Susan Wiggs - Return to Willow Lake

“Zach, I don’t think—”

“Exactly. Don’t think.”

He made it easy to drift away from rational thought. There was something about the soft night and the lush leather bench seat of the vintage boat, and him, and the two of them together again after such a long time. His kisses tasted of champagne and chocolate cake and memories so old she couldn’t tell if they were memories or dreams.

He pulled back and parted the coat he’d wrapped around her, sliding it away. His hands glided over the form-fitting dress as he whispered, “I want to take this off.” Without waiting for her to respond, he reached for the side zipper of the silk dress.

Somewhere, floating amid the mind-fogging kisses and the champagne and Jell-O shots, a tiny no formed, waving its arms like a drowning victim. Then the no floated away and disappeared, and what was left was something she had never before said to Zach Alger in this situation, even though she’d known him all her life.

“Yes.”

Part Two

MUST-DO LIST (REVISED)

graduate degree

win a fellowship

find excuse to avoid 10-year high school reunion

really fall in love

Achievement brings its own anticlimax.

—MAYA ANGELOU

(BORN MARGUERITE ANN JOHNSON, APRIL 4, 1928)

Chapter Three

If there was such a thing as a better day than this, Sonnet Romano couldn’t imagine what that might look like. Brighter sunshine? Clearer air? Theme music playing as she crossed Central Park en route to 77th Street subway station? Street performers scattering flower petals as she passed by?

She didn’t need any of that, not today. Her own news was good enough. The beautiful spring weather was the icing on the cake. New York City was at its best, crisp and clear and lovely as a fairy tale. Great things hovered over her head like air traffic over LaGuardia.

She took out her mobile phone, because the only thing missing at the moment was someone to share her good news with.

Great Thing #1: Her father was taking her and Orlando to dinner at Le Cirque. Time with her father—whose senatorial campaign was now in full swing—was precious, and she was eager to catch up with him and share her news.

Great Thing #2: Orlando. The ideal boyfriend, the kind of guy who seemed too good to be true. Everyone said she and Orlando were great together, and they were only going to get better. Just this morning, he had given her the key to his apartment. Correction: the key to his stunning East Side pre-war co-op, which had closets bigger than Sonnet’s entire studio. Orlando was not the kind of guy who gave out keys lightly. He’d told Sonnet she was the first, and that had to mean something. Also, he was proof that she’d moved on from the Zach incident, that singularly bad decision she’d made at Daisy’s wedding last fall.

So why then, she wondered, did her finger hover over his name on the screen of her phone, like the planchette of a Ouija board? Why, even now, did she think of him first when she had big news?

The big news was Great Thing #3: Perhaps the greatest—the fellowship. Out of a field of thousands of candidates, she—Sonnet Romano—had been chosen for a Hartstone Fellowship. It was probably the biggest personal news she’d ever had, and she was dying to share it with someone. She quickly scrolled past Zach’s name—and why, pray tell, asked a little voice inside her, have you not deleted him from your contact list?—and went to her mother’s name—Nina Bellamy. As usual, her mom’s voice mail picked up. During the workday, Nina was too busy running the Inn at Willow Lake to take a call. Sonnet didn’t bother leaving a message; her mom tended to forget to check. They’d catch up later.

She called Daisy next, and Daisy, bless her, picked up on the first ring. “Hey, you,” she said. “How’s my wicked stepsister?”

“Good. So good. In fact, Mrs. Air Force Babe of Oklahoma, you need to stop me from making a fool of myself. I’m in the middle of Central Park and I’m tempted to burst into song about what a Great Day this is. I’m about to become a one-woman flash mob. Stop me because I’m supposed to be cooler than that.”

“You’re a New Yorker. You know you’re cooler than that. But it does sound like you’re having a good day.”

“I’d say so. The best.”

“That’s good. So, you’ve got news? What’s going on?”

“God, just…everything. I got the fellowship, Daze. I got it. Out of everyone they could have picked, they picked me.”

“That’s great. So what does it mean? Besides more laurel wreaths being laid at your feet? You know you’re making the rest of the family look bad, right?”

“Hardly.” She knew Daisy had to be kidding. A talented photographer, she’d been given a citation as an emerging artist, and her work had been in a special show at the Museum of Modern Art. She’d set the bar high. Sonnet was just glad the two of them worked in completely different fields. “What the fellowship does is put me in charge of a program to give indigent children a chance in life. It’s incredible to think I could really make an impact. I don’t know yet whether I’ll be assigned to a domestic program or overseas, although it doesn’t matter. There’s need everywhere.”

“Wow, that’s really something, Sonnet,” Daisy said. “There was never any doubt, not in my mind, anyway. You’re amazing. So, uh, will you be traveling somewhere far away?”

Despite the enthusiastic words, Sonnet heard something in Daisy’s tone. “You sound funny,” said Sonnet. “What’s up? Is Charlie doing any better in school?” Daisy had the most adorable son, but the kid was having a hard time with school this year.

“It’s a process,” Daisy said. “So hard to see him struggle, but we’re working on it. It’s just… Hey, have you talked to your mom today?”

“I tried calling her but she didn’t pick up. She never picks up. Why do you ask?”

“Oh. You should call her. She…”

“God, is Max in trouble again?” Daisy’s younger brother, now in college, had always been something of a challenge.

“It’s just…call, okay?”

“Don’t be going all cryptic on me. I—”

“Hey, you’re breaking up.”

“Oh, you big faker—”

“Sorry. Can’t hear. And I need to check on Charlie—”

The line went dead. Sonnet instantly tried her mother again, and then the Inn at Willow Lake, but was told Nina was out. Frustrated, she glared down at her phone. There was Zach Alger’s name, at the top of the contact list. Prior to the night of Daisy’s wedding, he would have been one of the first people she would call with her news, good or bad. That had all changed, though. She’d never call him again, not after that glorious, sweet, impossible mistake she’d made in the boathouse six months before.

Stop. It was a known fact that ruminating on regrettable past events was an unhealthy habit. Better by far to accept what had happened, set it aside and move on. Ruminating kept the incident alive in one’s head, meaning the hurt, anger, humiliation and regrets felt like fresh wounds, even after time had passed.