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Return to Willow Lake
Susan Wiggs


#1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs brings readers home to Avalon, an idyllic town nestled on the tranquil shores of Willow Lake. There, one woman will rediscover her family and her dreams, and find a surprising new love…Sonnet Romano’s life is almost perfect. She has the ideal career, the ideal boyfriend, and has just been offered a prestigious fellowship. There’s nothing more a woman wants – except maybe a baby… brother? When Sonnet finds out her mother is unexpectedly expecting, and that the pregnancy is high risk, she puts everything on hold – the job, the fellowship, the boyfriend – and heads home to Avalon. Once her mom is out of danger, Sonnet intends to pick up her life where she left off.But when her mother receives a devastating diagnosis, Sonnet must decide what really matters in life, even if that means staying in Avalon and taking a job that forces her to work alongside her biggest, and maybe her sweetest, mistake – award-winning filmmaker Zach Alger. So Sonnet embarks on a summer of laughter and tears, of old dreams and new possibilities and of finding the home of her heart.At once heart-breaking and uplifting, Return to Willow Lake plumbs the deepest corners of the human heart, exploring the bonds of family, the perils and rewards of love, and the true meaning of home. Profoundly emotional and resonant, this is Susan Wiggs at her finest.







#1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs brings readers home to Avalon, an idyllic town nestled on the tranquil shores of Willow Lake. There, one woman will rediscover her family and her dreams, and find a surprising new love. …

Sonnet Romano’s life is almost perfect. She has the ideal career, the ideal boyfriend, and has just been offered a prestigious fellowship. There’s nothing more a woman wants—except maybe a baby...brother?

When Sonnet finds out her mother is unexpectedly expecting, and that the pregnancy is high risk, she puts everything on hold—the job, the fellowship, the boyfriend—and heads home to Avalon. Once her mom is out of danger, Sonnet intends to pick up her life where she left off.

But when her mother receives a devastating diagnosis, Sonnet must decide what really matters in life, even if that means staying in Avalon and taking a job that forces her to work alongside her biggest, and maybe her sweetest, mistake—award-winning filmmaker Zach Alger. So Sonnet embarks on a summer of laughter and tears, of old dreams and new possibilities, and of finding the home of her heart.


Return to Willow Lake

The

Lakeshore Chronicles

Susan Wiggs






www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)


To imakepesto from beachwriter


Contents

Part One (#u143cad2e-20f0-5051-a3e5-fd29906b99c0)

Must-Do List (#u2d95c47d-943b-5c8f-9dc3-59e5d25b2557)

Chapter One (#ub0e12ac5-1a80-5e2a-a0ee-7db2e5bfb260)

Chapter Two (#u2b665400-25fb-592c-8df9-f5865e3491c5)

Part Two (#u313d02cd-4361-50e3-8eda-45cc36154d18)

Must-Do List (Revised) (#ud6555fd8-e960-59d8-ab24-d6b7f9f92310)

Chapter Three (#u073527a5-cd9e-532b-bf7a-953e38aeabec)

Chapter Four (#u2308dd91-dfb0-5a66-9e99-4b3b81ec8149)

Part Three (#ubf236e56-b81f-5db8-a91c-00742516aafb)

Must-Do List (Revised, Again) (#ue1ebdd70-51df-5c39-9c82-33f00ae1dc70)

Chapter Five (#ufe97c435-a3f2-528a-a956-44efd6ec2c64)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Must-Do List (Revised, Round 4) (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Must-Do List (Last One, Promise) (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Part One


















SONNET ROMANO’S

MUST-DO-BEFORE-AGE-THIRTY LIST




college degree




overseas internship




bond with estranged father




find a better apartment




fall in love






A Scout is never taken by surprise; he knows exactly what to do when anything unexpected happens.

—ROBERT BADEN-POWELL (SCOUTING FOR BOYS, 1908)


Chapter One

Moments before the wedding was to begin, Sonnet Romano shuddered with a wave of nervousness. “Mom,” she said, hurrying over to the window, which framed a view of Willow Lake, “what if I screw up?”

Her mother turned from the window. The late afternoon light shrouded Nina Bellamy’s slender form, and for a moment she appeared ethereal and as young as Sonnet herself. Nina looked fantastic in her autumn-gold silk sheath, her dark hair swept back into a low chignon. Only someone who knew her the way Sonnet did might notice the subtle lines of fatigue around her eyes and mouth, the vague puffiness of her skin. Just prior to the wedding, she’d attended the funeral, up in Albany, of her favorite aunt, who had died the week before of cancer, and the grief of goodbye lingered in her face.

“You’re not going to screw up,” Nina said. “You’re going to be fabulous. You look amazing in that dress, you’ve memorized everything you’re going to do and say, and it’s going to be a wonderful evening.”

“Yes, but—”

“Remember what I used to say when you were little—your smile is my sunshine.”

“I remember.” And the memory did its magic, bringing a smile to her face. Her mom had raised Sonnet alone, but only now that she was grown did she appreciate how hard that had been for Nina. “You gave me lots of memories, Mom.”

“Come here, you.” Nina opened her arms and Sonnet gratefully slipped into her mother’s embrace.

“This feels nice. I wish I had a chance to come back here more often.” Sonnet turned her face to the warm breeze blowing in through the window. The sheer beauty of the lake, nestled between the gentle swells of the Catskills, made her heart ache. Though she’d grown up in Avalon, the place felt foreign to Sonnet now, a world she used to inhabit and couldn’t wait to leave.

Despite her vivid memories of her childhood here, playing in the woods with her friends or sledding down the hills in winter, she’d never truly appreciated the scenery until she’d left it behind, eager to find her life far away. Now that she lived in Manhattan, crammed into a closet-sized walk-up studio on a noisy East Side street, she finally understood the appeal of her old hometown.

“I wish you could, too,” Nina said. “It’s time-consuming, isn’t it, saving the world?”

Sonnet chuckled. “Is that what I’m doing? Saving the world?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. Sweetie, I’m so proud to tell people you work with UNESCO, that your department saves children’s lives all over the world.”

“Ah, thanks, Mom. You make me think I do more than write emails and fill out forms.” Sonnet often found herself wishing she could actually work with a child every once in a while. Buried in administrative chores, it was easy to forget.

On the smoothly-mown lawn below, guests were beginning to take their seats for the ceremony. Many of the groom’s friends were in military dress uniform, adding a note of gravitas to the atmosphere.

“Wow,” said Sonnet, “it’s really happening, Mom. Finally.”

“Yes,” Nina agreed. “Finally.”

A chorus of squeals came from the adjacent room, where the rest of the bridal party was getting ready.

“Daisy’s going to be the prettiest bride ever,” Sonnet said, feeling a thrum of emotion in her chest. The bride was Sonnet’s best friend as well as her stepsister, and she was about to marry the love of her life. To Sonnet it felt like a dream come true…but also, deep in a hidden corner of her heart, a loss of sorts. Now someone else would be the keeper of Daisy’s most private secrets, her soft place to fall, the person on the other end of the phone in the middle of the night.

“Until it’s your turn,” Nina said. “Then you’ll be the prettiest bride ever.”

Sonnet gave her mom’s hand a squeeze. “Don’t hold your breath. I’m busy saving the world, remember?”

“Just don’t get so busy you forget to fall in love,” Nina said.

Sonnet laughed. “I think you need to embroider that on a pillow. How about— Hello.” Her mind drained of everything but the sight of the tallest groomsman in the wedding party, escorting the grandmother of the bride to her seat in the front row.

In a dove-gray swallowtail tux, he moved with long-limbed grace, although his height was not the most striking thing about him. It was his hair, as long and pale as a banner of surrender, giving him the otherworldly look of a mythical creature. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“Holy cow,” she said. “Is that…?”

“Yep,” said her mother. “Zach Alger.”

“Whoa.”

“He’s finally grown into his looks, hasn’t he?” Nina commented. “I’d forgotten how long it’s been since you last saw him. The two of you used to be so close.”

Zach Alger. Surely not, thought Sonnet, practically leaning out the open window. This couldn’t be the Zach Alger she’d grown up with, the whiter-shade-of-pale boy who lived down the street, with his big goofy ears and braces on his teeth. Her best friend in high school, the freakishly skinny kid who worked at the Sky River Bakery. This couldn’t be the college geek working his way through school, obsessed with cameras and all things video.

Zach Alger, she thought. Well, well. Since high school, he and Sonnet had gone in different directions, and she hadn’t seen him in ages. Now she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

After helping Daisy’s grandmother to her seat, he pulled a flask from his tux pocket and took a swig. All right, thought Sonnet. That was the Zach she knew—a guy with more talent than ambition, a guy with a troubled background he couldn’t seem to shake, a guy who was part of her past, but had no possible place in her future.

Movement in the next room reminded her she had an important job to do today. She peered through the doorway at Daisy, who was surrounded by the hairstylist, makeup artist, wedding planner, her mom Sophie, the photographer and several people Sonnet didn’t recognize. “What do you say?” she asked her mother. “Shall we go help Daisy get married?’

Nina grinned. “She wouldn’t dare make a move without you.”

“Or you. Honestly, when you married Daisy’s dad, she hit the stepmom jackpot.”

Nina’s grin turned to a soft smile, and her dark eyes took on an expression that pulled Sonnet into days gone by, when it had just been the two of them, making their way in the world. Nina had turned a teenage pregnancy into a small but lovely life for herself and Sonnet. Yes, she was married now—unexpectedly, in the middle of her life—but their two-against-the-world time together belonged solely to Nina and Sonnet.

“You’re going all mushy on me, aren’t you?” Sonnet said.

“Yeah, baby. I am. Just wait until you’re the bride. I’ll need CPR.” The shadows in the room were just starting to deepen; evening was coming on.

“No, you won’t, Mom,” Sonnet assured her. “You’ll rise to the occasion. You always do.”

Nina took her hand again, and together they stepped through the door.


Chapter Two

The wedding wound down like a noisy parade fading into the distance. In its wake was the curious mellow quiet of a just-passed storm. Sonnet stood on the broad lawn by the pavilion at Camp Kioga, surveying the petal-strewn aftermath and holding onto a well-earned sense of accomplishment.

As maid of honor, she’d been intimately involved with every aspect of the event, from coordinating Daisy’s bachelorette party to picking the colors of the table linens. But today hadn’t been about table decorations or small appliances. It had been about friends and family and a celebration so joyous she could still feel its echo deep inside her.

Rather than feeling exhausted after the long, emotional day, she was chased by a feeling of restlessness. It was strange, coming back to the place she’d once called home, seeing people who looked her over and remarked, “I remember when you were this tall” or “Why hasn’t some guy snatched you up by now?” as if being twenty-eight and unmarried was taboo in a town like this.

She smiled a little, pretending she didn’t feel the tiniest dig of impatience with her personal life. No. She wasn’t impatient. It was hard, caught up in the wedding whirlwind, to ignore the fact that nearly everyone in sight was coupled up.

Taking a deep breath, she went back to savoring the success of the day. The bride and groom had just departed. Her maid of honor duties were done. In the glow of twinkling fairy lights, the band was breaking down its set. The catering crew got going on the cleanup. The last of the wedding guests were slowly melting into the darkness of the perfect fall evening, the air redolent of crisp leaves and ripe apples. There had been a bonfire at the lakeshore, but it had burned to glowing embers by now. Some of the visitors headed for the parking lot, while the out-of-towners wended their way to the storybook pretty lakefront bungalows of the Camp Kioga, which through the years had been transformed from a family camp to a kids’ camp to its present iteration, a gathering place for celebrating life’s events. A good number of the guests were, like Sonnet, pleasantly tipsy.

A bright moon peeked over the dark hills surrounding Willow Lake, throwing silvery shadows across the still water and trampled grass. Childish laughter streamed from somewhere close by, and three little kids chased each other between the banquet tables. In the low light, Sonnet couldn’t tell whose kids they were, but their joyous abandon lifted her heart. She adored children; she always had. In a place deep down in the center of her, she felt a soft tug of yearning, but it was a yearning that would likely go unfulfilled for a very long time. Maybe forever. She had big plans for her future, but at the moment, those plans did not include settling down and having kids of her own.

In the first place, there was no one to settle down with. Unlike Daisy, who had found the love of her life and was going forward with clear-eyed certainty, Sonnet had no vision of who might be that person for her, that one adored man who would become her whole world. In all honesty, she wasn’t a hundred percent sure such a person existed. There was nothing missing from her life, nothing at all. It wasn’t as if she needed to add someone like the final piece of a puzzle.

Greg Bellamy, Sonnet’s stepfather, came walking across the now-trampled lawn, heading for the gazebo to shell out extra tips for the band. As father of the bride, he was all smiles. Sonnet went over to him, teasingly holding out her hand, palm up. “Hey, where’s the tip for the maid of honor?”

Greg chuckled, looking handsome but tired and slightly disheveled in his tux, the black silk bow tie undone and hanging on either side of his unbuttoned collar. “Here’s a tip for you. Take a couple of aspirin before you go to bed tonight. It’ll counteract those Jell-O shots you did at the reception.”

“You saw that?” She grinned. “Whoops.”

“It’s okay. You’ve earned it, kiddo. Great job today. You looked like a million, and that toast you made at the reception—hilarious. Everybody loved it. You’re a born public speaker.”

“Yeah? Aw, thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, for an evil stepfather.” Sonnet loved her mom’s husband. Through the years, he’d been a great mentor and friend to her. But he wasn’t her dad. Sonnet’s father, General Laurence Jeffries, played that role, although he had been virtually absent from her childhood, making a career for himself far from the bucolic charm of Avalon. When Sonnet went off to college at American University and then graduate school at Georgetown, however, she and Laurence had reconnected; she had dived into his world of public service and strategy and diplomacy, eagerly soaking up his knowledge and expertise.

She was the first to admit that hero worship made for a much more complicated relationship with Laurence than she had with Greg.

Nina came over to join them, her heeled pumps dangling from one hand. “What’s this I hear about Jell-O shots? You were doing them without me?”

“Trust me,” said Greg, “the champagne cocktails were a lot more fun.”

“I trust you. And you were an amazing father of the bride,” she said to Greg, smiling up at him.

“I cried like a baby girl.” He offered a sheepish grin.

“We all did,” Sonnet assured him. “Weddings seem to have that effect on people. Daisy’s even more so, because of all the trouble she’s had.”

“Speaking of trouble, I need to go make sure we’ve settled up with everybody else,” Greg said.

“I’ll come with,” Nina said. “You might need propping up when you see some of the final bills.”

Greg slipped his arm around Nina. “In that case, how about we have one last glass of champagne together? For courage.”

“Good plan.” Nina helped herself to a couple of flutes from one of the tables. “Join us down by the lake?”

Sonnet found a half-empty bottle and poured herself a glass. “I think I’ll stick around here and…” She paused. After all was said and done, the maid of honor had no further duties. “…drink alone.”

“Ah, baby.” Her mom offered a soft smile. “Your time will come, just like I was saying before the wedding. No one can say where or when, but it’ll happen.”

“Gah, Mom.” Sonnet grimaced. “I’m not mooning about my love life. That’s the last thing on my mind.”

“If you say so.” Nina lifted her glass in salute.

“I say so. Go away.” Sonnet made a shooing motion with her free hand. “Go drink with your husband. I’ll see you in the morning, okay? I’m planning to be on the noon train to the city.” She watched her mom and stepdad wander down the gentle slope toward the lake, their silhouettes dark against the moonlight.

They paused at the water’s edge and stood facing the moonlit surface, Greg holding Nina protectively from behind, his hands folded over her midsection. Sonnet sighed, feeling a wave of gladness for her mom. Yet at the same time, the sight of them embracing made her heart ache. Sonnet tried to imagine herself in that role—the bride. Would her own father walk her down the aisle, the tears flowing freely down his face? Doubtful. General Laurence Jeffries, now a candidate for the United States Senate, was more figurehead than father.

And when she pictured herself walking down the aisle, she couldn’t form a mental image of the guy waiting at the end of it. She wasn’t going to hold her breath waiting for him.

“I hate weddings.” Zach Alger sidled over and slammed back a bottle of Utica Club. “I especially hate weddings that require me to behave myself.”

Sonnet had spent most of the day sneaking glances at Zach, trying to accustom herself to this new version of her oldest friend. They hadn’t had a chance to talk at the wedding; the evening had sped by with her still doing her duty as maid of honor. Now, mellow from drinking and dancing, she regarded him through squinted eyes. It was hard to get her head around the idea that he had been a part of her life since preschool. That, perhaps, was the only reason she didn’t swoon sideways when he walked past, the way most women did. Still, it was hard to get used to his unique, striking looks—so blond he was sometimes mistaken for an albino, and now built like a Greek athlete, yet oddly oblivious to his effect on the opposite sex.

She gave him a superior sniff, falling into her old role as sidekick. “You mean there’s a kind of wedding that doesn’t require you to behave yourself?” She plucked an untouched flute of champagne from one of the tables that hadn’t yet been cleared.

“I’m a wedding videographer. I’ve filmed more weddings than I’ve been to baseball games. I haven’t seen a Saturday night in five years. And what do I do when one finally rolls around? I go to a freaking wedding.”

“Daisy’s wedding.”

“Any wedding. I hate them all.”

She scowled at him. “How can you be hating on Daisy Bellamy’s wedding?”

Just hearing herself say the words aloud filled her with a sense of wonder—not because Daisy had married the man of her dreams. That in itself was wonderful. But the real miracle was that Daisy had gotten married at all. Her parents’ divorce had been so hard on her. Back when Daisy’s dad and Sonnet’s mom were first getting together, both girls had agreed that marriage was too perilous and restrictive, and they’d made a pact to avoid it at all costs.

Now Daisy was soaring off to wedded bliss, and Sonnet was stuck keeping her end of the pact. She cringed at the picture of her own romantic future. Thanks to her impossibly busy career as a director at UNESCO, she had almost no time to date, let alone get swept away and fall in love. She dreamed of it, though. Who didn’t? Who didn’t want the kind of love Daisy had found? Or her mother and Greg Bellamy? Or the head couple of the Bellamy clan, Jane and Charles, who had been married for more than fifty years.

Of course Sonnet wanted that—the love, the security, the lifelong project of building a family with her soul mate. It sounded so magical. And so unreachable. When it came to a serious relationship, she had never quite figured out how to get from Point A to Point B.

Lately, though, there was a glimmer on the horizon from a most unexpected source. Her father—yes, her super-accomplished, goal-oriented father—had introduced her to a guy. His name was Orlando Rivera, and he was heading up the general’s run for office. Like the general, he’d attended West Point. He was in his thirties, ridiculously handsome, from the eldest son of a monied Cuban-American family. He had the dark appeal of a Latin lover and was fluent in English and Spanish. And, maybe most importantly of all, he was in the tight inner circle of satellites that revolved around her father.

“I’m allowed to hate anything I want,” Zach said, grabbing the champagne from her hand and guzzling it down.

Defiantly, she picked up a half-empty bottle that was bobbing in an ice bucket and took back the glass. “It was Daisy’s big day, and if you were any kind of gentleman, you’d be happy for her. And for me,” she groused at him. “I got to stand up at the altar for my best friend—”

“Hey,” he groused back. “I thought I was your best friend.”

“You never come to see me.” She feigned a dramatic sigh. “You don’t call, you don’t text… Besides, I can have more than one.”

“Best is a superlative term. There can only be one.”

She refilled the glass and took a gulp, enjoying the lovely head rush of the bubbly. “You and your rules. Both you and Daisy are my besties and there’s nothing you can do about it, so there.”

“Oh yeah? I can think of something.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her down toward the dark, flat expanse of Willow Lake.

“What the heck are you doing?” she said, twisting her hand out of his.

“The party’s over, but I’m not tired. Are you tired?”

“No, but—”

“Hey, check it out.” He led the way down the slope to the water’s edge.

“Check what out? I’m going to ruin my shoes.”

He stopped and turned. “Then take them off.”

“But I—”

“Lean on me,” he said, going down on one knee in front of her. He slipped off one sandal and then the other. She felt an unexpected frisson of sensation when he touched her. “That’s better, anyway.”

She sniffed again, unwilling to admit that the coarse sand on the lakeshore felt delicious under her bare feet. “Fine, what are we checking out?”

“I saw something.…” He gestured at the water lapping gently up the sandy slope.

She saw it, too, a glimmer in the moonlight. Then she frowned and lifted the hem of her dress to wade out and grab it. “A champagne bottle,” she said. “Somebody littered.” Holding it up to the light, she squinted. “There’s a message inside, Zach.”

“Yeah? Open it up and check it out,” he said.

“No way,” she said. “It might be someone’s private business.”

“What? How can you find a message in a bottle and not look at it?”

“It’s bad karma to pry into it. I won’t be party to snooping around someone else’s emotional baggage.” Defiantly, she flung the bottle as far as she could. It landed unseen, with a decisive plop. “What kind of idiot leaves a message in a bottle in a landlocked lake, anyway?” she asked.

“You should have looked,” he said churlishly. “It might have been important. Maybe it was a cry for help and you just ignored it.”

“Maybe it was some teenager’s angsty poetry and I did her a favor by getting rid of it.”

“Right.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the dock jutting out into the lake.

She pulled back. “Wait a minute. Now what are we doing?”

“I told Wendela I’d take the boat over to the boathouse.”

Wendela was the wedding planner, and Zach did most of the videography work for her. In addition, she often enlisted him to do other odd jobs at events. In a small town, it was a way for him to cobble together a living, Sonnet supposed. He was talented at what he did; during the reception, Wendela had told her he’d won some prestigious awards for his work. But like all artists, he struggled. Awards didn’t translate into a viable income.

“You’re here as a wedding guest,” she protested. “Wendela wouldn’t expect you to work tonight.”

“What, driving a boat is suddenly work? Since when?”

“You have a point. What is it with guys and boats?”

“There are some things that cannot be resisted.” He slipped off his bow tie and opened the collar of his tuxedo shirt, his Adam’s apple rippling as he sighed with relief.

Good Lord, had he been working out? She didn’t ask, because everyone knew that was just code for “I think you’re hot.”

And she didn’t. How could she? He was Zach—as familiar as a lifelong friend, yet suddenly…exotic.

“I shouldn’t have done those Jell-O shots,” she murmured. Pulling her attention elsewhere, she stood on the dock and looked out at the moon-silvered water. The sight of the lake never failed to ignite a rush of memories. She had been here before, many times through the years.

During her junior high and high school years, when Camp Kioga had been closed down, she and Zach used to sneak onto the premises with their friends on hot summer days, swimming and reliving the glory days of the resort, which dated back to the 1920s. And every once in a while, the two of them would slip into the boathouse and pretend to be smugglers or pirates or stuntmen in the circus. Sometimes, even as youngsters, they would fall so deep into the fantasy that they’d lose track of time. She remembered talking with him for hours, seemingly about nothing, but managing to encompass everything important. When she was with Zach, it never felt strange that she didn’t have a dad, or that she was biracial, or that her mom had to work all the time to make ends meet. When she was with Zach, she just felt…like herself. Maybe that was why their friendship felt so sturdy, even when they almost never saw each other.

An owl hooted from a secret place in the darkness, startling Sonnet from her thoughts. “It’s getting late,” she said softly. “I’m leaving.”

He gently closed his hand around her wrist. “Come with me.”

A shiver coursed through her, and she didn’t resist when he drew her close, slipping his arm around her waist and edging her toward the boat moored at the end of the dock. It was a vintage Chris-Craft runabout, its wooden hull and brass fittings polished to a sheen so bright it seemed to glow in the moonlight. The old boat had been used in the wedding, mostly for a photo shoot but also, and most romantically, to transport the bride and groom to the floatplane dock, where they’d been whisked away to their honeymoon at Mohonk Mountain House. A Just Married sign was tied to the stern.

“Hang on to me,” Zach whispered. “I don’t want you falling in.”

“I won’t fall—whoa.” She clung to him as the boat listed beneath her weight. The open cabin smelled of the lake, and the flowers that had been used to decorate it, and the fresh scent made her dizzy. The second wave of champagne was kicking in.

“Take my jacket,” he said, wrapping it around her shoulders. “Chilly tonight.”

She took a seat in the cockpit, feeling the peculiar intimacy of his body heat lingering in the folds of the jacket. She reveled in the slickness of the satin lining, which smelled faintly of men’s cologne and sweat. Oh boy, she thought.

There was an open bottle of champagne in the cubby by her knees, so she grabbed it and took a long, thirsty swig. Why not? she thought. Her official duties for the wedding were done, and it was time to relax.

Zach untied the boat and shoved off. He turned on the running lights and motor, handling the Chris-Craft with expert smoothness. He’d always been good with his hands, whether handling a vintage motorboat or a complicated video camera. As they motored across the placid water toward the rustic wooden boathouse, Sonnet admitted to herself that although she loved living in New York City, there were things she missed about the remote Catskills area where she’d grown up—the moon on the water, the fresh feeling of the wind in her face, the quiet and the darkness of the wilderness, the familiarity of a friend who knew her so well they didn’t really have to talk.

She had another drink of champagne, feeling a keen exuberance as she watched loose flower petals fluttering through the night air, into the wake of the boat.

She offered the bottle to Zach.

“No thanks,” he said. “Not until I moor the boat.”

She sat back and enjoyed the short crossing to the boathouse, which was bathed in the soft golden glow of lights along the dock.

Over the buzz of the engine, he pointed out the constellations. “See that group up there? It’s called Coma Berenices—Berenice’s hair. It was named for an Egyptian queen who cut off all her hair in exchange for some goddess to keep her husband safe in battle. The goddess liked the hair so much, she took it to the heavens and turned it into a cluster of stars.”

“Talk about a good hair day.” She was beyond pleasantly tipsy now. “I’d never cut off my hair. Took me years to get it this long.”

“Not even to keep your husband safe in battle?”

“I don’t have a husband. So I’ll be keeping my fabled locks, thank you very much. Berenice’s hair. I swear, your mind is a lint trap for stuff like this. Where do you learn it?”

“The internet. Yeah, I like geeking out over trivia on the internet, so sue me.”

“I’m not going to sue you. Whatever floats your boat, ha ha.”

“You can find out anything online. Ever watch that video of the Naga fireballs?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Too busy overachieving?”

“Since when is that a crime?”

“Never said it was.” Zach guided the boat inside, cutting the engine to let it nudge its way into the moorage, gently bumping against the rubber fenders.

“There,” he said, taking the champagne from her, “I’ve done my good deed for the day. Here’s looking at you, kid.”

“Too dark in here to see,” she pointed out. “Oh, right. That’s a movie reference. I forgot, you’re a walking movie encyclopedia.”

“And you’re movie illiterate.”

“No wonder we bicker all the time. We have nothing in common.”

He handed back the bottle and rummaged around the console of the cockpit. Then a match flared and he lit a couple of votive candles left over from the photo shoot. Taking the bottle again, he said, “Now here’s looking at you.”

She looked right back at him, unsettled by feelings she didn’t understand, feelings that had nothing to do with the amount of champagne she’d consumed. Like Willow Lake, and the town of Avalon itself, he was both deeply familiar and, at the moment, unaccountably strange. There had been a time, many times, when they had truly been best friends, but after high school, their lives had diverged. These days, they saw each other infrequently and when they did, their visits were rushed, or they were busy, or one of them had a train to catch, or work, or…

Not tonight, though. Tonight, neither of them had anywhere they had to be, except right here in the moment.

She fiddled with a dial on the boat’s dashboard. “Is there a radio?”

“It’s a stereo.” Leaning forward, he hit a switch. Sonnet recognized an old tune from the days of her grandparents—“What a Wonderful World.”

“What’s this?” She pointed out a small screen.

“A fish finder. Want to turn it on and see where the fishies are?”

“That’s okay. And this?” She indicated a small cube-shaped object mounted in the center.

“A GoPro. It’s a camcorder, mostly used for sports.” He turned up the music. “You didn’t dance with me at the reception,” Zach said.

“You didn’t ask me.” She feigned a wounded look.

“Dance with me now.”

“That’s not asking.”

He heaved an exaggerated sigh and offered her his hand, palm up. “Okay. Will you dance with me? Please?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She stood up and the boat rocked a little.

“Careful there. Maybe ease up on the champagne.”

He drew her up to the dock next to him. She was a full head shorter than he was. It hadn’t always been that way. She remembered the year of his growth spurt—junior year of high school. They’d gone from seeing each other eye to eye to her getting a crick in her neck from looking up at him. He’d been skinny as a barge pole, and she’d taken to calling him Beanstalk.

He wasn’t a beanstalk anymore. As her mother had pointed out, he’d finally grown into his looks. In the candlelight, he looked magical to her, Prince Charming with a boyish smile. She kept the surprising thought to herself, knowing instinctively she didn’t want to go there.

He held her lightly at the waist and they swayed to the music, their movements simple and in sync. At the wedding reception, she had danced with a few guys but dancing had never felt like this before.

“You’ve been wanting to do this ever since our glory days in seventh grade,” he said softly.

“Oh, please. You were short and obnoxious, and I had a mouthful of metal.”

“I know. But I remember wanting to stick my tongue in there several times.”

She shoved him away. “I’m glad you never told me that. It would have meant the end of a beautiful friendship. You’re still obnoxious. And I wouldn’t have let you, anyway. I’m sure you would have been a terrible kisser.”

“You don’t know what you missed out on, metal mouth. I was good. I am good. Let’s hope you’ve honed your skills.”

“Oh, I have mad skills,” she assured him, then realized that she was flirting, and whom she was flirting with. Extricating herself from his embrace, she said, “I want to get back to the pavilion. I missed out on wedding cake.”

“You’re in luck.” He reached down into the boat’s hull and took a large domed platter from under the dash. The music changed to “Muskrat Love,” a tuneless horror from the seventies.

“Zachary Lee Alger. You didn’t.”

“Hey, it was going to go to waste. A cake from the Sky River Bakery. That would be a federal crime.” He picked up a hunk with his fingers and crammed it in his mouth. “Oh, man. I just died a little.”

He held out another piece and she couldn’t resist. The chocolate slid like silk across her tongue. She closed her eyes, savoring it along with the bits of hazelnut that had been kneaded into the buttercream icing. “Oh, my. Are you sure this is legal?”

“Would you care if it wasn’t?”

“Nope.” She helped herself to another bite. “And how cool is it that the Sky River Bakery did the cake?”

The old-fashioned family bakery had been a town institution for generations. It was also the place where Zach had worked all through high school, dragging himself to town before dawn to mix the dough and operate the proofing machines and ovens.

“You used to bring me a pastry in the morning,” she reminisced.

“I spoiled you rotten.”

She washed down a bite of cake with a slug of champagne. “It’s surprising I didn’t get as big as a house.”

“Not surprising to me. You could never sit still for more than ten seconds. Are you still that restless?”

She considered this for a moment. “I guess I was really eager to get going on something.”

“Always the overachiever. Always striving.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It is when it takes you away from what’s important.”

She frowned. “Such as…?”

“Well, let’s see. Such as this.” With a gentle tug of his hand, he pulled her against him, planting a long, hard kiss on her surprised lips. She wasn’t sure what shocked her more—the kiss itself or the fact that it was coming from Zach Alger. Equally shocking was the fact that he hadn’t been lying about his expertise. Holding her with gentle insistence, he softened the kiss and touched his tongue to a secret, sensitive place that took her breath away. It struck her that this might be the best kiss she’d had in ages. Maybe ever.

The biggest surprise of all was that she was kissing Zach Alger—the same Zach Alger whose apple she had stolen from his lunchbox in kindergarten. The one who had tormented her when she was in the fourth grade. The boy who had pushed her off the dock into Willow Lake innumerable times, with whom she’d shared homework answers and after-school snacks, repeat viewings of Toy Story and Family Guy, and on whose shoulders she’d cry each time her heart was broken—and the first one she called with good news, whenever good news came around: “I got into college. My mom’s getting married. The internship program in Germany accepted me. My birth father finally wants a relationship with me. They’re making me a director at UNESCO.…”

Their points of contact over time were innumerable. They’d shared big moments and small, joy and grief, silliness and seriousness. He was the friend who had been there through all the moments of her life, yet the present moment felt entirely different, as if she were meeting him for the first time. Now she was with him in a way that felt completely new, and the world seemed to shift on its axis.

Through the years she had known him every way it was possible to know a guy and yet…and yet… Now there was this. It was some crazy emotion more intense than she could fathom, brought on by the champagne but by something else, too—a need, a craving she had no power to resist.

She fought herself free of the intensity and pulled back, though both of her fists stayed curled into the fabric of his dress shirt. “I had no idea you had that kind of kiss in you,” she whispered in a shaky voice.

“I’ve got more than that in me,” he replied, and bent down to kiss her again, lips searching and tasting, his arms holding her as if she were something precious.

Lost in sensation, she simply surrendered. She was melting and it was confusing because this was Zach—she had to keep reminding herself it was Zach, the very essence of the boy next door, as familiar as an old favorite song coming on the radio. But suddenly she was seeing him in a way she hadn’t noticed before. Particularly when he started doing what he was doing now—holding her arms above her head and whispering, “You taste delicious. Kissing you is like eating a fresh peach pie,” which made her laugh, and then they would start again. Tucked away in the back of her mind was the knowledge that this was a supremely bad idea that could turn out very badly for her. But all the standard objections stayed tucked away, hovering at the far edges of consciousness.

“We’re making a huge mistake,” she said, “but I’m too…I don’t know how to stop it,” she said.

“Then quit trying,” he said simply.

“Zach, I don’t think—”

“Exactly. Don’t think.”

He made it easy to drift away from rational thought. There was something about the soft night and the lush leather bench seat of the vintage boat, and him, and the two of them together again after such a long time. His kisses tasted of champagne and chocolate cake and memories so old she couldn’t tell if they were memories or dreams.

He pulled back and parted the coat he’d wrapped around her, sliding it away. His hands glided over the form-fitting dress as he whispered, “I want to take this off.” Without waiting for her to respond, he reached for the side zipper of the silk dress.

Somewhere, floating amid the mind-fogging kisses and the champagne and Jell-O shots, a tiny no formed, waving its arms like a drowning victim. Then the no floated away and disappeared, and what was left was something she had never before said to Zach Alger in this situation, even though she’d known him all her life.

“Yes.”


Part Two


















MUST-DO LIST (REVISED)




graduate degree




win a fellowship




find excuse to avoid 10-year high school reunion




really fall in love






Achievement brings its own anticlimax.

—MAYA ANGELOU

(BORN MARGUERITE ANN JOHNSON, APRIL 4, 1928)


Chapter Three

If there was such a thing as a better day than this, Sonnet Romano couldn’t imagine what that might look like. Brighter sunshine? Clearer air? Theme music playing as she crossed Central Park en route to 77th Street subway station? Street performers scattering flower petals as she passed by?

She didn’t need any of that, not today. Her own news was good enough. The beautiful spring weather was the icing on the cake. New York City was at its best, crisp and clear and lovely as a fairy tale. Great things hovered over her head like air traffic over LaGuardia.

She took out her mobile phone, because the only thing missing at the moment was someone to share her good news with.

Great Thing #1: Her father was taking her and Orlando to dinner at Le Cirque. Time with her father—whose senatorial campaign was now in full swing—was precious, and she was eager to catch up with him and share her news.

Great Thing #2: Orlando. The ideal boyfriend, the kind of guy who seemed too good to be true. Everyone said she and Orlando were great together, and they were only going to get better. Just this morning, he had given her the key to his apartment. Correction: the key to his stunning East Side pre-war co-op, which had closets bigger than Sonnet’s entire studio. Orlando was not the kind of guy who gave out keys lightly. He’d told Sonnet she was the first, and that had to mean something. Also, he was proof that she’d moved on from the Zach incident, that singularly bad decision she’d made at Daisy’s wedding last fall.

So why then, she wondered, did her finger hover over his name on the screen of her phone, like the planchette of a Ouija board? Why, even now, did she think of him first when she had big news?

The big news was Great Thing #3: Perhaps the greatest—the fellowship. Out of a field of thousands of candidates, she—Sonnet Romano—had been chosen for a Hartstone Fellowship. It was probably the biggest personal news she’d ever had, and she was dying to share it with someone. She quickly scrolled past Zach’s name—and why, pray tell, asked a little voice inside her, have you not deleted him from your contact list?—and went to her mother’s name—Nina Bellamy. As usual, her mom’s voice mail picked up. During the workday, Nina was too busy running the Inn at Willow Lake to take a call. Sonnet didn’t bother leaving a message; her mom tended to forget to check. They’d catch up later.

She called Daisy next, and Daisy, bless her, picked up on the first ring. “Hey, you,” she said. “How’s my wicked stepsister?”

“Good. So good. In fact, Mrs. Air Force Babe of Oklahoma, you need to stop me from making a fool of myself. I’m in the middle of Central Park and I’m tempted to burst into song about what a Great Day this is. I’m about to become a one-woman flash mob. Stop me because I’m supposed to be cooler than that.”

“You’re a New Yorker. You know you’re cooler than that. But it does sound like you’re having a good day.”

“I’d say so. The best.”

“That’s good. So, you’ve got news? What’s going on?”

“God, just…everything. I got the fellowship, Daze. I got it. Out of everyone they could have picked, they picked me.”

“That’s great. So what does it mean? Besides more laurel wreaths being laid at your feet? You know you’re making the rest of the family look bad, right?”

“Hardly.” She knew Daisy had to be kidding. A talented photographer, she’d been given a citation as an emerging artist, and her work had been in a special show at the Museum of Modern Art. She’d set the bar high. Sonnet was just glad the two of them worked in completely different fields. “What the fellowship does is put me in charge of a program to give indigent children a chance in life. It’s incredible to think I could really make an impact. I don’t know yet whether I’ll be assigned to a domestic program or overseas, although it doesn’t matter. There’s need everywhere.”

“Wow, that’s really something, Sonnet,” Daisy said. “There was never any doubt, not in my mind, anyway. You’re amazing. So, uh, will you be traveling somewhere far away?”

Despite the enthusiastic words, Sonnet heard something in Daisy’s tone. “You sound funny,” said Sonnet. “What’s up? Is Charlie doing any better in school?” Daisy had the most adorable son, but the kid was having a hard time with school this year.

“It’s a process,” Daisy said. “So hard to see him struggle, but we’re working on it. It’s just… Hey, have you talked to your mom today?”

“I tried calling her but she didn’t pick up. She never picks up. Why do you ask?”

“Oh. You should call her. She…”

“God, is Max in trouble again?” Daisy’s younger brother, now in college, had always been something of a challenge.

“It’s just…call, okay?”

“Don’t be going all cryptic on me. I—”

“Hey, you’re breaking up.”

“Oh, you big faker—”

“Sorry. Can’t hear. And I need to check on Charlie—”

The line went dead. Sonnet instantly tried her mother again, and then the Inn at Willow Lake, but was told Nina was out. Frustrated, she glared down at her phone. There was Zach Alger’s name, at the top of the contact list. Prior to the night of Daisy’s wedding, he would have been one of the first people she would call with her news, good or bad. That had all changed, though. She’d never call him again, not after that glorious, sweet, impossible mistake she’d made in the boathouse six months before.

Stop. It was a known fact that ruminating on regrettable past events was an unhealthy habit. Better by far to accept what had happened, set it aside and move on. Ruminating kept the incident alive in one’s head, meaning the hurt, anger, humiliation and regrets felt like fresh wounds, even after time had passed.

Sonnet knew these things. She’d read the self-help books. She’d sat through college courses in human psychology. She knew the drill. Knew how to protect her own heart. Therefore, it was disconcerting to realize she hadn’t been able to push past what she’d come to refer to in her head as the Zach incident.

Having sex with him had been a moment of madness. The sex had been outstanding, but she couldn’t let herself dwell on that. In his arms, she’d felt protected and adored and special…and she couldn’t think about that, either. Because no matter what sort of crazy connection they’d found that night, there was no chance for a romantic relationship for the two of them, and they both knew it. The fellowship and her career were just too important to her; she couldn’t compromise everything she’d worked for just because skinny little Zach Alger had morphed into a sex god.

Particularly in light of what had happened after. The humiliation still made her cringe. After their mad lovemaking, they’d been lounging on the bench seat of the boat, speechless with the lush saturation of sexual fulfillment. Finally, Zach had tried to say something. “That was…that…God, Sonnet.”

She hadn’t done much better. “I think we’d better… I’m… Is there any more champagne?”

He reached for the bottle. He paused, and she saw him frown in the dim light. “Shit, it was on.”

She was still limp with pleasure. “What was on? You mean that camera thing? No way. Oh, my God. Can you fix it?”

He laughed. “Relax, I’m a professional.” He’d popped out the camera’s SD card. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“You totally have to erase that, Zach. I don’t care if it recorded anything or not. You have to promise.”

“Of course I’m going to erase it,” he said. “What do you take me for? Hey, I can do better than that.” He flicked the tiny card into the lake. Then he had turned to her, this sexy stranger who had once been her best friend. “Now, where were we?”

And the mind-blowing sex had continued. Dawn had crept in, and they’d sneaked away from the boathouse, only to encounter Shane Gilmore, president of the local bank and the town gossip, out for his morning jog by the lake. Her mom’s ex, of all people. And there had been no mistaking the expression on his face.

Sonnet cringed all over again as she reached the edge of Central Park, heading for the subway to catch the train to the restaurant. She emerged from the lush gardens of the park onto Fifth Avenue, where the sidewalk was crammed with hurrying pedestrians who all seemed to be in a pointless race with one another.

To refocus her thoughts, she slipped her hand into her pocket and closed it around the key. No one else in the surging stream of humanity had any clue what the key meant to her or even why. Despite the warmth of the day, she felt a chill.

It was a chill of excitement. Of anticipation. The key had been given to her by Orlando, aka the ideal boyfriend. He was one of those guys who really was as good as he looked on paper—background, education, career path, manners, looks. And because her father had introduced them, Orlando had arrived in her life preapproved. And he said he was in love with her.

He was the first man to say so. Hearing the declaration hadn’t been the exhilarating free fall of emotion she’d imagined as a girl. It was better than that. He was mature, he knew what he wanted, and he wanted to share his life with her.

As the crowd on the sidewalk halted for a traffic light, she gave a couple of bills to a guy strumming “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” on a ukulele. A block farther, she played a secret game of peekaboo with a toddler being jiggled on his mother’s shoulder. Oblivious, the mother gabbed away on her phone about a fight she was having with her boyfriend. The baby had cheeks like ripe apples and eyes that looked perpetually startled, and a wisp of blond hair rising from his forehead like the flame of a candle.

He looked like half the dolls Sonnet used to play with when she was a little girl. The other dolls looked more like the little African-American girl in the umbrella stroller a few feet away. When Sonnet got older, her mom had explained that baby dolls who looked like Sonnet were hard to come by. Santa’s elves, apparently, had not caught up with the times. Mixed race babies were common enough; dolls that resembled them, not so much.

The light changed and she walked on, her fingers clenched around the key until its teeth bit into the palm of her hand. She wasn’t so sure herself. The way her career was going at UNESCO, there was scarcely time to squeeze in a trip upstate to see her own mom, let alone raise a kid.

On the other hand, her twenty-eight-year-old body was awash in hormones raining from an invisible emptiness inside her, just begging to procreate.

She wondered what Orlando would say if she brought it up. He’d probably bolt for the nearest exit. They were still too new, key or no key. He had told her long ago that he wanted to postpone having kids. There would be plenty of time for that unspecified “someday.”

As far as she was concerned, nothing could dampen her spirits today. She had the ultimate good news to share, and she was about to share it with the two people who would totally get how cool it was.

She’d been racing around madly all day, trying to get ready for this new chapter in her life. A Hartstone Fellowship. She, Sonnet Romano, from the tiny town of Avalon on Willow Lake, had been chosen for the honor. People who won the Hartstone Fellowship tended to change the world. She’d always been eager to measure up to her father’s expectations. Personal accomplishments were so important to her father. She could understand that. They validated you, told the world you did things that mattered.

As usual, she was in a hurry. It was her normal mode. She had hurried through school, graduating with a 4.0 GPA and zooming ahead to her dream school, American University. From there she’d pursued a double major in French and international studies, then raced ahead to grad school. Sometimes she asked herself what the hurry was, but mostly, she didn’t slow down long enough to wonder.

And it was working well for her. The letter in her satchel was proof of that, for sure.

As she hurried down the stairs to catch the train—she was on the verge of being late, an unforgivable offense in her father’s book—her phone chimed, signaling an incoming text message, sneaking in just before she lost the signal underground. At the same time, she heard the train rattling into the station. She rushed to slip her pass through the turnstile and proceed into the fecund heat of the underground station.

The train’s moon-yellow headlights were filmed with the ever-present dirt of the subway, and its brakes gave a tired-sounding squeal. The doors clanked apart, disgorging streams of passengers. Just as quickly, people on the platform boarded. She paused and bent down to help a woman with a stroller over the gap between the platform and the train car.

At the same time, she thought about the text message that had come in. She didn’t know what made her grab for her phone just in that moment; she got text messages all the time. Habit, probably. Or it could be Daisy’s cryptic comment about checking in with her mom.

As Sonnet stepped across the gap and took out her phone. someone jostled her from behind. Both the phone and the key dropped from her hand. She saw a coppery flash as the key disappeared onto the tracks, and her heart sank along with it. The phone screen stayed lit momentarily. Before it slipped from her hand, she saw the name of the sender of the incoming message: Zach Alger.

A crush of passengers pressed in from behind. The doors clanked shut, and the train lurched away.

Sonnet grabbed a safety pole and clenched her jaw. Her stomach turned to a ball of ice. You made me drop the key, she silently seethed. Prepare to die.

His name on the screen reminded her that she should have taken him off her contact list months ago. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean she could erase him from her mind. She used to look forward with pleasure to his text messages, but now the thought of him made her shudder.

Given where she was now, her relationship with Orlando moving ahead, Zach could ruin everything. Having sex with him the night of Daisy’s wedding had been the ultimate boneheaded move on both their parts, and she bloody well knew it. As soon as she’d floated back down to earth, as soon as the pink cloud of champagne and wedding bliss wore off, she had felt a terrible twist of foreboding in the pit of her stomach. In one foolish act, they had changed their friendship irrevocably, and not for the better. Her father had just introduced her to Mr. Wonderful; she needed to focus on Orlando, not get drunk with Zach Alger.

She hadn’t spoken to him since. He’d called a bunch at first, sent text messages, and she finally texted him back and said, Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Can we just leave it at that?

His calls had stopped, and she told herself she was relieved. There was nothing to say. What were they going to say? Sorry I screwed up a beautiful friendship? Have a nice life?

Willfully she pulled her mind away from the lost phone and focused on the more immediate problem. The missing key. Now, there was a boneheaded move for you. When your boyfriend finally gives you a key to his amazing midtown east apartment, losing it immediately is a bad move. Sure, it was an accident, but the symbolism was hard to ignore.

On top of that, she was going to be late. Both her father and Orlando were sticklers for promptness, yet somehow she’d fallen behind. And now she didn’t even have a way to send Orlando a text.

Her stomach clenching, she found a vacant seat and sat down. Across from her sat a teenage girl and her mother. Sonnet studied their reflection in the window glass of the subway car. The two of them looked alike, except for the way the mother’s Nordic coloring and blond hair contrasted sharply with the girl’s nappy hair and café-au-lait skin. She wore her mixed heritage like an ill-fitting garment. Sonnet related to that kind of discomfort because once, not so long ago, she’d been that girl—biracial and wondering just where she belonged.

The girl had her iPhone turned up too loud, and through the earbuds, Sonnet recognized the thud and angry tones of Jezebel, the latest hip-hop sensation. The chart-topping song was called “Don’t Make a Ho into a Housewife” or some such nonsense. Though she was no fan of the genre, Sonnet was aware of Jezebel from the scandal blogs and magazines. She was the latest of many to be doing time for something or other.

The girl listening to the music looked angry, too. Maybe she was having a bad day. Maybe she was ticked off at her mom. Maybe she was wondering why her dad only got in touch with her on Christmas and on her birthday, and half the time he forgot the birthday. Maybe she was trying to figure out what she was supposed to do in order to get his attention.

In the window glass, her gaze met the girl’s. Both glanced quickly away, perhaps recognizing in each other a kindred spirit.

You’ll be fine, Sonnet wanted to reassure the girl. Just like I’m fine. Fine.

As she approached her stop on the subway, Sonnet tried to come up with something plausible to tell Orlando about the key. Saying she’d dropped it on the subway sounded so…so careless. And she did care. Having access to his apartment, his private space, was a huge step for them as a couple. It meant something, something big.

The very thought of it made her heart skip a beat. To Sonnet, this was not a pleasant sensation.

* * *

Zach Alger stared down at the screen of his iPhone. He shouldn’t have sent that text to Sonnet. He really, really shouldn’t have sent it. What was he thinking? He wasn’t thinking.

Maybe being in church affected his judgment. Although he wasn’t in church, attending services. He was doing wedding prep work at Heart of the Mountains Church, getting ready for a big video job here. So at the moment, it didn’t count.

He wrote down a couple of measurements—they were cramming too many people into the sanctuary, but he’d deal—and then paused to check his phone. Good, no reply. He scrolled to email, and his queue was full of work stuff. Endless work stuff, sandwiched between a few notes from women. Yeah, he was “dating.” In a town like this, with a population that couldn’t fill a high school stadium, that simply meant he was keeping his options open. On the menu today—he could go to the climbing gym with Lannie, and there were worse things than staring at her cute butt while holding the belaying rope. Or, he could go to Viv’s for dinner. She was a sous-chef at the Apple Tree Inn, and she had trained at the Cordon Bleu. Third option—an open invitation from Shakti, who practiced a form of yoga she liked to call Yoga Sutra.

His buddies on his mountain biking team envied him the attention from women. And hell yeah, he loved women. He loved their soft hair and their curvy bodies, the flowery scent of them and the lilt of their laughter. He loved them all, yet to his dismay, he wanted only one. And the one he wanted was Lady Insanity herself, Sonnet Romano.

No. Correction. She was not the one he wanted. She was the one he wanted to avoid.

Contacting her had been a bad lapse, and it was convenient to foist the blame on something other than himself. He hadn’t spoken to her since that night. Yeah, that night. But he’d felt compelled to contact her today because something weird was going on. After the epic night of sex, he’d been pretty sure it was their secret.

Yet now he was not so sure.

His friend Daphne, aka the ace internet mole, had alerted him this morning that something was up. A web-based rumor mill had published a nasty little bit hinting that the daughter of a certain candidate for the U.S. Senate was into, ahem, post-wedding hookups.

Politics was a dirty business. In the race for public office, nothing was off-limits, not even the candidate’s family. In making a run for national office, Laurence Jeffries was putting everyone in his orbit in the spotlight. Zach wondered if the guy had thought about that when he’d decided to go for it.

Zach’s own father—still serving time for defrauding the city of Avalon—certainly hadn’t taken Zach into consideration. Sometimes, Zach thought that was what tied him to this little town, long after he should have left. He had something to prove; he wanted to show people that he wasn’t anything like his father.

Upon seeing the link to the hookup story, Zach had impulsively sent Sonnet a text message. A heads-up; it was the least he could do. He didn’t actually worry too much on his own behalf. Thanks to his father, Zach was beyond the point of embarrassment. But Sonnet had always been super sensitive about her reputation.

Yet the moment he’d hit Send, he started wondering if the rumor mill had simply made a lucky guess, or if they really knew something. Or if there had been a different wedding…and a different guy.

He batted at a fly buzzing around his head and got back to work.

She probably wouldn’t respond. Ever since the wedding—the post-wedding-champagne-fueled sex they’d enjoyed—Sonnet had been in hiding. To be honest, Zach was okay with what had happened—hell, he’d liked it, but Sonnet insisted they weren’t a match. No way they were a match, despite the mind-blowing boathouse encounter, and she claimed they were both old enough to realize it. She wanted them to go back to being friends, the way they’d been since kindergarten.

He wanted more. She wouldn’t let him convince her, though. She made it clear that being with him would put a crimp in her future plans. Fine, then, he thought. He had plans, too.

But he missed her. Shit, he really did. He missed the friendship, the easy feeling of being with someone he felt completely comfortable with. Most guys had a family to lean on, but not Zach. He was the son of a bad man who was behind bars. His mom had left when he was a kid, remarried and then died of cancer. So he was not exactly a member of the all-American family. Through the years, Sonnet had become his default go-to person, the one he could call or text at all hours, the one who knew his history and didn’t judge him for it, the one who loved hearing his good news. Correction—she used to love it. Now she didn’t even pick up the phone.

Inside the church, he ran into the pastor, a paunchy, sober man who took great pleasure in marrying starry-eyed couples in his storybook-cute church.

“Hey, Reverend Munson,” he said. “I’ll be out of your way shortly. Just needed to make a plan for Saturday’s ceremony.”

“Take all the time you need, Zachary. I know how important the video is to the bride.”

“Yep,” he said. “You’re right about that.”

“Jenna’s back from her mission trip to Korea,” said Reverend Munson, referring to his youngest daughter. “I imagine she’s going to want to tell you all about it. She always did like you, and she took a lot of video footage over there. I’m sure she’ll be in touch.”

She’d already been in touch, Zach reflected. It was awkward as hell making small talk with the reverend, who was clearly unaware that not so long ago, Zach had spent a few pleasant hours sipping Zima from his daughter’s navel. And doing some other things as well.

“I think I’ve got everything I need,” Zach said with hearty decisiveness. “See you on Saturday, sir.”

“I’ll be camera ready.” Reverend Munson playfully framed his face with his hands. His clean pale hands, the ring finger encircled with a band of gold. For some reason, Zach started feeling guilty.

What the hell, he thought as he left the sanctuary. He’d been working as a videographer and editor for Wendela’s Wedding Wonders since college. Nothing wrong with the gig except that he was forced to work crazy hours, endure bridezillas and their maniac moms, and he hadn’t seen a Saturday night since he’d become old enough to drink.

And what Zach wanted, what he longed to do, was tell stories. Not his own. God, no. Other people’s stories. He’d been doing it ever since he was old enough to hold a camera. He had a knack for capturing a subject’s emotions on film, finding their hidden vulnerabilities, peeling away the layers to reveal truths that were often raw, but beautiful. He wanted to go out into the world and find those stories. He ought to get out of Avalon before he got stuck here forever.

But that took dough, lots of it. For a long time, it had seemed like an impossible dream as he dug himself out of student loans, made regular payments to the town of Avalon in an attempt to make up for what his father had stolen and gambled away, and simply went about the business of living. There was no law requiring him to make restitution for the damage his father had done, but the night with Sonnet had reminded him that this was not a dress rehearsal.

In order to move ahead in the field, he needed to go where the work was. L.A. or New York. He’d been sending out his portfolio for the past couple of years. So far he’d won loads of admiration and a prestigious award or two, but no offers of paying work.

Pissed at his thoughts for circling around to Sonnet again, he scrolled through his contacts, the digital equivalent of a little black book, and without much thought, hit on one. Shakti. She always picked up.

“Hey, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Waiting for you to call.” She gave a soft, ego-stroking purr.

“I’ll be right over.”

* * *

Later that night, Zach went to the Hilltop Tavern, an Avalon watering hole favored by locals. Two of his buddies were there—Eddie Haven, a talented singer and songwriter who had settled in town to hide from his past as a troubled child star, and Bo Crutcher, a pitcher for the Yankees who used to play bass in Eddie’s band, and kept a vacation cabin on the lake. Zach had filmed both guys’ wedding videos, and they’d become friends along the way.

“I got girl trouble,” he said, sliding into the booth with them.

“My favorite kind,” Bo said, filling Zach’s glass from a frosty pitcher of beer.

Eddie raised his glass of root beer. “What’s up, my brother? Shit, don’t tell me somebody’s pregnant.”

“No,” Zach said instantly, shuddering with a chill at the very thought. “It’s complicated. See, I kind of…you know, I’ve always been one to play the field.”

“Boy slut,” said Eddie. “We’ve all been there.”

“That’s why I’m telling you this,” Zach said. “So now—and I never thought I’d be saying this—it’s getting old.” He thought about Shakti, who had rolled out the welcome mat earlier in the evening. He hadn’t taken advantage of the welcome. Instead, he’d bought her dinner, dropped her off at her house, and called this meeting with his friends to confess that he was losing his mind.

“Dude,” said Bo. “Welcome to adulthood. We all take a while to get there, but we get there. I know I did.”

“You did it by marrying a woman who looks like a supermodel,” Zach said. “That must have been so hard for you.”

Bo laughed. “I reckon it was harder for Kim. So what’s on your mind?”

“Who, not what. Sonnet Romano. Yeah, that Sonnet Romano. The one I’ve known since she was Willow Lake’s hopscotch champion. We had…we did…”

“Nina’s girl? You finally nailed her? Awesome,” said Eddie, high-fiving him. “Doesn’t sound like so much trouble to me.”

“Then you don’t know Sonnet. She could make a copper penny complicated.”

“Let me guess,” said Bo. “You nailed her, and now she wants a…what’s that word? Oh, yeah. Relationship. It never fails. Give ’em a few X’s and O’s, and next thing you know, they’re picking out the china pattern.”

“Jesus, you’re a tool,” said Zach. “How come a tool like you gets to marry a supermodel?”

Bo glanced from him to Eddie. “What?”

“Here’s the complication,” Zach said, “and believe me, it pains me to admit this. I want the relationship.”

To his relief, Bo and Eddie did not look too aghast, merely interested.

“Okay,” Zach went on, “maybe not the china pattern, but yeah, all the stuff most guys want to run away from. I can’t stop thinking about her, even when I’m trying to move on to another girl.”

“In my very educated opinion,” Eddie said, “other girls tend to be distractions from what you really want.”

“Yeah,” said Bo. “What is it you really want?”

Zach took a large gulp of beer and let out a lengthy belch. “The whole thing—love and family, stability, even kids one day. Yeah, kids. I want kids, how crazy is that?”

“It’s not crazy at all,” said Eddie. “Maureen and I are having loads of fun working on that. Kids are awesome. It’s the parents who screw them up. All you got to do is promise you won’t be that kind of parent.”

“That’s getting ahead of things. We’re not even back on speaking terms these days.”

“Why the hell not?”

“After we… After I—”

“Nailed her,” Bo supplied.

“Yeah, it was in the boathouse up at Camp Kioga. Shane Gilmore figured it out, I think.”

“Now, there’s a tool for you. Can’t stand that guy,” Eddie said. “What the hell do you care?”

“I don’t, but Sonnet’s father is running for Senate, and Gilmore’s driving around with a Delvecchio bumper sticker on his car, so he’s supporting the opponent.”

“Whoa, I didn’t know she was Jeffries’s daughter,” Bo said.

“Like I told you, she’s complicated. Anyway, I saw a stupid rumor about the candidate’s daughter hooking up at a wedding—did I mention we hooked up at Daisy Bellamy’s wedding?”

Bo refilled Zach’s beer glass yet again. “Drink up. It’s gonna be a long night.”

* * *

Sonnet rushed into the restaurant approximately ten minutes late to find Orlando in the foyer, jabbing his finger at the keypad of his phone.

“Sorry,” she said, slightly breathless. “I got caught in the rush-hour craziness.”

He put away his phone and bent to brush her cheek with a kiss. He was impressive, a tangible presence, exuding the class and polish of his Ivy League graduate degree, his looks an attractive balance between his Cuban mother and African-American father. After fulfilling his service requirement for West Point, Orlando had gotten an advanced degree in political science from Columbia and had become an expert at managing electoral campaigns. He was known as one of the best in the business, stopping at nothing to advance his candidate’s cause.

“Just curious,” he said in his half-teasing way, “does rush hour come unexpectedly every weekday?” He softened the critique with his trademark smile.

Sonnet furrowed a hand through her hair—it was now a fuzzy mess, thanks to the rushing and the rain. Yes, she had emerged from the subway to find the sunshine had turned to rain—and of course she had no umbrella.

“I got caught in the rain,” she confessed.

“You should carry an umbrella.”

She hated seeming scattered and disheveled around Orlando, who was always the soul of organization. And here she was, committing the trifecta of blunders. She had lost the key to his apartment. She had lost her mobile phone. And to top it all off, she was late.

“I don’t blame you for being mad,” she said.

“Hey,” he said, “it’s okay. Nothing to get mad about. I’m on-time enough for both of us.”

She summoned a smile and took his hand. Orlando Rivera was brilliant, professional and knew the importance of being prompt. No wonder he was in charge of getting her father elected to Congress.

It was surreal to Sonnet, the idea of her father becoming a U.S. senator. But it was not surprising; Laurence Jeffries had always been a larger-than-life figure. Although he was her birth father, he’d taken on the proportions of myth. Yes, she admitted that. But it never kept her from hoping they would build something sturdier on that foundation.

As a kid, she’d fantasized about having him in her life more than a couple of times a year. Then she’d been accepted to a major college, and everything had changed. Suddenly she had done something remarkable, winning a scholarship for a world-class education, and her father not only took note, he’d reached out to her. She still remembered the expression on her mom’s face when Nina had handed her the phone. “Laurence wants to speak to you.”

Her father almost never called. There was usually a stilted conversation on Christmas, late in the day after all the presents and feasting, and sometimes on her birthday, when he remembered. So for him to call out of the blue had been extraordinary.

“You’ve made me proud” were his first words to her that day.

Her heart had taken wing. Sure, she knew she’d be justified in asking him why he’d never been more than a modest monthly check to her up to this point, or asking him why he couldn’t have been there for her during her not-so-proud moments, like when she’d been caught skipping gym class, or when she’d stolen a sex manual from the library, or was left on the curb after her first date, because she’d refused to put out.

But instead of hurling recriminations, she’d opened her heart to her father. They’d talked at length about her future and her goals. She’d once thought she wanted to teach or somehow work with children, but her dad had convinced her that she would have more of an impact on the world with an international career. He was passionate about global affairs and about the possibility of bringing about positive change in the world, and that passion was infectious. Broadening her focus, Sonnet had pursued international studies with single-minded determination, intent on proving herself every bit as worthy as the two trophy daughters her father had with the woman he’d married.

She pulled her mind away from her dad’s “other” family—his legitimate family. Angela, his lovely and accomplished wife, and his daughters, Layla and Kara. Sonnet herself had a glorious family on her mother’s side—the big Romano clan of Avalon—and for that, she would always be grateful, just as she was grateful for her vibrant career and this new, huge opportunity offered by the fellowship.

Maybe in the excitement over her news, Orlando would dismiss the fact that she’d lost his key.

“I can’t believe you lost my key,” Orlando said after she’d sheepishly explained what happened. He shrugged out of his cashmere overcoat and handed it to the coat check girl.

“I’m really sorry.” Sonnet handed over her coat as well. “I don’t know what else to say. I’ll have another one made.”

“You can’t. It’s a co-op. The building supervisor has to get a duplicate. I’ll take care of it.”

“Sorry,” she said again, probably for the dozenth time. He was being nice about it, but she almost wished he’d tell her it was a huge pain in the ass and get the scolding over with.

“I know. I’ll deal with it. But listen, since we’re taking this step, there’s something we need to talk about.” He paused, took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

She smiled, taken in by the warmth in his eyes. “Kissing my hand in public, Orlando? I’m a fan.”

He smiled back. “And I’m a fan of you. I just wanted to talk about the whole key thing—the whole sleeping-over thing.”

She bit her lip. Maybe the fellowship was not going to be such welcome news to him after all. “I love the sleeping-over thing. I love that you gave me a key.”

“I love it, too, don’t get me wrong. That’s why I need to ask you…”

…to marry me. Sonnet heard the words in her head, and even though they hadn’t been spoken aloud, she got chills. She pictured herself saying yes, flinging her arms around him, being hoisted off the floor and spun around as they shared a joyous kiss.

“…because of all the attention he’ll be getting as we get closer to election season.”

“I’m sorry, what?” She flushed, embarrassed by her own flight of fantasy.

“I was just saying, let’s try to be discreet about you staying at my place.”

“Right. This is the twenty-first century, after all.”

“You and I know that. But there are still plenty of voters who could take issue with the idea that the candidate’s daughter—”

“—who happens to be a grown-up with a life of her own—”

“Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Honey, all I’m saying is let’s try to keep our private life just that—private.”

“Are you afraid I’m going to, what, post our status on Facebook?”

“Of course not. I’m afraid some dumb-ass from the opposition is going to try to make an issue of it.”

“Then why did you bother giving me a key—oh. I get it now. You gave me a key so I didn’t have to be buzzed up every time, which is totally indiscreet, right?”

“Honey. I gave you a key because I want you in my life. I might want you there permanently, if you know what I’m saying.”

“God, Orlando, how did you get so romantic? ‘I might want you there permanently?’ Seriously?”

“It’s true, I might. But I’m not going to break down and propose right here and now in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“But I am going to propose. And it is going to be romantic and you’re going to say yes.”

Goose bumps suddenly covered her arms. But then, questions and second-guessing kicked in. Was he going to propose because he loved her and couldn’t live without her, or because it would make his candidate’s daughter look less like a slut to the electorate?

She brushed aside the cynical thought. When had she turned into such a skeptic? Or had she always been this way?

A large, imposing silhouette filled the doorway.

“Hey, my father just got here,” she said. “Can we talk about the key later?”

Orlando was already striding across the foyer, his hand outstretched. “Laurence, how are you?” No comment about General Jeffries being tardy.

Sonnet felt a swell of pride and excitement as the two men shook hands. Her father was every inch the military man, looking as polished as the brass buttons on his swirling greatcoat.

Standing between the two of them, she felt like a princess, flanked by visiting royalty. The host led them to their table, where he held the thronelike upholstered chair for her.

“So there’s news,” Sonnet said once they were all seated. “Good news.”

“I’m always up for good news.” Her father regarded her warmly.

She paused, savoring the moment. “I got the Hartstone Fellowship,” she said. “The call came today, and I have an official letter.”

Orlando gave a low whistle. “That’s fantastic.”

“Sonnet, I’m so proud of you.” Her father ordered a bottle of champagne. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but proud as hell.”

“Thanks. I’m still pinching myself.” She beamed at them both as the sommelier brought a bottle of Cristal and poured three flutes. “It’s so great that we’re together, celebrating. I was going to send you an email but I wanted to tell you in person.” She’d been brimming over with the news all day.

“You deserve it,” said Orlando. “I know how hard you worked for this.”

“He’s right,” her father agreed. “We’re going to miss you when you’re overseas.”

Sonnet blinked. “How do you know it’s an overseas assignment?”

He glanced up at the chandelier. “That’s usually the case. Am I wrong?”

“Never,” she said, but he failed to catch the note of irony in her voice.

“With your background and language skills, you’d excel in a foreign location.” He waved a hand to summon the waiter. “I think we’re ready to order.”

“I have the final numbers on the fundraiser.” Orlando handed Laurence a printout. “I thought you’d like to see.”

“We exceeded our goal for this stage of the campaign,” said Laurence.

“That’s great, Dad. It’s good news all around,” Sonnet said. She really wanted to talk more about the fellowship, but didn’t want to monopolize the conversation. “Maybe we should buy lottery tickets.”

“I’ve never been one to leave things to chance,” her father said. “Better to make your own luck.”

“Agreed,” said Sonnet. Her father was something of a control freak. He had been ever since she’d gotten to know him during her college years.

Orlando and her father talked shop—polls, demographic studies, campaign strategies, and she listened attentively. When their meal came, there was a pause to appreciate the perfectly prepared food, served with deftness by a waitstaff that worked like a well-oiled machine. She flashed on a memory of her childhood—Sunday dinners at her Romano grandparents’ home, with all the aunts, uncles and cousins diving into delicious but simple food, served family style. The food was simple but plentiful, the family noisy but bighearted.

“Wow, it’s crazy to think that by next year, I’ll be the daughter of a U.S. senator.” Sonnet took a bite of the wild mushroom risotto, savoring the sherry and cream flavorings.

Laurence tried the wine and accepted it with a curt nod. “I assume you mean crazy in a good way.”

She smiled as the waiter filled her glass. “Of course. It makes me really proud.”

“I wish I could say the election is going to be a slam dunk.” He sliced into his steak.

“We don’t hear you saying that,” Sonnet said.

“I have to be honest with you,” said Laurence. “Delvecchio is getting desperate, and he’s known to fight dirty when he’s slipping in the polls.”

“Are you saying he’s slipping in the polls?”

“He most definitely is.”

“So we can expect him to fight dirty,” said Orlando.

“We can.” Laurence swirled a bite of rare meat in the Bearnaise sauce. “And Sonnet, I have to tell you, he’s bound to send someone snooping into every corner of my life.”

“Including me, you mean.” A knot of tension formed in the pit of her stomach.

“I wish I could deny it. Delvecchio is a master at negative spin. He could find a way to make Santa Claus look bad.”

“How bad?” Sonnet pushed her plate away and regarded them both.

Orlando handed her a printout from a political blog. She scanned the article, horror rising along with the bile in her throat. She stared at her father. “They’re bringing up your illicit affair as a West Point cadet with an underage local girl. Of a different race. Which, by the way, is not exactly fiction.”

The article further characterized her father as a ruthlessly ambitious career operative who ignored his own child and moved ahead with his own agenda. At the bottom of the article was a link—Jeffries’s love child…post-wedding hookups?—that made her nearly gag. How had that leaked?

“All fiction, of course,” Orlando said confidently.

She shuddered with distaste, pushing aside the page. “They left out the bit about you having horns and a tail.”

“I’m sorry,” her father said. “I hate that you had to be sucked into this.”

“How will you respond?”

“It’s taken care of. I issued a statement with the truth, explaining that I wasn’t aware that I’d fathered a child. Once I learned I had a daughter, I was elated by the gift I’d been given, and I supported you and your mother to the best of my ability. I’m proud to say you’ve grown into an accomplished young woman with a passion for service and a bright future ahead of her.” The hookups notwithstanding, she thought with a shudder.

“Depending on their politics, readers will decide which version to believe,” said Orlando.

“And if someone contacts me?” Sonnet suppressed a chill of terror.

“Tell them the truth,” her father said easily. “Your truth.”

“Sure,” she said, envious of his sangfroid. “Right.” In her heart, she knew she would gloss over certain key facts—such as the fact that she used to cry herself to sleep at night, wishing she had a daddy like other kids, even a part-time daddy. Or the terrific, secret envy she felt toward his other daughters, Layla and Kara, the dual heiresses to his dynastic marriage. Yes, he’d married the perfect woman to enhance his career. Sonnet wanted to believe it was a love match, but sometimes she wondered if his marriage to the daughter of a famous civil rights leader had been by design or happenstance. Sonnet wouldn’t say a word about these matters because she could scarcely admit them to herself. Love had never seemed like her father’s top priority. He shied away from it, perhaps because it was the kind of thing that couldn’t be controlled, like a battalion of soldiers or a department in the military.

“I’m a big girl,” she assured them. “I can take care of myself.”

“There was never a doubt,” said her father. “But again, I’m sorry.”

An uncomfortable thought struck her. “Did they harass my mother?”

“I would hope not, but unfortunately, we’re dealing with Johnny Delvecchio.”

“If he contacts her, she won’t have anything bad to say.” Sonnet spoke with complete assurance. Nina had always owned her part in the situation, too, and she’d never expressed any bitterness or resentment against Laurence. Not to Sonnet, anyway.

The conversation drifted to other campaign matters, the topic sneaking further away from Sonnet’s big news. She tried not to feel cheated. This was supposed to be a celebration of her getting the fellowship. Of course, in the company of her father, she was used to being eclipsed. He had a big career and a big life, and running for Congress only made it bigger.

Like everyone else in his circle, she admired and respected him for his drive to succeed. Judging by the things he had achieved in his career, the propensity was working well for him. He lived a considered and well-crafted life.

The only misstep he’d ever made was Sonnet herself. She was the result of a youthful indiscretion, one for which the world had forgiven him. Some people were lucky that way. They got away with things.

Other than that, his resume was stellar. Through sheer determination, he’d risen from humble roots as the son of a single mother who got by on public assistance. In school, he excelled at both academics and sports, winning a coveted appointment to West Point. From there he’d climbed the ladder of leadership through the ranks of the military. He married well, in terms of his career, and as far as anyone knew, it was a loving partnership. His two lovely daughters wore the polish of private schools and an international lifestyle. Sonnet was the only blot on an otherwise spotless record.

She hated being the blot.

* * *

“How is this going to work?” Sonnet asked Orlando later that night as they got ready for bed. He’d calmed down about the key, and she felt excited to be at his place, carefully placing her belongings in a small corner of his walk-in closet. “With you being here and me going overseas?”

“Guess we’ll rack up some air miles.”

“I don’t mean booking flights. I mean, how will it work?”

“You mean how will we stay in this relationship.”

He’d called it a relationship. He’d teased her about a proposal—or was it more than teasing? They were making progress, she felt sure of it. Progress toward a goal—that was a good thing, right?

He was the most cautious guy she’d ever known, choosing his words as if they were going to be chiseled in stone. Saying something like “relationship” was serious business to a man like Orlando. She tended to be more impulsive, and he balanced her.

“Thank you,” she said. “That is precisely what I mean.”

“Besides visiting, there’s email and Skype,” he pointed out.

“And that’s enough for you?”

“It will have to be. Unless you’re willing to give up the fellowship.”

“Or you’re willing to give up the campaign,” she said.

“Don’t be silly. It’s not an either/or situation.”

She tried to figure out what she was feeling. Neither of them seemed too upset by the prospect of a lengthy separation. Yet they were in a relationship. He’d given her a key to his place, and even though she’d promptly lost it, they were still a couple. Weren’t they?

“As a matter of fact, it’s probably a good thing we don’t give Delvecchio one more thing to latch on to.”

“Orlando—”

His phone rang, and he grabbed it. She gritted her teeth. Couldn’t he for once let it go to voice mail?

He answered, listened briefly, then handed her the phone. “It’s your mother. She’s been trying to reach you.”

Sonnet grabbed it. “Mom, hey. I, uh, lost my phone today—”

“Oh, no wonder I couldn’t get you. Sorry to call so late.”

“Is everything okay?”

A beat of hesitation passed. “Why do you ask?”

“Daisy said you had news. Geez, Mom.”

“She’s right, honey. I’ve got a little news. Are you… Um, is this a good time to talk?”

“It’s fine. Just tell me, Mom. You’re freaking me out.”

“Have a seat, Sonnet.”

* * *

Sonnet carefully set the phone receiver back in its cradle. She felt strangely disoriented as she approached Orlando. He was now busy checking his email on his iPad. “Um…there’s been a change of plans.”

He barely looked up from his screen. “Yeah?”

“Are you listening?”

“Yeah. Sure, babe.”

She hesitated, so filled with the news from home she couldn’t think straight. She wished she felt closer to Orlando in this moment. She longed for their relationship to be further along, so that she could tell him anything and everything. But when she tried to come up with the words to explain, she felt frustrated before she even began.

Meanwhile, he’d gone back to reading on his iPad, the bluish glow of the screen outlining the angles of his chiseled features.

“Orlando.”

“Uh-huh?”

She abandoned the idea of explaining everything to him. So she simply told him, “I have to go back to Avalon.”


Chapter Four

“How about a cream-filled delight?” The waitress named Glynnis leaned toward Zach Alger and moistened her lips, just in case he missed the suggestion.

He didn’t miss it. Kind of hard to miss a rack like Glynnis had. She was one of several women he’d dated, but she wanted something from him he had no capacity to give. Not to her, anyway. There wasn’t a thing wrong with her…except that she was wrong for him.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said, swirling the coffee in his mug.

“God, Zach, don’t you know I’m hitting on you? You used to be fun. What’s the matter with you?”

Great, he thought. She’s going to make me say it. “Hey,” he said, “that’s really cool and you know I like you, but—”

“Whoa.” She held up her hand, palm out. “I’d just as soon you didn’t finish that thought. I can already see where you’re going with it.”

He tried not to show his relief. “I’m sorry. It’s not you.”

“Clearly not. God, I need to get the hell out of this burg. Don’t you ever get the feeling you’re fading away?”

Honestly, he didn’t. Right here, in the middle of this small town, was where he felt most alive. Which probably meant there was something the matter with him.

“Me? Fading?” he said, trying to lighten the moment. “No way.”

“Have the cream-filled delight anyway.” She shoved a thick white china plate onto his table. “And don’t forget to tip your server,” she added as she went back to the counter.

Not only would it be rude to refuse the treat at this time, it would be foolhardy. No one in his right mind refused a pastry from the Sky River Bakery.

His love affair with the Sky River Bakery had begun way back when he was a tiny kid. Now it was still his favorite place to sit with a big mug of coffee and a cruller, getting into work mode for the day. The place looked virtually the same as it had all those years ago, although it had been stylishly updated by Jenny McKnight, the owner. There were café tables made from rounds of maple wood, a changing display of work by local artists, and a black-and-white checked floor. It still had an old-fashioned feel to it, and the warm, fragrant atmosphere created an air of nostalgia. Zach sometimes used it as the setting for wedding videos or personal narratives. The morning crowd was present—locals grabbing a bite, retired folks chatting over the day’s New York Times, a couple of tourists perusing an area map.

In fact, the family-run shop was the site of his earliest memory. His mom was taking him to the first day of kindergarten and he was practically catatonic with terror. She’d grabbed his hand and ducked into the bakery, which was just a block from the primary school. He could still remember the sugary, buttery smell of the place, the smell of comfort.

His mom had bought him an apple kolache and a cup of hot chocolate, and she’d told him that going to school was a big adventure for a little boy, and that he was going to love it. And she’d filmed the whole thing. That was his mom’s thing—documenting her life. She’d been compulsive about it, capturing moments on her video camera. His mom had filmed everything—his first day of school, his first lost tooth, his exploits on the soccer field, his disastrous attempts to emulate Jimmy Page. She didn’t put herself in the picture much but her voice often came from behind the camera, always encouraging and sweet-toned. It was as if she’d known she wouldn’t be around that long, and wanted to capture the two of them together for posterity. And sure enough, one day the filming had stopped, and she had moved away. Far away.

He hadn’t seen it coming that day, and he hadn’t been fooled for a minute by her pep talk about kindergarten. His head was full of nightmare visions of snarling teachers, an endless maze of hallways, rooms full of strangers. But then, as he was chewing on a bit of kolache, Sonnet Romano had breezed into the bakery, completely by herself. She wore a pink backpack with pockets and zippers, and pencils all lined up like bullet cartridges in an ammo belt. She wore her curly black hair in twin braids, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

All by herself, she marched up to the counter. Her pointy little chin barely reached the edge. “One iced maple bar, please. And can you put it in a nice box? It’s for my teacher. Today is my first day in kindergarten and I’m bringing her a treat.” She carefully placed her money on the counter. “My mom said this is the right amount. She had to work today.”

Zach stared at her in amazement. His mother nodded with approval. “It’s that nice Sonnet Romano from play group. Why don’t you go say hi?”

Zach recoiled in horror. He nearly gagged on his pastry.

While Sonnet waited for her parcel, she turned, zeroing in on him like a laser. “You’re Zach,” she said. “You’re in Miss Nelson’s class, same as me.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind. “Why are you wearing those glasses?”

“They make me look smarter,” she said, tilting up her chin with pride. She turned abruptly, pigtails flying out like helicopter rotors. Then she picked up a pink cardboard box sealed with string, and went to the door.

She paused and turned to Zach. “Well? Are you coming?”

His mom had given him a hug. “Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s going to be a wonderful day.”

Zach shook his head at the memory. Even then. At the age of five, Sonnet knew exactly where she was going, and he was expected to follow along.

He sipped his coffee and frowned at the screen of his iPhone. He was supposed to be getting organized for the day, and instead he’d let his mind wander to a time back in ancient history. With a will, he made himself focus on the present.

The present wasn’t a bad place to be. Here and now, with the future glimmering ahead like a sunrise on the horizon. He needed to move in that direction, not dwell in the past.

Through the shop window, he watched the town getting ready for the day. Shopkeepers rolled out their awnings and displayed their wares on the walkways. Delivery trucks disgorged supplies to restaurants, and people walked briskly toward the train station. Like any small town, an atmosphere of familiarity colored the scene. Zach had always liked that about Avalon. Being part of a small community filled in somewhat for his crappy family situation.

He had been on his own ever since high school, when his father was led away in handcuffs, the town disgrace. Zach was left with a house in foreclosure, a mountain of unpaid bills and a reputation in tatters. Matthew Alger had defrauded the town of Avalon. He’d picked the pockets of people who could scarcely buy groceries, let alone pay their local taxes.

Zach had made a vow that day. He would make restitution to the people his father had defrauded. It would surely take years, but he would do what he could. It wouldn’t happen on his salary from Wendela’s, though. Through the years, he had been depositing whatever he could into the city treasury, trying to chip away at his father’s debt, bit by bit.

He was going to miss this place. But he had to go, and soon. How else was he going to find his life? Filming weddings and bar mitzvahs and retirement parties was a way to make ends meet. But being a filmmaker…that was his life. And he couldn’t very well do that in Avalon. Sure, the town looked as pretty as a picture on a postcard, so pretty it made your heart ache. But pretty didn’t pay the bills. To do that, he needed to go where the work was. But he was stuck in a conundrum. Due to lack of funds, he had not gone after what he wanted.

Zach’s phone rang, and he did a double take. The name that came up was the one he least expected—the longest of longshots: Mickey Flick.

“Who’s Mickey Flick?” demanded Glynnis, peering at the screen of his phone. She not only had a rack; she was the nosiest waitress on the planet.

He ignored her, and skimmed his thumb across the screen in order to take the call. “This is Zach Alger.”

“Mickey Flick here.” A crisp, easy familiarity mellowed the voice. The guy sounded as if he and Zach talked every week.

Zach held his breath. Mickey Flick headed up an outfit in Century City noted for its wildly successful celebrity reality shows. Zach was no fan of the genre, having little interest in watching has-been actors in some ludicrous setup. He was, however, a fan of the success of the shows. He’d been in contact with Mickey Flick Productions, knowing it was a crazy roll of the dice. There had been several emails back and forth with various assistants, but still, he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Now here was the guy, calling him out of the blue.

“Hey,” he said, trying not to fumble. “Thanks for calling me back.”

“Not a problem. We were glad to hear from you. We’ve been going over the samples you sent in.”

Zach felt himself teetering on the brink. He knew, he just knew his life was about to change. “Wow. Well,” he said, “I’m flattered you had a look. I hope you liked what you saw.”

“Hell, yeah, we liked them. You’ve definitely got the technical expertise and the eye we’re looking for, so I wanted to see if you’re available for a new production that’s about to start filming.”

Available? Available? Was he available for Mickey-freaking-Flick?

“Could be,” he said, hoping to sound measured. Interested, but not too eager. “Tell me more.”

“For the time being, I can’t say much. You’ll get more details from Clyde Bombier, my production exec. It’ll be a reality show, all under wraps until we’re ready to go wide with it. What I can tell you is that it’s a sixteen-week gig, it involves a major talent and a name director. You’d work directly with him.”

“Okay,” Zach said. “You have my attention.”

He tried not to hyperventilate as he listened to the terms being offered. The money alone made his head spin, but the real excitement kicked in when Flick said he was sending a formal letter of offer and a contract via email.

Zach thanked him and hung up, looking around the bakery at the coffee drinkers, the tourists and locals, the little kids smearing their hands on the glass cases, the old guys with their crossword puzzles. These people had no idea that the world had just shifted for him. Finally the dream was coming into reach. He’d been trying to get a break forever, sending out his portfolio of digital clips, emailing them into what seemed like a black hole of digital ether. He’d been networking through people in the business who were at least six degrees away from West Coast and New York producers. Each award he won, each scrap of recognition, hoisted him another rung up the ladder, but until now, nothing had materialized.

The opportunity was still so new, he had only the sketchiest idea of what was in store for him next. He knew for certain Mickey Flick had a reputation for doing things in a big way. The guy had mentioned that this opportunity was a major production. Major. It was the biggest thing that had ever happened to Zach, for sure.

The current project was so top secret he would only learn the details when everything was in place. All he knew was he’d been offered a fortune to work on the production. He wondered why they’d picked him, given all the talent in the business. He wouldn’t quibble. The money was nice, it was more than he’d dreamed of making, but that wasn’t the part that excited him. What really excited him was the crazy array of possibilities that now lay before him.

Speculating on what the secret plan for the show might be, he dreamed of Malibu, maybe filming a surf competition. Or perhaps there would be a crew of castaways on Fiji, mountaineers in Colorado. Or a rock group in Amsterdam. Yeah, that’d be awesome. Mickey Flick was known to work closely with some of the biggest names in the music business. His last hit had involved a world-class heavy metal star’s collaboration with a classical pianist, culminating in a triumphant performance in Carnegie Hall.

Zach couldn’t wait to see what was in store for him. And at the end of it all, he’d finally have the seed money to start living his dream.

The people in the café carried on, oblivious. Just for a second, Zach felt a twinge of frustration. He wanted to call somebody, tell somebody, share this amazing news. And the person he most wanted to share it with was the last one who wanted to hear.


Part Three


















MUST-DO LIST (REVISED, AGAIN)




sublet apartment




return library books




repay student loans




realign priorities




really fall in love (no, seriously)






What we remember from childhood we remember forever—permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen.

—CYNTHIA OZICK, AMERICAN WRITER, B. 1928


Chapter Five

Sonnet awakened as the train from the city lurched into the station at Avalon. Just for a moment, she felt fuzzy and disoriented, her sleepy mind flipping through all her many homecomings. As a new, homesick college student, she’d arrived with a sense of relief, eager to be enfolded in the comfort of her mother’s arms. During her various internships overseas, she’d visited less often, but always with appreciation. Yet as time went on, the town where she’d been born and raised seemed smaller and smaller to her, with less and less to tie her to the pretty lakeside hamlet. While her world was expanding, Avalon remained the same.

She felt strange about this homecoming, for a lot of reasons. It made her seem like she was going backward into a world where she no longer fit or belonged.

Grabbing her bags from the luggage rack, she stepped down to the platform and looked around. Same little burg, with its picturesque square, the old brick buildings huddled shoulder-to-shoulder, their striped and scalloped awnings shadowing the shops and businesses she’d walked past every day as she was growing up.

She noticed a bit of commotion on another car as a group of people got off, lugging hard cases of equipment and rolls of cable on hand trucks. There were a couple of guys and women, dressed mostly in black, looking around as if they’d stepped off a spacecraft onto an alien planet. One of the guys wore a black baseball cap with the logo MFP, and the equipment boxes were marked Mickey Flick Productions.

Sonnet thought they might be a camera crew. Back when her mother served as the town mayor, she’d set up a volunteer film commission to attract business. A place like Avalon didn’t see much action, but every once in a while a crew came through to create footage of the quaint town, or of fall foliage or sometimes aerial views of the area. It was a place that seemed frozen in time, achingly pretty, useful for establishing a historic or generic small town setting. A few years back, there had been a public television documentary on the annual Christmas pageant that had created quite a stir.

The PBS camera crew hadn’t looked like this bunch, however. These people had that edgy East or West Coast look. They consulted smartphones and lit up cigarettes before moving en masse to a large panel van parked in the commuter lot.

Seeing a camera crew reminded her of Zach Alger. He was the last person she wanted to think about, but she couldn’t help herself. God, those kisses. Those hands. The things he’d whispered in her ear. Even now, she felt an unbidden spasm of desire at the mere thought of him. It was ridiculous, feeling turned on by a man she had no business thinking about.

Squaring her shoulders, she took out her new phone and sent a text to Max Bellamy, her stepbrother, who had offered to pick her up. In the parking lot, he texted back. Need help with bags? She indicated that she did not, and rolled her luggage toward Max’s slightly beat-up Subaru.

Max stood in his shirtsleeves, one hand in his jeans pocket, his hip cocked at a jaunty angle. He attended college in Hamilton, where he liked to say he majored in beer and girls. With his surfer-blond good looks, he took after his dad, Greg Bellamy, though his air of easy charm was something that belonged to Max alone. Sonnet liked him well enough, but she would never understand him. He came from a great family—he was a Bellamy, for heaven’s sake—yet he seemed to be in no hurry to find his life.

“Hey, you,” she said, giving him a hug. He’d topped six feet a few years ago, and he moved with easy grace as he loaded her bags in the back. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“Sure. Your mom’s going to go nuts when she sees you.”

“She’s already nuts. Seriously, Max. Pregnant?” It felt weird just saying it aloud. Her mother—her over-forty mother—was pregnant. When Nina had first told her, Sonnet had been speechless with disbelief. Then she’d accused Nina of telling a bad joke. “I’m still in shock. How about you?”

Max rolled out of the parking lot and headed toward the Inn at Willow Lake, which Nina and Greg owned and operated. “It’s cool with me. I mean, yeah, it’s weird because we’re so much older than little Junior or Juniorette is going to be, but…” He shrugged. “Red Bull?” He offered her a sip of his drink.

“Uh, no, thanks.” She tried not to ingest things that had ingredients she couldn’t pronounce. She looked out at the scenery—the covered bridge over the Schulyer River, the hills draped in sunlit green. As they neared the inn, she glimpsed the lake in the distance, shining like a jewel. “Hey, I saw a camera crew get off the train. Know anything about that?”

“Some kind of top-secret production is going to be starting. That’s the word, anyway,” Max said, flashing his thousand-watt grin. “Maybe they’ll make me a star.”

“You wish.”

He turned into the gravel-paved lane leading to the Inn at Willow Lake. As always, it was lush and gorgeous, perfectly planted and maintained, a testament to Greg Bellamy’s skill as a landscape architect. “There’s some producer named C. Bomb staying at the inn,” Max said. “He’s like the head of the outfit or something.”

“C. Bomb?”

“That’s what he calls himself. Clyde Bombardier or something like that. Spends all day glued to his laptop, gabbing on his Bluetooth.”

“So, not your typical guest.” The inn was known as a place for romantic getaways. “And he’s not telling people what he’s up to?”

Max shrugged. “His business. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“And my mom? My pregnant mom?” Sonnet was still trying to get her mind around the concept. When she’d told Orlando, he’d merely wondered why Sonnet had to go haring off to Avalon simply because her mom was expecting. Orlando didn’t get it. It wasn’t every day a grown woman discovered her mother was going to have a baby.

“Her business,” Max said reasonably enough. “I’m sure the two of you will be up half the night discussing it.”

* * *

Nina was sound asleep. Sonnet tiptoed into the house, which had once been a caretaker’s cottage on the estate that had become the Inn at Willow Lake. She found her mother on a daybed in the living room, covered in an afghan, softly snoring. Quietly setting down her things, she paused to study Nina. Did she look different, or was that just Sonnet’s imagination? She just looked like…Mom, with her pretty Italian features and thick black hair, which she’d grown long enough for a ponytail, her dark eyelashes shadowing cheeks that looked slightly gaunt. You’re pregnant, Sonnet thought. You’re supposed to be glowing.

“Mom,” she said softly.

Nina’s eyes fluttered open. Her mouth unfurled into a smile. “Hi, baby.” Her favorite pet name for Sonnet now took on new meaning. “Thanks for coming.”

Sonnet hurried over to the daybed and they hugged. Her mother smelled like Pond’s lotion, a warm scent that took Sonnet back to her girlhood. She shut her eyes, and in a swift sequence she remembered all the hugs they’d shared through the years. During her childhood, the two of them had been inseparable, making their way through life together. There were tough years, there were times Sonnet yearned for a father or for something that looked like a two-parent family, but ultimately, the two-alone dynamic brought them closer. They were more than just mother and daughter; they were best friends.

“It’s the middle of the day and you’re sleeping,” Sonnet said.

“The prerogative of pregnant ladies.”

It felt completely surreal to Sonnet. “So you weren’t kidding about being pregnant.”

Nina scooted up to a sitting position. “Not kidding. Not the sort of thing any woman kids about.”

There was a bottle of prenatal vitamins and a prescription bottle for something Sonnet didn’t recognize next to a glass of water on the end table. Reality started sinking in. Sonnet’s mother was pregnant. “Are you showing yet?”

Nina smoothed a hand down her midsection. “Not too much.”

Sonnet couldn’t help staring. “Not there, anyway. But wow, Mom. You’ve had a visit from the boob fairy. Your girls are looking good.”

Nina waved her hand and glanced away. “I’m not really focused on that.”

“Well then…congratulations. It’s really exciting, Mom. Just unexpected. You caught me off guard. The last thing I thought I’d hear from you is that you’re having a baby.”

Nina smiled. “You’ll get used to the idea. Greg and I are so happy.”

“That’s great.” Sonnet was surprised to feel the tiniest twinge of jealousy, followed by a cold wave of shame. Her mother and Greg were totally in love, they were having a baby together, and she was happy about it. Yet there was a small, selfish part of her that wished she’d had the childhood this baby was going to have—two doting parents, a storybook-pretty life in this cottage near the lake. It was a stark contrast to the drafty rentals she and Nina had lived in, with Nina working all the time, trying to make ends meet.

“How are you feeling?” Sonnet asked, shifting gears into good-daughter mode. “Besides tired, I mean.”

“I feel…I’ll be fine,” Nina said firmly. “Perfectly fine.”

“So is it a boy or girl?”

“We considered leaving that unanswered, but I just had to know. I’ve already had the amnio, and what we know so far is that the baby is healthy and growing on schedule. And it’s a boy.”

“A boy.” Sonnet felt a genuine smile unfurling on her lips. “I’m going to have a baby brother. That just seems so incredible.”

“Okay, I’m getting a little insulted by how incredible you think it is. For a teen mom, I didn’t do half bad, right? As an older mom, I’ll manage,” Nina said. “So, welcome home, my prodigal child,” she added. “How long can you stay?”

“Today, plus the weekend. I wish it could be longer, but there’s work.”

“And the fellowship. Oh my gosh, baby, I’m so thrilled that you got the fellowship. You’re amazing, do you know that?”

Sonnet hugged her mother again. “I’m feeling like a pretty big deal these days.”

“You should feel like a big deal every day. I’m ridiculously proud of you. This is a huge opportunity, isn’t it?”

“The biggest. I have a meeting next week to find out my assignment. Two years overseas…somewhere. I can’t wait to find out.”

A shadow flashed across Nina’s face. Maybe Sonnet imagined it. Then she guessed her mother’s thoughts. “Oh, God. I won’t be here when the baby comes. Mom—”

“Stop right there. You don’t need to be here for the birth. The baby won’t know the difference.”

“But you will. Mom, I could ask—”

“No,” Nina interrupted again. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime. You’ve been working toward this since the day you left home. No way are you going to pass it up.”

Sonnet felt her eyes misting up. “You’re the best, you know that?”




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