The Forget-Me-Not Summer (23 page)

A
fter they returned from the beach, Marigold took Lily upstairs to change out of her bathing suit and Zinnie tried to call Mom and Dad. Aunt Sunny had confirmed that this qualified as an emergency, and she was allowed to make a long-distance call. However, Mom's phone was breaking up so much that they couldn't carry on a conversation beyond clarifying that none of the sisters was in any danger. They couldn't reach Dad either. No one was answering the landline number, and his cell phone went right to voice mail. Aunt Sunny suggested they have a powwow in the kitchen. She cut two pieces of blueberry pie, poured two iced teas, and asked Zinnie what she planned to do about her situation.

“I guess I'm not going to do my play,” Zinnie said as the ice crackled in the glass. “I guess the whole thing's off.”

“What?” Aunt Sunny asked. “After all your hard work? Surely there's a solution.” She turned her wrist to look at her watch. “You still have a few hours.”

“I've lost my star actress,” Zinnie reminded her. “How can I have a play without a star?”

“Why don't you play that part?” Aunt Sunny asked. “Forget-Me-Not was a part you were born to play. She's wise and funny just like you. And after all of your rehearsals, you must know the lines.”

“But I'm not a good actress,” Zinnie said, taking a bite of pie. “Ronald P. Harp told me.”

“Who on earth is Ronald P. Harp?” Aunt Sunny asked, spearing a forkful of blueberries. “And why are you listening to him?”

“He's an acting teacher,” Zinnie said. “He told me I wasn't good enough to be in his acting class.”

“Well,” Aunt Sunny said, dabbing the corners of her mouth with great dignity “this isn't his acting class, is it? This is the Pruet Talent Show, and around here we do it for fun, not profit.
Hmph
.”

“But what if people think I stink compared with Marigold?” Zinnie asked.

“There won't be any comparisons,” Aunt Sunny said, “because she's not in the play anymore. She's not even in the talent show.”

Zinnie thought Aunt Sunny made a good point. Ronald P. Harp was very far away. And so was Los Angeles. Most people would never have seen Marigold
act before. (Even though
Seasons
was an award-winning show, it was on a small cable network.) She'd started this play to promote Marigold's dream, but in the course of it, she'd discovered her own, which was to be a writer.

“And what about Lily and Miss Melody's modern dance class? Do you want to let them down?” Aunt Sunny asked.

“I guess I could be Forget-Me-Not,” Zinnie said. “I mean, I did write it. And whoever played the narrator could just read the script. Narrators do that all the time.”

“Exactly. Why, I don't think I've ever seen a narrator not read from a script,” Aunt Sunny said. “You've lost your first mate, but you're the captain of this ship. Haul up the mainsail and set for the seas.” Zinnie smiled in spite of herself. Aunt Sunny could make anything seem like an adventure, but she still wasn't sure. “If you had been able to reach your parents, what do you think they would tell you?”

“That's easy,” Zinnie said. “Dad would say ‘the show must go on.'”

“Why is that?” Aunt Sunny asked.

“This kind of stuff happens in movies all the time,” Zinnie said. “Sometimes Dad needs to be on the set to write new scenes while they're shooting the movie because an actor leaves or a producer changes his mind about something.”

“I see,” Aunt Sunny said.

“But Dad will do anything for a movie, anything. He'll even go for a few days without sleeping. And if anyone loves to sleep, it's Dad,” Zinnie said.

Aunt Sunny smiled, stirring an extra spoonful of sugar into her iced tea with her special extra-long iced tea spoons. “And what about Mom? What would she say?”

Zinnie took another bite of pie and pictured Mom giving her advice. “She'd look at me like this,” Zinnie said, tilting her head the way her mother did when she was listening. “She'd probably ask me, ‘What's the worst thing that can happen?'” Aunt Sunny laughed. Zinnie knew it was because she'd perfectly imitated Mom's voice. “And I'd tell her, ‘Well, I could mess up my lines or Marigold could laugh at me, or no one could like my play.' And then she'd probably say, ‘Would that be the end of the world?'”

“Would it?” Aunt Sunny asked.

“It wouldn't be great,” Zinnie said.

“But what if everyone loved it?” Aunt Sunny asked. “What if you and Lily and Miss Melody's class have the time of your lives? What if Marigold is impressed by your talent and courage? What if you discover that you
are
a good actress? What if—oh, I can just picture it—you get a standing ovation?”

“That would be awesome,” Zinnie said.

“Isn't worth the risk?” Aunt Sunny asked.

Aunt Sunny didn't have to wait for an answer. Zinnie gave her a smile that said it all. Zinnie finished her pie, downed her iced tea, and went to find Ashley. Sure enough, Ashley was at the casino, warming up her vocal cords. Ashley readily admitted that she was loud and funny, which were great qualities for a narrator, and she agreed to play the part without hesitation. The only thing she wouldn't do was be Gus, the chicken. “I won't go
bock bock bock
in public. Especially not in some nasty sweatah!”
Sweatah.
While it had taken Zinnie a while to get used to the Massachusetts accent, she now couldn't imagine Ashley without it.

“But I can't be both Forget-Me-Not and Gus, because they're in a scene together. If we win second place, I'll give you the whole hundred bucks,” Zinnie said.

“I'll be the narrator. and that's all. Take it or leave it.”

“I'll take it,” Zinnie said. The audience would just have to suspend their disbelief as Zinnie went back and forth between Forget-Me-Not and Gus.
This is for fun, not profit,
she reminded herself.

M
arigold sat on Lily's boat bed as her littlest sister slept next to her, curled in a square of sunlight. Neither one of them had moved from her position since they'd returned from the beach over an hour ago and changed out of their bathing suits. Marigold did not want to let Lily out of her sight ever again.

She wished she had never come to this place, she thought as she hugged her pillow. Their lives in California were as separate as their bedrooms. Marigold had auditions, Zinnie had all her school activities and clubs, and Lily had Berta. In L.A., Zinnie didn't need her to be in a play, and Lily didn't need her protection. And it was better that way, she thought as a lump gathered in her throat, because she was a terrible sister. Zinnie was right.

There was a knock at the door.

“Marigold?” Aunt Sunny said from behind the closed door. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” Marigold said, taking a deep breath and wiping her eyes.

“Well, it's not the warmest invitation I've ever received, but I'll take it,” Aunt Sunny said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She nodded in Lily's direction. “Still out like a light?”

Marigold nodded and then burst into tears. “I'm sorry,” she said. She tried to rein it in, but she couldn't. Once the tears began to fall, it was a downpour.

“I know you are,” Aunt Sunny said. She sat across from Marigold on Zinnie's bed and took her hand. “I know.” As Marigold wiped her eyes and the tears slowed to a trickle, Aunt Sunny lay back on Zinnie's bed. “I'd forgotten how comfortable these beds are.” She sighed and stared at the ceiling. “You know, I once lost sight of a child at the beach.”

“You did?” Marigold asked, now hiccuping. “When?”

“I was thirteen, maybe fourteen.”

“I'm twelve,” Marigold said.

“I know,” Aunt Sunny said. “So I was about your age, and it was the first day of my first job, a babysitting job. Oh, I can see the little boy now. His name was Stanley Toots the Third, and he had a face only a mother could love, with a curl right in the middle of his forehead. Like the poem.”

“Stanley Toots the Third?” Marigold laughed.

“I know it's a funny name. But the Tootses were quite a prestigious family around these parts, and I was considered lucky to get the job.”

“Really?” Marigold asked. It was hard to imagine someone being lucky to get a babysitting job. Maybe it was because she had two little sisters, but babysitting had never appealed to her.

“Oh, yes,” Aunt Sunny said. “Stanley Toots the Second owned great swaths of waterfront real estate from here to Falmouth. And Stanley Toots the First was a captain of industry. Anyway, Stanley Toots the Third was my responsibility that day. He was next to me one moment; then I stopped to chat with Beau Williams, a very handsome lifeguard, and when I turned back, Stanley the Third was gone without so much as footprint in the sand by which to track him.”

“That guy wasn't a very good lifeguard,” Marigold said.

“Good point,” Aunt Sunny said, laughing. “I never thought of that. Anyway, that was my last babysitting job until . . . gosh, until this summer.”

“What happened to Stanley?” Marigold asked.

“Why, he'd decided that he didn't like me and that he would walk back home. The whole hour I'd been searching the beach in a state of total panic, he'd been sitting on his own kitchen counter with his hand in the cookie jar. And Mrs. Toots did not spare me. She
let me sweat it out and look for him, even though she knew he was perfectly safe. Oh, was she ever furious with me. Not that I can blame her. She had every right to be.”

“What did she do when you showed up at their house?” Marigold asked.

“She read me the riot act and fired me on the double,” Aunt Sunny said. Marigold laughed. Aunt Sunny did, too. “I laugh now, but really, I felt just awful.”

“But I'm Lily's sister, not her babysitter,” Marigold said. “And she wasn't at home eating cookies. She was in the water. She could've drowned.”

“But she didn't,” Aunt Sunny said. “And everyone makes mistakes, Marigold.”

“And Zinnie hates me too,” Marigold said.

“She doesn't hate you. But you must admit, you've put her in a pickle,” Aunt Sunny leaned on her elbow. “Why did you drop out?”

Marigold was too exhausted to tell any sort of lie. “I saw Amanda Mills last night. We're friends from L.A. Kind of.”

“Who's she?” Aunt Sunny asked.

“She's a huge star. She's has her own TV show and everything.”

“Never heard of her,” Aunt Sunny said.

“She sings that song ‘Kiss Me to Crazytown,'” Marigold said. Aunt Sunny looked at her blankly. Marigold hummed the chorus, but because she was tone deaf,
this didn't help. Aunt Sunny shook her head. She probably wouldn't have recognized it anyway. “Well, Amanda is the star of
Night Sprites
,” Marigold said. “And she invited me to this supercool party at Phil's house tomorrow. . . .”

“Now he's Phil, huh?”

“And I realized that if the star of the movie introduced me, I might have a fighting chance to actually be in it. I also realized that Zinnie's play isn't very . . . professional.”

“It's her first play,” Aunt Sunny said. “No one is born a professional.”

“Well,” Marigold said, “Amanda basically said that she thought it was stupid. If I'm in it, it's like I'm admitting that I'm not good enough to be in the movie.” Aunt Sunny narrowed her eyes with skepticism. “Aunt Sunny, I need her to introduce me to Phil Rathbone, and she's going to the talent show to make fun of it.” It felt good to get the whole thing off her chest and out in the open.

“That's lousy,” Aunt Sunny said. “I don't like this Amanda. She can go eat her socks!”

“I know it sounds bad, but I really want to be in this movie.” Marigold started to tear up. “It's my dream. Should I really give that up? I wasn't trying to be mean to Zinnie, I swear.”

“And what do you think?” Aunt Sunny said, plucking a tissue from a box and handing it to Marigold.
“Do you think Zinnie's play is stupid?”

“No,” Marigold said. She blew her nose and thought. “At least I didn't until I talked to Amanda.”

“Why should her opinion matter more than yours?” Aunt Sunny asked.

“It just does.” Marigold sighed. She didn't know how to explain all of Hollywood to Aunt Sunny.

“I bet Amanda would like to have a sister like Zinnia,” Aunt Sunny said. “Or a friend like Peter.”

“Oh, God,” Marigold said, remembering the third person she had betrayed in the last twenty-four hours. “Peter.”

“He called here, looking for you,” Aunt Sunny said. “He thought you'd been kidnapped. When I told him you were safe and sound in your bed, he hung up. This has to do with that Amanda character too, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” Marigold said, wiping her eyes. “And I feel bad. I feel bad about everything. I feel bad about Lily. I feel bad about Peter. I feel bad about ruining Zinnie's play.”

“I don't think you have ruined her play,” Aunt Sunny said.

“Really? What's she going to do?” Marigold asked.

“She's down at the casino right now, figuring it out,” Aunt Sunny said. “You know Zinnia. She's like a Cheerio. Hard to sink.” The grandfather clock chimed six o'clock. “Oh, goodness, we need to get to the casino ourselves. Show starts in half an hour. Wake up your
sister and get her dressed in her costume, won't you? Your surprise is arriving any minute, and I need to get downstairs.” Aunt Sunny sat up. “Up she goes,” she said as she stood up and headed toward the door. She stopped just short of the door and turned back. “Marigold,” she said, “don't waste too much time feeling bad. Remember, it's never too late to do the right thing. I've forgotten who said that, but it was somebody very prominent.”

“Was it Stanley Toots the First?” Marigold asked.

“No, I don't believe it was.” Aunt Sunny laughed and smiled at Marigold in a way that made her feel that despite all her betrayals, she was, deep down, still a good girl. It was a great relief.

“Aunt Sunny, you would've been a really good mom,” Marigold said.

Aunt Sunny took a deep breath, put a hand on her heart, and tapped it twice. “Ah, me,” she said. “Ah, me.”