Return to Willow Lake by Susan Wiggs

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