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A boy named Russell grabbed a chunk of rhubarb and popped it in
his mouth, giving them the first money shot for the day. “Yuck,” he said,
spitting into a wastebasket. “That tastes terrible.”

“Rule Number One of rhubarb is that it should never be eaten
raw,” Mrs. Bellamy said. “It’s terribly bitter and sour, isn’t it, Russell?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Zach glanced over at Sonnet, who was conferencing with the
production coordinator. As always, she looked supremely self-possessed, in jeans
and sandals and a fluttery top, her short hair tucked behind her ears to reveal
oversized hoop earrings. Just the sight of her got his motor running. Since the
bowling alley the night before, they hadn’t talked much. There simply wasn’t
much to say. He wasn’t sure about her status with the boyfriend who was never
around, and Zach had vowed to wait until she was ready to talk. Bo and Eddie had
advised him to take his time or—more importantly, give
her
time. It had taken all his self-restraint to keep his distance,
but he hadn’t wanted to blow it. She was too important to him.

It was hard to keep his mouth shut about the boyfriend, though.
She never talked about him anymore, which gave Zach hope that maybe she’d come
to her senses. Yet when it came to stuff like this, she’d never shown a lot of
sense. She had no idea how much better off she’d be without that Rivera guy and
Zach was hardly the one to tell her. He totally got why she stuck around Rivera,
though. The dude was her father’s right-hand man, and she’d always placed her
father on a pedestal. There was this loyalty thing that happened with fathers;
Zach knew just what that felt like. You had to be loyal to the guy, whether he
was an SOB or not.

Zach got skeezed out, imagining what Sonnet’s dad thought of
him
. He was the son of a felon, still struggling
to make a living despite the awards and accolades he’d won. Not exactly the kind
of boyfriend you want for your daughter if you were running for Senate. Or even
if you weren’t, he thought, clenching his jaw.

He was still helping Nina with her video diary. Unlike Sonnet’s
father, Nina didn’t judge; she never had. Sometimes he was even tempted to level
with her about his feelings for Sonnet. He probably would one day, but not now.
Nina had enough going on in her life. He wished he didn’t understand so well why
she was recording her thoughts and observations on video. He did, though,
because the memories of his own mother’s struggle were still vivid, no matter
how much time had passed. A person facing this kind of crisis wanted to make
sure she didn’t leave things unsaid.

Zach’s mother had left him some letters, and in those letters,
she’d told him the things she feared she wouldn’t be around to say—things like,
whatever you choose to do in your life, choose it because you love it, not
because you think it’s something you should be doing. It was no coincidence that
he’d been doing just that—or at least, trying to. He struggled to balance his
love for the art with his need to make a living. Once this production was done,
then he’d really be on his way. That was the plan, anyhow.

Probably the letter from his mom that haunted him the most was
something she’d sent him toward the end. She’d written about how much it had
torn her up to leave him, but how much worse the damage would be if she’d
stayed. As a kid, he hadn’t understood that at all, but now that he was older,
he was starting to get it. His mother’s final words in that letter had stayed
with him through the years, and lately he’d been thinking about them a lot: “My
wish for you is that you find the kind of love that grows and expands and is
solid enough to last a lifetime.”

Mrs. Bellamy demonstrated the proper way to roll out pie dough,
with a chilled marble rolling pin. The kids were delighted when they each got
one of their own. “You folks been married more than fifty years,” Jezebel said
as they worked with dough. “What’s your secret?”

“Keep an open mind and a closed mouth.” Mrs. Bellamy grinned
and the camera’s captured Jezebel’s reaction. “That’s oversimplifying things, of
course. A marriage is a long journey, and there are bound to be detours, peaks
and valleys along the way. People change, circumstances change, the world around
us changes. It’s no wonder some marriages don’t survive. It’s a lot of work
sometimes, and it involves some luck, too. Finding the kind of love that lasts
forever is like finding a stranger in a crowded subway. You never know what he’s
going to look like. He might be the man who helps you onto the train with your
suitcase. Or he might be the one you’ve seen on your commute every day for ten
years.”

There was something riveting in her delivery. The others,
Jezebel and the kids, sensed it, too. They fell quiet and stopped what they were
doing while she spoke. Zach couldn’t put his finger on it, and he only hoped the
taping captured it.

“And now,” said the old lady, not missing a beat, “for the
secret ingredient. What do you suppose this is?” She held up a small bowl.

“Sugar?”

“No, although you do need plenty of sugar in the filling. It’s
tapioca. You sprinkle it over the rhubarb to make it turn thick as it bakes. How
about you do the honors, Rhonda?”

The rest of the morning was spent finishing up the tarts, then
filming the kids eating their wares, which they did with plenty of enthusiasm.
The director declared it a wrap, and Zach planned to spend the afternoon
editing.

He watched Charles and Jane Bellamy take their leave. The old
man gently rested his hand at his wife’s waist, and she looked up at him with a
soft smile as she spoke. They had the kind of love his mother had written of in
her final letter to him, the kind Zach went looking for each time he dated a
girl, the kind that seemed so impossible when a relationship didn’t work out.
Until recently, that steady, enduring love had seemed out of reach, something he
could never have, but sometimes these days, he could picture it.

Sometimes when he thought about Sonnet Romano, he could picture
it.

Chapter Nineteen

Sonnet immersed herself in work, and in helping her
mother. Her days melded together, a sequence of production, her mom’s
appointments and avoiding her growing feelings for Zach. Somehow she made it
work, getting through each day as she adjusted to the slow, steady rhythm of
life in Avalon. She came to believe that there was something special about the
small town where she’d grown up, the place she’d always viewed as limiting. Now
that she was back, she was starting to appreciate the fact that a small
community offered things she had never found in the city.

People came to see Nina. Claire Bellamy, a nurse at the
hospital, brought a neck roll pillow, special Popsicles and tea, and some
heavy-duty hand cream. Kim and Bo had to go back to the city, but they sent a
massage therapist to the house to treat Nina to some pampering. Eddie and
Maureen showed up with an mp3 player loaded with music. Suzanne from the
boutique arrived with scarves in the softest of fabrics. The manicurist from the
Twisted Scissors Salon, owned by three sisters, did a weekly pedicure. Friends
and neighbors showed up with food and good wishes, books to read and handcrafted
objects. It seemed most of the town rallied around her, and the attention and
caring seemed to boost Nina’s spirits. It gave Sonnet hope, too. There was
something powerful in the energy that came from friends and neighbors and
family.

But sometimes it wasn’t enough. She got home from work one
evening to find Nina and Greg locked in a staredown over a wedge of quiche.

“I can’t get her to eat,” said Greg.

Nina sighed, the breath rattling unsteadily out of her. “I
can’t even lift a fork.”

“I’ll lift the fork for you,” Greg said reasonably.

“It’s going to make me gag.” Nina looked pale, her cheeks
hollowed out. Everything about her was hollowed out except the growing mound of
her stomach.

“Mom, please. You have to eat,” Sonnet said. “What about one of
those Queasy Pops Claire brought over?”

“Maybe later.” She swayed a little with weakness and
fatigue.

Sonnet literally bit her tongue to keep from nagging. It was
hard not to wheedle and cajole, though. Eating seemed so simple. Put the food in
your mouth, chew and swallow. Yet her mother was looking at the quiche as if it
was a plate of poison.

She glanced at Greg, whose face was a mask of tension, his jaw
tight and his eyes dark with worry. An unspoken message passed between them, and
he stood up. “I’m going outside for a bit,” he said. “I need some air.”

“That’s fine,” Nina said, her eyes filling. “I’m sorry, Greg.
Just give me a few minutes.”

After he left, Sonnet said, “You married a good guy.”

“The best. I hate myself for worrying him.”

“Don’t hate yourself. Just eat the damn quiche.”

Nina glared down at the plate. With a will, she picked up a
forkful and put it in her mouth. Almost instantly, she gagged into her napkin.
“I can’t,” she said.

“Mom—”

“I’ll try later. I just need to rest. Can you let me rest?”

Sonnet totally got why Greg needed some air. Sitting here and
arguing with her mother wasn’t going anywhere. “I’ll be back,” she said, and
headed outside to find Greg. The two of them had joined a cancer support group
for families, and one of the key things they’d learned was to talk things out,
to feel their feelings instead of holding everything in.

She found him alone on the porch steps, facing the lawn and
pathways that led to the inn. The historic building looked beautiful in the
evening, with lights glowing in the windows and along the walkways. The inn was
full to capacity with vacationers. Nina and Greg had refurbished the place
together, and Sonnet had watched with gladness as the shared enterprise drew the
two of them closer. Nina had always been a happy person, but once she was with
Greg, she had blossomed in a way Sonnet had never seen before.

“She’s still not eating,” Sonnet said. “She told me she’s
sorry. She hates worrying us.”

“Then why the hell doesn’t she just eat?” He raked a hand
through his hair. “She’s wasting away to nothing.”

Sonnet felt a frisson of fear. Greg had been a rock through all
of this. She’d never seen him break down. “I feel really helpless. I guess we
both do.”

He nodded. “Your mother and I are glad you’re here. I don’t
think I’ve told you that.”

“Thanks.”

“I know you made a lot of sacrifices to be here.”

“It’s not a sacrifice. Being here with Mom is a complete
privilege.” She truly believed that now. Helping her mother was rewarding in a
way her career had never been. “Nice night,” she commented, taking a seat on the
steps beside him. “The air feels just about perfect.”

“Yep,” he said.

“You and Mom made the inn really beautiful. When I was a kid,
she always told me she thought it would be amazing. You’re a good team.”

“Thanks.” He let out a shuddering sigh. “I love our life here.
I don’t want it to end.”

“It’s not going to end.”

“I know. I just… Tonight feels like a low spot.”

“Then there’s only one direction to go from here. It’s a law of
physics.”

“How’d you get so smart?”

“I’m not so smart. Sometimes I think I’m a total mess.”

“Come on.”

“I mean it. I want to be able to say what you just said, that I
love my life—because what you said, that’s everything. And to be brutally
honest, I’m not there yet. It’s kind of freaking me out. What if the future you
thought you’d mapped out for yourself turned out to be the wrong thing?”

“Is that what you think, that you’ve been on the wrong
path?”

“I never used to think that, never used to question myself. I
simply put one foot in front of the other and stayed busy with work. But lately,
being here, I’ve had a lot of time to think and reassess.”

“And?”

“And I’m as confused as ever. I’m not complaining, Greg. I have
an amazing family and friends, but…okay, I’ll just say it. I want to be in love.
The kind of love you and Mom have.”

“Everybody wants that. Hell, I want that for everybody. And
you’ll find it. Maybe with Orlando, maybe with somebody else.”

“Definitely not with Orlando.” She tried to picture herself
having a conversation like this with her father. The picture wouldn’t form. Her
father would simply tell her to march ahead toward a goal and everything would
fall into place.

“Why do you say definitely?”

“Because that’s something I’m completely sure of. Orlando isn’t
the one.” She hadn’t told anyone about her last conversation with Orlando. She
wasn’t sure why she hadn’t; perhaps because she didn’t want to seem vulnerable,
didn’t want people hovering over her, worrying about how she was handling the
breakup.

And yes, it was a breakup. There hadn’t been a fight;
recriminations had not been flung back and forth. She and Orlando had never been
that way. Still, the relationship, such as it was, had flamed out. She was not
inclined to revive it. Maybe she didn’t talk about what had happened because she
didn’t want people to urge her to make up with him. She could hear people now:
What’s wrong with you? He’s gorgeous and educated, he’s your dad’s right-hand
man…what more do you want?

She knew, now. She looked at couples like Greg and her mom,
Maureen and Eddie, Kim and Bo…and she knew what she wanted.

“That’s nothing to be afraid of,” Greg said. “It takes time,
but you’ll figure it out.”

“But what if I don’t? Suppose I’m the problem, not him? Suppose
I just don’t know how to sustain a relationship?”

“Believe me, you’re not the problem. Don’t think that way.
You’re an incredible young woman, Sonnet. I’ve always thought that. Just…take
your time. Live each day, isn’t that what they told us in the support group?
Sure, some days—like today—are going to suck. But something else is going to be
right around the corner.”

“Here’s something I know,” Sonnet said. “Daisy is lucky to have
you for a dad.”

“Thanks.” He stood up and brushed off his pants. “I’m going
back in. I’ll see if I can coax her into eating.”

“I think I’ll sit out here for a bit.” She wrapped her arms
around her knees and breathed deeply, savoring the sweetness of the air. She
thought about her own question, whether she was on the right path and what it
would mean if she discovered she wasn’t. No, that was crazy. The day she’d
graduated high school, she had set out to see the world, to help the children of
the world. She’d been driving toward that goal ever since, yet now she was
plagued by questions. The prospect of losing her mother haunted her, and though
she tried to stay positive, it was hard to do when Nina was wasting away and the
tumor markers weren’t budging. It made Sonnet wonder if she was focusing on the
right things in her life. Her mom had said, “If the worst happens, I can
honestly say I don’t have a single regret.”

Headlights swung into the driveway, and she recognized the
lumbering bulk of Zach’s van.

She stood up and shivered a little in the evening chill as he
walked toward her. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”

“I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Nope.” He came over to the porch. Sonnet could barely look at
him. She was still confused by their last conversation. Were they friends?
Enemies? Frenemies? They just didn’t seem to want the same thing. “So,” she
said. “What’s up?”

“Nina called. Said she was having a hard time eating
tonight.”

“Why’d she call you?” Sonnet asked, frowning.

“I, uh, I’ve got something that might help.” He took a small
plastic bag out of his pocket.

“Oh, my God.” Sonnet took a step back. “Is that pot? Where in
the world did you get pot?”

“It’s good stuff. Don’t worry.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Let’s see if it’ll help your mom.”

She had joked with Orlando over the matter, but this was
clearly no joke. “Don’t you dare.”

“You got a better idea?”

“Did she
ask
for weed? She can get
a prescription from her doctor.”

“True, but she called me.”

“And why would she ask you? Are you a stoner and I’m the only
one who doesn’t know about it?”

“Give me a break,” he said. “You know me better than that, and
so does your mom.”

“Then what are you doing with a bag of weed?”

“I know people.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“She’s nauseous and she can’t eat. Even one of her doctors
thought marijuana might help. Nina didn’t want to go there but now she’s ready
to try anything as long as it won’t harm the baby. So, excuse me, I don’t want
to keep her waiting.” He brushed past her and went to the door.

“I’m not having any part of this,” Sonnet said, fuming. She
stormed away, hiking toward the lake with no idea where she was going.
Just…away, into the dark night. In the back of her mind she wondered why she was
so freaked out by this. And she had to admit, it might be because of her father.
His campaign. His reputation. If it was somehow revealed that she was involved
in her mother using pot, his chance at getting elected could be seriously
compromised.

This thought caused Sonnet to stop in her tracks. There was no
way she was putting her father’s ambitions above her mother’s health. She turned
on her heel and went back to the house. She walked in, hearing an old Rush song
on the stereo. In the living room, Greg was dozing in a chair. Zach was fiddling
with a camera.

And her mom was on the sofa, giggling and eating Cheetos from a
big shiny bag.

* * *

Zach was alone in the meeting hall at Camp Kioga, which
the production company had taken over for storage and editing. It was long after
the day’s shoot had ended and everyone had gone home, but he’d stuck around to
do some rough editing. That was pretty much what he did with his free time—he
worked. Lately there was plenty to do, because each day yielded more and more
footage of the show. Later in the process, there would be story line editors and
final cut editors, but the initial decisions were up to Zach.

Despite his reservations about working on this project, he
could see a story taking shape. The kids were great; they had no filters and had
no trouble being themselves despite the constant, invasive presence of the
cameras. Jezebel owned every shot she was in, but Zach could see her shifting
and changing in subtle ways. She was forming relationships with the kids, real
relationships despite the artificial setup. Some of them brought out her anger,
while others seemed to touch on an almost-hidden nurturing side.

He watched an exchange with her and one of the girls, Anita,
who was heavyset and shy and always trying to please others. “Don’t be running
yourself down,” Jezebel was saying to her during a sequence at the archery
range. “You got a lot more skill than you’re showing us. Now, you aim at that
target, and you nail it.”

There were some outtakes from the archery range; he watched one
with Sonnet and her ever-present clipboard trying to shoo a couple of grazing
deer out of the background. The deer were a little too used to human presence;
they sidled away but didn’t run for cover. Zach grinned as Sonnet waved the
clipboard. She was so damn cute, in her cutoff jeans and tank top and short
haircut. She looked as young as some of the kids.

His phone signaled a text message, and his grin faded. Jenna
Munson, the reverend’s daughter, was inviting him to Hilltop Tavern and pushing
him for an answer. He sent back a note saying he was busy with work, which was
true. But the truth was, he didn’t want to see Jenna, or Glynnis, or Viv, or
Shakti, or any of the women he used to hook up with. Since the production had
started, he had been as cloistered as a monk.

“Hey,” said Jezebel, coming into the hall. “Looking at footage
of your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” It was one of her signature phrases, that canny
“uh-huh” speaking volumes of skepticism.