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He took out a six-pack of India Pale Ale and offered them
around.

“Thanks, I’ll wait until I’m done here,” Paige said, and Nina
looked relieved.

“One more request,” said Greg, and he took Nina in his arms,
burying his face in her hair. He whispered something and she lifted her hand to
his cheek.

I’m so glad she has you, Sonnet thought. She wondered if she’d
ever find a love like that, and the notion startled her. She was supposed to be
finding exactly that with Orlando. Under the current circumstances, however,
they were in a holding pattern and not likely to find anything together other
than higher mobile phone bills. There was something wrong with that picture, she
realized, but now was not the time to think about that.

She hadn’t had a beer in ages, and the cold IPA tasted like
heaven. Zach set up his video and still camera equipment. Paige explained the
shots she needed, pictures from every angle, so she could replicate the look as
closely as possible. She even requested some video shots, so she could study the
way Nina’s hair moved.

With a flourish, she fastened a drape around Nina and took out
a pair of wicked-looking scissors. “I’ve got a mirror if you’d like to watch,”
she said.

“No, thanks,” said Nina. “I’d rather be surprised.” She took a
deep breath, then let it out. “I have no idea what my scalp looks like. It might
be gnarly.”

“You’re beautiful, Mom. That’s not going to change. You know
that, right?” Sonnet wasn’t just saying it.

“I can get your hairpiece done in a couple of days.” Paige
gently lifted a lock of hair. The scissors made a crisp snipping sound, and the
strand came away in her hand. She laid it on a sheet of plastic and moved on to
the next one. The process seemed oddly ritualistic, with an air of gravitas.
Zach recorded the proceedings, and Sonnet felt grateful for him, because she
knew he would capture her mother’s sweetly tentative smile, and Greg’s indulgent
regard.

“You’re going to look fine,” Paige said. “I think you’ll be
happy with your wig.”

“I’m sure I will,” Nina said. “This is an incredible
opportunity.” She seemed relaxed as Paige finished with the haircut, leaving
maybe an inch of length all around. She shaped Nina’s remaining hair into an
extremely short bob.

“You look like a kid,” Greg said. “I like it.”

“The piece might look slightly shorter and thinner than you’re
used to,” Paige explained, brushing off Nina’s neck. “I have to use quite a bit
of the length and volume of the hair in the weave, and there’s only so much of
it. It’s best if I have extra hair to work with. Do you mind if I make use of
donor hair?”

“No,” Nina said. “Of course not.”

Paige aimed a meaningful look straight at Sonnet.

Sonnet put a hand to her head, startled. “Seriously? Can you
use mine?”

“No,” said Nina quickly. “No way. I’m not letting you—”

“I was asking Paige.”

“I could make it work,” Paige said picking up a curly lock of
Sonnet’s hair. “I work with donated hair all the time. You and your mom are a
pretty close match, even though you’re different races. The color matches, and
your hair’s pretty similar in texture.”

“Fine,” said Sonnet. “It’s all yours, then.”

“You’ve never had short hair,” her mother pointed out.

“Neither have you.” Sonnet wanted to get it over with before
she lost her nerve. “We’ll look like sisters.”

It was remarkably hard to sit still while Paige methodically
cut off her long, curly hair. “Remember when I was little, how much I hated my
hair?” Sonnet asked her mom.

“All girls hate their hair,” Jezebel said. “If it’s straight,
they wish it was curly. If it’s curly, they want it straight. And if it’s
nappy
…” She twirled a lock of her own hair around her
finger. “Then you know you’re hot.”

Nina looked mystified.

“It’s a line from one of her songs,” Sonnet explained.

“You used to put that goopy stuff in your hair,” Zach said.

“Hey, that goopy stuff kept me from setting my head on fire out
of sheer frustration,” Sonnet said. She tried not to wince as the scissors
clipped close to her ear.

After what felt like an eternity, her mother handed her the
mirror. “There. You’re Halle Berry.”

Sonnet stared at the stranger in the mirror. The breeze
whispered across her neck and throat, and she felt as light as a feather, as if
she might fly away. The transformation was startling and dramatic. She had no
idea if she looked good or not. But when she saw the expression on Zach’s face,
she knew for sure she didn’t look bad.

Chapter Fourteen

“What the devil
did you do to your hair?” Orlando exited the campaign bus, scolding her before
both feet reached the pavement.

Sonnet patted her short curls. “I gave it to my mother. And if
you’re going to yell at me for that, we’ve got a serious problem.”

“Ah, sorry. I’m being an ass.” Flashing his irresistible smile,
as if delighted to call himself an ass, he strode over to her and gave her a
hug. “Stressed out, and that’s no excuse. But…what are you wearing?”

She looked down at the vintage jacket and boots she’d bought at
Zuzu’s Petals. “My new look. You like?”

“Cute. It’s kind of Bohemian.”

“That’s what I’m aiming for.”

His jaw hardened, but then he smiled. “You look fantastic, and
I’ve missed you.”

Behind him, campaign staffers poured from the bus, which was
painted with a flowing banner and “Laurence Jeffries: Leadership for Tomorrow.”
It was still surreal to Sonnet that her father had a campaign bus. Or that he
had a campaign at all.

“Has anyone from the Delvecchio camp come around?” Orlando
asked.

“No. Why would they— Oh.” Her heart sank. Of course—the
election. Orlando ate, slept and breathed the campaign, sensitive to every
nuance in the press or on the internet. The process actually made Jezebel’s show
seem sane. “They’re not seriously going to make an issue of the fact that my
parents were never married.”

“I warned you, they might.”

“Is my father with you?” She craned her neck to see what was
going on. More aides and volunteers came out, swarming around the bus. A
separate truck had pulled up alongside Blanchard Park, where the debate would
take place. Already the town was swarming with the press, political bloggers,
supporters and detractors from both sides.

“He’s flying up by floatplane from Westchester in about an
hour.”

“Oh, good. Then there’ll be time to have a visit—”

“Not hardly. He’s got to prep for the event, and the press
conference afterward, and then he needs to get back to the city for a fundraiser
breakfast in the morning.”

She swallowed her disappointment. “He really wants this. He’s
determined.”

“You’re right. He’s a good man, Sonnet, and he’ll be good for
this state—for the country. But getting there means he’s got to sacrifice a lot
of personal time.”

“I understand. Really, I do.”

“He wanted me to ask you if you’d find him in the greenroom
before the debate. He really wants to see you.”

“Of course. I’ll make sure I find him.” She felt herself
visibly brightening up. “What about you? Are you staying overnight?”

“I wish. Your mom’s place is incredible. But I’ve got to be at
the breakfast.” He hesitated, then said, “I’d love to see your mom, if she’s up
to it.”

“Thanks.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “And I’ve
missed you, too.”

They drove to the inn, where they found Nina and Greg busily
whitewashing a set of Adirondack chairs. It was good to see her mom going about
her life, doing everyday things. Yes, she moved slower. She had to force herself
to eat, and her chemo brain made her forgetful. But she was committed to her
treatment. So far, it was too soon for the docs to say for certain the drugs
were working, but there would be news soon.

As Sonnet and Orlando approached, Nina straightened, took off
her hat and waved them over.

“She looks good,” Orlando said.

Sonnet felt a rush of gratitude. The wig created from her
mother’s and her hair was a remarkable match for Nina’s natural look. Her own
was completely gone by now, but thanks to the wig, she still looked much like
herself. Only much too thin, her gauntness accentuated by the advancing
pregnancy.

“Welcome back,” she said, extending her hands to Orlando. There
was a brief hug, made awkward by the fact that they barely knew each other.
Orlando smoothed things over by turning to Greg for a handshake.

“You must be here for the big campaign debate,” Greg said.

“That’s right. Unfortunately, I can’t stay long, but I
definitely wanted to drop by, see how things are going.”

“Well enough, all things considered,” Nina said. “Do you have
time for a lemonade, or maybe something stronger?”

“I wish,” Orlando said. “Things are already getting set up in
town, and the press is arriving. You, ah…were you planning to attend?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Nina said.

Orlando’s shoulders stiffened and his eyes narrowed. Sonnet
wondered if his tight, stressed expression was noticeable.

“I already know who I’m voting for,” Greg said. “A debate’s not
going to change my mind. Laurence is the right man for the job.”

Orlando grinned, his natural charm emanating from him like a
halo. Sonnet suspected she was the only one who could read the tension in his
eyes. “Everyone on the campaign thinks so. We all appreciate your support.” He
handed her a shopping bag. “I brought you an e-reader. Sonnet mentioned you’re a
big reader, so I thought you might want to try one out.”

“That’s really nice of you, Orlando. Thanks. I’m spending a lot
of time in waiting rooms these days, so I’m sure I’ll put it to use.”

“I loaded it with books I thought you might be interested
in.”

“You’re thoughtful,” Sonnet said, turning on the reader. “Let’s
see what you’ve picked for my mom.” The screen filled with an array of
nonfiction books—
Nutrition for the Cancer Patient, The
World According to Cancer, Knowledge is Power.
… Okay, her mom was
going to hate these books. Certainly she was committed to learning about her
disease, but reading was her escape. Of course, Orlando couldn’t have known
that. “What’s nice is all the variety that’s out there. I can get you the new
Robert Dugoni novel, if you like.”

“Thank you again,” Nina said to Orlando. “I’m going to enjoy it
a lot, I’m sure.”

“You’re more than welcome.” His phone buzzed, and he checked
it. “Sure wish I could stay longer, but duty calls.”

“I’m going to head over to the venue with Orlando,” Sonnet
said. “I’ll see you there, Mom.”

“You sure she’s up to it?” he asked, once they were out of
earshot.

“She’s sick, not brain dead,” Sonnet said. “It’s good for her
to get out. For me, too. I haven’t seen my dad in a long time. I know he doesn’t
have much time, but let’s hope he can spare a little.”

A beat passed. Then Orlando said, “Yes, sure. I know he’d love
to see you.”

She stopped in her tracks. “You cannot be serious. You’re
worried about the press.”

“You know me. I worry about everything.”

“I’m not exactly a deep, dark secret. I’ve been front and
center in lots of his bios.”

“Yes, but that was when—”

“When what? Oh, I see. When I had a prestigious job with
UNESCO. Now I’m just a slacker, right?”

“You never know how they’re going to spin things.”

“But you know, right?”

“It’s my job to know.”

“And how are they going to spin things?”

“Delvecchio will put forth something to cast you in the least
flattering light—maybe trying to get people to speculate on why you turned down
the most prestigious fellowship in your field.”

“No speculation needed. I’ll simply say I’m attending to a
family matter. If they need more detail, well, I’ll deal.” She hated the idea of
bringing up her mother’s condition.

“Sonnet, I’m really sorry. I’d protect you from all of this if
I could.”

“News flash. I don’t need protecting.”

“That’s admirable of you, even brave, but is it going to help
your father for you to march out in public just to show how brave you are?”

“It’s not going to hurt him.”

“We can’t be sure of that.”

She glared out the window, reminding herself that Orlando was a
professional, a campaign operative. Her father had a reputation for surrounding
himself with the best possible people. Orlando was at the core of Laurence
Jeffries’s inner circle, and if she wanted to belong there, too, she had to play
along.

They got out near the campaign bus. The area swarmed like a
kicked anthill. News vans disgorged coils of thick cables, camera and sound
equipment. Orlando stopped amid some stacks of campaign placards and took both
of Sonnet’s hands. “Honey, I wish we had more time. I miss you. I do. More than
I ever thought I would.”

“I miss you, too,” she said, softening toward him. “Think how
much worse it would be if I’d taken the fellowship. I’d be overseas, not just a
few hours from the city.”

“Sure, but at least if you’d taken the fellowship, you’d be
getting ahead in your career.”

“And being here for my mother just doesn’t rate with you.” She
felt a fresh twinge of annoyance.

He chuckled. “I think you’re determined to pick a fight with me
just so we can kiss and make up.”

“Right. That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

“Tell you what. I’ll come back for the weekend if I can get
away. Or you could come down to the city.”

“I’d like that. Maybe—”

His phone buzzed again. “Your father’s here. Let’s go say
hello.”

The venue for the debate was the auditorium of the public
library. The venerable old building, made of blocky Gothic gray stone, now
swarmed with inquisitive voters, high school civics students, and of course the
ever-present media, dragging their cables and equipment over the flower beds in
the front, the on-camera reporters earnest and self-important as they blocked
out the broadcasts that would air on the evening news. The debate itself would
be televised and no doubt analyzed and parsed through, each word and gesture
weighed and discussed by commentators.

“You look amazed,” said Orlando.

“I think I’m finally starting to get the gravity of the
situation,” she said, recognizing Rachel Maddow, perfectly made up and looking
sharp as a treble hook. Behind her came more familiar faces from rival
networks—CNN, Fox, and talent from the local affiliates of the other big
networks.

“This particular Senate seat matters more than most people
realize,” Orlando agreed. “The outcome will likely tip the numbers to give us a
guaranteed majority—but only if your father wins.”

They found General Jeffries in a side office of the library,
which was serving as a greenroom before the debate. He was surrounded by people
doing his makeup and sound check, but when he saw Sonnet, he held up a hand to
put a halt to the proceedings.

“Hi Dad,” she said, giving him a hug.

“What do you think?” he asked, spreading his hands. “Am I going
to do all right in your hometown?”

He looked dazzling as always, in an impeccably tailored suit
cut to accentuate his imposing height, polished shoes, a burgundy silk tie.
Every hair was in place and even the anti-shine makeup didn’t look strange on
him. She knew that each detail, from his West Point class ring to the tiny pin
in his lapel, had been carefully chosen for him based on feedback from focus
groups. And as always, his attention made her feel like the only person in the
room.

“You look like the perfect candidate.”

“I’d rather look like the perfect senator. The problem is, so
would my opponent.”

“The best man will win,” she assured him. “And you’re the
best.”

“Thank you, Sonnet. Wish I had more time to spend with you,” he
said.

“My mom needs me now,” Sonnet said, remembering how upset he’d
been with her at their last meeting. She hated the idea of disappointing him.
“You understand, right?”

“Of course.” His eyes narrowed. “What did you do to your
hair?”

“I had it cut off for a wig for my mom.”

He gave a little laugh of disbelief and set his hands on his
hips. “You don’t say.”

“It’s no joke,” she assured him.

“That’s very generous of you, Sonnet.”

“Not really. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my mom. Same
goes for you, too,” she added. “Just so you know.”

“And I’m sure your mother appreciates that as much as I do.” He
touched her hand briefly. “We didn’t raise you together, I know. But she raised
a good daughter. I hope she knows I’m grateful for that.”

You could tell her, thought Sonnet. Then she tucked the thought
away. Even now, she sometimes fantasized—if only for a blink of time—about what
it would be like to have her parents together, a traditional family. However,
her father would not be telling her mother anything personal so long as it was
campaign season. According to Orlando, he couldn’t even risk sending a get-well
note to what the opposition termed a former flame.

“I’ll make sure to tell her,” she said, trying to sound
upbeat.

“Excuse me,” said Orlando, who was standing by the door. “I
think you’re in the wrong place.”

“
Not
,” said Jezebel, striding into
the room. She was dressed in bright yellow silk and snug jeans covered in
zippers, and a pair of platform sandals that made her seem even taller than
usual. She grinned at Sonnet. “Hey, baby girl,” she said. “I came to meet your
daddy.”

Startled but pleased, Sonnet turned to her dad. “This is
Jezebel,” she said. “Jezebel, my father, Laurence Jeffries.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Jezebel stuck out her hand.

“Likewise,” Laurence said, exuding poise.

Sonnet suspected she was the only one who could tell her father
was less than pleased. Although he smiled and offered a powerful candidate’s
handshake, there was a distinct chill in his eyes.

“Looking forward to the debate,” Jezebel said. “I’d say you got
my vote, but I’m one of those nonvoters.” With a slightly mischievous smile, she
added, “If you get what I mean.”

“I get it,” Laurence said, his stiff demeanor betraying his
discomfort. Other than race, these two had absolutely nothing in common. And
Jezebel seemed completely amused by that fact.

“I’ll be rooting for you. I’ll be holding up a sign.”

Sonnet glanced over at Orlando. He was far less practiced than
her father at concealing his disapproval.
You don’t know
her
, Sonnet wanted to yell at them both.
You
don’t know her, and you’re already judging her
.