by Susan Wiggs
“Well, she’ll probably call you.”
“Probably,” he said noncommittally. Obviously Sonnet hadn’t clued her mother in. That was good, then, he told himself. The internet rumor hadn’t shown up on her radar, which meant it was probably nothing to worry about. “What’s up?”
“I have a little business proposition for you,” she said. “I need to make a video.”
“You came to the right place.” He tried to sound enthusiastic. She probably needed a promo video for the Inn at Willow Lake, one of those “escape and find yourself” pieces with soothing music and water sounds. Not exactly Zach’s favorite genre, though he’d done plenty of it, and he was good at it. With the Mickey Flick gig on the horizon, it was hard to focus on anything else.
“Herbal tea, please,” said Nina to the girl behind the counter. “I’m avoiding caffeine,” she told Zach. “About the video—this might seem a little self-indulgent….”
“Try me.” He waited while she drizzled honey into a cup of tea that smelled more like flowers than tea. When she finished, he said, “So what can I do for you?”
She snapped a lid onto the paper cup. “Let’s walk.” They headed up the street toward Blanchard Park, a swath of green space bordering the lake. Between the trees, the sunlight shimmered along the path, a byway for joggers or people with strollers, the occasional slouching teenager or skateboarder. At midmorning, it was uncrowded, the air filled with birdsong and the distant whistle of the commuter train.
“Okay, on to business,” Nina said. “I want you to document my pregnancy.”
Zach nearly tripped over his own feet. “Sorry…what?”
She lifted her chin and kept walking. “I’m pregnant. And don’t act so shocked. Women my age commonly have kids.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry. I’m just teasing. Everyone’s going to be surprised when they hear. That’s why Sonnet came up from the city this weekend.”
“Okay, so, uh, congratulations,” Zach said, feeling totally uncomfortable. Document a pregnancy? Nina’s pregnancy? All right, he’d entered the Twilight Zone. No matter how fascinating gestation might be to those directly involved, to anyone else, it was likely to be as boring as watching paint dry.
“I’d do it myself,” she said, “but I want this to be really good. Professional quality. I’d like to make a video diary.”
“Nina, I wish I could help you out, but—”
“Zach, it’s something I need to do. See, the pregnancy is…well, there’s a complication. Not just due to me being an older mom, but something else came up, and I really need to document this process, and do it well. You’re the best, Zach. I’ve seen your work and you’re exactly the one I need.”
He grinned. “You’re making it hard to say no.”
“Then my plan is working. Zach, before you make up your mind one way or the other, I need to let you know about the complication.”
Any pregnancy seemed complicated to Zach. “I’m listening.”
“The prospect of having a baby is a wonderful thing. It’s fabulous news. But there’s some not-so-good news as well. It’s kind of hard for me to say this, but…” Her voice wavered, then trailed off.
He glanced over at her, and saw that she was blinking fast, the skin taut across her cheekbones. After having filmed hundreds of weddings, he knew that face. It was the face of a woman fighting tears. Great.
“Hey, are you all right?” he asked. Lame. People on the verge of tears were not all right.
“I’m…I will be. Zach, I just… Oh, I have to come out and say it. I have cancer.”
Oh, geez. Zach knew he winced visibly. Cancer. I have cancer. Probably the three worst words in the English language. The three words no one ever wanted to say…or hear.
“Nina, I’m sorry.”
“It happens. You of all people know that, because of your mom. I hesitated about coming to you because of that.”
“It was a long time ago,” he said. “I’m glad you came to me. If you’re going to do something like this, I’m the one you want.”
She offered a faint smile. “Agreed.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t know what else to say.”
And he didn’t, just like he hadn’t known what to say when his mom came to see him from Seattle, where she’d gone after leaving him and his dad. He had been a confused kid at the time, desperate to see his mom. The prospect of a visit from her had filled him with joy. Then when she’d told him, “I have cancer,” his world had come crashing down. She’d still looked like his mom, still sounded like his mom. But cancer was the worst disease he’d ever heard of. He’d dared to ask: “Are you going to get better?”
“That’s the plan,” his mother had told him. “I have to take a lot of medicine and work really hard at it.”
Three months later, she was dead.
“It’s breast cancer,” Nina continued.
Zach’s throat ached. He felt himself being sucked into the distant past. His own mom had sunk down on her knees in front of him. He could remember how her eyelashes were spiky, and her breath smelled of Doublemint gum. She’d been wearing her winter gloves, and she’d taken off one of them. I have cancer. His mom had had breast cancer.
“It’s treatable during the pregnancy,” Nina added. “There’s every expectation of a good outcome.”
“So this video diary…” He suspected he knew what she had in mind, but something in him needed to hear her say it.
“Is for my children,” she said, unfazed. “Look, nobody gets a cancer diagnosis without going there—to the worst-case scenario. There’s a chance—a small one, I’m told, but a chance—that I won’t survive. If that’s the case, I would like to leave something behind for my kids, especially for the little one. I want to record my thoughts, and some things about my life. Ever since the diagnosis, I’ve been lying awake at night thinking…I want to create something to prove I was here and that I mattered. It’s not about my vanity, Zach, or my ego, I swear it’s not.”
“I would never think that.” Her words struck at him. How could she think she needed to prove something like that? He thought again about that little boy, living with his too-quiet dad and filled with fear and sorrow. How he’d wished for someone, anyone, to comfort him. “How did Sonnet take the news?”
Nina looked away. The wind whipped her hair across her face. “She’s adjusting to the idea that she’s going to have a little brother.”
“I don’t mean the baby,” he said.
“I, uh, I haven’t told her about the diagnosis.”
“Wait a minute. She doesn’t know?” Zach felt a chunk of ice forming in the pit of his stomach. “Nina—”
“I can explain.”
“No, you can’t. This isn’t the sort of thing you keep from your own daughter. And she’s more than a daughter to you. Both of you have always said that. You’re each other’s closest friend. What do you think, that she’s not going to find out?”
“If you’d just calm down and listen, I can explain. She’s got one shot at this fellowship, and I don’t want to be the cause of her missing this amazing opportunity.”
“Hang on—fellowship? What fellowship are you talking about?” It was a fair question. Sonnet, with her stellar academic record, was constantly pursuing—and receiving—various scholarships and fellowships.
“She didn’t tell you about the Hartstone Fellowship?” Nina stopped walking in the middle of the path.”
“Nope.”
She gave a little laugh. “It’s the biggest thing that’s happened to her. I can’t believe she hasn’t told you yet.”
“I don’t get what this has to do with you not telling her about the…about your diagnosis.”
“I’m just worried she’ll make a hasty decision and decline the fellowship just to be with me.”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “You think?”
“I’m serious, Zach. There’s no crisis, nothing for her to do here but worry, and that’s the last thing I want for her.”
“Then tell her what’s going on and let her decide.”
“I already know what she’ll decide. That’s why I’m not telling her.”
Chapter Seven
Sonnet dreaded running into Zach again now that she’d returned to Avalon, but she didn’t expect the encounter to happen so soon. First thing in the morning, before she’d put in her contact lenses, or brushed her teeth, or brought some sort of order to her hair. And before—dear God—she had washed off the green mint facial she’d found in the guest bathroom. Hearing someone down in the kitchen, she’d assumed it was Greg or Max.
“Hey,” she said, adjusting the clip that was keeping her hair out of the facial mask. “I was wondering if you could show me how to use the coffeemaker. I tried earlier, but I couldn’t get it to work. Those little pod thingies are— Oh, God.” She stood with her feet frozen to the floor of her mother’s old-fashioned country kitchen, staring at Zach Alger in all his tall, shimmering blond glory.
“Sorry, can’t help you with the coffeemaker,” he said easily, as if they’d just seen each other last week. As if they hadn’t foolishly hooked up at Daisy’s wedding. He stared at her for a moment. Two moments. Then he lost it, bursting out in guffaws. “Sorry, but you look scary.”
Sonnet tried to muster some dignity as she adjusted the lapels of her oversized bathrobe. “Okay, how about knocking,” she suggested. “It’s a good idea to knock before barging into someone’s house.”
“I’ve always had barging privileges here.” His laughter subsided to chuckles.
She wanted to smack him. Did he never act his age? “I know, but that was…” Before. “You should respect people’s privacy,” she said.
“Oh, so now you’re people. Got it.”
She sighed. “Have a seat, Zach. Let me… I need to go and change, and I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t take all day.”
“I’ll take as long as I please.”
“Still your same charming self,” he commented, managing to make her feel both ridiculous and small.
She marched from the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, she sped upstairs to her room. Zach had come to see her. Zach, whom she was supposed to be done with. At the end of their crazy night together, she’d told him they’d made a huge mistake. In the long silence afterward, she had concluded that their friendship had run its course, they weren’t kids anymore, and both were going to move ahead with their lives in different directions.
As she stood at the sink and scrubbed furiously at her face, she had multiple flashbacks going all the way back to early childhood. There had never been a time when Zach was required to knock at the door. He’d been family—her mom used to say so often. As a child, Sonnet hadn’t realized how difficult Zach’s home life had been. She barely remembered his mother, though she remembered when Zach realized Mrs. Alger had left and wasn’t coming back. He had built a fort in the woods at the edge of Blanchard Park, and he’d hid out there for a day and a half before anyone noticed he was missing.
After that, Sonnet’s mother had swooped in—that was her specialty, swooping in—and brought him into the fold. He was allowed to come over anytime—at mealtime, bedtime, before school, after school. He and Sonnet became constant companions, as close as brother and sister.
The trouble was, they’d grown up and grown apart, and he didn’t feel like a brother to her. The night of Daisy’s wedding, she could only see him as a grown man who was intriguing and far too…sexy.
“I don’t think he’s sexy,” she said to the mirror, where the image was slowly turning into something not quite so scary. She caught her hair back in a messy ponytail and threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with the slogan Jeffries for Senate, a pair of flip-flops and headed downstairs.
It occurred to her that she would never dress like this around Orlando. He was big on appearances, even around the house. Jeans were okay if paired with a silk top and heeled sandals. Sonnet respected that about him, that he understood appearances mattered.
Not around Zach Alger, though. If he had a problem with her dressing like a slob, so be it.
The thing was, she knew he didn’t care how she dressed, the same way she didn’t care how he dressed. Okay, so the groomsman’s tux had turned her head, had turned her, truth be told, into a temporary maniac. But in general, she didn’t focus on what he was wearing. He was just…Zach. He’d always been just Zach. She wished she could put the sexual encounter behind her and reclaim their friendship, but she had no idea how to do that.
In the kitchen, he’d helped himself to a soda and was standing by the door. “Let’s take one of the boats out,” he said.
Last time they got in a boat together… She pictured the two of them having a leisurely Saturday morning paddle with the sunlight glittering on Willow Lake. It was one of those days when the water was so still it made their voices echo, as if they were the only people in the world. “I have a better idea. Let’s not.”
“That’s not a better idea. Come on.” Without waiting for an answer, he headed out the door and across the lawn. A few guests of the Inn at Willow Lake were strolling the grounds or seated in Adirondack chairs, reading, just enjoying the sunshine or watching their kids play in the shallows. People came from all over to be here; for some it was the kind of vacation they dreamed of all their lives. Growing up here, Sonnet could remember only dreaming of leaving.
Yet she felt proud of what her mother and Greg had created here, an oasis of tranquil beauty and luxury, the sort of place people visited and returned to, year after year. The inn itself was a nineteenth-century mansion with a belvedere surrounded by lush, rolling grounds expertly designed by Greg, who was a landscape architect. At the edge of the property was a vintage boathouse with a dock. The upper part of the structure housed private guest quarters—the bridal suite when the inn was the venue for a wedding, which it was most weekends in the summer. Rowboats, canoes and kayaks for the guests’ use were moored at the dock, and inside the boathouse itself was a restored wooden runabout, not unlike the one she and Zach had made such illicit use of after Daisy’s wedding.
Pulling her mind back from thoughts of that night, she tried to keep up with Zach’s long, lanky strides.
“I can’t stop thinking about that night,” he said suddenly, as if he had crawled inside her head with a clipboard, making notes.
“I never think about it,” she said.
“Liar. I bet you think about it as much as I do.”
“Listen, if this is what you came here to talk to me about, you’re wasting your time. And mine. Is that why you sent me that text message?”
“The one you didn’t reply to?” he asked bluntly. “No. That was…a wrong number.”
“I’ll just bet it was.” In spite of herself, Sonnet felt good around Zach. She didn’t have to act a certain way, or dress a certain way. She just had to be. And that, she realized, was what they had destroyed with t
heir foolishness on the night of the wedding. “We both agreed we shouldn’t have…”
“Shouldn’t have what? Made each other come? Again and again?”
“That’s it,” she said, pivoting on her heel. “I’m leaving.”
He grabbed her arm. Just that touch, that uninvited pressure, felt far too good, and she pulled away. “Zach—”
“Wait a second. I’m sorry, Sonnet. I didn’t come here to rehash all that. We can talk about that another time.”
“No, we can’t. I’m done talking about it.”
“Get in the boat.” He tossed her a life jacket and held her hand to steady her.
Something in his tone, or maybe in his intent expression, convinced her. In so many ways, she knew him well, knew that intensity he communicated with his pale blue eyes and the tautness in his jaw. Without another word, she took a seat in the small wooden rowboat. As kids growing up in Avalon, they used to go boating nearly every day in the summer, paying seventy-five cents to rent a paddleboat by the hour. They were pirates, explorers, merchant marines back in those days, their fantasy worlds more real than reality itself. Back then, it was easy to escape the fact that Sonnet had a single mom who had to work all day, and Zach’s dad was as emotionally absent as if he was on another planet. It was easy to be together, too, communicating without words, a subtle look or hand gesture enough to be understood. She hadn’t realized then what a gift it was, that level of intimacy with another person, but looking back, she did now.
That was another time, though, and they were different people. Now, she had no idea what his purpose was. She still had Daisy, of course, but Daisy’s life as an air force wife was taking her farther and farther away. Their friendship was strong, but it had changed.
Sonnet’s friendship with Zach had done more than change. It had…imploded. Or maybe morphed into something else. They sat in the boat facing each other. He picked up the oars and started rowing. Her gaze was drawn to the long, ropy muscles of his arms, and the flowing motion of his shoulders as he propelled the boat away from the dock.
