by Susan Wiggs
“Oh, that’s cute.” His face, so handsome, hardened into a mask of contempt. “So you’ve decided all of a sudden to get in touch with your feelings?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt you—”
“You’re hurting yourself, Sonnet. Will you listen to what you’re saying? What the hell do you plan on doing? Launching a new career as a script girl? Settling down in this place in the middle of nowhere and doing…what?”
“I’ve always had a plan. But lately the plans I’ve made haven’t worked out for me, because I haven’t been listening to myself.”
“You had an incredible career. You had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with the fellowship. If you’re going to turn your back on those things and pass up a chance to truly make a difference in the world, then you’re not the person I thought you were.”
His words cut deep, yet at the same time, she felt cleansed, the sharp clarity still shining inside her. “Or maybe I’m exactly the person you think I am,” she told him.
Part Four
MUST-DO LIST (REVISED, ROUND 4)
expect a miracle
count blessings
learn to let go
breathe
really fall in love
(once mom gets better)
A sudden bold and unexpected question doth many times surprise a man and lay him open.
—SIR FRANCIS BACON, 1561-1626
Chapter Seventeen
Needing to decompress, Sonnet walked. She didn’t have a destination in mind; she simply needed to move, to clear her mind, to get her head around what had just happened. She found herself on the lakefront trail at Blanchard Park, as familiar to her as her childhood memories. In the early twilight, joggers and dog walkers moved along the pathways, and the occasional family or a couple hand-in-hand strolled by. People laughed and talked together, and everyone seemed so…normal. She envied them. Her life didn’t feel normal at all. She was dealing with a sick mother, a father who took no prisoners on his run for national office, a boyfriend who never should have been her boyfriend, and an uncertain future in her job.
Stress broke over her in a wave, and Sonnet did something she rarely allowed herself to do—she crumbled. She was very deliberate about it; she sat on a bench facing the lake, drew her knees up to her chest and silently sobbed. Emotions came up through her like a fountain—fear and uncertainty, helplessness and loneliness—causing her shoulders to shake and her chest to burn. Crying was supposed to be good, wasn’t it? Cathartic and cleansing. But she didn’t feel cleansed at all, only exhausted and sad, which made her cry more. She hoped none of the passersby would notice.
“Um, hey, I couldn’t help but notice you’re upset,” said someone behind her.
Zach. She paused midsob and tried to choke it back down. Zach.
She was glad that he had found her. She was mortified that he had found her. “I’m a mess,” she said. How many times through the years had she made just that confession to him, over issues large and small—a failing grade, a stray cat, a lost locker key, a quarrel with her mom.
“Yeah,” he agreed, taking a seat beside her. “You’re a mess.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not gonna lie. I’ve seen you better.”
She brushed at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Got a Kleenex?”
“Nope, sorry. Here.” He dug in his pocket and took out a packet of lens cleaning papers. “This will do in a pinch.”
She blotted her face. “I’m being a big baby.”
“You’re being human.”
She was tempted to blurt out her news about Orlando, but in fact, that was not the worst thing that had happened to her all evening. Which said a lot about the quality of her relationship with Orlando Rivera, she reflected. How depressing, to spend her time and effort on a guy who would walk away rather than fight for her.
“You’re being nice to me,” she said to Zach. “Why are you being so nice?”
“I’m always nice. You just don’t always notice.”
“Ah, Zach. I don’t know what I would have done without you today.”
He turned toward her, rested his elbow on the back of the bench. “Yeah?”
“Well, I suppose I would have muddled through, but you…thank you. That’s what I really need to say. Thanks for being there, and for knowing how to disable the sound system, and for walking my mom to her car.”
“No problem.”
“Speaking of my mom, I should go make sure she’s all right.”
“Hey. She’s got a husband. I bet he’s doing just fine, looking after her.”
“You might be right. Maybe my mom doesn’t need me here, not really. In fact, she might be better off if I wasn’t around.
“Tonight was awful for her. She acted fine, but I know she was hurt. In the press, they’re going to focus on the fact that she was an unwed teenage mom, not on everything she’s accomplished in her life. And my father’s chance at a seat in the Senate might have been compromised. Who knows how the public will react?”
“And how is any of this your fault?”
“I’m not saying it’s my fault. But I feel as though I’m at the root of it all.”
“Get out,” he said. “You didn’t cause any of this.”
“Maybe not, but…sometimes I think I should have gone away, just like I’d planned.”
He took her hands. She felt his warm grip wrapping around her fingers. “You came back here for a reason,” he said.
“But—”
“You’re staying for a reason. Christ, don’t go second-guessing yourself.”
“I have no idea how to help her. It’s the worst feeling in the world. Sometimes I just lie awake at night and beg for this thing to go away and leave her alone.” Her voice broke. “She’s not eating. I don’t know how to get her to eat.”
“What does the doc say?”
“Loss of appetite is the most common side effect in cancer patients, so this is not unexpected. She’s supposed to eat well or she’ll get too weak to tolerate chemotherapy. It’ll help her feel and look better, too. And my mom has the baby to think about, too. She has to get enough nutrients for both of them. If she doesn’t, she’ll just get weaker and weaker. The baby absorbs the nutrients first, taking what it needs, and—oh, Zach. Sometimes…sometimes…” She lowered her voice, scarcely able to speak the unspeakable. “Sometimes I hate the baby.”
His arm moved from the back of the bench to around her shoulders. “You don’t hate the baby.”
“Yes, I do. I’m terrible.”
“So go ahead and hate the baby, but it’s not going to do your mom any good.”
“I can’t help thinking she could get better treatment if it wasn’t for the pregnancy. And I know I shouldn’t think like that, but my thoughts keep going there. Oh, God, Zach. I’m so worried about her.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know.” Ever so gently, his hand stroked her shoulder.
“Thanks for not telling me not to worry.”
“That never works.”
She tried not to lean into his stroking hand, but it felt so comforting just then, with a mesmeric effect she couldn’t deny. “Nothing works,” she said faintly.
They sat together, staring outward at the dark glassy surface of the water. She kept remembering times spent with Zach, making snowball forts in the winter, skipping stones from the shore on the way home from school,
daring each other to swim longer and longer distances in the summer. Willow Lake was a backdrop for their childhood and their coming-of-age, as omnipresent as music drifting from a radio. Just being back here made her think about matters that lay far out of range when she was in the city.
“What are you doing tonight?” Zach asked after a long silence.
All of its own accord, her heart sped up. She was glad they were both facing the view, not each other. “Besides attending my own pity party?”
“Seriously. What are your plans?”
“I have no plans. Actually, I need to get hammered,” said Sonnet. “Getting hammered as a form of therapy is underrated.”
“I like the way you think.” He took his arm away and turned toward her on the bench. “You don’t have some hot date with your boyfriend?”
She tried not to miss the feel of his arm. “He had to go back to the city tonight.” She could have explained more, but the change was so new and so raw, she needed some time to think about it, to reimagine her life without Orlando.
“Excellent.”
“Why is that excellent?”
“Because three’s a crowd.”
“Zach—”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“But—”
“See you then.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Bowling? I thought we were going to get hammered.”
“What, we can’t do both? Bowling’s more fun when you drink, anyway. When was the last time you had a little fun, Sonnet?”
“I…” She paused, thought for a bit. “I always have fun,” she said, miffed.
“Right.”
“I mean, life itself is fun.” Yet when she thought about it, really thought about it, she realized her days were made up of work and social obligations. Things had been that way for quite a while. Doing something purely for the fun of it had become an alien concept. Suddenly she felt far older than her age.
“Life is life,” Zach said. “Bowling is fun. It’s impossible to have a bad time bowling.”
“I haven’t done this since I was in sixth grade, at Leaky Swoboda’s birthday party.”
“Did you have fun at that party?”
“You ought to know. You were there.”
“It was awesome.” She remembered bits and pieces—the Go-Gos on the stereo, giggling over nothing, speculating over who liked who. It wasn’t so much the things they did or said, but the feeling of being with friends, the kind of friends who didn’t expect you to be a certain way, other than yourself.
She checked out the sign, a flashing neon monstrosity with the name King’s Cross Lanes. Then she caught herself checking him out, and it struck her that after the exchange with Orlando, she was free to check out anyone she wanted. She reminded herself that it was too soon to be thinking of any guy. “So this is what you do for fun in Avalon?”
“What do you do for fun in the city, smartass?” He held the door and she stepped inside. To her surprise, it lacked the harsh lighting, noise and gym-locker smell she remembered. Instead, there was a sleek bar with ambient lighting, sculptural stools, good music drifting from unseen speakers. An upholstered console landscaped with plants divided the bar from the lanes.
Sonnet paused to take it all in. “Whoa. This is really something, Zach. I don’t remember it being so cool.”
“It’s under new management.” He waved to a broad-shouldered guy stationed near the bar. “You remember Marc, right? Marc Swoboda.”
She hoped her expression wasn’t too surprised. That was Leaky Swoboda? He’d turned into Captain America, complete with biceps the size of a normal man’s thighs, a head full of glossy dark waves and an easy smile, underscored by a dimple in his chin.
She waved at him, too, unsure whether or not he recognized her.
“You’re staring,” Zach observed, sliding into an upholstered booth.
“Oh. Oops. It’s just that he’s changed a lot.”
“Don’t act so shocked. Not everybody has to travel the world in order to change.” He touched her chin. “I think you might be drooling.”
She jerked her head away. “You’re funny. I wasn’t staring at him like that. He’s not my type.”
“That’s for sure.” Zach grinned and flipped through the bar menu.
“Is he single?”
“Nope. He has a boyfriend.”
“Oh. Well.”
“I stared at him, too,” said Maureen Haven, arriving with her husband, Eddie, and another couple, Bo and Kim Crutcher. “We all do. I think he likes it.”
“What if I don’t like it?” Eddie complained.
“Then I’ll stare at you,” said Maureen.
“Can we all play the same lane, or should we get a second one?” asked Bo, ever the competitor.
“We can all play here.” Kimberly sat down at the scoring desk. “This is going to wreak havoc on my manicure.”
Sonnet sidled over to Zach. “A couples date? Really, Zach?”
He shrugged, unapologetic. “You can use the distraction.”
Sonnet watched Bo hefting a bowling ball, trying to find the perfect one for Kim. Eddie knelt at Maureen’s feet, tying her bowling shoes for her. Watching functional couples, so at ease with one another, made her glad she’d told Orlando goodbye. She knew that no matter how hard she tried, she would never have reached that point with him. Truth be told, he’d been exhausting. She used to have to think everything through, even something like what to order from takeout. It was all strategy with Orlando. He was hard work, she admitted to herself. And he wasn’t worth it. Sometimes it was better to just go bowling with friends.
Still, she didn’t know how she felt about this couples date, mainly because she and Zach weren’t a couple. Nor should they be, she reminded herself.
The waitress came for their order, and Sonnet asked for a Long Island iced tea.
“You don’t mess around,” Bo observed. He ordered a pitcher of beer and some soft drinks.
“It’s been a tough day,” she said.
For the next couple of hours, they bowled. No one was very good at it, but that wasn’t the point. In that span of time, Sonnet forgot to worry about her mom’s illness and her dad’s campaign, her disintegrating relationship with Orlando and her job. Instead, she simply sipped her drink, ordered another and enjoyed the supremely silly situation with friends who let her be herself. She felt like a kid again, and it felt good. Except unlike a kid, she had one drink too many. As the second round of bowling came to an end, she knew she’d reached that goofy, clumsy, happy stage of inebriation.
“You guys are so good together,” she said to Kim, who had just scored a nice spare, earning a high five and a kiss from her husband.
“Thanks. We work at it. Sometimes it doesn’t come easy.”
“Really? You make it look easy.”
“With the right person, it is,” Kim said. “Eventually.”
Zach, she thought. The easiest thing in the world had been to fall into his arms. “Everything looks easy after a couple of Long Island iced teas,” she said.
“Bowling is never easy,” Maureen said, flopping down beside them, “no matter how much I drink. So I don’t bother drinking. I don’t need the calories.”
“But Eddie’s easy, right? Why do other relationships look so good to me? What’s up with that?” Sonnet finished the last of her drink and sucked on the ice.
“Yeah, I’m easy,” Eddie said. “She can�
��t keep her hands off me. Damn, I love eavesdropping on girls.” He elbowed Bo. “They’re talking about relationships.”
“We’re experts,” Bo said to Sonnet. “What can we help you with?”
“My love life’s in the toilet,” Sonnet said. “Can you help with that, or am I beyond hope?” As she spoke, she dropped the bowling ball she was holding, and it nearly crunched Zach’s foot.
“That’s it,” he said, steering her away from the bowling lane. “I’m cutting you off.”
“Good idea. I should get back to my mom’s, anyway. Good night, you guys. Let’s do it again sometime.” Sonnet changed her shoes, swaying a little as she straightened up. “I’m not that good at drinking, remember?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Last time we drank together, it worked out well for us. I thought so, anyway.”
She felt vulnerable, her emotions softened by spiked iced tea and memories. “Zach, if the two of us are going to try to be friends again, we need to move on from that night.”
“And that’s what you want,” he said. “To move on.” He steered her toward the exit by the bar.
“I want us to be friends, the way we were before. The way we’ve always been.”
“News flash,” he said. “I’ve got all the friends I need.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? We’ve been friends since the beginning of time.”
“You know, I was watching this documentary about the relationship of hyperbole in speech to alcohol consumed—”
“God, you always do this. You always bring up the most arbitrary things to make a point. It’s so…so oblique.”
He laughed. “Ouch.”
“Hey there, my homeskillets.” Jezebel came into the bar, trailed by Cinda and a couple of others from the production. “Fancy meeting the lovebirds here.”
Sonnet nearly choked. “We’re not—”