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Through the shop window, he watched the town getting ready for the day. Shopkeepers rolled out their awnings and displayed their wares on the walkways. Delivery trucks disgorged supplies to restaurants, and people walked briskly toward the train station. Like any small town, an atmosphere of familiarity colored the scene. Zach had always liked that about Avalon. Being part of a small community filled in somewhat for his crappy family situation.
He had been on his own ever since high school, when his father was led away in handcuffs, the town disgrace. Zach was left with a house in foreclosure, a mountain of unpaid bills and a reputation in tatters. Matthew Alger had defrauded the town of Avalon. He’d picked the pockets of people who could scarcely buy groceries, let alone pay their local taxes.
Zach had made a vow that day. He would make restitution to the people his father had defrauded. It would surely take years, but he would do what he could. It wouldn’t happen on his salary from Wendela’s, though. Through the years, he had been depositing whatever he could into the city treasury, trying to chip away at his father’s debt, bit by bit.
He was going to miss this place. But he had to go, and soon. How else was he going to find his life? Filming weddings and bar mitzvahs and retirement parties was a way to make ends meet. But being a filmmaker…that was his life. And he couldn’t very well do that in Avalon. Sure, the town looked as pretty as a picture on a postcard, so pretty it made your heart ache. But pretty didn’t pay the bills. To do that, he needed to go where the work was. But he was stuck in a conundrum. Due to lack of funds, he had not gone after what he wanted.
Zach’s phone rang, and he did a double take. The name that came up was the one he least expected—the longest of longshots: Mickey Flick.
“Who’s Mickey Flick?” demanded Glynnis, peering at the screen of his phone. She not only had a rack; she was the nosiest waitress on the planet.
He ignored her, and skimmed his thumb across the screen in order to take the call. “This is Zach Alger.”
“Mickey Flick here.” A crisp, easy familiarity mellowed the voice. The guy sounded as if he and Zach talked every week.
Zach held his breath. Mickey Flick headed up an outfit in Century City noted for its wildly successful celebrity reality shows. Zach was no fan of the genre, having little interest in watching has-been actors in some ludicrous setup. He was, however, a fan of the success of the shows. He’d been in contact with Mickey Flick Productions, knowing it was a crazy roll of the dice. There had been several emails back and forth with various assistants, but still, he hadn’t expected anything to come of it. Now here was the guy, calling him out of the blue.
“Hey,” he said, trying not to fumble. “Thanks for calling me back.”
“Not a problem. We were glad to hear from you. We’ve been going over the samples you sent in.”
Zach felt himself teetering on the brink. He knew, he just knew his life was about to change. “Wow. Well,” he said, “I’m flattered you had a look. I hope you liked what you saw.”
“Hell, yeah, we liked them. You’ve definitely got the technical expertise and the eye we’re looking for, so I wanted to see if you’re available for a new production that’s about to start filming.”
Available? Available? Was he available for Mickey-freaking-Flick?
“Could be,” he said, hoping to sound measured. Interested, but not too eager. “Tell me more.”
“For the time being, I can’t say much. You’ll get more details from Clyde Bombier, my production exec. It’ll be a reality show, all under wraps until we’re ready to go wide with it. What I can tell you is that it’s a sixteen-week gig, it involves a major talent and a name director. You’d work directly with him.”
“Okay,” Zach said. “You have my attention.”
He tried not to hyperventilate as he listened to the terms being offered. The money alone made his head spin, but the real excitement kicked in when Flick said he was sending a formal letter of offer and a contract via email.
Zach thanked him and hung up, looking around the bakery at the coffee drinkers, the tourists and locals, the little kids smearing their hands on the glass cases, the old guys with their crossword puzzles. These people had no idea that the world had just shifted for him. Finally the dream was coming into reach. He’d been trying to get a break forever, sending out his portfolio of digital clips, emailing them into what seemed like a black hole of digital ether. He’d been networking through people in the business who were at least six degrees away from West Coast and New York producers. Each award he won, each scrap of recognition, hoisted him another rung up the ladder, but until now, nothing had materialized.
The opportunity was still so new, he had only the sketchiest idea of what was in store for him next. He knew for certain Mickey Flick had a reputation for doing things in a big way. The guy had mentioned that this opportunity was a major production. Major. It was the biggest thing that had ever happened to Zach, for sure.
The current project was so top secret he would only learn the details when everything was in place. All he knew was he’d been offered a fortune to work on the production. He wondered why they’d picked him, given all the talent in the business. He wouldn’t quibble. The money was nice, it was more than he’d dreamed of making, but that wasn’t the part that excited him. What really excited him was the crazy array of possibilities that now lay before him.
Speculating on what the secret plan for the show might be, he dreamed of Malibu, maybe filming a surf competition. Or perhaps there would be a crew of castaways on Fiji, mountaineers in Colorado. Or a rock group in Amsterdam. Yeah, that’d be awesome. Mickey Flick was known to work closely with some of the biggest names in the music business. His last hit had involved a world-class heavy metal star’s collaboration with a classical pianist, culminating in a triumphant performance in Carnegie Hall.
Zach couldn’t wait to see what was in store for him. And at the end of it all, he’d finally have the seed money to start living his dream.
The people in the café carried on, oblivious. Just for a second, Zach felt a twinge of frustration. He wanted to call somebody, tell somebody, share this amazing news. And the person he most wanted to share it with was the last one who wanted to hear.
Part Three
MUST-DO LIST (REVISED, AGAIN)
What we remember from childhood we remember forever—permanent ghosts, stamped, inked, imprinted, eternally seen.
—CYNTHIA OZICK, AMERICAN WRITER, B. 1928
Chapter Five
Sonnet awakened as the train from the city lurched into the station at Avalon. Just for a moment, she felt fuzzy and disoriented, her sleepy mind flipping through all her many homecomings. As a new, homesick college student, she’d arrived with a sense of relief, eager to be enfolded in the comfort of her mother’s arms. During her various internships overseas, she’d visited less often, but always with appreciation. Yet as time went on, the town where she’d been born and raised seemed smaller and smaller to her, with less and less to tie her to the pretty lakeside hamlet. While her world was expanding, Avalon remained the same.
She felt strange about this homecoming, for a lot of reasons. It made her seem like she was going backward into a world where she no longer fit or belonged.
Grabbing her bags from the luggage rack, she stepped down to the platform and looked around. Same little burg, with its picturesque square, the old brick buildings huddled shoulder-to-shoulder, their striped and scalloped awnings shadowing the shops and businesses she’d walked past every day as she was growing up.
She noticed a bit of commotion on another car as a group of people got off, lugging hard cases of equipment and rolls of cable on hand trucks. There were a couple of guys and women, dressed mostly in black, looking around as if they’d stepped off a spacecraft onto an alien planet. One of the guys wore a black baseball cap with the logo MFP, and the equipment boxes were marked Mickey Flick Productions.
Sonnet thought they might be a camera crew. Back when her mother served as the town mayor, she’d set up a volunteer film commission to attract business. A place like Avalon didn’t see much action, but every once in a while a crew came through to create footage of the quaint town, or of fall foliage or sometimes aerial views of the area. It was a place that seemed frozen in time, achingly pretty, useful for establishing a historic or generic small town setting. A few years back, there had been a public television documentary on the annual Christmas pageant that had created quite a stir.
The PBS camera crew hadn’t looked like this bunch, however. These people had that edgy East or West Coast look. They consulted smartphones and lit up cigarettes before moving en masse to a large panel van parked in the commuter lot.
Seeing a camera crew reminded her of Zach Alger. He was the last person she wanted to think about, but she couldn’t help herself. God, those kisses. Those hands. The things he’d whispered in her ear. Even now, she felt an unbidden spasm of desire at the mere thought of him. It was ridiculous, feeling turned on by a man she had no business thinking about.
Squaring her shoulders, she took out her new phone and sent a text to Max Bellamy, her stepbrother, who had offered to pick her up. In the parking lot, he texted back. Need help with bags? She indicated that she did not, and rolled her luggage toward Max’s slightly beat-up Subaru.
Max stood in his shirtsleeves, one hand in his jeans pocket, his hip cocked at a jaunty angle. He attended college in Hamilton, where he liked to say he majored in beer and girls. With his surfer-blond good looks, he took after his dad, Greg Bellamy, though his air of easy charm was something that belonged to Max alone. Sonnet liked him well enough, but she would never understand him. He came from a great family—he was a Bellamy, for heaven’s sake—yet he seemed to be in no hurry to find his life.
“Hey, you,” she said, giving him a hug. He’d topped six feet a few years ago, and he moved with easy grace as he loaded her bags in the back. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“Sure. Your mom’s going to go nuts when she sees you.”
“She’s already nuts. Seriously, Max. Pregnant?” It felt weird just saying it aloud. Her mother—her over-forty mother—was pregnant. When Nina had first told her, Sonnet had been speechless with disbelief. Then she’d accused Nina of telling a bad joke. “I’m still in shock. How about you?”
Max rolled out of the parking lot and headed toward the Inn at Willow Lake, which Nina and Greg owned and operated. “It’s cool with me. I mean, yeah, it’s weird because we’re so much older than little Junior or Juniorette is going to be, but…” He shrugged. “Red Bull?” He offered her a sip of his drink.
“Uh, no, thanks.” She tried not to ingest things that had ingredients she couldn’t pronounce. She looked out at the scenery—the covered bridge over the Schulyer River, the hills draped in sunlit green. As they neared the inn, she glimpsed the lake in the distance, shining like a jewel. “Hey, I saw a camera crew get off the train. Know anything about that?”
“Some kind of top-secret production is going to be starting. That’s the word, anyway,” Max said, flashing his thousand-watt grin. “Maybe they’ll make me a star.”
“You wish.”
He turned into the gravel-paved lane leading to the Inn at Willow Lake. As always, it was lush and gorgeous, perfectly planted and maintained, a testament to Greg Bellamy’s skill as a landscape architect. “There’s some producer named C. Bomb staying at the inn,” Max said. “He’s like the head of the outfit or something.”
“C. Bomb?”
“That’s what he calls himself. Clyde Bombardier or something like that. Spends all day glued to his laptop, gabbing on his Bluetooth.”
“So, not your typical guest.” The inn was known as a place for romantic getaways. “And he’s not telling people what he’s up to?”
Max shrugged. “His business. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
“And my mom? My pregnant mom?” Sonnet was still trying to get her mind around the concept. When she’d told Orlando, he’d merely wondered why Sonnet had to go haring off to Avalon simply because her mom was expecting. Orlando didn’t get it. It wasn’t every day a grown woman discovered her mother was going to have a baby.
“Her business,” Max said reasonably enough. “I’m sure the two of you will be up half the night discussing it.”
* * *
Nina was sound asleep. Sonnet tiptoed into the house, which had once been a caretaker’s cottage on the estate that had become the Inn at Willow Lake. She found her mother on a daybed in the living room, covered in an afghan, softly snoring. Quietly setting down her things, she paused to study Nina. Did she look different, or was that just Sonnet’s imagination? She just looked like…Mom, with her pretty Italian features and thick black hair, which she’d grown long enough for a ponytail, her dark eyelashes shadowing cheeks that looked slightly gaunt. You’re pregnant, Sonnet thought. You’re supposed to be glowing.
“Mom,” she said softly.
Nina’s eyes fluttered open. Her mouth unfurled into a smile. “Hi, baby.” Her favorite pet name for Sonnet now took on new meaning. “Thanks for coming.”
Sonnet hurried over to the daybed and they hugged. Her mother smelled like Pond’s lotion, a warm scent that took Sonnet back to her girlhood. She shut her eyes, and in a swift sequence she remembered all the hugs they’d shared through the years. During her childhood, the two of them had been inseparable, making their way through life together. There were tough years, there were times Sonnet yearned for a father or for something that looked like a two-parent family, but ultimately, the two-alone dynamic brought them closer. They were more than just mother and daughter; they were best friends.
“It’s the middle of the day and you’re sleeping,” Sonnet said.
“The prerogative of pregnant ladies.”
It felt completely surreal to Sonnet. “So you weren’t kidding about being pregnant.”
Nina scooted up to a sitting position. “Not kidding. Not the sort of thing any woman kids about.”
There was a bottle of prenatal vitamins and a prescription bottle for something Sonnet didn’t recognize next to a glass of water on the end table. Reality started sinking in. Sonnet’s mother was pregnant. “Are you showing yet?”
Nina smoothed a hand down her midsection. “Not too much.”
Sonnet couldn’t help staring. “Not there, anyway. But wow, Mom. You’ve had a visit from the boob fairy. Your girls are looking good.”
Nina waved her hand and glanced away. “I’m not really focused on that.”
“Well then…congratulations. It’s really exciting, Mom. Just unexpected. You caught me off guard. The last thing I thought I’d hear from you is that you’re having a baby.”
Nina smiled. “You’ll get used to the idea. Greg and I are so happy.”
“That’s great.” Sonnet was surprised to feel the tiniest twinge of jealousy, followed by a cold wave of shame. Her mother and Greg were totally in love, they were having a baby together, and she was happy about it. Yet there was a small, selfish part of her that wished she’d had the childhood this baby was going to have—two doting parents, a storybook-pretty life in this cottage near the lake. It was a stark contrast to the drafty rentals she and Nina had lived in, with Nina working all the time, trying to make ends meet.
“How are you feeling?” Sonnet asked, shifting gears into good-daughter mode. “Besides tired, I mean.”
“I feel…I’ll be fine,” Nina said firmly. “Perfectly fine.”
“So is it a boy or girl?”
“We considered leaving that unanswered, but I just had to know. I’ve already had the amnio, and what we know so far is that the baby is healthy and growing on schedule. And it’s a boy.”
“A boy.” Sonnet felt a genuine smile unfurling on her lips. “I’m going to have a baby brother. That just seems so incredible.”
“Okay, I’m getting a little insulted by how incredible you think it is. For a teen mom, I didn’t do half bad, right? As an older mom, I’ll manage,” Nina said. “So, welcome home, my prodigal child,” she added. “How long can you stay?”
“Today, plus the weekend. I wish it could be longer, but there’s work.”
“And the fellowship. Oh my gosh, baby, I’m so thrilled that you got the fellowship. You’re amazing, do you know that?”
Sonnet hugged her mother again. “I’m feeling like a pretty big deal these days.”
“You should feel like a big deal every day. I’m ridiculously proud of you. This is a huge opportunity, isn’t it?”
“The biggest. I have a meeting next week to find out my assignment. Two years overseas…somewhere. I can’t wait to find out.”
A shadow flashed across Nina’s face. Maybe Sonnet imagined it. Then she guessed her mother’s thoughts. “Oh, God. I won’t be here when the baby comes. Mom—”
“Stop right there. You don’t need to be here for the birth. The baby won’t know the difference.”
“But you will. Mom, I could ask—”
“No,” Nina interrupted again. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime. You’ve been working toward this since the day you left home. No way are you going to pass it up.”
Sonnet felt her eyes misting up. “You’re the best, you know that?”
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