Return to Willow Lake (21 page)

“Thank you. And now, duty calls. I need to get ready for the
debate.”

Sonnet tamped down her frustration. It was hard being the
daughter of a public figure, even here in Avalon. Maybe especially here in
Avalon. She left the greenroom, followed by Orlando and Jezebel. “Come on,” she
said, “I’ll give you a nickel tour of the library.”

“That’s all we’re worth to you?” Maureen Haven, the town
librarian, was putting out a sign that read Closed for Special Event on the
circulation desk. “A lousy nickel?”

“You’re priceless,” said Sonnet. “Maureen, I’d like you to meet
Orlando Rivera and Jezebel.”

“Welcome to my domain.” Maureen beamed. Unlike Sonnet’s father
and Orlando, she was completely sincere as she greeted Jezebel. “I’m a fan,” she
added. “My husband’s in the music business, and he introduced me to your
music.”

“No shit?” Jezebel stood even taller. “Thanks.”

“Your music circulates like crazy here,” Maureen told her.
“Especially since you came to town.”

“I appreciate that,” Jezebel said.

“I hope you’ll come back during regular hours,” said Maureen.
“I have to go help out in the auditorium now.”

“Can I take them up to the children’s collection?” Sonnet
asked.

“Sure. I’ll see you later.”

“This place was my home away from home when I was growing up in
Avalon,” Sonnet said to Orlando and Jezebel, leading the way up the white marble
stairs that flanked the atrium. “I came here nearly every day after school or
sports practice to read and do homework until my mom finished work.” She stopped
at the top step. “My friends and I used to play wedding on these stairs. They’re
so curvy and dramatic. We’d parade up and down them, humming the wedding
march.”

Orlando chuckled. “Were you the bridesmaid, or the bride?”

“Do you even have to ask? The bride, of course, even if it
meant knocking Georgina Wilson down off her pedestal.”

“And you didn’t get shushed by the librarian?” Jezebel
asked.

“Yes, but in a nice way. It was…perfect for me here.” She
continued to the mezzanine level and they looked down at the marble atrium of
the building with the two-story foyer clock in the middle. The black-and-white
floor tiles resembled pictures she’d seen of the Alhambra in Spain, a graphic
kaleidoscope like something out of a dream. “I loved coming here. It always felt
so…safe. I was allowed to read any book I wanted. No one interrupted me, or if
they did, it was done gently and with respect. I always wished the rest of the
world would be run like a library.” She smiled up at him. “I still think
that.”

He didn’t see the smile; he was leaning over the iron railing,
perusing the gathering crowd of media.

Jezebel was paging through a book on Neapolitan art. “I agree
with Sonnet. Run the world like a library, and we got nothing to fight
about.”

Orlando ignored her, too. “Check it out—that’s Courtney
Procter,” he said, indicating a reporter in a melon-colored suit. Her blond hair
was as solid as a helmet and she carried herself with the poise of a prom queen.
“She’s in Delvecchio’s camp, although she’d never admit it. And she likes to go
for the cheap shot.”

“By cheap shot you mean…?”

“Personal stuff. She’ll find a way to bring up the breach of
security at NATO headquarters when your father was in charge, or his daughter
Layla’s suspension from boarding school.”

“There was a breach of security?” Sonnet was flabbergasted.
“And Layla was suspended from school?” She couldn’t believe her perfect
half-sister could have done something to get herself suspended.

“No, and no. That’s what makes it so insidious. Just by
mentioning these things, she plants a seed of doubt. That’s her M.O., anyway.”
He patted Sonnet’s hand. “I need to head down to the auditorium, make sure the
general’s final briefing is going okay.”

“Tell him to break a leg.”

“Jezebel, it was nice meeting you.” Orlando leaned down and
brushed a kiss on Sonnet’s forehead. “See you after the show.”

Chapter Fifteen

Sonnet watched Orlando go, carrying himself with smooth
confidence as he went to the crowded foyer of the library. His sense of purpose
when he was in work mode never failed to impress.

“So that’s Orlando,” she said to Jezebel.

“He’s like you said he’d be,” Jezebel said, “only even
prettier.”

“You noticed.” Sonnet smoothed the front of her jacket,
observing Orlando as he wove his way through the crowd. He was exactly the kind
of person to run a high-stakes political campaign. From the very start, her
father had told her Orlando would go far. Once the election was won, he’d stay
on, crafting fundraisers and perhaps a campaign for an even higher office.

“Pretty is as pretty does,” Jezebel said. “So you really think
he’s the one?”

Sonnet hesitated, wishing she didn’t feel so confused. Back in
the city, she’d liked being part of that world, the whirlwind that surrounded
her father. Yet the longer she stayed in Avalon, the farther away that world
seemed. “We’re great together,” she said finally.

“I ain’t convinced,” said Jezebel, watching him go into the
auditorium.

“Convinced of what?”

Jezebel showed Sonnet a photo on her phone. “You want to know
what being with the wrong man can do to you? That’s what it can do to you.”

Sonnet winced at the graphic shot. Jezebel was barely
recognizable in the mug shot, her cheeks and lips battered and split, one eye
swollen shut and bleeding from a cut on the brow. “That’s how I looked the night
of my arrest. The son of a bitch beat the crap out of me so I left him a little
message spray painted on his dog. Wrecked his prized possession, too—his BMW
Roadster.”

“God, I’m sorry, Jezebel. I’m so sorry you had to go through
that. But my situation with Orlando is nothing like this. We get along fine.
He’d never, ever lay a hand on me.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t. But there are a lot of ways loving the
wrong man can crush you.”

“Orlando and I…we’re…trying to make this work.”

“Girl, you tie yourself in knots over that dude. You’re trying
too hard. I’ve seen it. Look at you, with your fine education and fierce smarts.
You’re not cut out to be any man’s trained lapdog.”

* * *

Sonnet made her way down the stairs, checking the VIP
ticket Orlando had given her. Row Q. That was the closest he could get her to
her own father?

Her phone vibrated, signaling a text message. Her mom had just
arrived and was waiting under the big clock.

For a moment, Sonnet couldn’t pick her out of the crowd. Then
she spotted her and was struck by how lovely her mother was, standing there with
the golden light of early evening slanting through the oriel windows high above
the atrium. She wore a loose silk top that flowed gracefully over her baby bump,
skinny jeans and nice wedge sandals. With a pair of shades perched atop the
handmade wig, and the bag they’d picked out together at the boutique, she looked
stylish, hardly a cancer victim. But Sonnet could see the fatigue around her
eyes and the hollow spots in her cheeks. The illness lay over every moment, like
a cloud that wouldn’t go away.

“You’re by yourself,” she said, crossing the foyer to Nina.
“Greg didn’t come?”

“He can’t get too excited about seeing Laurence.” Nina gave a
wry smile.

“I understand.” Even though Nina and Laurence were ancient
history, Sonnet’s very existence was proof that the two of them had once been
young and foolish—and, happily for Sonnet, productive—together. “You look
fantastic, by the way.”

“Thanks. Not feeling so hot, though.”

Sonnet’s stomach clenched. “Can I get you something? Water,
or…?”

“I’ve got a bottle of water in my bag,” Nina said. “I need to
eat more but my appetite is completely shot.”

“Aw, Mom. Remember what the doc told you. You’re not just
eating for two. You’re eating to survive.”

“I know. I’ll try. Greg brought home a bacon and cheese quiche
from Sky River Bakery. If I can’t eat that, I’m doomed.”

“Don’t say doomed.”

Nina chuckled. “Done for, then. Dead meat.”

“Stop it.” Sonnet felt a cold rock of dread in her stomach. She
tried to ignore it as she nudged her mother. “Want to meet Angela Jeffries?”

“Laurence’s wife?” Nina raised her brushed-on eyebrows. “I
won’t pretend I’m not burning up with curiosity.”

“She just walked in. This way.” Sonnet tried to imagine how
this would feel to her mother, meeting a woman with whom she had nothing in
common, except that they’d both had Laurence Jeffries’s children.

Angela seemed to revel in her role. She was the ideal wife of a
candidate to the last inch of her shadow, in a St. John Knits suit and
low-heeled shoes, her hair and makeup flawless. As she approached Angela, Sonnet
wished she was wearing something more conservative than the vintage jacket and
boots.

“Sonnet, I was hoping I’d see you here. How are you?” Angela
gave a warm smile. She was well-mannered and had always treated Sonnet with a
peculiar aloof kindness. She took Sonnet’s hand. “And look at your hair. It’s
so…short.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“I love it,” Angela scolded her. “It’s a big change for you,
that’s all. And Sonnet, I’m so sorry to hear about your mother. If there’s
anything I can do—”

“Angela, this is my mom, Nina Bellamy.” Sonnet spoke up
quickly, before things got too awkward.

She shouldn’t have worried about awkwardness. Angela Jeffries
was the soul of tact, having long experience as a high-ranking officer’s wife.
Nina had been in local politics, and her natural warmth and charm served her
well.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking hands with
Angela. “I hope you’re enjoying Avalon and Willow Lake.”

“Beautiful town,” Angela assured her. “Unfortunately,
Laurence’s schedule doesn’t leave much leeway for tourism.”

“Maybe you’ll visit when you’ve got a bit more time.”

“I’d like that.” Angela paused, and took Nina’s hand again. “I
mean it. I really would like that.”

“I’m glad we’re finally getting to meet,” Nina said. “I wanted
to thank you for your hospitality to Sonnet when she was studying abroad.”

Angela sent Sonnet a gracious smile. “It was my pleasure. How
lucky that we were stationed at NATO headquarters when she was doing her
internship in Germany.”

Sonnet wondered if she really believed she was lucky to have
met her husband’s child by another woman. Angela had never been anything but
accepting, though she’d kept her barriers up. Sonnet hadn’t minded. Her focus
had been to find her way to her father, and the fact that Angela had opened her
home meant the world to her.

While Angela and Nina chatted, Sonnet saw a flash of coral in
her peripheral vision—Courtney Proctor. Across the room, she was having an
animated discussion with a crew member. Several cameras lenses pointed in her
direction. Sonnet felt a twist of nausea in her gut.

“Mom—”

“Mrs. Jeffries, it’s time to take a seat,” someone said,
ushering Angela away.

She offered Sonnet an apologetic look. “Let’s try to catch up
later,” she said.

“Of course.” Sonnet watched her go, knowing neither of them
would try very hard.

Taking her mother’s arm, she moved toward the auditorium,
hoping the interest from the reporter didn’t amount to anything. How could it,
she wondered, when the issues of the day were so pressing? Her father wanted to
work on jobs, education, the environment and crime; that was where the focus
needed to be.

“So that’s Angela,” Nina mused. “She seems like the ideal
candidate’s wife.”

“Somehow I sense that’s not a compliment.”

“I’m not trying to be mean. I just don’t get a sense of her as
a separate entity from Laurence.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Angela was a hard woman to
know, seeming comfortable in her role as an adjunct to her husband’s career.
Sometimes Sonnet wondered if Mrs. Jeffries ever wanted anything for herself,
something separate from Laurence and their two daughters. The idea of giving
herself completely to the career of a husband was a foreign concept to
Sonnet.

She found their seats in the auditorium, now swarming with
observers and press. “Feeling okay?” she asked her mom.

“I’m fine.”

Sonnet had taken to carrying granola bars wherever she went in
case her mom needed something. “Hungry?” she asked, offering a lemon coconut bar
to Nina.

“Not right now, thanks.”

Sonnet heard this far too much from her mother. She bit her
lip, knowing it was not the time to argue.

The president of the local chapter of the League of Women
Voters came up to the center podium to introduce the candidates. Sonnet could
not deny a surge of pride as Laurence Jeffries came out, looking larger than
life and supremely confident as he took his place at another podium. The
moderator read a brief bio that touched on the high points of his career—West
Point graduate, theater commander in the first Gulf War, head of security at
NATO, Undersecretary General for UN Peacekeeping Operations, advisor to the
governor’s economic development council. His opponent, Johnny Delvecchio, came
from the world of commerce, having made a fortune in meatpacking and having
served in city and then state governments for the past decade. Both men were
very different, yet equally determined to capture the Senate seat in the
fall.

It felt so strange to Sonnet, having her father in town. Her
two worlds had always been entirely separate—Avalon was the home of her heart,
small and protected, insulated by its remote location on Willow Lake. The
campaign felt weirdly invasive now, as though a boundary had been breached.

The opening statements were fairly bland declarations from both
men. Sonnet gave the edge to her father, who had a better stage presence and
voice. Delvecchio was a bit of a drone. Nina leaned over to Sonnet. “My eyes are
glazing over,” she confessed.

“Pretty boring stuff,” Sonnet agreed.

They sat through discourses on improving the economy and
creating jobs, the candidates’ past performance in their respective fields. Then
toward the end of the hour, came the question Sonnet had been dreading, the one
she’d been praying would not surface.

“General Jeffries,” said Courtney Proctor in her well-modulated
voice, “given your stated commitment to conduct in the military, how do you
reconcile your personal indiscretions with your current views? I’m referring
specifically to the fact that while you were at West Point, you fathered an
illegitimate child with a local girl right here in the town of Avalon.”

Sonnet forgot to breathe. Her mother grabbed her hand and held
on tight. “Here we go,” she murmured. Sonnet looked around wildly for Orlando
but couldn’t see him.

General Jeffries seemed to grow taller at the podium. “It’s
disappointing that a private matter that was resolved decades ago would enter
into a serious discussion of today’s issues. I would respectfully request that
we return the debate to the matters at hand.”

Ms. Proctor seemed unfazed. “It’s not private if the issue
speaks to a candidate’s conduct in—”

A squeal of electronic feedback shrieked through the
auditorium. Then the sound system failed, leaving the reporter mouthing words no
one could hear. There was a scramble of activity around the sound console at the
back of the auditorium. Meanwhile, the audience moved restlessly and people
started to leave.

“This might be a good time to make our exit,” Sonnet murmured,
and led the way out. As they passed the sound console, she noticed a pale
flash—Zach, dealing with equipment. What was he doing here? The feedback
squealed again as she and her mom moved past. They made their way to the
foyer.

“Are you all right?” she asked her mom.

“Fine. What about you?”

“It’s just so…awkward. I’m sorry, Mom. This shouldn’t have come
up.”

Zach appeared, burdened with some video gear. “Guess they’re
wrapping up,” he said easily. “Party’s over.”

“What just happened?” Sonnet asked him.

He shrugged, all innocence. “Technical difficulties. It
happens. What’re you gonna do?”

“Zach, did you—”

“Ms. Bellamy, do you have any comment on the general’s sex
scandal?” asked Courtney Proctor, pushing forward with a microphone angled
toward Nina.

“I beg your pardon?” said Nina.

“And Ms. Romano,” the reporter continued, “as the illegitimate
child of General Jeffries, do you have any comment?”

“No, she doesn’t,” Zach said with calm intensity. “So back off.
Go find some relevant news to report.”

“It’s certainly relevant that General Jeffries has a troubled
past. And isn’t it true, Ms. Romano, that you were forced to leave your post at
UNESCO due to—”

“Lady, what part of ‘back off’ do you not understand?” Zach
took Nina gently by the elbow and steered her toward the exit. Sonnet followed,
her face burning, and she clenched her teeth to keep from saying something she’d
regret.

Nina’s cheeks looked hollowed and pale, and her hands shook
visibly. Sonnet was incredibly grateful for Zach. She hadn’t seen him arrive,
but as so often was the case, he showed up right when she needed him. He handled
the situation with calm aplomb, accompanying them to the parking lot.

Maybe, thought Sonnet, just maybe, they were getting back to
the friendship that had faltered because they’d slept together. The idea should
have brought a sense of relief, but instead, she caught herself thinking of that
night, and wondering if friendship would ever be enough.