The kids looked skeptical, but Jezebel forged ahead, showing no
sign of her earlier apprehension. “We’re gonna do sports and games and
campfires. Art projects. Music. Shit like that. You’re gonna love it,” she
assured them.
A few of the younger ones looked cautiously optimistic.
“What kinda music?” asked Quincy. “Hip-hop?”
“Of course,” said Jezebel. “I gotta warn you guys—no TV. No
video games. No internet or cell phones. Starting now, we’re unplugged.”
“No way!”
“Way. What else do you guys like to do? Play cards? Cook?”
“They like to eat,” Jaden said, jerking a thumb at Anita and
Bitsy. The others snickered.
In one swift movement, Jezebel took him by the skinny arms and
lifted him off the ground. Sonnet expected someone to rush to the rescue, but
instead, the cameras never wavered. Jezebel lifted the boy so they were nose to
nose. His skinny legs dangled helplessly.
“You are not gonna go there,” she said, a soft threat in her
voice. “You got that?”
Jaden nodded his head, widening his eyes until the whites
showed.
“I don’t hear you.” Jezebel’s voice was even softer.
“I got it. Yeah. I got it.”
Cinda leaned over to the director. “Now that,” she said, “is
the money shot.”
Chapter Eleven
The filming went on in fits and starts throughout the
day, and then they called it a wrap. Sonnet was torn between feeling amazed by
the sheer contrivance of the situation, and the authentic moments of drama that
emerged from the various setups. By the day’s end, everyone had a keen sense of
the kids. Like children everywhere, they were annoying, endearing, brash,
insecure and endlessly inquisitive. And despite her stated discomfort about
being around them, Jezebel took command of every scene and setup.
Every few minutes, Sonnet checked her messages. Greg kept her
updated on her mom’s chemo day. Things were going well, everything proceeding as
expected. They’d be home sometime after dinner. It all sounded so…routine. How
quickly they were getting used to her mother having cancer.
As she headed for her car, Sonnet spotted Zach in the parking
lot.
“You weren’t in any of the shots today, so you don’t need to
yell at me,” he said when she approached him.
“I wasn’t going to yell at you. I wanted—” She broke off. What
did she want with him? “We didn’t finish our conversation this morning.”
“Maybe you didn’t.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so annoyed at me. I said I want
us to go back to being friends.”
“And you maintain it’s possible to go back after a night like
that.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t unring that bell, Sonnet. Or I can’t, anyway.”
“Then I’m in trouble,” she said.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t want to lose my best friend.”
He offered a short laugh. “News flash. You’ve already lost him.
You threw him out when you decided he wasn’t going to fit into your grand
scheme.”
“I don’t have a grand scheme. God, if I’ve learned anything
from my mom’s illness, it’s that you never know what’s around the next corner,
so what’s the point of planning?”
He unlocked his van and threw his backpack in. “Look, I’d love
to stay and debate this with you all day, but I need to be somewhere.”
“Oh.” A terrible thought struck her. “Zach, are you seeing
someone? Is that why you’re so ticked off at me?”
“What if I was?”
“I…well…”
That would suck for
me.
“For the record, I’m not seeing anybody. Not a girl,
anyway.”
“Then who?” She couldn’t help it; she was impossibly nosy when
it came to him.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve got a hot date
with an inmate up at Indian Wells.”
She melted a little inside. His dad was incarcerated at the
minimum-security facility there. Ever since the sentencing, Zach had visited
Matthew Alger faithfully, week in and week out, and apparently the pattern still
held. “Ah, Zach. I’m sorry. I’ve been acting as if I’m the only one with
troubles. Really, I apologize.”
“Don’t.” He leaned against the van, propping his foot on the
side. “I’m not looking for an apology from you.”
“Let’s not do this,” she said. “Let’s not fight.”
“But it’s so entertaining when we fight.”
“I’d rather just talk.”
He checked his watch. “Go for it, then. Let’s talk. How’s your
mom doing?”
“All right. Greg’s been texting updates. They’re still at the
clinic.” She paused, noting how his jaw tightened. He always did that when he
was tense. Of course he was tense. No matter how many times he visited his
father in prison, it was bound to be stressful. “For what it’s worth,” she said,
“I’ve got dad problems, too.”
“Seriously? He’s running for the freaking Senate. How is that a
problem?”
“My relationship with him is…confusing. And I can’t believe I
just said that. God, Zach, I always do this with you. I always say too
much.”
“Could be there’s a reason for that.”
He had a point. Sonnet trusted him; she always had. He knew
what her past had been like, which meant he understood her in ways few others
could. The things she told Zach remained in a safe place. It had always been
that way with them.
She’d once tried to explain her relationship with her father to
Orlando, but he’d brushed her off. It was a relief to have Zach to talk to. “My
father and I…we love and respect each other. I really believe that. I’m proud of
who he is and what he’s achieved.”
“But…?”
“But at the same time, I wish he’d figured out a way to be my
dad when I was growing up.”
“He’s an idiot,” Zach said matter-of-factly. “He missed an
opportunity to know an amazing person.”
She laughed. “Yeah, what’s up with that?”
“It’s like some guys suffer instant brain damage when it comes
to their kids.”
“Ours did, anyway. It took me forever to figure out what to
call him. I mean, Dad? Really? Dad is someone who teaches you to fast pitch. Who
takes you to the movies and coaches your soccer team. And Daddy? Please. That’s
even more intimate….”
“I never knew you missed him like that,” Zach said. “You never
said anything.”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to seem disloyal to my mom, as if
she wasn’t enough. But when I was little, I’d see kids with their daddies, and
I’d wonder where mine was. And why wasn’t he with me and my mom. I was lucky
enough to have all the Romano uncles in my life, but I always wanted a daddy. So
when we connected when I was in college, I was so ready. It was like I was
starved for him. I wanted to be the best daughter I could for him.”
His gaze lightly touched her from head to toe and up again.
Somehow, that gaze felt as intimate as a caress. “Mission accomplished.”
She felt a flurry of attraction, but instantly stuffed it away
somewhere. Her goal was to recapture her friendship with Zach, minus the
attraction element. She wasn’t there yet. She hoped he couldn’t tell.
* * *
Zach knew the layout of the Indian Wells Correctional
Facility by heart, though he still remembered his first visit there, right after
his father had been sent up. Zach had been a senior in high school, just a kid
still, filled with so much fear, hurt and humiliation that some days, he thought
he might explode. If not for the compassion of his employer—Jenny Majesky of the
Sky River Bakery—and Nina Romano, he might not have made it through that
year.
He’d always understood that what had happened was not his
fault. His father had a gambling addiction. He would have sold his own
grandmother just to place another bet, certain that a big payoff was right
around the corner. But Matthew Alger didn’t have to sell his grandmother. As
town treasurer of Avalon, he found a way to systematically defraud the
taxpayers, even though it meant running the town finances to the brink of
ruin.
Everyone—Matthew included—would have understood if Zach had
chosen to simply write him off, a man who let addiction consume him and left his
son holding the bag. Yet despite his anger and shame, Zach couldn’t bring
himself to do that.
By now, the habit was ingrained. It was what he did, nearly
every single Monday. He usually had a light workload on Mondays, a typical day
off for people who worked in the wedding industry. No one got married on a
Monday. At least, no one who wanted the proceedings documented. Now that he was
working on the reality show, Mondays were as busy as any other day, but he still
made time for the visit.
As he drove through town en route to Indian Wells, he took his
time past the pretty wood-frame houses in the Oak Hill area and around Avalon
Meadows, the older areas of town. Massive chestnut and oaks and maples shaded
the boulevards, and the gardens were bright with summer color. The director had
asked for some footage of this area to show the contrast between Avalon and the
city. When Zach was younger, he used to look longingly at the pretty houses with
swing sets in their yards and maybe a barbecue on the back patio. He imagined
families living there and how secure it must feel, to have a love like that. As
he grew up, he came to understand that the house with the white picket fence was
a myth, for the most part. But there was a stubborn part of him that continued
to believe that inner kid. There were some illusions that couldn’t be shattered,
no matter how many times they were hit.
Even smaller than Avalon, Indian Wells consisted of a mini-mart
and gas station, a retirement community, and a cluster of low-profile buildings
and yards surrounded by razor-wire. He went through the familiar routine—metal
detector, check-in at the reception area, name tag. Even though most of the
staff knew his name, he still had to state his relationship to the inmate. He
didn’t cringe anymore when he said, “I’m his son.”
He was accustomed to the big, drafty common room where the
visiting took place, too. His father was waiting, seated on a bolted-down stool
next to a bolted-down table. He greeted Zach with a warm smile and a handshake.
Ironically, their relationship had improved since Matthew had been behind bars.
When he was on the outside, Zach had been a hindrance and an unwanted expense;
now he was the highlight of his father’s week.
“How’s that production going?” Matthew asked. Now that the
production was underway, Zach had told him all about it.
“It’s good. I thought it would make me mental to be working in
Avalon, but work is work.”
“That’s the attitude. I bet you’re doing a fine job and making
a bundle at it, too.”
The old man was all about money, even now. “How about you?”
Zach asked. “Staying out of trouble?” Matthew Alger had never lost his
predilection for gambling, even in prison, although the currency he used wasn’t
money. He’d been known to wager everything from deodorant sticks to goldfish
crackers from the commissary, just for the sport of it.
“You betcha,” he assured Zach. “I got another parole hearing
coming up in the fall and I aim to be ready this time.”
Zach said nothing. His father couldn’t seem to keep from
committing infractions that kept him stuck here. He had a habit of sabotaging
himself.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Matthew said. “I’m not gonna
blow it this time.”
“That’d be good,” Zach said.
“How about a game of crib?”
Zach took out the board, the cards and the pegs he brought to
each visit. Cribbage was their thing. It had started when Zach was very young.
His dad had taught him to play this crazy, fast-paced card game with colored
pegs being moved around a racetrack-shaped board. The two of them spent hours
carefully discarding into the crib, trying not to give away any points. His dad
was notorious for stealing points if Zach counted his points wrong. The man was
very serious about cribbage. Zach made it his mission to surpass his father. He
had no problem stealing points if his dad left them behind. Both snarled at
terrible hands and gave whoops of joy when the cards were good.
The current game went swiftly, the two of them squaring off
across the board, the cards rippling as they shuffled and discarded.
“Done,” said Matthew, making his final move with a
flourish.
“Good game,” said Zach. “At least you didn’t skunk me.”
“I’ll keep trying.”
“See you next time.” Zach put away the board.
“Sure,” said his father. “We’ll have another game of crib.”
Chapter Twelve
Nina woke with a start, bathed in sweat. Her heart beat
with the latent panic of some unremembered dream. Automatically, she reached for
Greg, snuggling up against his reassuring bulk. He made what she’d always
considered the bear sound—a contented grumble from deep in his chest—and drew
her closer.
She could tell the moment reality awakened him. The grumbling
turned to a sharp inhalation. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”
“Yes. I am.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure, and it’s a huge relief. I guess the anti-nausea meds
are working fine for now.” She lay flat on her back, her hands cupping her
growing belly as she stared into the half dark. “We came through my first round
of chemo, Greg.”
Yes, she was completely freaked out and exhausted. Yes, she was
worried about the cocktail that had been pumped into her. But she was determined
to stay positive.
“You were awesome.”
“
We
were awesome. Every one of
us—you, the baby and me, the crew at the clinic, and Sonnet, too. That was
really nice of her to have dinner ready when we got home.”
“You raised a good daughter,” Greg said.
“Indeed I did. And now we get to do it all over again, with a
boy this time. Think we can handle it?”
He chuckled. “We’re old pros.”
“Don’t say old. I don’t need any reminders.”
“He’s going to keep us young, this little dude.” Greg laid his
hand on hers.
She rested her cheek against his shoulder, savoring the
firmness and the warmth of him. “I’m so excited to be having your baby. I’m so
excited that most of the time I’m not scared about the cancer.”
“Ah, sweetheart. We’ll get through this. Everybody’s pulling
for you.”
“I know. I’m a lucky woman.” It was a miracle she could say so
with utter sincerity. It wasn’t even a lie; it was the truest thing she knew.
She had so very much—her husband and their blended families, the baby on the
way, her big Romano clan and the Inn at Willow Lake. Since marrying Greg, she
had so many blessings in her life that it seemed ungrateful to give in to her
cancer fears.
They lay in the quiet night, listening to the creaking of the
old house and the breeze outside the window.
“Can I get you anything?” Greg asked.
“No, thanks.” She had a collection of water bottles and meds on
the nightstand, alongside a stack of books and snacks. There was a basin close
at hand just in case the nausea kicked in. “I had a message from Orlando in my
email today,” she said. “He was thanking us for having him here.”
“He didn’t stay long.”
“No. He seems nice enough, don’t you think?”
“Nice enough for what?”
“Touché,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow. “I want
Sonnet to be with someone who adores her. Who cherishes her. Do you think he’s
the one?”
“Too soon to tell.”
“Yes, all right. I’ll give him a chance. But…”
“But what?”
“He said something weird in the email. Well, not weird, but he
mentioned that upcoming campaign event again. Like I needed a reminder or a
heads-up or something.”
“He works for a politician,” Greg said reasonably. “He’s always
looking and thinking ahead.”
“I suppose. And I bet I know what he’s thinking—that I had
Laurence’s child out of wedlock, and the opposition is going to try to make
something of that.”
Greg tightened his arm around her. “There’s no way in hell I’m
letting anyone near you. No way. That’s the last thing you need to worry
about.”
“I like being near you,” she whispered, snuggling even closer.
I have to get better, she thought. I have to get better, because I can’t bear to
be apart from him.
“I’m a lucky guy, then, because I like it, too.” He turned his
head and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “I ran into Sophie today,” he
said. “She wanted me to let you know she’s thinking of you.”
“Nice of her.” Greg and his ex-wife Sophie, the mother of Daisy
and Max, did a pretty good job getting along. Every once in a while, though—like
now—Nina faltered and insecurity took hold. “Sometimes I have this negative
fantasy that you look at Sophie—perfectly healthy Sophie—and wish the two of you
had stayed together after all.”
“That’s a fantasy, all right.”
“I know. But she used to be your whole world.”
“Okay, listen. To be honest, there was a time, before I fell in
love with you, when I wanted my marriage back. Sophie and I both did, and we
gave it our best shot. I wanted to be a family again, to fix whatever the hell
went wrong. It didn’t work, though. And then you came along…” His voice broke,
and his arm tightened around her.
“What, Greg? Tell me.”
“Now I can’t thank her enough.” He propped himself on one elbow
and gazed down at her, his face only a shadow in the darkness. “If she hadn’t
left me, I wouldn’t have found you. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love
you, Nina, and so even though I’ll never actually thank my ex, I’m grateful
every day for the way things worked out.”
“Ah, Greg.” She wound her arms around his neck and arched
upward, knowing his rhythm so well now, knowing he wanted to make love.
“Really?” he asked.
“Ahem. Yes, Mr. Bellamy, your wife is horny.”
“Then I’d better get busy.”
She surrendered to his tender, erotic touch, reveling in the
closeness, the intimacy, the safety of his embrace. He touched and kissed her
breasts, just as he had when she was healthy and there was no bandage where the
drain had been removed, no shunt for the drugs. She caught her breath. “I love
when you kiss me like that,” she said.
“I love kissing you like that.”
“It’s going to be weird for you after the mastectomy,” she
said.
He never even paused in his lovemaking. “Maybe. Might be weird
for you, too. Nothing we can’t handle. I love you, Nina. I love
you
. We’ll deal.”
“I’m going to be bald soon.”
“Okay, now
that
turns me on.”
He kissed away all her insecurities and worries. He kissed her
until she couldn’t think anymore. He kissed her until she surrendered, wrapping
her legs around him and splaying her hands over his back. As always, he took his
time with her, but tonight it wasn’t necessary. “Greg,” she whispered, “ah, the
fireworks are starting early….”
He gave a soft, sexy laugh and then shuddered against her. She
kept her arms twined around him, wishing she could hold onto this moment
forever.
* * *
Cancer changed a person. Sonnet could see it happening
day by day to her mother. Though Nina struggled to keep her spirits up, she
couldn’t stop herself from looking wan and exhausted. “I’m tired of the fight,”
she confessed to Sonnet one day. “And it’s just getting started.”
“Remember what they told us in the support group. It’s not a
sprint. It’s a marathon.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“Guess not. But I’ve got an idea. I have the day off from
shooting. Let’s go shopping. There’s a sale at Zuzu’s Petals.” She loved the
quirky indie boutique in town. Suzanne, the owner, always found fun, colorful
things created by off-the-beaten-path designers.
“I’m still in my bathrobe.” Nina folded her arms on the
table.
“I rest my case. You need something great to wear.”
“I don’t feel like shopping.”
“Well, I do. Come on, Mom. We both need to get out. Hanging
around and worrying isn’t doing anyone any good, and yes, I’m starting to sound
exactly like my mother.”
“I’m good, aren’t I?”
“We both need a little retail therapy. Please.”
“Okay. I can see that resistance is futile. Let’s do it.”
Avalon was alive with a Saturday-morning vibe, people out doing
errands or window-shopping, tourists armed with cameras, weekenders strolling
along, nursing cups of coffee. The air was sweet with the promise of a pretty
day. Suzanne was in the process of rolling a rack of sale items out to the
sidewalk beside a table displaying candles and soaps.
“Hey, Nina,” she said. “Sonnet. Good to see you.”
“My daughter says we need some retail therapy,” Nina said,
picking up a scented candle and holding it to her nose.
“You came to the right place.” Suzanne gave Nina a look full of
sympathy. “How are you doing?”
“Gestating. Doing chemotherapy. You know, the same old, same
old.”
“I wish I could do something to help. My cousin Sarah went
through breast cancer, and I remember she was always cold. I gave her a pink
pashmina and she took it everywhere with her.” Suzanne gestured at a rack of
scarves inside the door.
“That’s nice,” said Nina. “How’s she doing?”
Suzanne blanched as she fumbled through an explanation. “She,
oh, she passed away. She was a lot older than me. Way older. And it was a long
time ago. Gosh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Nina shrugged. “It’s hard to figure out what to say. Until a
few weeks ago, I would have been wondering, too.”
Sonnet yearned for it to be a few weeks ago. Before…everything.
She tucked her hand into Nina’s arm. “Let’s go find something pretty.”
The shop smelled of soaps and scented candles and potpourri.
There was a samovar filled with herbal tea, and a tray of mints. “Everybody
always wants to mention their friend or relative who had cancer,” Nina murmured.
“I hate that. I know people are only trying to help, but I really hate
that.”
“Just remind yourself people love you and are pulling for you,”
Sonnet said.
“You’re right, Miss Smarty-Pants. I stand corrected.”
“I wasn’t correcting you. Just reminding you. Whoa. Check out
these earrings.” She directed her mother to a display of artfully mismatched
chandelier earrings.
“
Love
.” Nina lifted her hair and
held an earring to one of her ears. “You were right about getting out, too. I
feel better already.”
“You’ll feel like a million bucks if you get those earrings.”
Sonnet was drawn to a Victorian-inspired jacket fabricated from a vintage
fabric. She tried it on, smoothing her hands down the sides. It felt wonderful,
the brocaded velvet hugging her hips, the pockets lined with smooth satin.
“That looks fantastic on you,” said Nina. “You should get
it.”
Sonnet checked herself out in the three-way mirror, picking up
her long curls to see the detailing on the back. There was corset-style lacing
with satin ribbon over a panel of rich, lime-green brocade. “This is fantastic.
Totally fun,” she said, regretfully taking off the jacket and putting it back on
the hanger. “But I can’t imagine where I’d wear it.”
“Anywhere you need to look fabulous,” her mother said.
“It’s a little on the indie-chic side. Not quite the look I’m
going for these days.”
“Oh? And what look is that?” With a grin, Nina held up a
tailored white blouse displayed with a tasteful scarf and matching brooch.
“Urban chic? Boardroom-meeting chic?”
“Orlando would prefer that,” Sonnet said. “He hasn’t yet
embraced my funky side.”
“Then he’s missing out. I love your funky side.” Nina picked up
a wonderful shawl of loose-knit angora. “So…Orlando. Tell me how that’s going.
It must be hard on the two of you, being apart.”
“Yes, and no. He’s so busy with the campaign ramping up that
even if I was in the city, we’d be like two ships passing in the night.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“I don’t have a choice. Why do I get the idea you’re trying to
tell me something?”
“Because I’m trying to tell you something. Or ask you
something. Baby, he seems like an amazing guy. And I know for a fact that
you’re
amazing. What I’m not hearing from you is where
you think this relationship is going, or where you want it to go, or even if you
want it at all.”
Ouch. Her mother had never shrunk from asking difficult
questions. “Of course I want it. Like you said, he’s amazing. I know it’s
ridiculously idealistic, but I think we’re going to be amazing together some
day.”
“Why is that ridiculous? I want that for you, too.”
Sonnet held up a pair of fabulous distressed leather boots that
would look great with the Victorian jacket. “I just don’t know if we’re getting
there. I look at Daisy and you, and I know that’s the kind of love I want in my
life.”
“Sure you do. And Lord knows, I want that for you. I want it
for everybody. If we all had that, there would be world peace, I swear.”
Sonnet laughed. “Did you suddenly take a happy pill when I
wasn’t looking?”
“This conversation just reminded me to show a little gratitude
for what I have.”
And that, thought Sonnet, feeling a lump in her throat, pretty
much said it all. Her mother was dealing with a risky pregnancy and breast
cancer, yet she could still be grateful for her friends and family, her husband.
This was the kind of love Sonnet knew she was looking for, the kind she dreamed
of finding with Orlando. Yet deep down, she knew they weren’t there yet. And
deeper down, she feared they’d never get to that place.
She wondered how a person found the kind of love that could
survive anything. Did you find it by looking, or did it find you? And how did
you know it for sure when love walked in? It was the kind of question that drove
her crazy.
“I
need
this bag.” Nina held up a
vintage-inspired tapestry satchel. “If I get it, and the worst happens, I can
honestly say I don’t have a single regret.”
“Mom—”
“Kidding. Not about the bag, though. What do you think?”
“Nice,” said Sonnet, “but it’s huge.”
“I need to practice carrying a big bag again. Because when the
baby comes, I’ll be carrying a giant bag like an extra appendage.” She turned,
rippling her hand through a display of hanging scarves. “Those are pretty, too,”
she said.
“They are.”
Sonnet plucked a nice one from the display. “This looks great
with those earrings you picked out.”