by Susan Wiggs
She wondered how a person found the kind of love that could survive anything. Did you find it by looking, or did it find you? And how did you know it for sure when love walked in? It was the kind of question that drove her crazy.
“I need this bag.” Nina held up a vintage-inspired tapestry satchel. “If I get it, and the worst happens, I can honestly say I don’t have a single regret.”
“Mom—”
“Kidding. Not about the bag, though. What do you think?”
“Nice,” said Sonnet, “but it’s huge.”
“I need to practice carrying a big bag again. Because when the baby comes, I’ll be carrying a giant bag like an extra appendage.” She turned, rippling her hand through a display of hanging scarves. “Those are pretty, too,” she said.
“They are.”
Sonnet plucked a nice one from the display. “This looks great with those earrings you picked out.”
“You think?” A single line of worry formed between Nina’s brows.
“Did the happy pill wear off already?”
Nina sighed. “No, but…okay, I’ll just say it and get it out of me. The idea of shopping for a scarf to hide my bald head is depressing.”
Sonnet caught her breath. “Oh, God. Mom.”
“I know, it’s vain and it’s the last thing I should worry about—”
“That’s not true. I don’t blame you one bit and nobody else would, either.” She tried to picture her mother, bald as a just-hatched bird, but simply couldn’t get the picture to form in her mind. Nina had wavy dark hair that perfectly complemented her olive-toned skin. She’d been growing it long the past few years, which made her look young; she still got carded in bars. Her hair—any woman’s hair—was part of her identity. Losing it to the chemo was going to be traumatic.
“Just know it’s part of the process, okay?” Sonnet said.
“You’re right. Thanks for the reminder.”
“And I think you should get this one and the earrings. Because with or without hair, you would totally rock that scarf.”
The worried frown eased a bit. “All right. But you have to buy something too. If you don’t get that jacket and those boots, you’re not the daughter I raised.”
* * *
The days fell into a routine of sorts, although with a group of kids and a hip-hop star who had a mouth like a longshoreman when provoked, the routine was anything but predictable. Some of the filmed sequences, when edited, would have more bleeps than dialogue in them. Yet to Sonnet’s surprise, the production was beginning to feel like more than a job to her, like more than a way to pass the time while she was in Avalon. Yes, there was a lot of waiting around, a lot of conferring and planning, but her favorite moments were exactly what made an unscripted show so weirdly compelling.
The youngsters revealed themselves bit by bit, often without meaning to. She learned that Darnell dreamed of taking piano lessons, and Anita had the ability to read a whole chapter book in a couple of hours. Jaden had a knack for dreaming up crazy inventions involving ropes and pulleys. The twins sometimes communicated with made-up words and gestures only they could understand. Each child had gifts and flaws and quirks—sometimes endearing, sometimes annoying, always compelling.
On a soft, misty morning, they gathered in the dining hall to talk about the day’s theme and activities. Today’s theme was “facing our fears.”
“Why we got to face our fears?” asked Andre, never shy about speaking his mind.
“So people don’t call you a wuss,” Darnell pointed out.
“S’pose I don’t care if somebody call me a wuss?” asked Andre.
“What’re you afraid of, anyway?” Jezebel asked him. “Be honest.”
“Nothin,’” the boy said. “Except stuff everybody’s scared of, like snakes and bad guys.”
“I used to get stage fright real bad,” Jezebel said.
That got the kids’ attention. “You?” asked one of the girls. “You told us you been performing since you were a kid.”
“I have been. Was in the church choir, and the director wanted me to sing a solo. And I wanted to, in the worst way. But I was scared. And the director told me if I ever wanted to lift my voice up for the Lord, I’d have to start by lifting it up for the people in the church. I told him I didn’t know about the Lord, but I wanted the whole world to hear me.”
“So did you sing the solo?” Quincy demanded.
“Yeah, I did. I almost peed my pants before the performance, but I did it. Again and again, until I wasn’t scared anymore.”
“You still sing in church?” he wanted to know.
She shook her head. “I still like gospel music, but my audience has changed.”
“My momma doesn’t let me listen to your music.”
“My music isn’t for kids, that’s why. You should listen to your momma,” Jezebel said.
“That what we’re gonna do today?” asked Rhonda, one of the twins. “Sing for people?”
“Maybe later. Is singing for people something that scares you?”
“Heck, no,” said Shawna, the other twin. “It scares other people.”
“Nice.” Jezebel offered her a high five. “Let’s go around and say something that’s scary.”
“Crocodiles!” “Math tests.” “Clowns.” “Bridges that hang over deep, deep canyons.” “Goosebumps books.” “Worms.”
“Worms?” Andre snorted at Rhonda’s contribution. “How can anybody be afraid of worms?”
“They’re slimy and you don’t know which end is which.”
“Then don’t touch them. Don’t look at them. You think they’re gonna chase you down or something?”
A squabble erupted, and it was allowed to go on for a bit while the cameras rolled. Jezebel grabbed Andre by the back of the collar and pulled him out of the fray. “Is this an elimination-type show? Because if it is, I know some kids who’re gonna get sent home.”
“Nuh-uh. You can’t send nobody home.”
“Quit picking fights, or I’ll change the rules.”
“But come on. Worms?”
“Look, y’all,” Jezebel said, “a fear is a fear. It doesn’t have to make sense.”
Sonnet grinned, wishing she could laugh aloud. “How about you?” she whispered to Zach, who was directing the sequence rather than filming today. “What are you afraid of?”
“Personal questions,” he whispered back.
The kids were debating the comparative horrors of spiders versus salamanders, but all agreed a trip to the principal’s office trumped them all.
During a break in the filming, Zach said, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“I’m falling in love with these kids. They remind me of how much I liked working with children. And how much I miss it.”
“Then why’d you quit?”
“I didn’t quit. I moved on to an agency directorship. It’s a way to help thousands of children, not just a few.” So she’d told herself. She’d spent the entire past year rationalizing her career path, each time she got stuck in a meeting, or encountered some kind of frustrating bureaucratic situation. Her father had taught her that leadership was the way to change the world, and she clung to that advice.
Cold logic didn’t keep her from missing what she really liked to do, though.
She shot Zach a resentful look, but he was already busy with something else. It was just as well that the conversation had been abandoned. He tended to ask her hard q
uestions, the kind she didn’t have the answers to.
* * *
A short time later, they were filming at a zip line that stretched from the top of Meerskill Falls, a cataract that thundered down a gorge, ending in the lake. Some of the kids were only too happy to leap into the adventure, screaming with laughter and exhilaration as they rode the cable down to the water’s edge.
For all his brash talk, Andre refused to budge from the platform above the falls. Everyone else—including Jezebel herself—had gone, but Andre had managed to hang back until a crew member noticed him at the bottom of the ladder to mounting platform, being uncharacteristically quiet. They managed to cajole him up to the platform, but he refused to take a step farther.
“We need the kid whisperer,” said one of the cameramen.
That was the nickname they’d given Sonnet, because she’d proven to be remarkably persuasive when it came to getting the kids to cooperate on set.
Time was wasting, and she didn’t have the luxury of a lengthy shrink session. Much as she hated to be on camera, she moved in close to Andre, went down on one knee and looked him in the eye.
“Tell you what,” she said to the shaking boy. “Let’s go together. You and me. What do you say?”
“What good’s that gonna do? Then we’ll both die.”
“Nobody’s going to die. You saw everybody take a turn and they loved it. Come on, I’m scared, too, but I still want to do it.”
“You’re not scared. I heard you telling Salt over there that you couldn’t wait to take a turn.”
“Salt?”
“That’s what we call him.” Andre jerked a thumb in Zach’s direction. “’Cause the two of you are salt and pepper.”
She felt her cheeks heat up. She didn’t want to be pepper to Zach’s salt. “Never mind that. Let’s do this thing.”
“Tell me what you’re scared of,” Andre said. “Then maybe I’ll think about it.”
“I’m…well, there are lots of things that scare me,” she admitted.
“That’s not an answer. Tell me one thing, just one thing you’re afraid of.”
“Riding horseback. And I’m sorry to say, that activity is on the agenda this afternoon.”
“You ain’t acting scared,” Andre said.
“Just because I’m not acting that way doesn’t mean I’m not scared.”
“You gotta tell me something real.”
“Okay, get into your harness and helmet, and I’ll tell you something real.” She had no idea what she was going to say, but she was not going to feed the kid a line of bull. Like all children, Andre had a highly sensitive bullshit meter, and he was sure to call her on it.
He negotiated a little further, demanding a milk shake as a reward for bravery.
“You got it,” she promised. “With whipped cream and a cherry on top.”
Boys were so simple. You could buy their cooperation with so little. It was only when they turned into grown men that they became complicated.
While she and Andre geared up with the help of the crew, she tried to think about what to tell him. The thing about kids was that they could spot a phony a mile away. Andre was not going to relent until she leveled with him and confessed a real fear. There were so many to choose from, it was ridiculous. Yet she’d always been pretty good at dealing with her fears. She was rational in the extreme, and could usually simply explain them away.
Once they were both in their harnesses, she felt a shot of exhilaration. The perspective was amazing, the slender cable arcing gracefully down the gorge, topping the trees that sloped down to the lake. The morning mist swirled on the water, adding a hint of magic to the scene.
“It’s going to be great, Andre,” she said. “You’re going to love it.”
“Okay, so now you have to tell me what scares you.”
She bridled at his tone. “Andre, I really don’t appreciate being quizzed by you.”
“You said you’d tell me. You promised.”
“But—”
“You promised!”
“I’m afraid of lots of things.”
“Then just tell me one. Just one.”
“Fine,” she retorted, the words coming out ahead of her common sense. “I’m afraid of what my mother’s going to look like when she loses all her hair to chemo.” The pain in her voice seemed to echo through the empty woods.
Everyone went still for a moment, although she was certain the camera kept rolling. Even Andre stopped struggling. Young as he was, he seemed to understand how deeply personal the matter was, how painful to reveal. Sonnet’s own pounding heart told her that it wasn’t really her mom’s imminent baldness that frightened her, per se. Hair would grow back. What she truly feared was that the chemo wasn’t working.
“Happy now?” she said to Andre, and stepped off the platform.
Chapter Thirteen
The night before her mother’s mastectomy, Sonnet barely slept. In the window seat of her room, with its view of the darkened grounds of the Inn at Willow Lake, she sat in the predawn light and battled a worry so acute it struck her like nausea. The sheer, wafting curtains smelled of fresh air and lavender, and the sound of crickets filled the air.
She felt a million miles away from her old life in the city. The goals she’d once pursued so relentlessly seemed far away, too, mattering so little now.
She tried to soothe herself with the reminder that so far, the treatment program was going according to plan. The initial chemo treatments Nina had undergone would make surgery easier to perform. They’d met with the surgeon twice, and he was reassuringly confident of a positive outcome. And if that wasn’t enough, Orlando had made good on his promise to involve his aunt, a highly regarded oncologist with the Krokower Clinic in the city. Dr. Rivera had familiarized herself with the case, going over the physical examinations, breast ultrasound, core biopsy, CT scan and MRI. She had done several phone consultations with Nina’s team.
Orlando’s aunt had advocated a combination of very new “smart drugs” that would be filtered by the placental wall, keeping the baby safe. She’d even taken the time to speak with Sonnet personally, and her confident professionalism was reassuring to hear. Still, Sonnet worried. People suffered from cancer. They died.
Restless, she paced over to her laptop and checked her email. There was nothing new since the last time she’d checked. She sighed and leaned back, cautioning herself not to go trolling the internet for information about breast cancer. There was too much out there. She’d catch herself reading a blog by some kindly woman documenting her breast cancer “journey,” only to see the blog abruptly end, leaving her hanging. Had the woman survived? Or had the narrative ended because she hadn’t made it?
A chat window popped onto the screen. What are you doing up? Orlando typed.
She smiled, surprised to see the message. Worrying about my mom’s surgery. What are YOU doing up?
Thinking about you. I knew you’d be worried. Hang in there.
That’s nice. Thanks, Orlando.
Give her my best. And get some sleep. You’re not going to be much help if you’re exhausted.
OK, she typed. I’ll try.
Call me later.
OK. Orlando—
The chat window informed her the user orivera47 was unavailable. Like a computer-generated image, he’d disappeared into the digital ether. But the fact that he’d checked in with her made her feel a little less alone.
She tried to tak
e his advice, getting back into bed and doing the breathing exercises she’d been working on with her mom. Sleep was far away, though, held at bay by the persistent worry of all that could go wrong. Her mom, her beautiful mom, was about to have one of her breasts cut off.
Sonnet shut her eyes and sent out a wordless, fervent little prayer that all would go well.
* * *
Gathering her things for the trip to the hospital, Nina felt like a warrior girding for battle. She knew a struggle was imminent, she knew she would come home wounded and that there would be pain, but she was ready. Even with an empty stomach and her head buzzing with fear, she made herself put one foot in front of the other.
Sonnet and Greg were waiting in the car. Nina stood in the foyer of the house where she’d lived since her marriage to Greg. Last night in front of the camera Zach had installed on her computer, she had spoken of her fears and her determination.
Then, on impulse, she had peeled off her shirt and bra, taking the last pictures of her intact breasts. It was the last time her body would look this way, unmarked, as nature had made her. Soon, her hair would be gone as well, and she would look as strange to herself as an alien from another planet.
She’d broken down then, wept and raged while her husband and daughter slumbered, and then pulled herself together. Then she had shut off the camera and saved the file. She would not be giving that sequence to Zach for editing. She might never look at it again. But she felt compelled to keep it, the way she’d kept her seventh-grade diary and the love notes she’d sent to Shane Gilmore when she was fourteen. It was a private part of her, something she would keep…at least until she didn’t need it anymore.
Now she turned back and looked at the furnishings they’d picked out together, the lace curtains wafting in the breeze, the frieze of family pictures in the hallway. She saw all the smiling faces of the people she loved, so many of them. The sight gave her strength. This was her home, a place of joy and safety, and she was determined to come back and get better.