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—”
“Join us for a game,” Jezebel said, jerking her head toward the
lanes.
“We were just going,” said Zach.
“He cut me off,” Sonnet explained. “I didn’t know you were a
fan of bowling.”
“I am, lately. Under the terms of my parole, I’m not supposed
to be in a bar,” Jezebel said. “But I’m allowed to bowl.” They went to the
counter to trade their street shoes for bowling shoes. She fanned her face at
the imaginary fumes from Sonnet. “Hoo-whee.”
“Two drinks,” Sonnet protested. “That’s all I had.”
“They were doubles,” Zach said.
“Guess you got spun out by that campaign debate,” Jezebel
said.
“Did you stay for the whole thing?”
“Yeah, I saw.”
“I can’t believe it was brought up by someone who’s supposed to
be a bona fide member of the media.”
“What, you want fair and balanced? From the media?” She laughed
loudly, attracting stares.
“It was really just to make my father look bad. You saw, the
whole thing was just so…pointless but humiliating, for everyone involved.”
Jezebel nodded in sympathy, inspecting one of her long,
polished nails. “Welcome to the world of the tabloids.”
“I need a ride home,” she said, groping in her purse.
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, girl,” said Jezebel. “My
license is still suspended on account of me having a little too much fun with my
ex’s Z4.”
“I’ve got this,” Zach said easily.
“’Course you do,” Jezebel said. “One of these days, the two of
you are gonna get over whatever it is that’s holding you back and go for
it.”
“We’re just friends,” Sonnet said, her voice a little too
loud.
“Uh-huh.” Jezebel’s eyes narrowed skeptically.
Sonnet lifted her chin and tried to walk away with steady
dignity. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” she said, getting into the passenger side of Zach’s
car.
“No problem.”
“I am,” she said. “I am a problem. Can’t help it, I was born
that way.”
“Right.”
“No, you’re not listening. I’m a problem because my parents
were never married. If it wasn’t for me, my dad wouldn’t be in this stupid fight
about his reputation.”
“Ah, I got it,” he said with a chuckle. “You wish you’d never
been born. Like the guy in that movie
It’s a Wonderful
Life.
Get over yourself, Sonnet.”
“Hey, I warned you it was going to be a pity party tonight. If
you can’t handle that, you’d better let me call a taxi.”
“In Avalon? There’s still just the one taxi, Maxine’s. Do you
really want to get her out of bed just to pour you home?”
“Fine, then take me home.”
“Fine.”
They drove along in silence, the streetlamps from the main part
of town giving way to long stretches of unrelieved darkness. He parked in front
of the house. “You need me to walk you to the door?”
“I’m tipsy, not hammered,” she said. “I was trying to get
hammered but then I realized I have to get up in the morning. We’ve got the
cooking segment first thing.” She turned to face him on the seat. “Thank you,
Zach.”
“For taking you out drinking?”
“For everything today.” She felt a surge of emotion, and knew
it wasn’t coming from the Long Island iced teas she’d consumed. “It would have
been a lot more awful if you hadn’t been there.”
“I’ve always been there for you,” he said. “It’s about time you
noticed.”
He got out and came around to the passenger side to open her
door. She stood up and found herself impossibly close to him, looking up at his
face.
“Something the matter?” he asked in a low voice.
“I’m just tipsy enough to want to kiss you,” she said, her
mouth working several beats ahead of her brain.
“And I’m just sober enough to say no.”
“I thought you said… Sorry. I misunderstood.”
“No, you didn’t.” He leaned down slightly so their faces were
very close, their lips almost touching. “I said I was attracted to you. And
hell, yes, I want to kiss you and I intend to do just that. Not now, though.
When you’re clearheaded and you’re over your so-called boyfriend and the time is
right.
Then
I’ll kiss you.”
Oh, boy, she thought.
“See you tomorrow,” she said, then fled in confusion.
* * *
Jane Bellamy was the kind of old lady you saw on denture
commercials, the kind who was pretty enough to make you practically want to have
dentures. As he was directing the lighting of the set, Zach didn’t need nearly
as many diffusers as he normally used on women of a certain age.
Mrs. Bellamy, whose parents had founded Camp Kioga back in the
1920s, had agreed to make an appearance on the show once the network promised to
fund the education of the participating kids. The kitchen was set up for a
cooking lesson, and her husband, Charles, was on set, beaming with pride as he
watched her.
They’d been married almost sixty years, longer than anybody
else in the room had been alive. According to the director’s notes, this was
something that Jezebel was going to talk with her about while they showed the
kids how to cook something.
Jezebel arrived, and next to the neatly done-up Mrs. Bellamy,
she looked more imposing than ever. They were the ultimate mismatch, the old
lady in her pearls and the hip-hop star with the ankle bracelet, but Mrs.
Bellamy acted as though she had company like this every day. The prep area was
set up with a ceiling mirror and lighting, and the kids gathered around on bar
stools. Each one wore an apron embroidered with their name.
“Before Camp Kioga was a summer camp, it was a farm,” she told
everyone. “It’s still surrounded by gardens and orchards, and summer is the best
possible time for rhubarb pie. Ever tried rhubarb pie?”
A few blank stares, shrugs. One camera got a reaction shot from
one of the younger boys; Andre narrowed his eyes and gestured at a pile of dark
green leaves. “We picked a bunch in the garden this morning.”
“For pie, you use only the stalks,” said Mrs. B. “Jezebel’s
going to show you how to cut off the leaves and slice the red stalks.”