Willa by Heart (18 page)

“Happy Father's Day …
Dad.”

Sam's lips quiver.

“Thank you, Willa. You don't know what a gift …”

“I can't imagine how sad you must be losing the baby,” I say. “I know how much you and Mom wanted … I did too … and I know it's not nearly the same….”

“Willa,” he says. He shakes his head. “It is so hard to lose the baby. But the gift you are giving me …” He sucks in a deep breath and smiles his beautiful, wonderful special Sam smile.

“We chose to have a baby. But
you, you chose me
to be your dad. And I am deeply honored.”

Look, it's clearing up. The stars are coming out.

—
Our Town

It's June 21. Opening night for
Our Town.

JFK and I finally had a chance to talk after practice the other day. I explained about how I was just dancing with Jace, and he said, “Don't worry about it,” but I could tell he was still mad.

“Give him some time to cool off,” Tina said. “Boys have big egos. Give him some space. He'll come around.”

How much space does he need? I can't stand us not talking to each other.

Every night at practice as I heard him say “I love you, Emily,” staring into Mariel's eyes, every time I watched them kiss in the wedding scene, I felt my stomach being wrung out like a towel,
twisted, twisted, twisted,
until every last drop dripped out.

The director finally told us her name after our final rehearsal last night.

Abilene Muhlfelder.

“Why didn't you tell us before?” I asked.

“Because it was irrelevant,” she said. “In
Our Town,
I am the director. And you are the Stage Manager. And Mariel is Emily. Our other identities have no place in this theater hall. No place on this stage.”

Opening night is sold out. I find a crack in the red velvet curtains and spot them there in the first row. My family Mom and Dad and Nana.

Tina said she would be here. I'm sure she's out there somewhere. And Mrs. Saperstone, and all my friends. I feel Gramp here too. I picture Mum, then force myself to focus. On cue I walk out onto the stage. I feel the heat of the lights on my face.

I am not Willa. I am the Stage Manager. I take a deep breath and begin:

“‘This play is called “Our Town.” It was written by Thornton Wilder; produced and directed by Miss Abilene Muhlfelder….'”

I finish my first lines, and other actors take the
stage, and as much as I try to stay in character, I can't help thinking,
You are JFK, not George; you are Mariel, not Emily.

That night on the beach you said that when you kissed her in the wedding scene, you'd be acting, but when you kiss me, it's for real….

And then it's act 2, the wedding scene, and Emily—Mariel—is processing in on Mr. Webb's arm, and she meets up with George—JFK—and they come to stand together in front of me. In this scene I play the minister. I have to marry them.

JFK and Mariel have their backs to the audience, facing me. I alone can see their eyes.

The rings are exchanged. He kisses her.

And then, for the briefest moment, JFK tilts his face ever so slightly toward me, and with the eye that only I can see—not Mariel—not the audience—JFK winks at me.

On the outside I retain the composure of the Stage Manager.

Inside, Willa and the entire towns of butterflies are doing a happy dance.

This town's gettin' bigger every year.

—
Our Town

The curtain closes on opening night to thunderous applause. The actors with the smaller roles walk back out on stage first, and then the Gibbs family, the Webb family, JFK, then Mariel, then me. I hear Mom and Nana shouting, “Bravo, bravo.” Sam whistling. Tina cheering like she's at a Patriots game,
“Go, Willa! Go, Willa!”

Backstage, Mom hands me a bouquet of yellow roses. Sam takes pictures. I see Mariel Sanchez's father, his face brimming with pride, shaking his clenched fists victoriously in the air. Mariel is being interviewed by the arts and entertainment
reporter for the
Cape Cod Times.
The photographer checks the spelling of her name for the caption.

Mariel was the perfect Emily. Too bad her mother wasn't here.

I am dying to talk to JFK, but it will have to wait until after the cast party.

Abilene Muhlfelder shakes my hand. “Well done,” she whispers.

JFK's father, Mr. Kennelly, walks toward me with a woman I have never seen before. “Willa, if you have a minute, I'd like to introduce you to Mrs. Emma Barrett.”

The pretty woman, silver white hair, pale blue gray eyes with specks of amber, maybe Nana's age, extends her hand. “It is so nice to finally meet you, Willa,” she says.

Behind us, Mariel and her father are leaving. I don't see JFK anywhere.

“I've just moved into New Seabury,” Mrs. Barrett says. “My husband and I recently retired. We've always wanted to live on Cape Cod. It's been our dream for so many …”

I'm trying to focus on this nice lady, but I want to go find JFK,
now.

“… and we've been subscribing to the
Cape Cod Times,”
she continues, “trying to learn as much as we can, in anticipation of becoming ‘good wash-ashores,' as they say. We know that transplants aren't always welcomed with open arms….”

Mr. Kennelly laughs. “You are the most welcome sort of wash-ashore, Emma.”

Mrs. Barrett smiles. “Well, thank you, Stephen. We will certainly try to—”

“Excuse me,” I say, flustered and trapped. “But I need to go. It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Barrett. Welcome to Cape Cod.”

“Wait a second, Willa,” Mr. Kennelly says.

“Yes, just one moment, please,” Mrs. Barrett says. “I wanted to tell you, Willa, that my husband and I followed the story of your saving the Bramble Library. That was wonderful. And then more recently we read your editorial letter urging people to help support the work of the new Come Home Cape Cod organization, and well, we thought, good for her. Look at how one girl is making such a difference.”

This is lovely, but I really need to find my boyfriend.

“Life has been good to me and Jonathan. It's time we gave something back.”

Good, good, good, but I really need to go …

“And so, in celebration of our fiftieth wedding anniversary, we have decided to put a half a million dollars into an endowed trust fund, from which Come Home Cape Cod will be able to draw money to build one new house a year for a deserving Cape Cod family. And I just wanted to personally thank you for inspiring us.”

“Aaaah,” I gasp, speechless.

I feel a hand on one shoulder and then on the other. Mom and Dad are behind me, eyes bright with pride. They heard the whole thing.

And so did JFK.

He is standing behind my parents with a smile on his beautiful face. He winks at me and nods toward the door like,
Come on, let's get out of here.

“Are you sure I'm still good enough for you?” JFK says. “When word gets out about this, television crews will be descending on Bramble and thousands of guys all over the country will see you on the morning news, see how pretty you are….”

Pretty … I like that. That's light-years better than
cute. But what about Mariel?
And so I just blurt it out.

“Tina saw you and Mariel together on the beach the night of Suzanna's wedding.”

“What?
You mean the night you were dancing all hot and heavy with the cowboy?”

“He was the best man, Joseph. It's a tradition. The maid of honor and best man have to dance—”

“Well, you didn't have to enjoy it so much.”

“At least I didn't
kiss
him. Tina saw you kissing Mari—”

“Tina's wrong,” JFK says, angry “Tell Tina to mind her own business.”

“Well, what were you doing with Mariel, then?”

“I was being a friend,” he says. He stands up, angry, walks away a bit, turns around. “Mare was upset that night. I felt really bad for her. She had sent her mother a letter asking her to come home for opening night, telling her that she was going to play Emily in
Our Town,
just like she did. Her mother never responded. Mare's letter got returned, no forwarding address. I was just being a friend, Willa. That's all.”

I always say: happiness, that's the great thing! The important thing is to he happy.

—
Our Town

My alarm goes off. I look at the clock. If I hurry, I can make it.

When I get to the beach, there is already someone sitting on the top step of the beach stairs by the wild pink rugosa bushes. My spot.

Mariel smiles when she sees me.

“Good morning,” she says.

“Good morning.”

Mariel slides across the step, making room for me.

I sit down.

We stare out at the horizon.

It's the end of June. School's out.

Two whole long, glorious months stretching out like forever before me.

Later I'll take my summer reading list to Sweet Bramble Books, grab a bag of taffy, then pack a lunch, head to the beach, and read all afternoon. I'll bring my journal too. So many memories I want to capture before I forget.

JFK's team is out on the Vineyard. Tina's off on a shopping spree with her mother.

Maybe I'll ask Mariel to join me.

I made a promise to Mum to be nice to her, and besides, I think we could be good friends. We have a lot in common. Maybe even more than Tina and I do.

So much has happened in the few short months since I first saw Mariel standing on the jetty. I was so angry at this mysterious girl for disrupting my perfect little world. My beach. My boyfriend. My library. My town.

Today we sit silently, lost in our thoughts, waiting for the same sun.

A red ribbon tops the orange one now. It is almost time.

Our Town
was a good experience, but I don't think acting is my talent. The reviewer said I gave
“a solid if uninspired performance” as the Stage Manager, but that a Bramble newcomer, Miss Mariel Sanchez, was “brilliant in the role of Emily.” She “lit up the stage” and “conveyed an emotional depth truly stunning in one so young.” The headline read,
A STAR IS BORN IN BRAMBLE.

And yet, surprisingly, I am not jealous. Mariel has her gifts and I have mine.

Maybe I'm meant to write the plays, and Mariel to perform them.

“Should be soon,” I say.

“Yes.”

We sit, side by side, waiting.

Mariel has as much right to be here as I do.

Bramble is her town too.

There is plenty of beach for both of us. Plenty of boys. Plenty of books.

I close my eyes and smile. I can picture it all by heart.

“Here it comes,” she says.

And then, there it is.