Return to Willow Lake

by Susan Wiggs

  “Sure you can. It’s all in the motivation.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.” As they went to the van together, she said, “This is really nice of you.”

  “I’m nice,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’ve always been nice.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Then why are you having such a hard time falling in love with me?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Not what? Not having a hard time, or not falling in love?”

  “Neither. Zach—”

  “Sonnet.” Greg came out onto the porch.

  She froze. There was something in his voice and in his stance that galvanized every cell in her body. Zach was standing very close. In a split second, she took in everything—the way the wind lifted his hair and the ropy muscles of his arms relaxing as he stopped with the box of pet supplies. The sound of her own intake of breath and the crunch of gravel underfoot as she turned to face him, telling him what his face already told her he knew:

  “Something’s wrong.”

  * * *

  The hospital waiting room overflowed. Between the Romanos and the Bellamys, visitors filled every available chair and bench, though most milled around, walking up and down the hallway, talking in low voices as they waited for news.

  Sonnet felt nauseous with terror. Everyone clustered around her, offering words of comfort and reassurance, but nothing penetrated. Nina was beloved, that was why everyone had come, but there was no one in the world who knew what Sonnet was feeling. This was her mom—her mom.

  Nonna Romano sat amidst Sonnet’s aunts and uncles, her rosary beads moving slowly, steadily and silently through her shaking fingers. On the Bellamy side, Greg’s parents, Charles and Jane, were there, looking desperate and exhausted. Like Nonna, they’d been ecstatic at the prospect of a new grandbaby, though consumed by worry.

  The tension and dread in the waiting room felt like a crushing vise around Sonnet’s chest. She stood gazing out a window, her hands gripping the sill. The hospital was located at the confluence of the Schuyler River with the Hudson, with the Catskills rising in the distance. Sonnet could only stare down at the parking lot, watching people come and go—workers in their scrubs, visitors, patients, EMTs on call, hanging around the ambulance bay.

  When Zach’s van turned into the parking lot, Sonnet felt a slight easing of tension. She wasn’t released from her worry but a tiny bit of the stress unfurled. It made no sense, but just the sight of him calmed her.

  “I’m going to step out for some fresh air,” she said to no one in particular, and walked over to the elevator.

  She met up with Zach in the parking lot. He held out both arms and she stepped into his embrace. They didn’t have to say anything; she could feel his concern, and she knew he could feel her worry. They stood that way for several beats, and then he stepped back.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “Her water broke. The baby’s not due for another five weeks, so his lungs are underdeveloped. The latest plan is to pump her full of antibiotics and steroids to help the baby’s lungs, and hope she carries him a bit longer.” Sonnet could honestly say she no longer hated the baby. It was nobody’s fault, least of all the baby’s, that Nina had gotten sick.

  Greg came out of the unit wearing wrinkled scrubs and paper booties, a stunned expression on his face. No, she thought. Please God, no no no no...

  He leaned against the wall. The floor was so shiny, his reflection shone in it. He took a breath and encompassed everyone in the waiting room with a glance.

  “It’s a boy,” he said. “Lucas Romano Bellamy and his mom are both all right.”

  There was a moment of breath-held silence. Then the waiting room erupted with questions and congratulations, expressions of relief, laughter and tears. Sonnet pushed her way toward Greg. “Can I see Mom?”

  “Soon,” he said. “And you’re first in line. Where the hell is Max? He finally has the brother he’s been wanting since he was little.”

  “I’ll see if I can find him.” She took out her phone. Damn Max. He was as unreliable as ever, thought Sonnet, probably taking his time getting here in hopes of missing the drama.

  Max picked up on the third ring. “Yo.”

  “Where are you?”

  “How’s Nina?”

  “She’s okay. The baby, too.”

  “Jesus. That’s a relief.”

  “Where are you?” she repeated.

  “Just getting here. Come down to the parking lot.”

  “Max—” The call ended.

  “Everything okay?” asked Zach, joining her in the elevator.

  Before she could stop herself, Sonnet sagged against him, overwhelmed by relief.

  He didn’t say anything. Neither of them did while the elevator whooshed to the ground floor. As the doors parted, she moved away from him, trying to compose herself.

  They stepped out of the elevator. At the same time, her stepsister Daisy came through the revolving door. Squealing, they ran toward each other and hugged.

  “Oh, my gosh, it’s so good to see you again,” Sonnet said, stepping back, studying her—blonde, smiling, her blue eyes shining.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” Daisy said. “So Max told me your mom and the baby are okay.”

  “Yes. Let’s go right up. Did you come by yourself?”

  “Uh-huh. First time leaving the kid home with their dad. It had to happen sometime.” Daisy noticed Zach by the elevator. “Hey, you. Long time no see.” She gave him a hug, too.

  “It’s good to see you, Daze,” he said. “Hey, Max.”

  As the four of them stepped back into the elevator, Sonnet was overcome by the most amazing feeling. When friends and family pulled together to support each other, some kind of magic happened.

  * * *

  “That shot is genius,” Sonnet said, looking over Daisy’s shoulder at the computer screen. The two of them were going over raw files of the photos Daisy had taken.

  “Thanks. Although it’s not a stretch to do a good job on a picture of a mother and her newborn.”

  “My mom has a newborn,” Sonnet said. “That’s so…strange. In a good way.”

  Daisy had outdone herself, documenting the baby’s birth day. Photography was not just her job, but her passion. Sometimes Sonnet envied her the intensity of that passion. Unlike Sonnet, Daisy never questioned her own career path. She just knew.

  “You look pretty happy in this shot.” Daisy clicked on a photo of Sonnet holding the baby, a six-pound armful who had only spent a short time in the NICU before being pronounced healthy despite being premature. “My lord, that short hair looks incredible on you.”

  “Think so?” Sonnet studied the screen. “Do you think I should keep it short?”

  Daisy clicked to a candid shot of her showing off the baby to Zach. “He’s pretty crazy about it. He’s pretty crazy about you.”

  Sonnet flushed and looked away.

  “What’s up?” Daisy asked. “The two of you…I mean, you’ve always been close, but something else is going on now. I can tell. And you know what they say—the camera doesn’t lie.”

  “I can’t lie to you, either. I’m in trouble, Daze. Man trouble. I broke up with Orlando.”

  “Really? Ah, Sonnet. I’m sorry. I thought things were going well for you two.”

  “They were…but they weren’t. Things haven’t felt right in a while. Still, you’re right. We were compatible. So even now, I don’t know if
it was the right thing to do.”

  “Don’t second-guess yourself,” Daisy advised. “Do what your heart’s telling you to do.”

  “Zach and I are… I can’t stop thinking about him and it’s bad. It’s messing with my head.”

  “I think you’re not in trouble at all,” Daisy said.

  “It’s not that simple. We don’t… We can’t…”

  “Or maybe you can. Ask yourself—not me.”

  “Zach brings my mom pot and puppies. He makes me laugh and isn’t always rushing around, busy all the time.” She hesitated, rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “He holds me when there are no words. But Orlando got her a consultation with one of the best oncologists in the country. Am I an idiot for not choosing him?”

  “How about you choose based on how you feel about the guy, not how much he’s helped your mom?” Daisy asked reasonably.

  “Sure. But at the moment, I really can’t separate the two. Ah, Daisy. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Don’t rely on my advice. When it comes to choosing between two guys, I’m no expert. Took me forever to figure it out.”

  “I don’t have forever.”

  “Slow down. Relax. Don’t make any big decisions until you finish up here in Avalon.”

  “That’s the thing. I’m pretty much done. I’ll stick around a while longer to help Mom, of course, but both she and Greg are adamant that they want their privacy back. And here’s the scary part. I have no idea what I’m going to do next.”

  * * *

  Though on the small side, the baby had a loud, lusty cry and a voracious appetite, with the face of a wizened apple. He had dark hair and adorable elfin features, and a deep, dark-eyed stare that was strangely mesmeric.

  Seeing the start of a new life up close and personal had a deep and resounding impact on Sonnet. This was the essence of life at its most elemental, made more precious by the risks and pain Nina had endured. Sonnet’s heart swelled with gratitude. She viewed everything—her mother, the world, herself, this town, through new eyes. She used to think Avalon was the smallest, most insignificant town in the world, but she no longer felt that way. The outpouring of strength that came from the community gathering around her mother was amazing to Sonnet—the tenderness in a man’s eyes when he smiles at his wife, the smells of fresh baked goods brought by a friend, the sounds so often drowned out in the city—barking dogs, laughing children, the burble of a running creek. She wondered why she’d been so eager to leave, growing up.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Zach brought his smallest camera—the latest version of the GoPro—to the wrap party for the series. Camp Kioga had always been known as a place for celebrations of all kinds—anniversaries, reunions, weddings, family gatherings—but it had never hosted an event quite like the Big Girl, Small Town farewell party. A local band called Inner Child had been hired to provide the entertainment, but Jezebel herself was inspired to join in. While their usual repertoire consisted of ’80s and ’90s cover music, the band members were only too happy to change things up. An urban beat thumped from the speakers, and the kids and crew filled the plank dance floor to celebrate the conclusion of shooting.

  Eddie Haven, the singer/songwriter at the heart of Inner Child, seemed gleeful as he performed with Jezebel, backed by his bandmates Noah Shepherd, Ray Tolley and a bass player named Brandi in a purple plaid miniskirt. There had been a time when a girl in a miniskirt would cause Zach’s entire prefrontal cortex to shut down, but instead of gawking, he found himself scanning the crowd for Sonnet. It was weird, how even a pretty girl failed to attract him now. He could appreciate a woman’s looks, but the pull was gone. Sonnet had ruined him for other women, and she didn’t even know it. It was a crazy position to find himself in. This person he’d known all his life, the proverbial girl next door, had suddenly become his whole world.

  Not seeing her, he went over to the refreshments table and grabbed a beer. Jezebel took a break from the band and joined him. “Beer?” He offered her the bottle.

  “I’ll stick with water,” she said. “Saving my celebrating for when I lose this piece of bling for real.” She lifted up her ankle with the security bracelet. They’d filmed a ceremonial removal for the series, even though it wouldn’t be official for a few more months.

  “You made something great here,” he said. “That’s something to celebrate. At least eat something.”

  The food looked fantastic, including some of the stuff the kids had learned to make alongside Jezebel—the rhubarb pie, buttermilk fried chicken, a salad made of greens they’d grown themselves. There was a giant sheet cake from the Sky River Bakery decorated with a ribbon of film wrapped around a heart, not that film was in use anymore.

  She grabbed a stuffed celery stick and lifted it in a toast. “We made something great here,” she corrected him. “Yeah, we did.”

  He nodded, surveying the milling crowd. Shooting for the series (they were already calling it Season One on the assumption that it would be renewed) was done. Now the work would shift to studio editors, continuity specialists, sound technicians and other techs to put the story together out of the raw material created at Camp Kioga. Sonnet was nowhere in sight. Maybe she was going to skip the wrap party. His hand went to his phone; maybe he’d send her a quick text.

  Then he took a swig of his beer. Maybe not.

  “Call her,” Jezebel said. “What you waiting for?”

  He didn’t even pretend ignorance. Jezebel had a freakish ability to read his mind. “I’m going to take a few pictures of the kids,” he said. “They look so different from the kids who showed up here at the beginning of summer.”

  “Yep, that’s plain to see. I swear, some of the boys are inches taller,” she said.

  They were so used to cameras and mics, they didn’t even seem to notice when Zach turned his viewfinder in their direction. Today in particular, the kids looked vibrant and relaxed. Friendships and alliances had formed between them; time would tell which ones would withstand time.

  “Don’t you forget that number, now,” Darnell was telling Anita. “That’s how we’re gonna stay in touch.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I still think Facebook is easier.”

  “Facebook’s lame. I don’t want to be telling everybody in the world my business.”

  “I don’t think the world cares about your business,” she said in her matter-of-fact way. “But I get what you’re saying.”

  Zach moved on to the twins and Jaden, who were tying colorful handmade friendship bracelets on everyone, cast and crew alike. Whether the series ever made it to a network or not, this experience had meant something to the inner-city kids. Each one had planted a maple seedling, marking the site with a rock etched with their name and the year.

  Mr. and Mrs. Bellamy arrived to see everyone off. Out of instinct, Zach filmed the significant details—their aged hands, tightly clasped as they walked together. The subtle way Charles slowed his pace to match Jane’s. The shine in her eyes as they stepped up to the mic, where the band had paused.

  “I hope you’ll come back often and see them,” said Mrs. Bellamy, beaming with pride. “There will always be a place here for you.”

  “Serious?” one of the kids piped up.

  “Word,” said old Mr. Bellamy. Only on a reality TV show would the old married couple find themselves hanging out with kids like this.

  In the background, he could see Sonnet arriving from the main pavilion, and it was all Zach could
do to keep the camera trained on the Bellamys. She looked fantastic in tight faded jeans, sandals and a white top with a wide gold belt and gold hoop earrings. When the kids spotted her, they swarmed her; they always did, and his viewfinder followed. After Jezebel, Sonnet was their favorite.

  With the kids, she wasn’t cautious or tentative at all. She hugged them and laughed with them, and insisted on having several friendship bracelets for each arm. This was Sonnet in her element, not in some cubicle in a New York high-rise. He wondered if she realized that.

  Jezebel finished her water. “I’m gonna do a few more numbers,” she said. She stepped up and rejoined the band. “This is for my boy Zach,” she said. “Mr. Camera Man.”

  He was chagrined, but not surprised, when she launched into “Don’t Make Me Wait to Tell You.” Glancing over at Sonnet, he saw her tilt her head to listen, and he set down the camera. Her gaze connected with his and he didn’t blink. He had plenty he wanted to tell her. She looked completely vulnerable, though she offered him the tiniest of smiles. It wasn’t even a smile, but a softening of the eyes. Then, with unhurried deliberation, she turned away and started dancing with some of the kids.

  After a few more numbers, it was time to go. The van was waiting to drive them home. Everyone trooped over to the parking lot to see them off.

  “Doing okay?” Zach asked Sonnet. He recognized the tremor of emotion in her chin.

  “It’s just really hard to see them go. This show was a lot of hard work, but I never wanted it to end.”

  “It doesn’t have to end,” Jane Bellamy said, joining them for a final round of hugs. “Certainly, we won’t miss the cameras and the commotion, but children are always welcome. We’ve long wanted a program for children from the city, but still haven’t found the right person to make it happen. Unless you’re interested in organizing something…”

  “This was a temporary situation for me,” Sonnet said.

  “I understand. Still, if you’d like to discuss it further, come see me and Olivia anytime.”