by Susan Wiggs
“Thanks.” He let out a shuddering sigh. “I love our life here. I don’t want it to end.”
“It’s not going to end.”
“I know. I just… Tonight feels like a low spot.”
“Then there’s only one direction to go from here. It’s a law of physics.”
“How’d you get so smart?”
“I’m not so smart. Sometimes I think I’m a total mess.”
“Come on.”
“I mean it. I want to be able to say what you just said, that I love my life—because what you said, that’s everything. And to be brutally honest, I’m not there yet. It’s kind of freaking me out. What if the future you thought you’d mapped out for yourself turned out to be the wrong thing?”
“Is that what you think, that you’ve been on the wrong path?”
“I never used to think that, never used to question myself. I simply put one foot in front of the other and stayed busy with work. But lately, being here, I’ve had a lot of time to think and reassess.”
“And?”
“And I’m as confused as ever. I’m not complaining, Greg. I have an amazing family and friends, but…okay, I’ll just say it. I want to be in love. The kind of love you and Mom have.”
“Everybody wants that. Hell, I want that for everybody. And you’ll find it. Maybe with Orlando, maybe with somebody else.”
“Definitely not with Orlando.” She tried to picture herself having a conversation like this with her father. The picture wouldn’t form. Her father would simply tell her to march ahead toward a goal and everything would fall into place.
“Why do you say definitely?”
“Because that’s something I’m completely sure of. Orlando isn’t the one.” She hadn’t told anyone about her last conversation with Orlando. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t; perhaps because she didn’t want to seem vulnerable, didn’t want people hovering over her, worrying about how she was handling the breakup.
And yes, it was a breakup. There hadn’t been a fight; recriminations had not been flung back and forth. She and Orlando had never been that way. Still, the relationship, such as it was, had flamed out. She was not inclined to revive it. Maybe she didn’t talk about what had happened because she didn’t want people to urge her to make up with him. She could hear people now: What’s wrong with you? He’s gorgeous and educated, he’s your dad’s right-hand man…what more do you want?
She knew, now. She looked at couples like Greg and her mom, Maureen and Eddie, Kim and Bo…and she knew what she wanted.
“That’s nothing to be afraid of,” Greg said. “It takes time, but you’ll figure it out.”
“But what if I don’t? Suppose I’m the problem, not him? Suppose I just don’t know how to sustain a relationship?”
“Believe me, you’re not the problem. Don’t think that way. You’re an incredible young woman, Sonnet. I’ve always thought that. Just…take your time. Live each day, isn’t that what they told us in the support group? Sure, some days—like today—are going to suck. But something else is going to be right around the corner.”
“Here’s something I know,” Sonnet said. “Daisy is lucky to have you for a dad.”
“Thanks.” He stood up and brushed off his pants. “I’m going back in. I’ll see if I can coax her into eating.”
“I think I’ll sit out here for a bit.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and breathed deeply, savoring the sweetness of the air. She thought about her own question, whether she was on the right path and what it would mean if she discovered she wasn’t. No, that was crazy. The day she’d graduated high school, she had set out to see the world, to help the children of the world. She’d been driving toward that goal ever since, yet now she was plagued by questions. The prospect of losing her mother haunted her, and though she tried to stay positive, it was hard to do when Nina was wasting away and the tumor markers weren’t budging. It made Sonnet wonder if she was focusing on the right things in her life. Her mom had said, “If the worst happens, I can honestly say I don’t have a single regret.”
Headlights swung into the driveway, and she recognized the lumbering bulk of Zach’s van.
She stood up and shivered a little in the evening chill as he walked toward her. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.”
“I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Nope.” He came over to the porch. Sonnet could barely look at him. She was still confused by their last conversation. Were they friends? Enemies? Frenemies? They just didn’t seem to want the same thing. “So,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Nina called. Said she was having a hard time eating tonight.”
“Why’d she call you?” Sonnet asked, frowning.
“I, uh, I’ve got something that might help.” He took a small plastic bag out of his pocket.
“Oh, my God.” Sonnet took a step back. “Is that pot? Where in the world did you get pot?”
“It’s good stuff. Don’t worry.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Let’s see if it’ll help your mom.”
She had joked with Orlando over the matter, but this was clearly no joke. “Don’t you dare.”
“You got a better idea?”
“Did she ask for weed? She can get a prescription from her doctor.”
“True, but she called me.”
“And why would she ask you? Are you a stoner and I’m the only one who doesn’t know about it?”
“Give me a break,” he said. “You know me better than that, and so does your mom.”
“Then what are you doing with a bag of weed?”
“I know people.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“She’s nauseous and she can’t eat. Even one of her doctors thought marijuana might help. Nina didn’t want to go there but now she’s ready to try anything as long as it won’t harm the baby. So, excuse me, I don’t want to keep her waiting.” He brushed past her and went to the door.
“I’m not having any part of this,” Sonnet said, fuming. She stormed away, hiking toward the lake with no idea where she was going. Just…away, into the dark night. In the back of her mind she wondered why she was so freaked out by this. And she had to admit, it might be because of her father. His campaign. His reputation. If it was somehow revealed that she was involved in her mother using pot, his chance at getting elected could be seriously compromised.
This thought caused Sonnet to stop in her tracks. There was no way she was putting her father’s ambitions above her mother’s health. She turned on her heel and went back to the house. She walked in, hearing an old Rush song on the stereo. In the living room, Greg was dozing in a chair. Zach was fiddling with a camera.
And her mom was on the sofa, giggling and eating Cheetos from a big shiny bag.
* * *
Zach was alone in the meeting hall at Camp Kioga, which the production company had taken over for storage and editing. It was long after the day’s shoot had ended and everyone had gone home, but he’d stuck around to do some rough editing. That was pretty much what he did with his free time—he worked. Lately there was plenty to do, because each day yielded more and more footage of the show. Later in the process, there would be story line editors and final cut editors, but the initial decisions were up to Zach.
Despite his reservations about working on this project, he could see a story taking shape. The kids were great; they had no filters and had no trouble being themselves despite
the constant, invasive presence of the cameras. Jezebel owned every shot she was in, but Zach could see her shifting and changing in subtle ways. She was forming relationships with the kids, real relationships despite the artificial setup. Some of them brought out her anger, while others seemed to touch on an almost-hidden nurturing side.
He watched an exchange with her and one of the girls, Anita, who was heavyset and shy and always trying to please others. “Don’t be running yourself down,” Jezebel was saying to her during a sequence at the archery range. “You got a lot more skill than you’re showing us. Now, you aim at that target, and you nail it.”
There were some outtakes from the archery range; he watched one with Sonnet and her ever-present clipboard trying to shoo a couple of grazing deer out of the background. The deer were a little too used to human presence; they sidled away but didn’t run for cover. Zach grinned as Sonnet waved the clipboard. She was so damn cute, in her cutoff jeans and tank top and short haircut. She looked as young as some of the kids.
His phone signaled a text message, and his grin faded. Jenna Munson, the reverend’s daughter, was inviting him to Hilltop Tavern and pushing him for an answer. He sent back a note saying he was busy with work, which was true. But the truth was, he didn’t want to see Jenna, or Glynnis, or Viv, or Shakti, or any of the women he used to hook up with. Since the production had started, he had been as cloistered as a monk.
“Hey,” said Jezebel, coming into the hall. “Looking at footage of your girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” It was one of her signature phrases, that canny “uh-huh” speaking volumes of skepticism.
“We go way back, Sonnet and I,” he explained. “We’re friends, that’s all.”
“Yeah, she told me. Best friends, right? Then you should have no problem explaining to her that you’re falling in love with her.”
He laughed, though hearing the words made his heart speed up. “No way. That’s not what’s happening. She’s got a boyfriend anyway. Or she did, last time I checked.”
“Maybe you should check again.”
He ignored a surge of excitement. “I’m not interested in getting involved with Sonnet even if she did break up with her boyfriend,” he insisted, “and I’m sure as hell not going to push her into something with me. She and I are…we’re not right together. She’s only here for her mother. And I’m only here until…” He let his voice trail off. He was here. He’d always been here. It was home.
“You waiting for a better offer? What’s better than this? What’s out in the world that you can’t find right here?” She gestured at the bank of windows facing the lake. It was too dark to see outside, but the various computer monitors showed Willow Lake in all its beauty.
“I haven’t been anywhere,” he said. “How would I know?”
“You’re a small-town guy at heart,” Jezebel said. “I can tell. You might think you want to escape, but look what you’re doing with your life. Every choice you’ve made has kept you here—your jobs, your friends. Your crazy notion of making up for what your father did.”
He swallowed, half wishing he hadn’t told her about that.
“You could walk away at any time,” Jezebel continued, “but I don’t think you want to do that. I think you want to live in Avalon in a nice house, with a white picket fence and kids everywhere. You want the family you never had growing up.”
He felt a twist of yearning in his gut. The damn woman was right. This was his world, it was where he’d always wanted to be. He just didn’t want to be alone here.
She went over to one of the computers and opened a music program. “I’ve been working on a new song, just for you. I call it ‘Don’t Make Me Wait to Tell You.’”
“You’re a secret romantic,” Zach said, flushing. “Who knew?”
“Don’t let on you know that about me. It’d ruin my bad-ass image.”
“Is that what it is? An image? All an act?”
She shrugged. “I’m an entertainer. It’s my job. For a while, I got all caught up in some persona that wasn’t me. It was the public me. I was confused and it got me in trouble. Here’s what prison did for me. It let me figure out who I was out of the limelight. Now I’m not confused anymore. I know what I’m doing. It’s a good feeling. You should try it sometime.”
“I’m not confused. I know what I’m doing, too.”
“Uh-huh.” She eyed him skeptically.
Chapter Twenty
“I brought something for your mother,” Zach said, coming up the walk to Greg and Nina’s house.
Sonnet put aside her laptop. She’d been sitting at her favorite spot on the porch swing, putting together some information for the PR firm engaged by Mickey Flick Productions. It was strange to think the production was winding down. The long hours and weeks of filming had yielded a huge archive. From that, the series would be created.
She stood and folded her arms. “More pot?”
“Not today,” he said simply.
In his skinny jeans and sneakers, his black T-shirt and shaggy hair, he looked ridiculously sexy. No matter how hard she tried to view him as the old Zach, the kid she’d grown up with, she couldn’t deny that he’d changed.
“What, then?”
“C’mere.” He held out his hand.
She hesitated, then took it and followed him to the van. Their hands linked together with startling ease. She felt a shiver of tenderness mingled with confusion. Zach opened the door and took out a small molded crate. “I found something,” he said.
“A wild animal? What—”
“A dog. She was wandering around on a back road between here and Camp Kioga.” He opened the crate and lifted out a squirming, silver-gray bundle. “I dropped her off at the Humane Society, but no one claimed her. So I picked her up today.” The dog scrambled out of his arms and danced around their feet.
In spite of herself, Sonnet laughed at its antics. “And you’re bringing this to my mom…why?”
“To see if she wants to adopt her. I can’t keep a dog at my place; it’s a rental. So I thought maybe your mom and Greg—”
“Zach, that’s awesome. What a fantastic idea.”
“Really?”
“Don’t look so surprised.”
“I thought you’d yell at me.”
“I never yell at you.”
“You yell all the time.”
“I do not.” She caught herself raising her voice, and spun on her heel. “Come on. Let’s see if Mom wants to adopt her. She and Greg just finished dinner.”
The little dog skittered up the walkway as if she already owned the place, and ran through the door when Sonnet opened it. Her mom and Greg were in the TV room, settling in for the evening. Nina had removed her wig for the day. Sonnet was used to seeing her without hair, and in fact, she thought Nina looked kind of cool, her head as smooth and pale as a new moon. She quickly glanced at Zach and put up a hand. “Oh, hey,” she said, then noticed the dog. “Who’s this?”
“She’s a stray,” said Zach. “I just got her from the Humane Society. She’s all fixed, shots, housebroken. You interested?”
“You brought us a dog?” Greg asked.
“He brought me a dog,” Nina said. “I mentioned that I wanted to get one. And yes, I’m totally interested.” Leaning down, she patted her thigh. The dog jumped lithely into her lap, clambering over the mound of her belly, put her paws on Nina’s shoulders and seemed to grin
straight up at her.
“I’m going to call her Jolie,” Nina said decisively.
“As in Angelina Jolie?” asked Zach.
“Please. As in Jolie Madame. It was my mother’s favorite perfume. Jolie is French for pretty. Oh, Greg. Look how pretty she is.”
Greg wore a pained but indulgent expression as he watched the little stray snuggle up to her. It was a dog only a smitten mother could love. There was poodle in the mix; Sonnet could tell by her curling silver fur. Yet she also had the short legs of a dachshund as well as a mysterious combination of other breeds.
“I think she’s a hit,” Sonnet said to Zach.
“I know she’s a hit,” Nina said. “Thanks, Zach.”
“It’s not going to be too much, with the baby coming?” asked Greg.
Nina laughed. “You can’t handle us?”
“Hey. I’m just worried about you.”
“After this summer, I can handle anything,” Nina said.
“Great.” Zach stuck his thumbs in his back pockets, looking on like a proud uncle, then turned to Sonnet. “Give me a hand bringing her things in?”
“Sure.” Sonnet followed him outside. “So I was talking to Jezebel on set earlier,” she said, her nerves fluttering, “and she said I should tell you I broke up with Orlando.”
His shoulders stiffened. “Why should you tell me?”
“Because we’re friends, right? We tell each other stuff. So I’m telling you. If you want more detail—”
“Nope. Not too interested in the details of your breakup with a guy who was never right for you to begin with.”
“You’re being annoying. I’m telling you something very personal, and you’re being annoying,” she said.
“Are you devastated? Brokenhearted? Or are you over the guy?”
“No. Just…disappointed in myself.”
“So is this an opening?” he asked bluntly.
“Zach!” Her cheeks felt hot. “I can’t deal with another relationship in the middle of what’s happening to my mom.”
