Return to Willow Lake (15 page)

When they went to bed that night, she told him as much.
Bringing a boyfriend home for the first time had never been a problem with her
mom. She was always pleasant and nonjudgmental. Sonnet’s dad was a different
story. Perhaps that was why she never brought anyone to meet him. Except
Orlando.

“What do you mean, nothing’s simple with me?” he asked,
carefully folding his suit jacket over the back of a chair.

She regarded him thoughtfully. “I just wonder why you came
here. I would love it if you came because you missed me, and because you want to
help my mom.”

“I do miss you, and I do want to help your mom. Jesus, how much
more simple can I be?”

“I can’t help but wonder if you’re also here because you’re
worried it’s going to affect my dad’s campaign if the opposition decides to
focus on me and my mom.”

“Look, I’m his campaign manager. It’s my job to worry about
everything.”

It wasn’t the answer she was looking for. She wasn’t sure
exactly what answer she was looking for.

“I doubt we’ll have a problem protecting your mother’s privacy.
Delvecchio’s not about to harass a pregnant woman with cancer.”

“You sound a little too satisfied about that,” she said.

“Whoa.” He held up a hand. “Come on, Sonnet. What do you take
me for?” He looked genuinely offended.

“Okay, sorry. I’m totally stressed out about my mom.”

He fired up his laptop. “Wireless code?”

She gave it to him, then while he was absorbed in his digital
world, used the opportunity to read yet another book about cancer from the
collection she’d picked up at the local bookstore and library. Ever since
finding out about her mother’s diagnosis, Sonnet had thrown herself into a crash
course on the topic of helping someone through cancer treatment, reading
everything she could get her hands on. She’d spent nearly every spare moment
studying up on diet and exercise, breathing techniques, side effects like
nausea, mouth sores, digestive ailments, aches and pains, the ever-iconic hair
loss…. Knowledge would empower her to be a better helper to her mom, she told
herself, trying not to recoil as she read deeper and deeper into the topic.

She nudged Orlando. “It says here that pot will help my mom
deal with nausea and increase her appetite. Do you know where to get some
pot?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not.”

“She can talk to her doctors about that,” he said. “Or maybe
the pizza delivery kid?”

“Very funny.” She went back to her reading, wondering if these
books were frightening her or empowering her. She barely noticed when Orlando
set aside his work and drifted off to sleep. With a laser-like focus, she read
late into the night, cramming for cancer treatment the way she used to cram for
exams when she was in school. She’d always been good at school. Good at work.
Good at being a trophy daughter. Sometimes, though, she wasn’t sure she was good
at
life
.

* * *

Sonnet awoke to an empty bed, and a note atop her
pillow. “Took the early train back to the city, didn’t want to wake you. Good
luck with your mom today,” Orlando had written in his tight, precise
lettering.

She let out a sigh and turned to look out the window, pillowing
her head on her arm. The sun was up, just barely, its slanting light turning the
surface of the water to a field of fire. She wished Orlando had woken her,
wished he’d taken her in his arms and said something comforting. But that wasn’t
Orlando, it just wasn’t. He focused on problem solving and getting things done,
and he knew as well as she did that a bunch of platitudes were not going to make
her mother better. Strong medicine and good care were needed. His offer to
connect her with his aunt in the city was his way of saying he cared, he wanted
to help.

She sighed again and stretched, then glanced at the clock on
the bedside table. It was her mom’s first chemo day. The magnitude of the idea
hit her, and she shuddered, pulling her arms around her midsection as she walked
to the window. The wind kicked, skidding across the lake and shivering through
the slender branches of the trees along the shore. Sonnet stared at the scenery
out the window and at the same time pictured her mother in this setting, growing
stronger and healing thanks to the sheer beauty of the world. From deep inside
her, from a place she didn’t access often enough and almost forgot was there,
she summoned a prayer filled with every good wish and every bit of healing
energy she could imagine. She pictured the prayer like a seed carried by the
wind, sending it out on a breeze, certain that somehow it would find her
mother.

Mom’s going to be all right, she told herself. According to her
reading, one in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer—and the other
seven will know her.

She noticed two people walking down by the lake—guests of the
inn? Then she frowned, leaning forward to get a better look. There was no
mistaking Zach Alger’s pale hair. What in the world was he doing here? And he
was walking with her mom. The two of them seemed to be deep in conversation.

Sonnet hastily dressed and hurried downstairs. She spotted Zach
in the parking area of the Inn. “Hey,” she said, pushing a hand through her
unruly hair and wishing she’d had more time to put herself together.

“Hey,” he said, stowing something in the back of his work
van.

“What are you doing here?”

“Stopped by to see your mom.”

“To see my mom.” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “I didn’t
realize the two of you were so close.”

“I wanted to wish her luck today,” he said, shutting the van
door. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” she said, nonplussed. “No, I’m just surprised.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said. “Surprising. So what’s your
boyfriend think of Avalon?”

Ah, she thought. He’d come to check out her boyfriend. For a
split second, she felt a flash of gratification. “He seemed to like it,” she
said. “Why? Did my mother say something?”

He leaned back against the van, propping his foot on it. “Just
that your boyfriend showed up.”

“And? Did she say she liked him?”

“Hell, Sonnet, why don’t you ask her?”

“Because she’ll tell me she likes him, but I won’t know if she
really does, or if she’s just saying that.”

He let out a brief laugh. “You two. You speak in tongues. Just
say what you mean. And by the way, am I going to meet the dude?”

She gasped. “Why would I introduce you to my boyfriend?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because it would be weird, Zach. For lots of reasons.”

“No,” he corrected her. “For one reason, and one reason only.
Tell me, was he your boyfriend when we slept together?”

“Absolutely not,” she said swiftly. “I can’t believe you’d even
ask me that. And anyway, you can’t meet him, because he left already. He had to
get back to the city for work.”

“Quick trip,” he said.

“At least he came.” She took a deep breath, tasting the cool
morning air. Without warning, tears sprang to her eyes. She ducked her head,
hoping Zach hadn’t seen.

“Hey,” he said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

What’s wrong?
Two simple words. No
one ever asked her that, because she was usually so vigilant, determined to
prove to the world that nothing was wrong, ever. This morning, she felt scared
and vulnerable and a little bit lost. And Zach—damn him—could read her like a
magazine in a doctor’s waiting room.

“Orlando’s bugged that I’m staying here,” she blurted out,
needing to confess. “He’s worried I won’t have a career left when this is all
over.”

“Wait a second—Orlando? Your boyfriend’s name is Orlando? Your
mom didn’t tell me that.” Amusement tinged his voice.

“Don’t start with me, Zach.”

“Okay, but I get to make fun of his name later.”

“Listen, you’re not going to tease me out of worrying about my
mom.”

“Funny, what I heard was you worrying about Orlando. And your
career.”

“Because he might be right,” she shot back. “I might not be
doing what’s best for my mom by being here. What if she gets sucked into all the
mud-slinging of the campaign? Sometimes I feel like I’m not helping my mother at
all, just getting in the way.”

“Don’t think for one minute you’re not helping. Your being
here, that’s everything.”

She gaped at him, because the moment the words left his mouth,
she felt calmer. Where had those simple bits of wisdom come from? How had he
known she needed them? Because they were friends. They’d always been friends.
She’d been a fool for putting that friendship at risk, the night of the wedding.
“Thanks, Zach. I know things have been weird between us lately, but really,
thanks for saying that.”

“No problem. And just so you know, I’m not feeling weird about
us at all.”

I am. She didn’t say so, though, because that was her issue,
clearly. “Listen, I’d better go get ready for the hospital with my mom. After
she’s settled, I’ll be on set.”

“Don’t worry about the production.”

“It’s my job—my brand-new job—to worry about the
production.”

“Fine, worry about it, then. But remember the real reason
you’re here.”

This was the Zach she missed. This was the Zach she regretted
losing thanks to their night of madness. Maybe, just maybe they could go back to
being just friends. She needed that now, needed it more than anything.

“I will. And, um, thanks for the reminder.”

* * *

“I honestly don’t need you to come,” Nina said, dunking
a tea bag in her mug while standing at the kitchen counter. “It’s really sweet
of you, but Greg and I will manage just fine.”

Sonnet glanced at Greg. “Your shirt’s on backward.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” He set aside his cereal bowl and ducked out of
the kitchen, pulling the jersey shirt over his head.

Sonnet gave her mom an “I rest my case” look.

Nina smiled, but then the smile turned tremulous, and she
pivoted away to look out the window. “I hate what’s happening,” she said. “I
hate what it’s doing to the people I love.”

Sonnet took her hand and gave it a squeeze. It felt strange—and
strangely right—to offer comfort to the one person who had comforted her all her
life, giving her pep talks, soothing her wounds, telling her the world could be
a rough place but it was no match for a determined woman. “I suppose it’s okay
to hate it,” Sonnet said. “That’ll keep us motivated to get through this,
right?”

Her mom nodded. “Good thinking. How did you turn out so
smart?”

She had asked that question many times over the years, and
Sonnet’s answer was always the same. “I take after my mother.”

This morning, the reminder didn’t have the usual effect.
Instead, Nina tensed up and set aside the herbal tea she was supposed to be
drinking. Sonnet knew she was thinking about the hereditary factor in cancer.
“Knock it off, Mom, okay?” she said. “Deep breath. And drink some more of your
tea. It’s got chamomile and burdock. Supposed to be good for the nerves.”

“I’m breathing,” Nina protested. “And if I drink any more, I’ll
float away.”

Sonnet finally asked the question that had been bothering her
all morning. “I saw you with Zach earlier.”

“He…um, he came by to wish me luck today.”

“What else aren’t you telling me, Mom?”

“Nothing.” For perhaps the tenth time that morning, she checked
the contents of the bag she was taking to the hospital. “I wonder if I’m
bringing enough books to read.”

“When have you ever read four books in one day?” Sonnet asked,
dropping the subject of Zach—for now.

“I’m bringing backup books in case I don’t like the
others.”

Sonnet detected a flash of panic in her mom’s eyes. “Let’s
practice our breathing.”

“I know how to breathe.”

“Mom.”

Nina heaved a sigh. “You’re like a dog with a bone,” she
said.

“Woof, woof.” She led the way to the living room, and she
handed her mother a book. “Here you go.”

“
The Secret Art of Dr. Seuss
?
What’s this for?”

“Not for reading. Just humor me. We have to lie down on the
floor.”

“But—”

“Humor me,” she repeated, and the two of them lay side by side.
“Put the book on your stomach like this.” She grabbed another book from the
coffee table and demonstrated. “Now, breathe in, and let your stomach lift the
book as high as it’ll go, for a count of five.”

“That’s harder than it looks.”

“Therefore we practice.”

Nina gave it a try, and Sonnet breathed along with her. After
five seconds, they emptied their lungs for another count of five. Sonnet didn’t
let up until they’d repeated the exercise several times.

Greg came into the room, his shirt on properly this time.
“You’re on the floor with books on your bellies,” he said.

Nina took one look at his face, and started to laugh. “My
daughter’s giving me breathing exercises,” she explained, moving the book and
climbing to her feet.

“She’s always seemed pretty good at breathing to me,” he said
to Sonnet.

“Did you know,” Sonnet asked, “that most people fail to breathe
properly? Babies are all really good breathers. They fill their lungs all the
way down to their bellies. But most of us forget how to do it right. We become
upper-chest breathers and we fail to use our lungs to full capacity.”

“Good to know,” Greg said. “When the baby comes, we’ll look for
that.”

When the baby comes
. Sonnet was
grateful to Greg for focusing on the ultimate goal, but at the moment, she
couldn’t think beyond the fact that her mom was about to be pumped full of
toxins. She busied herself getting everything into the car—an extra pillow and
blanket. A lavender sachet—the scent was supposed to be soothing. A cooler
filled with drinks, snacks and gel packs for her fingers, which were likely to
be damaged by the drugs. She’d put some music on an iPod—music she thought her
mom would like, not the weird supposedly soothing new-age stuff that would only
annoy Nina, but the kind of music she always loved listening to.