Truth

by Aleatha Romig

  “I gave them our credit card.”

  “No.” He shook his head, “Shedis-tics paid it.”

  Sophia smiled, “That’s nice.” Then her expression darkened, “But weird, how’d they know we were even here? I mean you didn’t know until last night.”

  “I don’t know.” Derek smiled, “But man, this company has perks!”

  Sophia tried to push the uneasiness away. Obviously Derek saw this as a positive. She wouldn’t be the one to bring him down. She smiled, “I guess that means more money for breakfast.”

  Derek encircled her waist, spooned his wife, smiled into the mirror, and mused, “Mrs. Burke, I don’t think you can eat that much.”

  Sophia removed her phone from her purse as Derek slipped their car into Boston traffic. The icon indicated missed calls. She listened to the messages, two from her mother.

  Sophia’s expression said it all, something was amiss. Derek waited while she listened. Finally he spoke, “What is it?”

  “It’s my pop. He’s been in a car accident. Mom thinks he’ll be okay, but I need to call.”

  Derek nodded and reached out to squeeze his wife’s hand. As he watched her fumble with the screen of her phone, he changed the direction of the car. No longer were they headed to the Cape. He turned onto I-84 West. Before Sophia realized where they were, they were in Connecticut headed toward New York and on to New Jersey.

  “Thank you. I’ll feel better seeing him in person.”

  “What happened?”

  “Mom isn’t sure. She kept saying, I was supposed to be with him, I should have been with him. She’d stayed home with a migraine. She’s blaming herself. His car went off the road near Sourland Mountain Reserve. He’s driven those roads a million times. The police speculate wet roads caused the accident.” She turned to her husband’s profile. “You know I’m proud of you and your new job? But maybe we shouldn’t mention it to them, not yet.”

  Derek nodded, “Your pop will be fine. He has your mom to look after him.”

  Sophia fought her emotion, as tears moistened her cheeks. “You know, I didn’t think about others. I got so wrapped up in myself and us.” Her chest heaved, “I never considered them when thinking about moving to California. If we were in Santa Clara we couldn’t just jump in a car and be there.”

  “No, we’d jump on a plane,” he reassured, “which, considering this traffic, might be quicker.”

  Sophia smiled. “Private planes, right... something to get used to!” Sighing, she leaned her head against the seat, watched the world pass-by, and settled in for the five hour drive.

  *****

  The gray clouds settled over Princeton, raining down and draining color from the urban landscape. Sophia considered drawing the scene, thinking about chalk, she’d need only black -- devoid of color, the sketch would come to life in shades of gray.

  She liked her hometown of Princeton, New Jersey. After all, it was where she experienced childhood, learned to walk, talk, and color outside the lines. And although her parent’s home wasn’t in the Borough, it was still Princeton, the home of the acclaimed university.

  Sometimes growing up she hated the prestigious school. It seemed like the entire world revolved around it. Unlike so many of the locals, she knew in her heart the world offered more. However, now Sophia was eternally grateful for Princeton, especially its medical center.

  Rubbing her eyes, Sophia yawned. She’d been in the hospital room, looking out the window, sitting in the plastic chair, and pacing the linoleum floors for hours. The monitors beeped at appropriate intervals without alarm; everything indicated her father’s progress. Sophia just wanted him to open his eyes.

  Derek finally convinced Sophia’s mother, Silvia, to get some food. It was the first time she’d left Pop’s room since he returned from surgery. Sophia’s promise to stay near, allowed Silvia the reassurance to leave, if only for a little while.

  Tears lingered in Sophia’s eyes as she watched the man who’d always been her rock. Nearing seventy, with declining stature, he wasn’t any taller than Sophia. Of course, he’d never been taller than five eight, but with age even that lessened. Yet, when she closed her eyes, Sophia saw the mountain of a man who’d scoop her into his arms and put her on his shoulders.

  Throughout the five hour drive, she tried to convince herself she would arrive to find him sitting up and swearing at the nurses. The image made her smile. Pop was the sweetest man, as long as you played by his rules. And when you didn’t, he was more bark than bite. His contagious deep and harmonious laughter shook his too large stomach with joy. She imagined him arguing about the hospital gown, food, or television stations.

  Yet, reality didn’t match her memories or dreams. The man before her, attached to wires and tubes, didn’t seem like her father. Nevertheless, the small bracelet on his wrist read: Rossi, Carlo; confirming he was indeed her pop.

  The rain drops continued to silently pelt the glass pane. Sophia stared at the view. Instead of trees and buildings blurred by sheets of unrelenting spring rain, she saw memories she’d put away, as the saying goes -- for a rainy day. She saw the hardworking man who came home from work each day. She saw her mother, wearing an apron in the kitchen, fussing to have dinner ready precisely by 6 PM. She saw the couple standing proudly and awkwardly at New York art exhibits and her Paris wedding.

  Sophia thought how different she was from them and how much they’d given her. Instead of fighting her artistic side, they embraced it. They never belittled her dreams. Now, standing by her father’s bedside, she wanted to do the same. She wanted to support them any way she could. Currently, that meant hours of diligent vigil.

  Sophia must have fallen asleep in the hard plastic chair she’d pulled up next to Carlo’s bed. She awoke with her head near his feet, her back bent and sore, to the swish of the door across the linoleum floor. She blinked away the sleep from her eyes and watched as a nurse entered the room. The wipe board on the wall read: Gabby.

  Sophia remained silent as Gabby made her rounds, checking fluids in the hanging bags and making notes, reading monitors and making notes, and lifting Carlo’s hand, feeling his pulse and making notes.

  When it appeared she was done, Sophia spoke, “Hello, I’m his daughter. Can you please tell me how he’s doing?”

  Gabby checked her notes. “Can you tell me your name; I need to verify you’re on the list.” (Her R sounded like a W... a reassuring inflection to someone raised near the Borough)

  “Sophia Rossi Burke.”

  Gabby double checked her notes. “Yes, Sophia. Is your mother near?”

  “Yes, she’s with my husband in the cafeteria.”

  “Do you expect her to return soon?”

  “I do... what time is it?”

  Gabby checked her watch, “It’s almost eight thirty. The doctor is doing her final rounds. I’ll tell her you’re here, and she’ll inform you of your father’s progress.”

  His voice sounded groggy, but Sophia would recognize that deep gargle anywhere. “If your talk’n bout me, you might as well talk to me.”

  Sophia’s smile filled her face while the pent-up tears slid over her raised cheeks. Both women turned toward the bed. Carlo continued, “And what in Sam Hill are all these damn tubes. I don’t need damn tubes. I want them out!”

  Sophia hurried to his side and threw her arms around his neck. “Pop, you’re awake?!”

  “Damn right I’m awake. Where’s your mother? And why aren’t you with that husband of yours?”

  “Mom’s with Derek in the cafeteria. She’s been by your side the whole time. We finally convinced her to get something to eat.”

  Carlo nodded approvingly at his baby girl.

  Gabby interrupted long enough to lift Carlo’s bed so he sat up, asked a few questions, and promised to send the doctor. Once they were alone Sophia held her father’s hand and looked him square in the eye. “Pop, what happened? How did you crash your car?”

  Carlo returned her gaze, “My car? I don’t re
member.”

  She tried to reassure him, “It’s fine, just rest.”

  “It’s not fine, Sophie. You’re saying I crashed my car? Is Silvia all right?”

  “Yes, Pop. She wasn’t with you. You were alone... out by Sourland Mountain Reserve.”

  Sophia watched as Carlo eyes closed. Finally he spoke, “I... I’m... I just don’t remember. Sophie... don’t tell your momma. I don’t want her thinking I can’t remember. Baby, I need you to help me with this. Tell me what happened so I can get it straight.”

  “Pop, I don’t know. They just found your car. You ran off the road and hit a tree. Your right leg is broke, but not your hip. The doctor made a big deal out of that. Momma’s been real worried. You also punctured a lung. But the doctor said everything should heal just fine.”

  “What about the other people, in the other car?”

  “Pop, what other car?”

  “That one that started to pass and pushed me off the road.”

  Sophia stared at her father. “Pop, do you remember another car?”

  Carlo looked at his hand. He followed the IV line up to the dangling bag. “What’s this shit they’re pumping into me? I can’t think straight!”

  “I think it’s pain medicine.”

  “Sophie, get your momma.”

  She kissed his forehead. “If you promise not to go anywhere,” she smiled, as big as she could, her eyes twinkling.

  “Now tell me how in Sam Hill I’m supposed to do that, with all this bloody crap hooked to me.” Beneath the pale complexion and gruff exterior, Sophia saw her father’s loving sense of humor.

  “Pop, I’ll get Momma. But, I think you should know I’m not leaving until you’re better!”

  As Sophia turned toward the door, she once again heard swoosh against the linoleum. The large barrier opened and the sound of her mother’s voice filled the room.

  “Caa-ar-lo-oo!” Silva cried, creating a four syllable word where there’d only been two. Within seconds she was kissing his graying hair and fussing over his blankets.

  Sophia looked up to see Derek’s tired quizzical expression. She took his hand and they walked into the hall. The sound of her mother fretting and her father minimizing elated Sophia. However, Derek’s sad eyes grounded her emotion.

  “Derek, what is it? Did you speak to the doctor? Is there something I don’t know?”

  Derek shook his head. “No. It isn’t your pop. It’s what you just said to him. Are you planning to stay here, in Princeton?”

  Sophia collapsed against the wall. “I don’t know. I just can’t leave them.”

  “What about finding a place to live in Santa Clara?”

  “We have a month. We don’t need to fly out tomorrow.” She watched her husband’s neck and shoulders stiffen. This was a new version of their one main disagreement. He liked plans and details. Sophia lived in the moment. This morning she would have willingly flown across the country. However, things changed. Now she didn’t know when she’d be ready. “Can I please not make a decision right now? It’s been a very long day.”

  He reached for her waist, pulled her closer, and rested his chin on her head. “I have some bad news.”

  She didn’t ask. Inhaling his aftershave and listening to the beat of his heart, Sophia braced herself for the bad news.

  “I tried to tell your mom we’d get a hotel.” Sophia snickered into his shirt; she knew where he was headed. He continued, “But, she wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Don’t tell me...” Her tired gray eyes twinkled up to his sullen expression.

  “Yes, we’re sleeping in your old room tonight.” His lips brushed her forehead and gently kissed her nose. “So Darling, it’s also going to be a long night.”

  She molded into his comforting embrace and thought about her cramped bedroom. It was great when she was ten, but now... the standard bed was probably older than both of them put together. “I think staying in my old room is your plan to make me want to leave sooner.”

  “Is it working?” Derek asked -- his brows elevated.

  “If Pop could get up and walk, we’d be home by morning!”

  Derek smiled as he held her close. “I can’t take more than two nights in that old bed.”

  “Deal.” They reentered the hospital room, hand in hand.

  When one door of happiness closes, another opens;

  but often we look so long at the closed door

  that we do not see the one which has opened for us.

  - Helen Keller

  Chapter 10

  Most mornings Claire sat at the table, perused the web, and waited for the others to arrive. She enjoyed the quiet time, as much as the morning ritual of coffee and pleasantries. Of course, she was usually the first in the kitchen; after all, Amber and Harry needed to get ready for work. Claire only needed to be dressed to workout.

  Her options for connectivity continued to expand. Whether she used her laptop, her tablet, or her phones, she could stay in touch with the world, anytime – anywhere. This also allowed her to see her personal life laid out for everyone whenever she chose. Having technology denied in past, she now felt compelled to read everything. And apparently since her unusual prison release, Claire Rawlings Nichols was once again deemed newsworthy.

  Often her face would appear on the cover of esteemed magazines, the kind which lined the check-out lanes of the grocery stores. Today she saw her picture in a thumbnail on her homepage. Still alone, Claire scanned the link and found the corresponding article: The Rawlings Moving On. It claimed to enlighten the reader on their lives after marriage, complete with pictures. Tony appeared exquisitely dressed with a pretty woman on his arm. According to the article, she was associated with a large hospital in Iowa where her father was CEO and Administrator. The article alluded to the implications of this affluent union, since Mr. Anthony Rawlings was among the top contributors to the hospital. In the opposing frame Claire sat with Harry eating at a café in Palo Alto. According to the article Claire, left penniless, was unemployed and living with Harrison Baldwin, a security guard at SiJo.

  The clicks of Amber’s heels upon the hardwood combined with the opening and closing of the front door brought life to the quiet kitchen. Looking up from her laptop, Claire apologized, “I’m so sorry for bringing the two of you into this media mess.”

  Amber snickered, as she finished making her cup of coffee, “I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous. I can’t believe reporters think this is news!”

  Leaning against the counter, Harry brushed his tussled blonde hair from his eyes and puffed his chest. Claire chuckled, the pictures and article before her forgotten. She found it amusing, no matter the occasion, his golden curls continually fell softly across his face. She wondered if he owned a comb or brush, anything that could possibly tame his unruly mane.

  Musingly she fought a new desire to reach out and brush the curls away, to better see his soft blue eyes. The impulse surprised Claire. She gripped the handle of her mug in an effort to stop her hand. Thankfully, her momentary insanity went completely unnoticed by Harry as he postured in preparation for his speech.

  In reality, only a second or two had elapsed. However, the rush of blood to her cheeks made Claire lower her face, in a feigned attempt to inspect the contents of her ceramic mug. Slowly, she raised her eyes as Harry spoke, “Actually, I saw today’s article, and I’m honored. I’ve never been a celebrity before.”

  Laughing, Amber brushed her brother’s shoulder and glanced toward Claire with a sly smile, “Guess what, Harry? You aren’t one now!” Amber started to walk back toward her bedroom and turned to Claire, “Don’t worry about it. Life’s much more exciting with you around.”

  Avoiding Harry’s gaze, Claire looked toward her computer’s homepage, until Harry’s jovial voice brought her back to reality, “So, what do you think? Just in case I end up in People magazine or something, is this shirt all right? Or, do I need something nicer?”

  She returned her gaze to the man before her. F
rom behind the soft curls she saw small lines surrounding his sparkling cobalt eyes, and his cheeks raised in a boyish smirk. Claire looked at his collarless black woven shirt with the SiJo Gaming emblem. The shirt wasn’t tight but accentuated his muscular abdomen, broad shoulders, and defined arms. Her eyes scrutinized his attire as they descended to the khaki slacks emphasizing his trim firm waist.

  Slowly she realized he was teasing her. “Actually, I think you should change.” Her smile radiated emerald shimmers.

  “You do?”

  “Yes, maybe something like the jeans you wore last night. You know the ones with holes – it highlights my penniless status.”

  With his grin in full gear, he reached out and covered Claire’s hand. Never before had this familiarity ignited the tightness she now felt. Claire fought between the desire to turn her hand over and return the contact and the need to pull away and run to her room. Seemingly unaware of her sudden mixture of feelings, Harry said, “If I ever do live with a penniless woman, I can only hope she has a portfolio like yours.”

  “Oh, is that your only requirement?” Her brows rose in question.

  “No…” his gaze captivated her, holding her prisoner. “It’s probably the least of my requirements. The first is that she doesn’t tell me what to wear.”

  Pulling her stare away, she nonchalantly replied, “Hey, you asked. But, I guess that leaves me out. Should I alert the press?”

  He winked, “No, let me enjoy my fifteen minutes for a while.”

  Claire shook her head, “Okay, our secret living arrangements are safe with me. Oh, and about fifty other people who live in this building and know the truth.”

  “They won’t tell.” With that Harry walked toward the front door, toward his true home.

  When the door closed, she exhaled and scolded herself. The easy atmosphere of Amber and Harry’s company was a gift. The last thing she wanted to do was complicate it with feelings which surpassed friendly. In an attempt to dismiss the unfamiliar tightness, she refocused on the article.