Pruet, and maybe start a team at Miss Hadley's.

“It's a perfect day for a sail,” Peter said. “Nice breeze.”

“That's your boat, right?” Marigold asked, pointing to a little blue sailboat.

“Yes,” Peter said, looking over his shoulder. “The one tied to the white mooring.” She remembered from last year that not all boats in the harbor could fit at the dock, so most of them were tied to these volleyball-looking things in the water called “moorings.”

Peter rowed them up to the sailboat, a Cape Cod catboat, he'd told her last summer, and Marigold climbed aboard as Peter tied the dinghy to the mooring. The boat rocked under her and she felt her stomach do another flip.
It's okay,
she told herself as she sat down in the boat.
You'll feel better once we're sailing.

“I think I remember what to do now,” Marigold said as Peter hopped in. “We take this piece of wood out, right?”

“That's right,” Peter said, lifting the board from the center of the boat.

Marigold was about to stand up and help him, since she wanted to learn, but her stomach told her to stay seated. As Peter raised the sail and untied the boat from the mooring, Marigold noticed a dark cloud in the distance. She didn't think much of it, because the rest of the sky was sunny.

“All right, Peter said. “Do you want to sail or should I?”

“How about you start,” Marigold said, not trusting her stomach.

“Okay,” Peter said. There was another small boat, with two girls inside, cruising around the harbor. The girls' sail was full and their ponytails streamed behind them. They waved to Peter and he waved back.

Marigold wished she knew how to sail as well as those girls did. She wished she didn't feel like a beginner.

“Can I take the tiller?” she asked Peter once they started to pick up speed. She was proud of herself that she remembered the correct term for the long, thin piece of wood that steered the boat. The only way to learn, she thought, was to do this herself, even if she did feel a little sick.

“Sure,” Peter said. “Just try to keep it at the same angle.” Marigold took the tiller and held it steady. “Might as well take the sheet, too.” He handed Marigold the rope that controlled the sail. Maybe she wasn't such a beginner after all. “Okay. Now keep your eyes on that pile of rocks. That's where we're headed.”

“This is fun,” Marigold said. “Thanks for taking me out.”

“I'm glad you asked me to. See, there's something I've been meaning to tell you, but I just haven't known exactly how to say it. You know how last year . . .”

But he didn't finish his sentence. A chill came over them as they looked up and saw that the dark cloud
that had been in the distance was now directly overhead. The wind suddenly shifted direction, sending the sail clear across the boat.

In her surprise, Marigold dropped the sheet. She reached for it but got tangled in the line and slipped. The sail puffed as the wind switched again and blew from the other direction.

“We got a squall!” Peter said just as a wave hit the boat, sending water over the side, soaking them.

“Ah!” Marigold cried, holding on to the swinging tiller for dear life.

“Give me the tiller,” Peter said as he grabbed the sheet. Marigold handed him the tiller and gripped the side of the boat as water sloshed up over her feet and soaked her shorts. Peter pulled in the sail as the boat turned and another wave knocked more water over the side.

“What's a squall?” Marigold asked, her stomach turning all the way over. “Are we going to be okay? I want to go back!”

“I'm trying to get us back,'” Peter said. “But right now, I need you to use that bucket and dump water out of the boat.”

“Okay,” Marigold said, picking up the bucket and filling it with seawater. She dumped the water over the side and then tried to repeat the action. Just as she was about to lift the bucket, another wave came and that was it. She dropped the bucket, turned her back
to Peter, and threw up over the side.

“You okay?” Peter asked as she slumped back in the boat.

Marigold nodded, even though she wasn't okay at all. She felt clammy and gross. She wiped her mouth and turned away, unable to face him. It was pure luck that the wind had been blowing in the right direction. At least her regurgitated lunch had gone out to sea instead of back on her face—or worse, Peter's.