by Susan Wiggs
Sonnet glanced at Orlando, who shuffled his feet and looked as if he’d rather be in line at the DMV…or anywhere else. “Come on in,” she said. “They’re just getting ready for her first treatment tomorrow.”
She left him waiting in the foyer and found them in the study, squaring off over a laptop and iPod. “Oh, good. You can save me from Greg’s taste in music,” Nina said. “He’s loaded this thing with a bunch of new-agey gong tones.”
“It’s supposed to be soothing,” Greg grumbled.
“I need Muse. I need Lady Gaga. David Bowie, the Clash, something I can stand to listen to. Something that makes me want to fight.”
“Good for you. I’ll take care of it tonight,” Sonnet promised.
Greg looked relieved.
“Now, can we drop the subject? There’s someone I want you to meet.” She motioned them toward the foyer. “Orlando came to see me. He’s dying to meet you.” Dying. Poor choice of words. She was going to have to think before she spoke.
“Oh.” Nina smoothed a hand through her hair. She looked harried, in jeans and sneakers, a shapeless top. Underneath that was the drain from her lumpectomy, though the bandages and scars were camouflaged by the blouse.
“You look fine,” Sonnet said, secretly hating the idea that her mother was sick. “You’re the coolest mom ever.”
Greg was already with Orlando, pumping his hand and welcoming him. “And here’s my amazing wife,” he said, stepping aside.
“Orlando Rivera,” he said, shaking her hand. “Sorry to show up on such short notice.”
Sonnet held her breath. If he so much as breathed a word of their conversation about her suicidal career move, she was going to smack him.
“It’s all right. Come on in and sit down. What can I get you to drink?”
“I’ll take a beer, if you have it.”
Greg headed for the kitchen. Orlando turned to Nina. “It’s good to meet you at last. I feel as though I know you from everything Sonnet’s told me about you.”
Nina smiled. “I want to hear all about you, too.”
The part she’d left unsaid was that Sonnet hadn’t told her much about Orlando at all. She’d offered an overview of the obvious things—he was charming, successful, handsome, had an interesting job…but Nina was the kind of mom who asked hard, unanswerable questions, like does he cherish you? Does he make you laugh? Does he kiss you for no reason? When you’re away from him, do you feel as if an appendage is missing?
The truth was, Sonnet didn’t know these things about her and Orlando yet. They’d been together for several months, sure. He’d given her a key to his place, pardoned her when she’d lost it, and her father held him in high regard. Sonnet considered this a good start. She fully expected the other things—the cherishing, the passion, the yearning—to come with time. That was how love grew, bit by bit. It wasn’t some big sudden, messy explosion like—
“I was sorry to hear about your diagnosis,” Orlando said to her mom.
Sonnet cringed inwardly. Way to get to the point, Orlando, she thought. Then again, it was the elephant in the room. If not for the diagnosis, Sonnet wouldn’t be here, having put her life—and yes, her boyfriend—on hold. He might as well bring up the topic and get it out of the way.
“I appreciate that,” Nina said.
He handed her a manila envelope. “At the risk of being presumptuous, I wanted to give you this information on the Krokower Oncology Clinic in Manhattan. My aunt is the medical director there, and they specialize in hard-to-treat cases. If you like, I’ll arrange a meeting for you.”
Nina’s expression brightened. “That’s very thoughtful of you. Thanks. I already have a treatment plan in place, but I’m always open to a second opinion.”
“I want to do whatever I can to help,” Orlando assured her.
Sonnet felt a wave of warmth for him. “You never told me about your aunt.”
“Dr. Davida Rivera,” he said. “She trained at Johns Hopkins, practiced at the Mayo Clinic, and was a founding physician at Krokower.”
Sonnet wasn’t surprised. She’d already known he came from a family of high achievers and apparently his aunt was no exception.
Greg offered Orlando a tour of the inn, including a walk around the grounds. The place had been a run-down project when Nina had taken it on, and she and Greg had fallen in love in the process of restoring it. That had been after Sonnet left for college. Her family had grown to include the Bellamys—Greg and his two kids, Max and Daisy—and she’d watched her mother’s happiness expand into a kind of joy that simply hadn’t existed for them before.
Sonnet had a vivid memory of Nina just before she married Greg. “Pinch me,” she’d said. “Make sure I’m not dreaming this, because this feels too good to be true. I almost feel guilty, being this happy. There might be hell to pay later.”
They’d laughed together, both certain the future was ripe with promise. Sonnet would go off to college, unburdened by the idea that her mom would be left alone with an empty nest. Nina would make a life with her new husband. Maybe you weren’t supposed to look too far into your own future, Sonnet thought. If you did, you might talk yourself out of going toward it.
She and her mom put together a meal of tagliatelle with Nina’s famous red gravy. “Well?” Sonnet asked. “What do you think?”
“He’s nice. Good manners. Very good-looking.” Nina made an exaggerated fanning motion with a tea towel. “Your father introduced you?”
Sonnet took out a block of parmigiana and the grater. No self-respecting Romano bought cheese that was already grated. “Uh-huh. He wasn’t matchmaking. I don’t think so, anyway. But Orlando and I hit it off, right from the start. Our first date was at a campaign fundraiser, but it was a really good date—cocktails at Smithson’s, and swing dancing. He’s an excellent swing dancer.”
“The real question isn’t what I think of him,” her mother said, “but what you think of him.”
“He’s amazing,” Sonnet said. “He’s smart and interesting and has a cool job. Incredible apartment, too, and he comes from a good family.”
“People say that all the time—he comes from a good family. What does that mean?” her mom asked, tossing a generous pinch of salt into a pot on the stove. “I wonder if people say that about you.”
“If they don’t, they should,” Sonnet said. She thought about the one time she’d met Orlando’s folks. She’d been invited to their weekend place on Long Island. They’d quizzed her about her background and education, her girlhood in Avalon, her famous father. The visit had felt more like a job interview than a social occasion.
“We’re a good match,” Sonnet told her mother. “It’s too soon to tell if we’re…God, Mom. I can’t talk to you about this.”
“I thought we could talk about anything.”
“We can. But…Orlando and I…well, I think we’re going to fall in love, but we’re not there yet.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Yikes, Mom.”
“Seriously, if you want to be in love with him, then you should have a plan for that to happen, right? You’ve always been such a planner, Sonnet.”
“We’re both so busy with work,” she said.
Nina dropped the fresh pasta into the pot. “Don’t ever get too busy to fall in love,” she said.
“I want to focus on you, Mom. On you getting better and giving me a baby brother. Do you know how cool it is that I’m going to be a sister?”
“It’s totally cool. And good job changing the subject.” She reached over and expertly turned down the flame under the pasta a split second before it boiled over.
During dinner, they talked about Orlando’s work, which was a relief to Sonnet. She wasn’t sure what to say about her temporary job on a reality show.
“General Jeffries is definitely the front-runner in the senatorial race,” he explained. “But it’s not a slam dunk.”
“That surprises me,” Nina said. “His opponent—Dean? See, I can’t ever remember his name—”
“Johnny Delvecchio,” Greg supplied.
“Isn’t he in the meatpacking business?” Nina asked. “I can’t imagine he’s more qualified than Laurence.”
“He’s not,” Orlando said. “Not by a long shot. But politics can be a nasty business. Lately he’s been focusing on digging for dirt about the general.”
“For heaven’s sake, Laurence is a complete boy scout,” Nina said, then stopped herself. “Oh.” Comprehension dawned on her face. “You mean, I’m the dirt?”
“My God, no,” Orlando said swiftly. “Has someone from Delvecchio’s campaign approached you?”
“No,” Nina said, “and if anyone did, they wouldn’t hear anything negative from me. They wouldn’t hear a single thing, because I’m not about to get involved.”
Orlando topped off his water glass, and relief softened his eyes. “I’ll drink to that. We’re all going to need to drink. Because Avalon is going to be hosting the next debate.”
“What?” Sonnet felt a dull thud of shock in her gut. “They’re holding a campaign debate here?”
“Hey, back when I was mayor, I would have welcomed a senatorial debate in this town,” Nina said. “The publicity would be great for the economy.”
“You’re not mayor now,” Sonnet said. “I hate this idea. Orlando, can’t you do anything about it?”
“Delvecchio’s choice. He knows he’s weak in Ulster County, so his people chose this town.”
“Let me guess. They chose it because they’re hoping to stir up trouble for my father. My God, Orlando, how could you let them?”
“It’s not up to me. If we protested or fought them on it, they’d claim we’ve got something to hide. We need to make a preemptive move. Delvecchio’s really reaching for something, and the only possible thing he can dig up is your dad’s blunder when he was a dumb seventeen-year-old at West Point.”
“His blunder. Excuse me, but as the result of that blunder, I’d like to term it something else.”
“Good point,” he said, missing her irony. “We can even put that in his talking points if the topic comes up. We’ll have him call it a blessing.”
“Oh, so now I’ve been upgraded from blunder to blessing. Thanks for that.”
“We need a story line for you, too. We can’t just say you gave up a directorship at UNESCO to be a script girl—”
“I beg your pardon. Script girl?”
“Whatever. Let’s just call it a temporary position you took in order to help your mother through a serious illness.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re using my mom’s cancer in order for my dad to look good to voters.”
“Not at all. Your dad simply needs to tell the truth. There’s nothing equivocal in this story.”
“Except that it’s private.”
“When your father is running for national office, nothing is private. You get that, Sonnet. I know you get that.”
“Just keep the controversy away from my wife and my family,” Greg said. He spoke quietly, but with a conviction that made Sonnet glad all over again that he was her mom’s husband.
“I’ll do my best,” Orlando said. “And of course General Jeffries will, too.”
Sonnet studied Orlando, feeling a mixture of exasperation and confusion. He was a complicated guy, she thought. On the one hand, he’d come armed with useful information that might really help her mom. On the other hand, he was also using the opportunity to deal with a campaign matter. Nothing was ever simple with Orlando. At least she’d never be bored.
When they went to bed that night, she told him as much. Bringing a boyfriend home for the first time had never been a problem with her mom. She was always pleasant and nonjudgmental. Sonnet’s dad was a different story. Perhaps that was why she never brought anyone to meet him. Except Orlando.
“What do you mean, nothing’s simple with me?” he asked, carefully folding his suit jacket over the back of a chair.
She regarded him thoughtfully. “I just wonder why you came here. I would love it if you came because you missed me, and because you want to help my mom.”
“I do miss you, and I do want to help your mom. Jesus, how much more simple can I be?”
“I can’t help but wonder if you’re also here because you’re worried it’s going to affect my dad’s campaign if the opposition decides to focus on me and my mom.”
“Look, I’m his campaign manager. It’s my job to worry about everything.”
It wasn’t the answer she was looking for. She wasn’t sure exactly what answer she was looking for.
“I doubt we’ll have a problem protecting your mother’s privacy. Delvecchio’s not about to harass a pregnant woman with cancer.”
“You sound a little too satisfied about that,” she said.
“Whoa.” He held up a hand. “Come on, Sonnet. What do you take me for?” He looked genuinely offended.
“Okay, sorry. I’m totally stressed out about my mom.”
He fired up his laptop. “Wireless code?”
She gave it to him, then while he was absorbed in his digital world, used the opportunity to read yet another book about cancer from the collection she’d picked up at the local bookstore and library. Ever since finding out about her mother’s diagnosis, Sonnet had thrown herself into a crash course on the topic of helping someone through cancer treatment, reading everything she could get her hands on. She’d spent nearly every spare moment studying up on diet and exercise, breathing techniques, side effects like nausea, mouth sores, digestive ailments, aches and pains, the ever-iconic hair loss…. Knowledge would empower her to be a better helper to her mom, she told herself, trying not to recoil as she read deeper and deeper into the topic.
She nudged Orlando. “It says here that pot will help my mom deal with nausea and increase her appetite. Do you know where to get some pot?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not.”
“She can talk to her doctors about that,” he said. “Or maybe the pizza delivery kid?”
“Very funny.” She went back to her reading, wondering if these books were frightening her or empowering her. She barely noticed when Orlando set aside his work and drifted off to sleep. With a laser-like focus, she read late into the night, cramming for cancer treatment the way she used to cram for exams when she was in school. She’d always been good at school. Good at work. Good at being a trophy daughter. Sometimes, though, she wasn’t sure she was good at life.
* * *
Sonnet awoke to an empty bed, and a note atop her pillow. “Took the early train back to the city, didn’t want to wake you. Good luck with your mom today,” Orlando had written in his tight, precise lettering.
She let out a sigh and turned to look out the window, pillowing her head on her arm. The sun was up, just barely, its slanting light turning the surface of the water to a field of fire. She wished Orlando had woken her, wished he’d take
n her in his arms and said something comforting. But that wasn’t Orlando, it just wasn’t. He focused on problem solving and getting things done, and he knew as well as she did that a bunch of platitudes were not going to make her mother better. Strong medicine and good care were needed. His offer to connect her with his aunt in the city was his way of saying he cared, he wanted to help.
She sighed again and stretched, then glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was her mom’s first chemo day. The magnitude of the idea hit her, and she shuddered, pulling her arms around her midsection as she walked to the window. The wind kicked, skidding across the lake and shivering through the slender branches of the trees along the shore. Sonnet stared at the scenery out the window and at the same time pictured her mother in this setting, growing stronger and healing thanks to the sheer beauty of the world. From deep inside her, from a place she didn’t access often enough and almost forgot was there, she summoned a prayer filled with every good wish and every bit of healing energy she could imagine. She pictured the prayer like a seed carried by the wind, sending it out on a breeze, certain that somehow it would find her mother.
Mom’s going to be all right, she told herself. According to her reading, one in eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer—and the other seven will know her.
She noticed two people walking down by the lake—guests of the inn? Then she frowned, leaning forward to get a better look. There was no mistaking Zach Alger’s pale hair. What in the world was he doing here? And he was walking with her mom. The two of them seemed to be deep in conversation.
Sonnet hastily dressed and hurried downstairs. She spotted Zach in the parking area of the Inn. “Hey,” she said, pushing a hand through her unruly hair and wishing she’d had more time to put herself together.
“Hey,” he said, stowing something in the back of his work van.
“What are you doing here?”
“Stopped by to see your mom.”
“To see my mom.” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “I didn’t realize the two of you were so close.”