The Brightest Stars of Summer (16 page)

Z
innie woke up extra early the next day. Rain was pattering against the window, sliding down the pane in crooked little rivers and blurring the view of the garden.
Writing weather,
she thought as she stepped out of bed quietly so as not to wake her sleeping sisters. The wooden floor was cool under her bare feet and there was a chill in the air. She pulled on a pair of socks and her Pruet sweatshirt and headed downstairs. Her story was due to Mrs. Lee tomorrow. That didn't give her a lot of time, but she was almost done. All she had to do was figure out the ending. How hard could an ending be?

Zinnie was expecting to find the kitchen empty, but Aunt Sunny was sitting at the table in her bathrobe and slippers, drinking coffee and looking out the
window with a thoughtful expression. It was the first time Zinnie had ever thought Aunt Sunny looked old, and it made her heart hurt a little.

“Good morning,” Zinnie said softly. Aunt Sunny hadn't heard her come into the kitchen, because she startled.

“Good morning to you,” Aunt Sunny said, all signs of age vanishing as she smiled at Zinnie. “Come and join me. Would you like a cup of decaf? It's freshly brewed.”

“I'll try it,” Zinnie said.

“You don't have to finish it if you don't like it,” Aunt Sunny said, fetching a mug with a picture of a piping plover on it. She filled it about a third of the way and added lots of warm milk and two teaspoons of sugar.

“Here you are,” Aunt Sunny said, handing her the coffee, which looked more like milk with coffee than coffee with milk. Zinnie smiled as she took a sip of the drink, feeling that drinking coffee was a very
writerly
thing to do. She imagined Virginia Woolf enjoying a daily cup of coffee in her writing room.

“What do you think?” Aunt Sunny asked.

“Yummy,” Zinnie said as Aunt Sunny brought over a plate of cookies. “Cookies for breakfast?”

“They'll be our secret,” Aunt Sunny said, dunking a cookie in her coffee. “Now tell me, why are you up so early?”

“I have to finish my story by tomorrow and I don't have an ending yet,” Zinnie said, dipping a cookie in her coffee as well. The cookie was soft and crumbly and delicious. The bitterness of the coffee made the cookie taste even sweeter.

“Morning is the best time for thinking,” Aunt Sunny said.

“What are you thinking about?” Zinnie asked, noticing again that quiet expression she'd seen on Aunt Sunny's face when she'd first walked into the kitchen. “Are you okay? Is everything all right with Tony?”

“Yes, yes. Why are you so worried about Tony, my dear?”

“I just—” Zinnie started, but then she remembered what Ashley had said about causing unnecessary drama. “I don't want him to hurt your feelings.”

“I'm touched, but that's not going to happen, Zinnia.”

“But you look sad. What are you thinking about?”

“That I've lived here alone for nearly twenty years,” Aunt Sunny said. “In just a few days, all of that will change. I suppose I'm a little blue about it. Sometimes even good things, wonderful things like a wedding, can make us a little sad.”

Zinnie thought about how she had been so happy to go to Pruet but was also a little sad to be away from her parents. She reached for another cookie.

“A little sadness in your happiness is nothing to
be scared of,” Aunt Sunny said, placing a coffee-warm hand on hers. “It brings out the happiness even more.”

“Like how the coffee makes the cookie sweeter,” Zinnie said.

“Exactly,” Aunt Sunny said. “Oh, Zinnia, you amaze me with your astuteness.” Zinnie glowed with pride. “And, you know, these cookies wouldn't be nearly as good without a pinch of salt in them.”

“There's salt in cookies?” Zinnie asked, taking another bite to see if she could detect the flavor.

“Always,” Aunt Sunny said. “Otherwise the taste is too flat. Too plain. Now I need to get dressed and brush my teeth and comb my hair, and you must get started on your work. Your sisters will be awake soon, and then the hustle and bustle of the day will be upon us.”

“F
orget it,” Ashley said when she and Zinnie reached the end of Lighthouse Road. “I've changed my mind. It's too scary.”

“But we came all this way,” Zinnie said, wiping sweat from her brow. They'd met at the town beach, where Ashley had an extra bike waiting for her. The rain had let up soon after breakfast, but the morning was still cool and misty as they traveled down some leafy country roads. They passed a farm, pastures, and a pond. Ashley even took her through a shortcut in the woods where there was a secret rope swing. They'd finally arrived at the lighthouse, and now Ashley wanted to leave, but there was no way Zinnie was turning back.

“I thought you liked thrillers,” Zinnie said. She didn't believe in ghosts even if she did like to write
about them, but she had to admit that this lighthouse looked haunted. It was at the very end of a point of land. Some morning fog hung around the bottom of it, creating the illusion that the lighthouse was floating.

“I only like books and movies that are thrillers,” Ashley said as she clutched the head of garlic that had been in the basket of her bicycle. Zinnie had only brought a garlic clove, but Ashley said she wasn't taking any risks. “This is a little too real for me.”

“But it's the morning,” Zinnie said. “I've never heard of ghosts haunting anything in the morning. They only come out at night. Besides, you already told your brothers you were coming out here. What are they going to say if you tell them you wimped out at the last minute?”

“They'll tease me for the rest of my life,” Ashley said. “You think having sisters is tough, but it can't be worse than having three older brothers.”

“Come on,” Zinnie said. She extended her hand and Ashley took it.

They made their way down the rickety boardwalk and over the craggy rocks to the lighthouse door. The lighthouse was much bigger close up, definitely big enough for people to live inside.

Zinnie pushed on the door, and to her surprise it actually opened. As soon as they stepped inside, they heard a hammering sound.

“Oh, lordy!” Ashley screamed. “It's the ghost!”

As Ashley clung to her in paralyzing fear, Zinnie's heart started to pound. It had to be the wind. But then the hammering stopped and the footsteps started.

“Run!” Zinnie yelled. Ashley was frozen. The footsteps were getting louder. “Come on, Ashley! Do I have to carry you?” Zinnie hoped that what she'd heard about getting superhuman strength when you were scared was true, because Ashley wasn't a small girl. Zinnie took a deep breath and bent down to try to pick her up when she heard someone call her name. When she turned toward the doorway, it wasn't a supernatural being standing there.

It was Tony.

“What are you girls doing here?” Tony asked after Ashley had finally calmed down.

“I'm here for a writing assignment,” Zinnie said. “What are
you
doing here? Is this why you've been lying to Aunt Sunny?”

“You caught me,” Tony said.

“Aha!” Zinnie said. “There's another woman, isn't there.”

“Another woman? No,” Tony said. “This is the other woman.” Tony pointed to the lighthouse. “I wanted to surprise everyone—including you girls—with my gift for Sunny, but now that you're here, I better show you—”

“You're giving your fiancée a haunted lighthouse as a wedding gift?” Ashley interrupted.

“Come on,” Tony said. “I'll show you around.”

The inside of the lighthouse looked like a regular house, but round and with a giant spiral staircase. Tony gave them a tour of the kitchen and living room and three bedrooms. At the top was a wraparound deck that Tony said wasn't safe to stand on yet.

“Keep in mind that I've barely started,” Tony said. “It's going to be a beautiful place when I'm done.”

“What about the ghosts?” Ashley asked.

“That's a bunch of hogwash,” Tony said. “I have been out here for weeks, and I can tell you that there's no ghosts.”

“Are you and Aunt Sunny going to move here?” Zinnie asked.

“I was thinking it would be our little retreat. We could let our friends and family stay here if they liked. Or, who knows? Maybe we could turn it into a bed-and-breakfast.”

“Like an inn?” Ashley asked.

“Exactly,” Tony said. “Sunny's piping plover sanctuary is almost complete and I'm thinking I'd like to retire soon. It's just an idea. But one thing is certain: you can't beat the view. I might even put up a diving board.”

“She's going to love it,” Zinnie said. “So this is what you meant when you said ‘the old girl'?” Tony looked at her quizzically, and Zinnie blushed, realizing that she'd basically just admitted to evesdropping. “I . . .
um . . . overheard one of your phone conversations.”

“I see. You didn't think I was talking about my bride, did you?” Tony laughed. “When Sunny said you had a big imagination, she wasn't kidding. Can you keep this place a secret for me?”

“Yes,” Zinnie said. “I won't even tell my sisters.”

“Thanks,” Tony said. “It'll be my honeymoon surprise.”

Before the girls headed back to town, Tony showed them how to catch blue crabs using a chicken bone.

L
ater that afternoon, the rain started up again. Writing weather had returned for Zinnie as if on cue. She brought a glass of water and a cookie into her writing room. She opened her notebook and read over the observations she'd recorded last night, and then she turned on her laptop. When Peter and his family had stopped by unexpectedly and joined them for dinner, Zinnie was certain that the ending to her story would play out in front of her. But a simple, neat ending had not presented itself.

She'd seen Peter/Pedro sit next to Marigold/Marianna on the picnic blanket, smile at her, and offer to refill her lemonade when she wasn't even halfway done with it. And on their way back to the house after flashlight tag, she'd noticed that Peter and Marigold had been walking so close together that they bumped
shoulders. Peter seemed to see the extraordinary in Marigold even if she was determined to hide it. But then, when he asked Marigold about her part in
Night Sprites
and she said that she'd quit acting, Zinnie watched the gap between them widen enough for Lily to sneak into the middle.

And the Max/Lawrence story line hadn't resolved itself either. Max had been chasing Marigold long before they'd started their game of flashlight tag. It hadn't been easy for Zinnie when Max had chosen to stay with Marigold in the boring kitchen to peel boring carrots when Zinnie had challenged him to a tree-climbing competition. Or when he followed Marigold around as she brought the napkins, forks, and plates out to the picnic blanket. Or when he kept glancing in Marigold's direction while Zinnie was trying to talk to him about the last episode of
Tales of the Time Lord
. Then while they were looking at the Summer Triangle, Max had tried to ask Marigold a question and she'd run inside in a huff. This had been a relief to Zinnie. But of course Marigold's absence had done nothing to help her figure out her story.

As she took another sip of her water, Zinnie decided that she was just going to have to use her imagination, try out a few different endings, and see which one felt the most real. In Zinnie's first attempt, Marianna was so inspired by the Summer Triangle that she spontaneously broke into a modern dance that captivated the
hearts of both Pedro and Lawrence. It turned out that Pedro was secretly an amazing dancer, and the two of them led a dance parade through the small town until everyone was dancing on the beach. (Except Lawrence, who was not a good dancer. He was better at singing, so he stayed behind and made up songs with Marianna's friend “Zelda.”) Zinnie rubbed her temples as she realized this wasn't quite right. It felt like something she would see in a movie instead of something that would happen in real life or, more important, something she would read in
Muses
. She deleted it.

The second ending Zinnie tried was inspired by the legend about the Summer Triangle. Marianna took a walk along the harbor on the evening of a total lunar eclipse. A dark moon goddess appeared before her and gave her a choice. She could become a star, literally, and be admired forever as an extraordinary galactic being. Or she could lose her talent altogether, live to age one hundred in this small New England town, and have the most normal, ordinary life ever.

Zinnie wasn't sure how the romance element would play out in this version, but she liked how the ending was shaping up. It was an interesting choice, she thought, and Marianna's decision would say a lot about her. But when she read the whole thing over, she realized that it didn't feel like it fit with the rest of the story. And as usual she'd added an element of fantasy, which meant that it wasn't
Muses
material. She
deleted it on the spot. She'd avoided pretend stuff so far. She wasn't about to start now.

Zinnie heard her sisters coming down the stairs. It was time for dinner and she still hadn't finished her story. As she brought her hands to her head to massage her brain into coming up with a good answer, she knocked the remaining drops of water in her glass onto the book of Shakespeare's sonnets that Aunt Sunny had left on the desk days before. Maybe it was a sign. She opened the bookmarked Sonnet 18, the poem that Aunt Sunny had chosen to be read at her wedding. Perhaps there was inspiration to be found there. After all, wasn't Shakespeare the best writer, like, ever?

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

Inspiration not only arrived, it sparked like a live wire. She didn't understand every line (what did “every fair from fair sometime declines” mean?), but nevertheless she could feel the poem in her bones. These words were full of emotion and passion—the image of “rough winds” shaking “the darling buds of May” made Zinnie's brain light up as if it'd been strung with fairy lights. The lines were an actress's dream because they begged to be read aloud with feeling. To be professed in front of an audience. To travel from the heart and be released into the summer air.

Zinnie thought that if she could get Marigold to recite the sonnet, Marigold would remember her extraordinariness. She knew from reading Marigold's diary both how badly she missed acting and how sensitive she was about having been cut from the movie. Zinnie was going to have to walk a fine line, and a Shakespearean sonnet was the perfect tightrope. The sonnet would remind Marigold of her talent, but because it was a poem and not lines in a script, maybe she wouldn't be so set against reading it.

As she heard Aunt Sunny ask her sisters what they'd like to drink, Zinnie realized that she not only needed Marigold to read the sonnet, she needed her to
perform
it. And she needed Peter to watch. She could just picture Marigold saying the words in a way that made Peter listen. Her voice would be clear, strong, and confident. Her face would express the love and
brilliance embedded in the words. Peter would not be able to look away. Her talent would be as bright as the Summer Triangle, and he would navigate in her direction.

If Marigold and Peter got back together before the wedding, not only would Zinnie have an ending for her story, but maybe, just maybe, Max would forget about Marigold and he and Zinnie could be friends again. Or maybe even more. She smiled as she imagined slow-dancing with Max.

“Zinnia, it's time for dinner,” Aunt Sunny called from the kitchen.

“Coming!” Zinnie answered, getting up from her desk and accidentally knocking the book of poems to the floor. She picked it up, placed it on the table, and skipped out of the room. Clumsy with good ideas, she bumped into the doorframe on her way to the kitchen. She realized that Max was in the band, so they wouldn't be slow-dancing at the wedding.
But we could stare at each other as he played the guitar,
Zinnie thought, as she took a seat next to Marigold and Aunt Sunny placed a plate of stuffed quahogs in front of her.
And that will be almost as wonderful.

“Just so you know, I'm not worried about Tony anymore,” Zinnie told Aunt Sunny.

“I'm so glad,” Aunt Sunny said.

“Do we have any more of the cookies left from this morning?” Zinnie asked.

“What cookies?” Aunt Sunny asked with a wink. Zinnie winked back and swung her legs under the table.

Zinnie continued to develop her plan the next day after Aunt Sunny and Lily had left and while she and Marigold searched for wedding decorations in the attic. The girls went through the closet Aunt Sunny said was for “wrapping paper and ribbons and such” and discovered a collection of baskets, big and small and square and round, which Marigold claimed had endless possibilities. There were also spools of ribbons in all shades, widths, and textures.

“We can fill these with flowers and place them along the aisle,” Marigold said, holding up some of the baskets. “Let's tie ribbons on the handles.”

“Great idea,” Zinnie said, though her mind was elsewhere. She was scheming about how to get Marigold to perform the sonnet for Peter. It wasn't like Zinnie could just ask Marigold and expect her to say yes. Aunt Sunny had asked Marigold to read it and she'd said no, and that was for Aunt Sunny's wedding. Now that Zinnie thought about it, had Marigold ever simply said yes when
Zinnie
asked her to do something? She was going to have to be a little sneaky.

“I think the cream-colored velvet ribbon is best,” Marigold said after they carried the baskets and ribbons from the attic to the living room, which had been
turned into their wedding work center. “And I think we should tie the bows like this. Watch me.”

“Okay,” Zinnie said, observing as Marigold talked her through how to tie a picture-perfect bow on a basket handle. Zinnie tried one but it didn't look as good. It was droopy and lopsided.

“No, like this,” Marigold said, demonstrating the bow-tying moves again and producing another fluffy and symmetrical bow.

I'm supposed to be the one reading the sonnet at the wedding, but I'll get Marigold to coach me!
Zinnie thought as she tried tying another bow. As her fingers looped the thick ribbon, she could picture the scene in her mind. Zinnie would read it badly on purpose. Then Marigold would show her how to perform the poem. As she did, she would bring the words to life with her singular and stunning talent. Zinnie would watch the ending of her story play out in front of her and then she'd put it on the page—writing couldn't get more real than that.

“I got it!” Zinnie said, holding out the basket with a Marigold-perfect bow on the handle. Now all she needed to do was to get Peter to witness it. Today.