Mysterious Marigolds

My sister was impatient with my questions, but I needed her advice. I just had to know.

"I don't see why you have to bring this up now. This is our weekly tennis game, and besides we're playing Paolo and his sister Francesca visiting from Italy. I want your head in the game. And can't you figure this out yourself?"

"No I can't. I can't for the life of me." Swoosh. The ball went under my racket.

"Move up for God's sakes, and watch the ball. Loser buys dinner. Remember? If you play like this, that's us, and I'm making you buy."

Paolo's sister served one outside, but Sis got it back. Francesca sent it over the net where I was standing. I fumbled the ball right into the net. Another point for them. I looked sheepishly at my sister and tennis partner.

She tried another tack. "If I admit that I sent you the marigolds will you shut up and play better?"

"Did you?"

"No, But I want to play tennis and enjoy our friends. I'm not concerned with your love life. And how would I know anyway?"

I tried flattery. "You're smart and you have a graduate degree in folklore and mythology, so you can interpret the symbolism."

That went over badly. "The symbolism? The symbolism? I research the Albanian connotations of the Odyssey. I do not look at the meaning of flowers for my idiotic brother. Mi dispiace Paolo, Francesca," she added, realizing our argument was crossing the net. That game ended quickly and the set was on my racket.

I served an ace to Paolo. "Better," she allowed.

"So what is the meaning of marigolds? Just one symbol?"

Sis relented. "One answer for every point you win. Are you courting a Hindu woman or marrying one? In Hindu culture they have the association of Vishnu and marriage."

I gave the ball a good toss, sliced it, and caught Francesca off guard. "What no comeback to that one?" she asked.

"You know Shirley's Catholic. And we're just friends now."

"I have more important things to do than keep track of your dates. But that sly little serve gets you another question."

"Could it be a death threat or does it mean I'm going to die?"

Sis snorted at that one. "No, that's chrysanthemums or black roses. Serve."

This time I tried a body serve. I think Paolo was paying too much attention to our discussion and he hit it back to Sis, who was standing at the net, and angled it between them. "I won that point," she said, "You don't get a question for that one. Did you do someone a favor, and did they send you flowers for that? I mean besides our opponents, since you're mainly playing like a klutz?"

"Oh ha ha," I said, "Not that I remember. Do you think it could be Joelle?"

"She dumped you months ago. Are you thinking she suddenly changed her mind, thinks you're Prince Charming?" Another snort.

Hmmmn. Rosemary dumped me too, but perhaps best not to bring that up just now, I thought. One more straight serve to Francesca. The ball came back to me. I opted for the cowardly, cheap tactic, and sliced it hard. It grazed the net, hit the court, and died there. I held up my hand in an insincere apology, which is the professional tennis tradition.

All four of us met at the net and touched rackets. Paolo said, "You have won, and I shall buy dinner."

Sis shoved the handle of her racket into my ribs. I winced. She didn't say she was sorry.

"No, we wouldn't think of it," I said. "Francesca is visiting. Dinner is on us. Do you like seafood?"

Francesca understood with no translation. "Yes!"

"Okay," I said. "Do you know how to get to The Hole in the Wall?"

Paolo did, and Francesca looked puzzled.

We took two cars. Sis laid down the law. "This is dinner we're going to, with our friend and his sister. This is what we're going to do. You are going to converse with Paolo and Francesca, and you're going to drop this subject of the stupid marigolds and your lame romantic fantasies. If you have any more stray thoughts, imaginings or crazy questions, you're going to ask me while we drive, right here, right now, then you're going to leave the subject alone and not bring it up and dinner. Get it?"

"Okay," I relented. "So one more time. A flat of marigolds was delivered to my house while I was out."

"A flat? You didn't say that before."

"A flat. Maybe 12 plants."

"Flats aren't romantic. There's all the dirt. And you have to plant them. No one ever gave me a flat of roses."

"But why send them? Are you sure there isn't some other association?"

Sis fiddled with her phone. "It says tranquility and serenity, but they're certainly not doing that for you. Maybe it was a mistake?"

"The name and address were right. I doubt if they were to go to some other Herschel Wackenroder," I said.

"Mmmmmn. Point taken. It's not your birthday? I haven't forgotten your birthday?"

"You don't know that?" I said. "You don't know your own brother's birthday?"

"Just messin' with your head," she said. "I'm out of ideas. Are you sure this is a good place for Francesca?"

"It's authentic New England. She's used to elegant and fancy at home. This will give her the flavor of the place, and lots to talk about."

We got the last table at The Hole in the Wall. It was always popular. Decor? Non-existent. Seafood? You bet! Caught off the dock, and ported in via... you guessed it, the hole in the wall.

"I have never seen a place like this," Francesca said. It was hard to tell whether she was horrified or intrigued.

"Best seafood in Boston," I said.

And indeed it was. Francesca was Venetian, and she appreciated all of the dishes. I made sure the table had a great variety.

She murmurred her appreciation of the chowder. Sis and I relaxed. I have never found a thicker, better clam chowder. I ordered the Clam bake. We were all hungry after tennis, and dug in. I looked at one of the clams on my plate and thought of Judy's eyes. Could she have sent the marigolds? No, that was too long ago.

"Earth to Herschel," Sis chimed in. "Where is your mind?"

Deftly, for me, I said, "I'm trying to remember our first clambake. It was on the Cape, wasn't it?"

"Yes it was, and I had to teach you how to eat shell fish."

"A lesson that I cherish to this day," I said, and we all smiled.

The meal was a triumph. "Where now?" Sis asked.

"Where are you staying, Francesca," I asked.

She looked at her brother. "The Cambridge Motor Inn," he answered.

Ice cream can be dicey after seafood, and I didn't know their constitutions. "Harvard Square, then," I said, "cheesecake from Formaggio," and we can take plastic forks and eat it in the yard. Sis agreed.

We passed the building where Sis teaches. Francesca was impressed. Then we sat near the Science Center. Paolo made a remark about the odd shape of the building. I explained. "Mr. Land donated the funds. It's designed to look like the Polaroid Swinger."

Francesca tried to follow. "Swinger, that's a person who is a bit, how do you say 'leggiero,' loose?"

Sis laughed. "No, he means a kind of camera from the 1960s. And he's right." She pointed. "That's the lens."

"Oh! I see!" Francesca seemed delighted, but she wouldn't let it go. She tried to pronounce my name. A lot of consonants oddly combined for an Italian speaker. "Air-shell, you have thought of so many women this evening, and you are still thinking about them, I thought maybe, you might be an American Swinger!"

And that pushed Sis over the age. The image of her conservative, ordinary-looking brother as a chic-magnet swinger just about made her laugh her way off the bench.

This was the perfect evening for Francesca. We had the four "Ls," I reckoned: Laughter, Local seafood, Landmarks, and Lovely cheesecake too. It was turning into a terrific evening.

The Science Center gave me another idea. Lois was an architect. She might have sent a flat of flowers. That was sort of architectural. But why? I was pretty sure she was way out of my league. Had I missed a clue, a sign, something she said? I didn't think she was interested. She said something about Frank Lloyd Wright. Was that a double entendre for Mr. Right? I brought myself back to the present before Sis did.

We walked to Dunster House, along the river. Sis is the Senior Tutor there. It's a lot of work, but living rent free in Cambridge is worth it she says, and I'm sure it is. One crew was rowing on the river, a good thing for Francesca to see. And at that, we parted. Sis went to her suite, Francesca to the motel, and I drove along the beltway to the burbs. My job is decent, but I can't afford Cambridge.

When I got home, I gave the flowers some water, along with the rest of my garden. It was then that I saw the note. Idiot! I could have saved all of that ex-girlfriendly distraction. I brought it to the light, and read. "Marigolds will keep the bugs away from your tomatoes. Mom."