Return to Willow Lake

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“But I am going to propose. And it is going to be romantic and you’re going to say yes.”

Goose bumps suddenly covered her arms. But then, questions and second-guessing kicked in. Was he going to propose because he loved her and couldn’t live without her, or because it would make his candidate’s daughter look less like a slut to the electorate?

She brushed aside the cynical thought. When had she turned into such a skeptic? Or had she always been this way?

A large, imposing silhouette filled the doorway.

“Hey, my father just got here,” she said. “Can we talk about the key later?”

Orlando was already striding across the foyer, his hand outstretched. “Laurence, how are you?” No comment about General Jeffries being tardy.

Sonnet felt a swell of pride and excitement as the two men shook hands. Her father was every inch the military man, looking as polished as the brass buttons on his swirling greatcoat.

Standing between the two of them, she felt like a princess, flanked by visiting royalty. The host led them to their table, where he held the thronelike upholstered chair for her.

“So there’s news,” Sonnet said once they were all seated. “Good news.”

“I’m always up for good news.” Her father regarded her warmly.

She paused, savoring the moment. “I got the Hartstone Fellowship,” she said. “The call came today, and I have an official letter.”

Orlando gave a low whistle. “That’s fantastic.”

“Sonnet, I’m so proud of you.” Her father ordered a bottle of champagne. “I can’t say I’m surprised, but proud as hell.”

“Thanks. I’m still pinching myself.” She beamed at them both as the sommelier brought a bottle of Cristal and poured three flutes. “It’s so great that we’re together, celebrating. I was going to send you an email but I wanted to tell you in person.” She’d been brimming over with the news all day.

“You deserve it,” said Orlando. “I know how hard you worked for this.”

“He’s right,” her father agreed. “We’re going to miss you when you’re overseas.”

Sonnet blinked. “How do you know it’s an overseas assignment?”

He glanced up at the chandelier. “That’s usually the case. Am I wrong?”

“Never,” she said, but he failed to catch the note of irony in her voice.

“With your background and language skills, you’d excel in a foreign location.” He waved a hand to summon the waiter. “I think we’re ready to order.”

“I have the final numbers on the fundraiser.” Orlando handed Laurence a printout. “I thought you’d like to see.”

“We exceeded our goal for this stage of the campaign,” said Laurence.

“That’s great, Dad. It’s good news all around,” Sonnet said. She really wanted to talk more about the fellowship, but didn’t want to monopolize the conversation. “Maybe we should buy lottery tickets.”

“I’ve never been one to leave things to chance,” her father said. “Better to make your own luck.”

“Agreed,” said Sonnet. Her father was something of a control freak. He had been ever since she’d gotten to know him during her college years.

Orlando and her father talked shop—polls, demographic studies, campaign strategies, and she listened attentively. When their meal came, there was a pause to appreciate the perfectly prepared food, served with deftness by a waitstaff that worked like a well-oiled machine. She flashed on a memory of her childhood—Sunday dinners at her Romano grandparents’ home, with all the aunts, uncles and cousins diving into delicious but simple food, served family style. The food was simple but plentiful, the family noisy but bighearted.

“Wow, it’s crazy to think that by next year, I’ll be the daughter of a U.S. senator.” Sonnet took a bite of the wild mushroom risotto, savoring the sherry and cream flavorings.

Laurence tried the wine and accepted it with a curt nod. “I assume you mean crazy in a good way.”

She smiled as the waiter filled her glass. “Of course. It makes me really proud.”

“I wish I could say the election is going to be a slam dunk.” He sliced into his steak.

“We don’t hear you saying that,” Sonnet said.

“I have to be honest with you,” said Laurence. “Delvecchio is getting desperate, and he’s known to fight dirty when he’s slipping in the polls.”

“Are you saying he’s slipping in the polls?”

“He most definitely is.”

“So we can expect him to fight dirty,” said Orlando.

“We can.” Laurence swirled a bite of rare meat in the Bearnaise sauce. “And Sonnet, I have to tell you, he’s bound to send someone snooping into every corner of my life.”

“Including me, you mean.” A knot of tension formed in the pit of her stomach.

“I wish I could deny it. Delvecchio is a master at negative spin. He could find a way to make Santa Claus look bad.”

“How bad?” Sonnet pushed her plate away and regarded them both.

Orlando handed her a printout from a political blog. She scanned the article, horror rising along with the bile in her throat. She stared at her father. “They’re bringing up your illicit affair as a West Point cadet with an underage local girl. Of a different race. Which, by the way, is not exactly fiction.”

The article further characterized her father as a ruthlessly ambitious career operative who ignored his own child and moved ahead with his own agenda. At the bottom of the article was a link—Jeffries’s love child…post-wedding hookups?—that made her nearly gag. How had that leaked?

“All fiction, of course,” Orlando said confidently.

She shuddered with distaste, pushing aside the page. “They left out the bit about you having horns and a tail.”

“I’m sorry,” her father said. “I hate that you had to be sucked into this.”

“How will you respond?”

“It’s taken care of. I issued a statement with the truth, explaining that I wasn’t aware that I’d fathered a child. Once I learned I had a daughter, I was elated by the gift I’d been given, and I supported you and your mother to the best of my ability. I’m proud to say you’ve grown into an accomplished young woman with a passion for service and a bright future ahead of her.” The hookups notwithstanding, she thought with a shudder.

“Depending on their politics, readers will decide which version to believe,” said Orlando.

“And if someone contacts me?” Sonnet suppressed a chill of terror.

“Tell them the truth,” her father said easily. “Your truth.”