Return to Willow Lake

She summoned a smile and took his hand. Orlando Rivera was brilliant, professional and knew the importance of being prompt. No wonder he was in charge of getting her father elected to Congress.

It was surreal to Sonnet, the idea of her father becoming a U.S. senator. But it was not surprising; Laurence Jeffries had always been a larger-than-life figure. Although he was her birth father, he’d taken on the proportions of myth. Yes, she admitted that. But it never kept her from hoping they would build something sturdier on that foundation.

As a kid, she’d fantasized about having him in her life more than a couple of times a year. Then she’d been accepted to a major college, and everything had changed. Suddenly she had done something remarkable, winning a scholarship for a world-class education, and her father not only took note, he’d reached out to her. She still remembered the expression on her mom’s face when Nina had handed her the phone. “Laurence wants to speak to you.”

Her father almost never called. There was usually a stilted conversation on Christmas, late in the day after all the presents and feasting, and sometimes on her birthday, when he remembered. So for him to call out of the blue had been extraordinary.

“You’ve made me proud” were his first words to her that day.

Her heart had taken wing. Sure, she knew she’d be justified in asking him why he’d never been more than a modest monthly check to her up to this point, or asking him why he couldn’t have been there for her during her not-so-proud moments, like when she’d been caught skipping gym class, or when she’d stolen a sex manual from the library, or was left on the curb after her first date, because she’d refused to put out.

But instead of hurling recriminations, she’d opened her heart to her father. They’d talked at length about her future and her goals. She’d once thought she wanted to teach or somehow work with children, but her dad had convinced her that she would have more of an impact on the world with an international career. He was passionate about global affairs and about the possibility of bringing about positive change in the world, and that passion was infectious. Broadening her focus, Sonnet had pursued international studies with single-minded determination, intent on proving herself every bit as worthy as the two trophy daughters her father had with the woman he’d married.

She pulled her mind away from her dad’s “other” family—his legitimate family. Angela, his lovely and accomplished wife, and his daughters, Layla and Kara. Sonnet herself had a glorious family on her mother’s side—the big Romano clan of Avalon—and for that, she would always be grateful, just as she was grateful for her vibrant career and this new, huge opportunity offered by the fellowship.

Maybe in the excitement over her news, Orlando would dismiss the fact that she’d lost his key.

“I can’t believe you lost my key,” Orlando said after she’d sheepishly explained what happened. He shrugged out of his cashmere overcoat and handed it to the coat check girl.

“I’m really sorry.” Sonnet handed over her coat as well. “I don’t know what else to say. I’ll have another one made.”

“You can’t. It’s a co-op. The building supervisor has to get a duplicate. I’ll take care of it.”

“Sorry,” she said again, probably for the dozenth time. He was being nice about it, but she almost wished he’d tell her it was a huge pain in the ass and get the scolding over with.

“I know. I’ll deal with it. But listen, since we’re taking this step, there’s something we need to talk about.” He paused, took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

She smiled, taken in by the warmth in his eyes. “Kissing my hand in public, Orlando? I’m a fan.”

He smiled back. “And I’m a fan of you. I just wanted to talk about the whole key thing—the whole sleeping-over thing.”

She bit her lip. Maybe the fellowship was not going to be such welcome news to him after all. “I love the sleeping-over thing. I love that you gave me a key.”

“I love it, too, don’t get me wrong. That’s why I need to ask you…”

…to marry me. Sonnet heard the words in her head, and even though they hadn’t been spoken aloud, she got chills. She pictured herself saying yes, flinging her arms around him, being hoisted off the floor and spun around as they shared a joyous kiss.

“…because of all the attention he’ll be getting as we get closer to election season.”

“I’m sorry, what?” She flushed, embarrassed by her own flight of fantasy.

“I was just saying, let’s try to be discreet about you staying at my place.”

“Right. This is the twenty-first century, after all.”

“You and I know that. But there are still plenty of voters who could take issue with the idea that the candidate’s daughter—”

“—who happens to be a grown-up with a life of her own—”

“Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Honey, all I’m saying is let’s try to keep our private life just that—private.”

“Are you afraid I’m going to, what, post our status on Facebook?”

“Of course not. I’m afraid some dumb-ass from the opposition is going to try to make an issue of it.”

“Then why did you bother giving me a key—oh. I get it now. You gave me a key so I didn’t have to be buzzed up every time, which is totally indiscreet, right?”

“Honey. I gave you a key because I want you in my life. I might want you there permanently, if you know what I’m saying.”

“God, Orlando, how did you get so romantic? ‘I might want you there permanently?’ Seriously?”

“It’s true, I might. But I’m not going to break down and propose right here and now in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“But I am going to propose. And it is going to be romantic and you’re going to say yes.”

Goose bumps suddenly covered her arms. But then, questions and second-guessing kicked in. Was he going to propose because he loved her and couldn’t live without her, or because it would make his candidate’s daughter look less like a slut to the electorate?

She brushed aside the cynical thought. When had she turned into such a skeptic? Or had she always been this way?

A large, imposing silhouette filled the doorway.

“Hey, my father just got here,” she said. “Can we talk about the key later?”

Orlando was already striding across the foyer, his hand outstretched. “Laurence, how are you?” No comment about General Jeffries being tardy.

Sonnet felt a swell of pride and excitement as the two men shook hands. Her father was every inch the military man, looking as polished as the brass buttons on his swirling greatcoat.

Standing between the two of them, she felt like a princess, flanked by visiting royalty. The host led them to their table, where he held the thronelike upholstered chair for her.

“So there’s news,” Sonnet said once they were all seated. “Good news.”

“I’m always up for good news.” Her father regarded her warmly.

She paused, savoring the moment. “I got the Hartstone Fellowship,” she said. “The call came today, and I have an official letter.”

Orlando gave a low whistle. “That’s fantastic.”

“Sonnet, I’m so proud of you.” Her father ordered a bottle of champagne. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but proud as hell.”

“Thanks. I’m still pinching myself.” She beamed at them both as the sommelier brought a bottle of Cristal and poured three flutes. “It’s so great that we’re together, celebrating. I was going to send you an email but I wanted to tell you in person.” She’d been brimming over with the news all day.

“You deserve it,” said Orlando. “I know how hard you worked for this.”

“He’s right,” her father agreed. “We’re going to miss you when you’re overseas.”

Sonnet blinked. “How do you know it’s an overseas assignment?”

He glanced up at the chandelier. “That’s usually the case. Am I wrong?”

“Never,” she said, but he failed to catch the note of irony in her voice.

“With your background and language skills, you’d excel in a foreign location.” He waved a hand to summon the waiter. “I think we’re ready to order.”

“I have the final numbers on the fundraiser.” Orlando handed Laurence a printout. “I thought you’d like to see.”

“We exceeded our goal for this stage of the campaign,” said Laurence.

“That’s great, Dad. It’s good news all around,” Sonnet said. She really wanted to talk more about the fellowship, but didn’t want to monopolize the conversation. “Maybe we should buy lottery tickets.”

“I’ve never been one to leave things to chance,” her father said. “Better to make your own luck.”

“Agreed,” said Sonnet. Her father was something of a control freak. He had been ever since she’d gotten to know him during her college years.

Orlando and her father talked shop—polls, demographic studies, campaign strategies, and she listened attentively. When their meal came, there was a pause to appreciate the perfectly prepared food, served with deftness by a waitstaff that worked like a well-oiled machine. She flashed on a memory of her childhood—Sunday dinners at her Romano grandparents’ home, with all the aunts, uncles and cousins diving into delicious but simple food, served family style. The food was simple but plentiful, the family noisy but bighearted.

“Wow, it’s crazy to think that by next year, I’ll be the daughter of a U.S. senator.” Sonnet took a bite of the wild mushroom risotto, savoring the sherry and cream flavorings.

Laurence tried the wine and accepted it with a curt nod. “I assume you mean crazy in a good way.”

She smiled as the waiter filled her glass. “Of course. It makes me really proud.”

“I wish I could say the election is going to be a slam dunk.” He sliced into his steak.

“We don’t hear you saying that,” Sonnet said.

“I have to be honest with you,” said Laurence. “Delvecchio is getting desperate, and he’s known to fight dirty when he’s slipping in the polls.”

“Are you saying he’s slipping in the polls?”

“He most definitely is.”

“So we can expect him to fight dirty,” said Orlando.

“We can.” Laurence swirled a bite of rare meat in the Bearnaise sauce. “And Sonnet, I have to tell you, he’s bound to send someone snooping into every corner of my life.”

“Including me, you mean.” A knot of tension formed in the pit of her stomach.

“I wish I could deny it. Delvecchio is a master at negative spin. He could find a way to make Santa Claus look bad.”

“How bad?” Sonnet pushed her plate away and regarded them both.

Orlando handed her a printout from a political blog. She scanned the article, horror rising along with the bile in her throat. She stared at her father. “They’re bringing up your illicit affair as a West Point cadet with an underage local girl. Of a different race. Which, by the way, is not exactly fiction.”

The article further characterized her father as a ruthlessly ambitious career operative who ignored his own child and moved ahead with his own agenda. At the bottom of the article was a link—Jeffries’s love child…post-wedding hookups?—that made her nearly gag. How had that leaked?

“All fiction, of course,” Orlando said confidently.

She shuddered with distaste, pushing aside the page. “They left out the bit about you having horns and a tail.”

“I’m sorry,” her father said. “I hate that you had to be sucked into this.”

“How will you respond?”

“It’s taken care of. I issued a statement with the truth, explaining that I wasn’t aware that I’d fathered a child. Once I learned I had a daughter, I was elated by the gift I’d been given, and I supported you and your mother to the best of my ability. I’m proud to say you’ve grown into an accomplished young woman with a passion for service and a bright future ahead of her.” The hookups notwithstanding, she thought with a shudder.

“Depending on their politics, readers will decide which version to believe,” said Orlando.

“And if someone contacts me?” Sonnet suppressed a chill of terror.

“Tell them the truth,” her father said easily. “Your truth.”

“Sure,” she said, envious of his sangfroid. “Right.” In her heart, she knew she would gloss over certain key facts—such as the fact that she used to cry herself to sleep at night, wishing she had a daddy like other kids, even a part-time daddy. Or the terrific, secret envy she felt toward his other daughters, Layla and Kara, the dual heiresses to his dynastic marriage. Yes, he’d married the perfect woman to enhance his career. Sonnet wanted to believe it was a love match, but sometimes she wondered if his marriage to the daughter of a famous civil rights leader had been by design or happenstance. Sonnet wouldn’t say a word about these matters because she could scarcely admit them to herself. Love had never seemed like her father’s top priority. He shied away from it, perhaps because it was the kind of thing that couldn’t be controlled, like a battalion of soldiers or a department in the military.

“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.

In fact, the family-run shop was the site of his earliest memory. His mom was taking him to the first day of kindergarten and he was practically catatonic with terror. She’d grabbed his hand and ducked into the bakery, which was just a block from the primary school. He could still remember the sugary, buttery smell of the place, the smell of comfort.

His mom had bought him an apple kolache and a cup of hot chocolate, and she’d told him that going to school was a big adventure for a little boy, and that he was going to love it. And she’d filmed the whole thing. That was his mom’s thing—documenting her life. She’d been compulsive about it, capturing moments on her video camera. His mom had filmed everything—his first day of school, his first lost tooth, his exploits on the soccer field, his disastrous attempts to emulate Jimmy Page. She didn’t put herself in the picture much but her voice often came from behind the camera, always encouraging and sweet-toned. It was as if she’d known she wouldn’t be around that long, and wanted to capture the two of them together for posterity. And sure enough, one day the filming had stopped, and she had moved away. Far away.

He hadn’t seen it coming that day, and he hadn’t been fooled for a minute by her pep talk about kindergarten. His head was full of nightmare visions of snarling teachers, an endless maze of hallways, rooms full of strangers. But then, as he was chewing on a bit of kolache, Sonnet Romano had breezed into the bakery, completely by herself. She wore a pink backpack with pockets and zippers, and pencils all lined up like bullet cartridges in an ammo belt. She wore her curly black hair in twin braids, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

All by herself, she marched up to the counter. Her pointy little chin barely reached the edge. “One iced maple bar, please. And can you put it in a nice box? It’s for my teacher. Today is my first day in kindergarten and I’m bringing her a treat.” She carefully placed her money on the counter. “My mom said this is the right amount. She had to work today.”

Zach stared at her in amazement. His mother nodded with approval. “It’s that nice Sonnet Romano from play group. Why don’t you go say hi?”

Zach recoiled in horror. He nearly gagged on his pastry.

While Sonnet waited for her parcel, she turned, zeroing in on him like a laser. “You’re Zach,” she said. “You’re in Miss Nelson’s class, same as me.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind. “Why are you wearing those glasses?”

“They make me look smarter,” she said, tilting up her chin with pride. She turned abruptly, pigtails flying out like helicopter rotors. Then she picked up a pink cardboard box sealed with string, and went to the door.

She paused and turned to Zach. “Well? Are you coming?”

His mom had given him a hug. “Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s going to be a wonderful day.”

Zach shook his head at the memory. Even then. At the age of five, Sonnet knew exactly where she was going, and he was expected to follow along.

He sipped his coffee and frowned at the screen of his iPhone. He was supposed to be getting organized for the day, and instead he’d let his mind wander to a time back in ancient history. With a will, he made himself focus on the present.

The present wasn’t a bad place to be. Here and now, with the future glimmering ahead like a sunrise on the horizon. He needed to move in that direction, not dwell in the past.