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That was what a mom did—she went to parties with you, or
dressed you to go on your own. Every once in a while, a mom got a divorce and
moved away, like Zach’s had. But she wasn’t supposed to die.

Zach still hadn’t said anything. He kept bouncing the ball.

“It’s just wrong.” She barely remembered Zach’s mother. Pale
blonde like Zach, quiet, hard to know. Zach had adored her, and he’d been
shattered when she moved away. And now…

“What can I do, Zach?” she asked in desperation.

He hadn’t answered. The shattering showed in his eyes, like a
million pieces of ice breaking on a blue blue pond.

“I wish I was magic,” she said. “I wish I could make this not
be happening.”

But no one had been able to stop it. That was the thing about a
disease once it took hold. Sometimes there was no stopping it.

Memories of that day haunted Sonnet now, morphing into a new
nightmare, one in which her mother was the victim. “Zach, what am I going to
do?”

“Nothing but the docs and meds can make it go away, or make it
stop hurting, or make you stop waking up at night scared out of your mind,” he
said, his words as blunt and harsh as a sudden hailstorm. “You can’t
do
anything. You can just be there for her.”

“I’m not sure I know how to do that. How will I just…be?”

“You’ll figure it out,” he said. “You always do.”

“I’ve never had to figure out what to do when my pregnant mom
has cancer,” she said. Her own words killed her. “God,” she whispered. “Oh, my
God. If I lose her…Zach, I just don’t know if I can handle being that sad. I
don’t know if I can survive it.” She caught her breath, then burst into
tears.

“Hey.” Zach set aside the oars and stepped over the bench seat.
His long arms enveloped her, and she melted, swept up in a wave of hurt and
fear. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry as hell.” He murmured other things but she
didn’t hear him. She just knew that for this moment, his chest felt like a wall
of strength, and he smelled amazing, like the lake-freshened air, and his voice,
speaking words that held no comfort, sounded as sad as a tragic song on the
radio.

* * *

“Zach told you?” Nina dropped the wooden spoon she’d
been using to stir the red gravy. It wasn’t actually gravy, but a delicious,
rich tomato sauce that had been made by the Romanos since the beginning of time.
The deep aroma of slow-simmered tomatoes and herbs took Sonnet back to the days
of her childhood, when they went to Nonna’s for Sunday dinner, to a house filled
with aunts and uncles and cousins, noisy and chaotic with laughter and chatter.
She hadn’t thought of those days in years. She’d been so eager to leave Avalon,
to find her life in the world beyond this little town.

Now she stood in the kitchen with her mother, and wished she
had cherished those times more. She wished she’d listened to her grandfather’s
stories more attentively, or watched more closely when Nonna and Zia Antonia
made the red gravy. She wished she’d tucked the memories away in a special part
of her heart, rather than letting them flow past, unheeded.

“Yes,” she said, her throat tightening with fear and grief. “He
told me you have cancer.”

Nina gripped the edge of the counter. “He shouldn’t have said
anything. It’s not his story to tell.”

Sonnet had been dreading a chance meeting with Zach, but her
feelings about their oh-so-sweet mistake at Daisy’s wedding melted away in the
face of the horrible news. She was grateful to him now. “I’m sure he would agree
with you,” she said to Nina. “Why would you burden him with this?”

“I didn’t think it was a burden—”

“It should be
my
burden,” Sonnet
said. “He didn’t want to be the one to tell me, but he knew it was the right
thing to do. My God, Mom. How could you keep something like this from me?”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“Worry about you?
Worry about you?
You’re making me crazy. Did you think you were going to hide a cancer
diagnosis?”

“It’s not a question of hiding anything. I’m just…controlling
the flow of information.”

“What gives you the right to do that?” Sonnet felt like a
teenager again, yelling at her mom. “You’re my mother, and when something like
this is going on, I get to be informed.”

“All right, fine. You want the gory details? I’m a walking
encyclopedia now. I found a lump. So when I went to my twelve-week prenatal
visit, I had the doctor check it out.” Nina paused. “Ah, her face, Sonnet. I
think I knew the second she palpated it. I had an ultrasound and my lump had a
name—a three-centimeter lobulated mass. So I had to have a core biopsy, which I
would
not
wish on my worst enemy. You’re clamped
into a mammogram machine, lying down in an awkward position on a bench. You get
a local anesthetic with a hideous needle. That was the worst part of it. After
the numbing, they stick you with an even more hideous biopsy needle. I’ll never
forget the sound it made—a loud click.”

Sonnet cringed. “Mom, that’s awful. Why the hell didn’t you
call me?”

“It all happened really fast. Greg was my rock. He still
is.”

“I know, but I’m your
daughter.
Okay, so the biopsy…”

“Then there was a sentinel node biopsy, CT scans, MRI. Consider
yourself informed. And stop worrying. I’m going to get through this.”

“Not without me, you aren’t.”

Nina bent and picked up the dropped spoon, rinsing it at the
sink. “Sonnet, you have amazing things happening in your life. I don’t want you
to miss a moment of it.”

“How about this?” Anger surged through her, cutting cleanly
through her terror. “How about you let me be your daughter and tell me what’s
going on with you?”

“Because I know you. I know you’re going to freak out—”

“You think?” She felt the acid burn of tears in her eyes. “You
really think I’d freak out about my mom having cancer? Gosh, whatever gave you
that idea?”

“I don’t want you to put your life on hold and try to
good-daughter me to death.”

“In case you’re wondering, the decision is already made.”
Sonnet felt a horrible tearing sensation in her gut, knowing her plans for the
future were about to crumble. The fellowship was a once-in-a-lifetime
opportunity. No one was given a second chance. It simply didn’t work that way.
“There’s not going to be any fellowship, no moving overseas. I’m staying with
you until you get through this. I’m not leaving your side, Mom.”

“And I love you for that, but it’s not what I need from you. I
need you to go for your dreams, not stand around wringing your hands with worry
about me.”

“Do you think for one second my dreams matter more than your
life, Mom?”

“Ah, baby.” Nina wiped her hands on a tea towel. “No, I don’t
think that. But I also don’t think it’s going to help either of us for you to
change your plans because of this.”

“It’s my life. My decision.”

“You gave everything you have to getting this fellowship,” Nina
pointed out. “I’m not letting you give it up for me.”

“Fine. Then I’ll give it up for
me
.
I’m not going to do the world one bit of good if I’m sitting in some foreign
country worried sick about my mom.”

“You won’t be worried. I have a fantastic team of doctors, and
there’s a treatment plan.…”

Sonnet swallowed. Treatment plan. “Will the chemo…” Sonnet
couldn’t figure out how to say it. “Will it affect the baby?”
Are you going to lose the baby?

“
No
.” Nina’s reaction was swift and
vehement. “That’s the first question I asked. This baby is mine and Greg’s. It’s
your sibling. I can’t think of anything but protecting and loving him. The
cancer can be treated without harming the baby. There’s a type of chemo that
will be filtered by the placental wall. I just can’t have radiation until after
he is born.”

“But would radiation be more effective against the cancer?”

“It’s not an option,” Nina said firmly.

For a split second, Sonnet resented the baby, the little
stranger that was keeping her mother from getting the most aggressive treatment
available. Easy, she told herself. Calm down. Parents risked their lives for
their kids all the time; it was part of being a parent. “So what’s the
plan?”

Nina’s gaze shifted to the floor, then out the window over the
sink, which framed a sparkling view of Willow Lake. “I’m starting chemo before
the surgery.”

“The surgery.” Sonnet swallowed hard. “You mean…”

“A mastectomy, yes. I couldn’t say it out loud at first,
either, but I’m getting used to it. Then…we’ll see.”

Nina picked up a tea towel and scrubbed at an invisible spot on
the counter. “Well, I could have a lumpectomy—to start. But the doctors say a
mastectomy is probably the best option.”

“Oh, Mom.” A mastectomy. To fundamentally change her
body—forever. The very idea shook Sonnet to her core, leaving her nauseous with
disbelief. She took the towel from Nina’s hand and hugged her. “I’m so sorry.
Tell me what I can do.”

“You can carry on with your life and let me and Greg and the
docs handle this so I can get better.”

“I already told you, my life is on hold until you get through
this.”

“What’s your father going to say?” Nina demanded. “He knows
what it took to get you where you are. What will he think when you throw it
away?”

“He’ll understand.”

“Will he?” Nina drilled her with a stare. “Will he?”

Sonnet’s stomach twisted into knots. No, she thought. No. Her
dad believed in duty over personal concerns, all the time. He’d built his life
around serving his country and the world at large, and sometimes the family had
to take a backseat to that. She cringed inwardly, imagining his reaction when
she told him she was going to forfeit her fellowship because her mom was
sick.

“I can’t worry about what Dad will think or say,” Sonnet stated
firmly. “I’m staying with you, Mom. I’ll think about everything else after
you’re better.”

“Ah, sweetheart. You’re already good-daughtering me. Do me a
favor and don’t make up your mind right away.”

“Too late. Mom—”

“No, listen. A cancer diagnosis doesn’t mean the same thing
these days as it once did.”

Sonnet wanted to believe it. But she kept thinking about Zia
Antonia, the favorite aunt in Albany. One thought kept drumming through her
head, and had been ever since Zach broke the news to her:
My mom has cancer. My mom has cancer
. She walked over to the sink
where Nina was standing. “So then,” she said in a soft, broken voice she
scarcely recognized, “what
does
it mean?”

Nina took a deep breath. Sonnet studied her, not wanting to
believe her cheekbones stood out more, or that her eyes were circled by fatigue,
or that, when she turned to lower the flame under the pot on the stove, she
winced a little.

“That needs to simmer for an hour or so,” Nina said. “Come on
out to the sunroom. I’ve got a little project started there.”

“But Mom, we’ve barely begun to discuss what’s going on. I have
a lot of questions—”

“And you can ask them. Of course you can. But when I was
diagnosed, I made a promise to myself. I don’t have to be a cancer patient every
minute of every day. I get to be me, and to forget about it and just be normal
some of the time. Got it?”

Sonnet nodded, trying to keep it together. “Sure. Let’s have a
look at your project.”

True to its name, the sunroom was flooded with daylight. It was
one of those bonus rooms in the house that had been turned into a staging place
for boxes, parcels and odds and ends of furniture that didn’t have any other
place to go.

“Let me guess,” said Sonnet. “The nursery.”

“That’s what Greg and I are thinking. Between the Bellamys and
the Romanos, we’ve got more than enough stuff for the little guy, so the trick
is to sort everything out and arrange it. But there’s a problem. I don’t know
where to start.” She made a helpless gesture with her arms.

The stacks of boxes were intimidating, some labeled, most not.
Mismatched items of furniture were shoved up against the walls—a chest of
drawers, pieces of a crib, nightstands and lamps. The air smelled of sunshine
and dust and disuse.

“A wise woman once told me to do the next indicated thing,”
Sonnet reminded her. “Oh, that’s right. That would be my mother.”

“Gosh, I was annoying, wasn’t I?”

“Only because you were usually right.”

“Don’t be nice to me just because I have cancer.”

Sonnet hated hearing those words. She hated them with a
vengeance. But it only made her more determined to stay positive. “How about I’m
nice to you because you’re my mom and you’re awesome?” She opened the first
dusty box, which was marked “baby things” in her mother’s handwriting. Brittle
leaves of tissue paper covered the contents. She pulled the tissue aside to find
a collection of folded clothes and blankets. There was a tiny smocked shirt with
whales swimming across the chest, a pair of hand-knit booties, woven blankets
and little toys and teething rings.

“Those were yours,” her mother said, her eyes misting up. “Wow.
I haven’t seen these things in ages.” She held up a yellow romper with an owl on
it. “Look how tiny you were.”

“And now you’re doing it all over again,” Sonnet said. “That’s
exciting, Mom. It’s very cool.”

“It’s such a blessing, Sonnet. Such a gift, I can’t even
describe it. I
am
excited.”

Sonnet tried to imagine what that must be like, expecting a
baby and dealing with cancer at the same time. The only thing she felt was sick
to her stomach. “So what do you want to do with this stuff?” she asked. “Store
it away, or keep it for the new baby?”

“Well, if it’s a boy, some of this won’t work, but I’d love to
pass on some of your favorite things. Unless you’d prefer I save them for
your
babies?”