Free The Forget-Me-Not Summer by Leila Howland

the door flung open.

16. Aunt Sunny
    A unt Sunny bounded out of the little house. She had short gray hair, small glasses, and a big smile. She greeted them all, getting a good long look at each of them and shaking their hands. Zinnie liked the way Aunt Sunny looked her in the eye, the way her favorite teachers did. “Oh, I can’t stand it,” Aunt Sunny said. “I’ve got to give you all a hug.” She wrapped her arms around all three of them and squeezed. She smelled a little bit like pumpkin pie. As soon as she let them go, Lily stood shyly behind Zinnie. Marigold took a step backward and checked her cell phone’s reception.
    â€œUm, I don’t have a signal, and we need to call Mom and Dad to let them know we arrived safely,” Marigold said.
    Zinnie felt in her pockets for her phone. Maybe hers would get a signal. “Oh, no,” she said, recheckingthe pockets of her jeans and her sweatshirt. “I left mine in L.A.”
    â€œAre you sure?” Marigold asked.
    Zinnie nodded. She could picture her phone still plugged into the wall. She had left in such a rush this morning.
    â€œYou won’t need it. We don’t get really get any cell reception out here anyway,” Aunt Sunny said. Zinnie watched the color drain from Marigold’s face. “But don’t worry. You can call from the house. Okay.” Aunt Sunny clapped her hands three times. “Time for the grand tour.”
    They followed her inside, dragging their luggage behind them.
    The house was the strangest Zinnie had ever seen. It was like something out of a fairy tale. The front door was inside a stone archway and had a little latch that opened it instead of a doorknob. And everything was made of wood: wooden floors, wooden walls, wooden ceilings. In the kitchen, the countertops were made of wood. So was the table. So were the two long benches on either side of the table. And it was like a maze. It was full of tiny rooms, one leading into another, with either a step up or a step down between them. How was Zinnie going to find the kitchen at night if she needed a glass of water? She would have to make a map.
    And there were pictures of boats everywhere: photographs of boats, paintings of boats, and drawings ofboats. There were tiny, intricate boat models. The other decorations were also ocean or boat related. There were paintings of waves, postcards of beaches, collections of shells in the windowsills, and a whale’s tail carved out of wood on a side table.
    Zinnie paused in front of one of the photographs in the study. It was black and white. There was a couple sitting inside a little sailboat, waving at whoever had taken the picture.
    â€œGreat picture, isn’t it?” Sunny asked.
    â€œWho are they?” Zinnie asked.
    â€œWhy, that’s me,” Aunt Sunny said, pointing to the young lady with the long braid. Zinnie recognized Aunt Sunny’s eyes. “I was with Ham in Tippy , our little catboat. She was a beauty, Tippy was.”
    â€œI don’t see any ham,” Lily said.
    Zinnie nudged Lily and whispered, “I think Ham is a person.”
    â€œOh, was he ever!” Sunny said, her face opening into a smile that sent wrinkles in six directions. “Hamish Holt. He was a handsome devil, wasn’t he? He was my husband.”
    â€œWhere is he?” Zinnie asked.
    â€œI lost him to cancer many years ago,” Sunny said.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” Marigold said. Despite their arguing, Zinnie felt proud of Marigold in that moment. It was the right thing to say.
    â€œI think Berta’s mother has cancer,” Lily said.
    â€œSome people who have cancer get better,” Aunt Sunny said. “But not Ham. Now I visit him at the Pisquatuit Head Cemetery.”
    â€œWhere’s the rest of him?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Aunt Sunny said, leaning against the big wooden desk.
    â€œWell, if that’s where his head is buried,