Susan Wiggs - Return to Willow Lake

“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.