by Susan Wiggs
Even smaller than Avalon, Indian Wells consisted of a mini-mart and gas station, a retirement community, and a cluster of low-profile buildings and yards surrounded by razor-wire. He went through the familiar routine—metal detector, check-in at the reception area, name tag. Even though most of the staff knew his name, he still had to state his relationship to the inmate. He didn’t cringe anymore when he said, “I’m his son.”
He was accustomed to the big, drafty common room where the visiting took place, too. His father was waiting, seated on a bolted-down stool next to a bolted-down table. He greeted Zach with a warm smile and a handshake. Ironically, their relationship had improved since Matthew had been behind bars. When he was on the outside, Zach had been a hindrance and an unwanted expense; now he was the highlight of his father’s week.
“How’s that production going?” Matthew asked. Now that the production was underway, Zach had told him all about it.
“It’s good. I thought it would make me mental to be working in Avalon, but work is work.”
“That’s the attitude. I bet you’re doing a fine job and making a bundle at it, too.”
The old man was all about money, even now. “How about you?” Zach asked. “Staying out of trouble?” Matthew Alger had never lost his predilection for gambling, even in prison, although the currency he used wasn’t money. He’d been known to wager everything from deodorant sticks to goldfish crackers from the commissary, just for the sport of it.
“You betcha,” he assured Zach. “I got another parole hearing coming up in the fall and I aim to be ready this time.”
Zach said nothing. His father couldn’t seem to keep from committing infractions that kept him stuck here. He had a habit of sabotaging himself.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Matthew said. “I’m not gonna blow it this time.”
“That’d be good,” Zach said.
“How about a game of crib?”
Zach took out the board, the cards and the pegs he brought to each visit. Cribbage was their thing. It had started when Zach was very young. His dad had taught him to play this crazy, fast-paced card game with colored pegs being moved around a racetrack-shaped board. The two of them spent hours carefully discarding into the crib, trying not to give away any points. His dad was notorious for stealing points if Zach counted his points wrong. The man was very serious about cribbage. Zach made it his mission to surpass his father. He had no problem stealing points if his dad left them behind. Both snarled at terrible hands and gave whoops of joy when the cards were good.
The current game went swiftly, the two of them squaring off across the board, the cards rippling as they shuffled and discarded.
“Done,” said Matthew, making his final move with a flourish.
“Good game,” said Zach. “At least you didn’t skunk me.”
“I’ll keep trying.”
“See you next time.” Zach put away the board.
“Sure,” said his father. “We’ll have another game of crib.”
Chapter Twelve
Nina woke with a start, bathed in sweat. Her heart beat with the latent panic of some unremembered dream. Automatically, she reached for Greg, snuggling up against his reassuring bulk. He made what she’d always considered the bear sound—a contented grumble from deep in his chest—and drew her closer.
She could tell the moment reality awakened him. The grumbling turned to a sharp inhalation. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”
“Yes. I am.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure, and it’s a huge relief. I guess the anti-nausea meds are working fine for now.” She lay flat on her back, her hands cupping her growing belly as she stared into the half dark. “We came through my first round of chemo, Greg.”
Yes, she was completely freaked out and exhausted. Yes, she was worried about the cocktail that had been pumped into her. But she was determined to stay positive.
“You were awesome.”
“We were awesome. Every one of us—you, the baby and me, the crew at the clinic, and Sonnet, too. That was really nice of her to have dinner ready when we got home.”
“You raised a good daughter,” Greg said.
“Indeed I did. And now we get to do it all over again, with a boy this time. Think we can handle it?”
He chuckled. “We’re old pros.”
“Don’t say old. I don’t need any reminders.”
“He’s going to keep us young, this little dude.” Greg laid his hand on hers.
She rested her cheek against his shoulder, savoring the firmness and the warmth of him. “I’m so excited to be having your baby. I’m so excited that most of the time I’m not scared about the cancer.”
“Ah, sweetheart. We’ll get through this. Everybody’s pulling for you.”
“I know. I’m a lucky woman.” It was a miracle she could say so with utter sincerity. It wasn’t even a lie; it was the truest thing she knew. She had so very much—her husband and their blended families, the baby on the way, her big Romano clan and the Inn at Willow Lake. Since marrying Greg, she had so many blessings in her life that it seemed ungrateful to give in to her cancer fears.
They lay in the quiet night, listening to the creaking of the old house and the breeze outside the window.
“Can I get you anything?” Greg asked.
“No, thanks.” She had a collection of water bottles and meds on the nightstand, alongside a stack of books and snacks. There was a basin close at hand just in case the nausea kicked in. “I had a message from Orlando in my email today,” she said. “He was thanking us for having him here.”
“He didn’t stay long.”
“No. He seems nice enough, don’t you think?”
“Nice enough for what?”
“Touché,” she said, propping herself up on one elbow. “I want Sonnet to be with someone who adores her. Who cherishes her. Do you think he’s the one?”
“Too soon to tell.”
“Yes, all right. I’ll give him a chance. But…”
“But what?”
“He said something weird in the email. Well, not weird, but he mentioned that upcoming campaign event again. Like I needed a reminder or a heads-up or something.”
“He works for a politician,” Greg said reasonably. “He’s always looking and thinking ahead.”
“I suppose. And I bet I know what he’s thinking—that I had Laurence’s child out of wedlock, and the opposition is going to try to make something of that.”
Greg tightened his arm around her. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting anyone near you. No way. That’s the last thing you need to worry about.”
“I like being near you,” she whispered, snuggling even closer. I have to get better, she thought. I have to get better, because I can’t bear to be apart from him.
“I’m a lucky guy, then, because I like it, too.” He turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “I ran into Sophie today,” he said. “She wanted me to let you know she’s thinking of you.”
“Nice of her.” Greg and his ex-wife Sophie, the mother of Daisy and Max, did a pretty good job getting along. Every once in a while, though—like now—Nina faltered and insecurity took hold. “Sometimes I have this negative fantasy that you look at Sophie—perfectly healthy Sophie—and wish the two of you had stayed together after all.”
“That’s a fantasy, all right.”
“I know. But she used to be your whole world.”
“Okay, listen. To be honest, there was a time, before I fell in love with you, when I wanted my marriage back. Sophie and I both did, and we gave it our best shot. I wanted to be a family again, to fix whatever the hell went wrong. It didn’t work, though. And then you came along…” His voice broke, and his arm tightened around her.
“What, Greg? Tell me.”
“Now I can’t thank her enough.” He propped himself on one elbow and gazed down at her, his face only a shadow in the darkness. “If she hadn’t left me, I wouldn’t have found you. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you, Nina, and so even though I’ll never actually thank my ex, I’m grateful every day for the way things worked out.”
“Ah, Greg.” She wound her arms around his neck and arched upward, knowing his rhythm so well now, knowing he wanted to make love.
“Really?” he asked.
“Ahem. Yes, Mr. Bellamy, your wife is horny.”
“Then I’d better get busy.”
She surrendered to his tender, erotic touch, reveling in the closeness, the intimacy, the safety of his embrace. He touched and kissed her breasts, just as he had when she was healthy and there was no bandage where the drain had been removed, no shunt for the drugs. She caught her breath. “I love when you kiss me like that,” she said.
“I love kissing you like that.”
“It’s going to be weird for you after the mastectomy,” she said.
He never even paused in his lovemaking. “Maybe. Might be weird for you, too. Nothing we can’t handle. I love you, Nina. I love you. We’ll deal.”
“I’m going to be bald soon.”
“Okay, now that turns me on.”
He kissed away all her insecurities and worries. He kissed her until she couldn’t think anymore. He kissed her until she surrendered, wrapping her legs around him and splaying her hands over his back. As always, he took his time with her, but tonight it wasn’t necessary. “Greg,” she whispered, “ah, the fireworks are starting early….”
He gave a soft, sexy laugh and then shuddered against her. She kept her arms twined around him, wishing she could hold onto this moment forever.
* * *
Cancer changed a person. Sonnet could see it happening day by day to her mother. Though Nina struggled to keep her spirits up, she couldn’t stop herself from looking wan and exhausted. “I’m tired of the fight,” she confessed to Sonnet one day. “And it’s just getting started.”
“Remember what they told us in the support group. It’s not a sprint. It’s a marathon.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“Guess not. But I’ve got an idea. I have the day off from shooting. Let’s go shopping. There’s a sale at Zuzu’s Petals.” She loved the quirky indie boutique in town. Suzanne, the owner, always found fun, colorful things created by off-the-beaten-path designers.
“I’m still in my bathrobe.” Nina folded her arms on the table.
“I rest my case. You need something great to wear.”
“I don’t feel like shopping.”
“Well, I do. Come on, Mom. We both need to get out. Hanging around and worrying isn’t doing anyone any good, and yes, I’m starting to sound exactly like my mother.”
“I’m good, aren’t I?”
“We both need a little retail therapy. Please.”
“Okay. I can see that resistance is futile. Let’s do it.”
Avalon was alive with a Saturday-morning vibe, people out doing errands or window-shopping, tourists armed with cameras, weekenders strolling along, nursing cups of coffee. The air was sweet with the promise of a pretty day. Suzanne was in the process of rolling a rack of sale items out to the sidewalk beside a table displaying candles and soaps.
“Hey, Nina,” she said. “Sonnet. Good to see you.”
“My daughter says we need some retail therapy,” Nina said, picking up a scented candle and holding it to her nose.
“You came to the right place.” Suzanne gave Nina a look full of sympathy. “How are you doing?”
“Gestating. Doing chemotherapy. You know, the same old, same old.”
“I wish I could do something to help. My cousin Sarah went through breast cancer, and I remember she was always cold. I gave her a pink pashmina and she took it everywhere with her.” Suzanne gestured at a rack of scarves inside the door.
“That’s nice,” said Nina. “How’s she doing?”
Suzanne blanched as she fumbled through an explanation. “She, oh, she passed away. She was a lot older than me. Way older. And it was a long time ago. Gosh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
Nina shrugged. “It’s hard to figure out what to say. Until a few weeks ago, I would have been wondering, too.”
Sonnet yearned for it to be a few weeks ago. Before…everything. She tucked her hand into Nina’s arm. “Let’s go find something pretty.”
The shop smelled of soaps and scented candles and potpourri. There was a samovar filled with herbal tea, and a tray of mints. “Everybody always wants to mention their friend or relative who had cancer,” Nina murmured. “I hate that. I know people are only trying to help, but I really hate that.”
“Just remind yourself people love you and are pulling for you,” Sonnet said.
“You’re right, Miss Smarty-Pants. I stand corrected.”
“I wasn’t correcting you. Just reminding you. Whoa. Check out these earrings.” She directed her mother to a display of artfully mismatched chandelier earrings.
“Love.” Nina lifted her hair and held an earring to one of her ears. “You were right about getting out, too. I feel better already.”
“You’ll feel like a million bucks if you get those earrings.” Sonnet was drawn to a Victorian-inspired jacket fabricated from a vintage fabric. She tried it on, smoothing her hands down the sides. It felt wonderful, the brocaded velvet hugging her hips, the pockets lined with smooth satin.
“That looks fantastic on you,” said Nina. “You should get it.”
Sonnet checked herself out in the three-way mirror, picking up her long curls to see the detailing on the back. There was corset-style lacing with satin ribbon over a panel of rich, lime-green brocade. “This is fantastic. Totally fun,” she said, regretfully taking off the jacket and putting it back on the hanger. “But I can’t imagine where I’d wear it.”
“Anywhere you need to look fabulous,” her mother said.
“It’s a little on the indie-chic side. Not quite the look I’m going for these days.”
“Oh? And what look is that?” With a grin, Nina held up a tailored white blouse displayed with a tasteful scarf and matching brooch. “Urban chic? Boardroom-meeting chic?”
“Orlando would prefer that,” Sonnet said. “He hasn’t yet embraced my funky side.”
“Then he’s missing out. I love your funky side.” Nina picked up a wonderful shawl of loose-knit angora. “So…Orlando. Tell me how that’s going. It must be hard on the two of you, being apart.”
“Yes, and no. He’s so busy with the campaign ramping up that even if I was in the city, we’d be like two ships passing in the night.”
“You’re okay with that?”
“I don’t have a choice. Why do I get the idea you’re trying to tell me something?”
“Because I’m trying to tell you something. Or ask you something. Baby, he seems like an amazing guy. And I know for a fact that you’re amazing. What I’m not hearing from you is where you think this relationship is going,
or where you want it to go, or even if you want it at all.”
Ouch. Her mother had never shrunk from asking difficult questions. “Of course I want it. Like you said, he’s amazing. I know it’s ridiculously idealistic, but I think we’re going to be amazing together some day.”
“Why is that ridiculous? I want that for you, too.”
Sonnet held up a pair of fabulous distressed leather boots that would look great with the Victorian jacket. “I just don’t know if we’re getting there. I look at Daisy and you, and I know that’s the kind of love I want in my life.”
“Sure you do. And Lord knows, I want that for you. I want it for everybody. If we all had that, there would be world peace, I swear.”
Sonnet laughed. “Did you suddenly take a happy pill when I wasn’t looking?”
“This conversation just reminded me to show a little gratitude for what I have.”
And that, thought Sonnet, feeling a lump in her throat, pretty much said it all. Her mother was dealing with a risky pregnancy and breast cancer, yet she could still be grateful for her friends and family, her husband. This was the kind of love Sonnet knew she was looking for, the kind she dreamed of finding with Orlando. Yet deep down, she knew they weren’t there yet. And deeper down, she feared they’d never get to that place.