Return to Willow Lake. Сьюзен ВиггсЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Good. So good. In fact, Mrs. Air Force Babe of Oklahoma, you need to stop me from making a fool of myself. I’m in the middle of Central Park and I’m tempted to burst into song about what a Great Day this is. I’m about to become a one-woman flash mob. Stop me because I’m supposed to be cooler than that.”
“You’re a New Yorker. You know you’re cooler than that. But it does sound like you’re having a good day.”
“I’d say so. The best.”
“That’s good. So, you’ve got news? What’s going on?”
“God, just…everything. I got the fellowship, Daze. I got it. Out of everyone they could have picked, they picked me.”
“That’s great. So what does it mean? Besides more laurel wreaths being laid at your feet? You know you’re making the rest of the family look bad, right?”
“Hardly.” She knew Daisy had to be kidding. A talented photographer, she’d been given a citation as an emerging artist, and her work had been in a special show at the Museum of Modern Art. She’d set the bar high. Sonnet was just glad the two of them worked in completely different fields. “What the fellowship does is put me in charge of a program to give indigent children a chance in life. It’s incredible to think I could really make an impact. I don’t know yet whether I’ll be assigned to a domestic program or overseas, although it doesn’t matter. There’s need everywhere.”
“Wow, that’s really something, Sonnet,” Daisy said. “There was never any doubt, not in my mind, anyway. You’re amazing. So, uh, will you be traveling somewhere far away?”
Despite the enthusiastic words, Sonnet heard something in Daisy’s tone. “You sound funny,” said Sonnet. “What’s up? Is Charlie doing any better in school?” Daisy had the most adorable son, but the kid was having a hard time with school this year.
“It’s a process,” Daisy said. “So hard to see him struggle, but we’re working on it. It’s just… Hey, have you talked to your mom today?”
“I tried calling her but she didn’t pick up. She never picks up. Why do you ask?”
“Oh. You should call her. She…”
“God, is Max in trouble again?” Daisy’s younger brother, now in college, had always been something of a challenge.
“It’s just…call, okay?”
“Don’t be going all cryptic on me. I—”
“Hey, you’re breaking up.”
“Oh, you big faker—”
“Sorry. Can’t hear. And I need to check on Charlie—”
The line went dead. Sonnet instantly tried her mother again, and then the Inn at Willow Lake, but was told Nina was out. Frustrated, she glared down at her phone. There was Zach Alger’s name, at the top of the contact list. Prior to the night of Daisy’s wedding, he would have been one of the first people she would call with her news, good or bad. That had all changed, though. She’d never call him again, not after that glorious, sweet, impossible mistake she’d made in the boathouse six months before.
Stop. It was a known fact that ruminating on regrettable past events was an unhealthy habit. Better by far to accept what had happened, set it aside and move on. Ruminating kept the incident alive in one’s head, meaning the hurt, anger, humiliation and regrets felt like fresh wounds, even after time had passed.
Sonnet knew these things. She’d read the self-help books. She’d sat through college courses in human psychology. She knew the drill. Knew how to protect her own heart. Therefore, it was disconcerting to realize she hadn’t been able to push past what she’d come to refer to in her head as the Zach incident.
Having sex with him had been a moment of madness. The sex had been outstanding, but she couldn’t let herself dwell on that. In his arms, she’d felt protected and adored and special…and she couldn’t think about that, either. Because no matter what sort of crazy connection they’d found that night, there was no chance for a romantic relationship for the two of them, and they both knew it. The fellowship and her career were just too important to her; she couldn’t compromise everything she’d worked for just because skinny little Zach Alger had morphed into a sex god.
Particularly in light of what had happened after. The humiliation still made her cringe. After their mad lovemaking, they’d been lounging on the bench seat of the boat, speechless with the lush saturation of sexual fulfillment. Finally, Zach had tried to say something. “That was…that…God, Sonnet.”
She hadn’t done much better. “I think we’d better… I’m… Is there any more champagne?”
He reached for the bottle. He paused, and she saw him frown in the dim light. “Shit, it was on.”
She was still limp with pleasure. “What was on? You mean that camera thing? No way. Oh, my God. Can you fix it?”
He laughed. “Relax, I’m a professional.” He’d popped out the camera’s SD card. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“You totally have to erase that, Zach. I don’t care if it recorded anything or not. You have to promise.”
“Of course I’m going to erase it,” he said. “What do you take me for? Hey, I can do better than that.” He flicked the tiny card into the lake. Then he had turned to her, this sexy stranger who had once been her best friend. “Now, where were we?”
And the mind-blowing sex had continued. Dawn had crept in, and they’d sneaked away from the boathouse, only to encounter Shane Gilmore, president of the local bank and the town gossip, out for his morning jog by the lake. Her mom’s ex, of all people. And there had been no mistaking the expression on his face.
Sonnet cringed all over again as she reached the edge of Central Park, heading for the subway to catch the train to the restaurant. She emerged from the lush gardens of the park onto Fifth Avenue, where the sidewalk was crammed with hurrying pedestrians who all seemed to be in a pointless race with one another.
To refocus her thoughts, she slipped her hand into her pocket and closed it around the key. No one else in the surging stream of humanity had any clue what the key meant to her or even why. Despite the warmth of the day, she felt a chill.
It was a chill of excitement. Of anticipation. The key had been given to her by Orlando, aka the ideal boyfriend. He was one of those guys who really was as good as he looked on paper—background, education, career path, manners, looks. And because her father had introduced them, Orlando had arrived in her life preapproved. And he said he was in love with her.
He was the first man to say so. Hearing the declaration hadn’t been the exhilarating free fall of emotion she’d imagined as a girl. It was better than that. He was mature, he knew what he wanted, and he wanted to share his life with her.
As the crowd on the sidewalk halted for a traffic light, she gave a couple of bills to a guy strumming “While My Guitar Gently Weeps” on a ukulele. A block farther, she played a secret game of peekaboo with a toddler being jiggled on his mother’s shoulder. Oblivious, the mother gabbed away on her phone about a fight she was having with her boyfriend. The baby had cheeks like ripe apples and eyes that looked perpetually startled, and a wisp of blond hair rising from his forehead like the flame of a candle.
He looked like half the dolls Sonnet used to play with when she was a little girl. The other dolls looked more like the little African-American girl in the umbrella stroller a few feet away. When Sonnet got older, her mom had explained that baby dolls who looked like Sonnet were hard to come by. Santa’s elves, apparently, had not caught up with the times. Mixed race babies were common enough; dolls that resembled them, not so much.
The light changed and she walked on, her fingers clenched around the key until its teeth bit into the palm of her hand. She wasn’t so sure herself. The way her career was going at UNESCO, there was scarcely time