It feels as if I have to check in with the outside world by way of my cell to make sure nobody has filed a missing person’s report yet, and to make sure Oliver hasn’t given up on me. But there are no new messages or calls, just a missed call from Aunt Peg.
I’m caught in a debate of whether or not to call her back. I know that almost without fail, Aunt Peg will force me out of my depressive state, but I don’t want to burden her, or worse, add to her thinking I’m so stressed all the time.
My cellphone rings. I observe the glassy surface screen, feeling obligated to answer.
“Hey, Aunt Peg.”
“Hello, baby-girl! How are you doing?” Her voice instantly cheers me up. My own is croaky, and not because I’ve been sleeping. “What is it? What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“No, no. Everything’s fine. I was just sleeping. Am I still invited over?”
“Of course, sweetheart. I’m anxious to see you!”
“Great, I’ll be there soon.”
My aunt has so many good intentions and feel-good positivity, she can bottle them up as juice and sell it at the farmer’s market, where she can be easily found selling organic-grown produce. Perhaps one bowl of hearty juice packed with healing ingredients will instantly make all this go away. I’m not sure if I’m feeling angry or sad about Jessica’s complaints, Oliver’s complaints, how it all went downhill when I reacted to them, or even the way I’m feeling about it all now, post-dispute and no Oliver around.
How about all of the above?
My tears have long dried, leaving a salty residue on my face. I slip into my I-couldn’t-care-less black maxi dress and beige ankle-strap flats and hang at my room door for a second before reaching for the handle.
“Hey.” Jess is in the living room watching TV. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
She looks at me over the back of the sofa. “I’m sorry about what happened earlier. About what I said to you...it was so wrong. I’m so sorry. I never meant to cause you any trouble with Oliver. It’s just that you can be rash sometimes.”
“Whatever, Jess.”
“I’m not sorry about telling Eric of the kidnapping. Because now everybody knows about it, which means the police know about it and they can protect you. You can sleep better at night knowing people are helping you. That’s what Eric and I wanted because we care about you.”
I’m in no mood to argue with her. “Thank you for the big speech. I’m good.”
“Oh, yeah?” She walks up to me with an I-don’t-think-so glare. I hold onto my handbag and she lays her hand on mine, making me realize that my grip on the bag is very tight...even tense.
My fingers loosen slightly at her touch. “It’s okay if you’re not okay, Soph. I’m here for you.” With a heavy sigh, she makes her way back to the sofa.
EIGHT
SOME DEPRESSED MOMENTS later, Reed is slowly pulling up in front of my aunt’s townhouse, then opening my door.
“Sophie!” Aunt Peg squeals, almost smothering me in her warmth. I’m instantly transported back to a state of pleasure and good fortune. As always, she wears her blonde-streaked, brown wavy hair parted on the side. The little white hairs on her temples are new. She has dazzling white teeth and brown eyes. She looks so much like my mother, who was her twin sister. Her lean frame is draped in a loose-fitting orange tunic dress and an amber necklace glitters at her throat.
“Oh, sweetheart, it feels like it’s been years! Goodness, have you lost weight? Have you been eating? Come...come inside. I made an eggplant ricotta bake!”
I don’t know what that is but whatever collection of worries that had dominated my mind are not an issue now. I’m transported back to memories of the time I lived here. A time when Aunt Peg was cooking me three good meals a day and I didn’t have to wallow in concern about paying rent, shopping for groceries, dealing with a roommate, or any other domestic affairs.
“Have you seen this? I just got it today,” she says, holding up an issue of Vanity Fair with a picture of me on the cover.
My brows dip together. “When are you going to stop wasting your money, Aunt Peg?”
She makes a face of disapproval. “Nonsense!”
Aunt Peg has a pile of magazines in her house filled with pictures of me. She thinks I’m such a success. If I didn’t know any better, I’d walk in here and think I’m living the dream. It sure looks like I am.
“You’re gorgeous in this one. Absolutely stunning. You’re eyes look blue here, see?” she says, handing me the magazine.
“The size of my arms is unreal. I look like a fossilized cross breed between an alien and a vampire.”
She turns her head and scolds. “Sophie. You are a beautiful woman. Talk about the wow factor...you’ve got it!”
“Let’s be honest for a second. No one looks like that.” I point to the picture. “I don’t look like that.” I turn a couple of pages. “I mean check out these pictures. They’re ridiculous.”
“I brag about you to all my friends,” she says, putting the magazine back on its shrine. “My friend Betty says she wants to do a photo shoot with you for Healthy Growing, her wonderful weekly magazine. Do some promotional photographs with vegetables and all that jazz. Isn’t that great?”
“Who’s Betty?”
“You know, Betty, my instructor from horticulture class.”
“You take horticulture classes now?”
“Yes. Didn’t I tell you? I’m getting certified in fermentation.” She leaves me in a stump. “We’ll talk more about it later. Let’s get you some food first.”
I make a quick assessment of the living room. The one sofa looks too scant for the space. “Have you been doing some redecorating? It looks different around here.”
“Oh,” she giggles, walking toward to the kitchen. I follow behind. “We had to get rid of the TV because the girls threw something at it and there was a big crack on the screen.”
“Really?” I chuckle. “What did they throw?”
“I have no idea. Your uncle said it was beyond repair. I got home one day and he had already thrown it away. Sweetheart, I thought you were bringing a friend over.” She checks on the concoction simmering on the stove.
“He’s not coming anymore.”
“Oh?” She raises a small soup ladle to her mouth and savors the taste of her brew. “Tell me about this friend of yours.”
I get to wondering if Aunt Peg knows about the kidnapping attempt. Has she seen the news? I’m thinking no; otherwise, she’d be going off the deep end. She looks strangely calm, unruffled, and overall delighted that I’m here. I sit down on the table with a forged smile plastered across my face. “There’s nothing to say.”
“Child, if you believe for one second that I can’t see behind that face of yours, you are truly mistaken.”
Without much chance to give it further thought, I assemble my feelings and spread them over the table as if she and I are playing cards and I’m showing her my bad hand. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this...it’s just...I’m not so sure about this man.”
“Eat. You are looking very thin. Enjoy Mother Nature’s bounty.” She sets several delicious-looking dishes on the table and sits down. “Why aren’t you sure?”
“I don’t know.”
“Trust the process of life, Sophie. Stop worrying. Enjoy the good.”
I almost always fail to comprehend my aunt’s way of thinking. Now that I mention it, I almost always fail to comprehend the people I surround myself with. I contemplate my soup in silence, running my spoon in circles around the rim of the bowl.
“Is something wrong with the soup? It’s healthy, no oils, no hormone-mimicking chemicals, no—”
“Oh...of course not. No. It’s perfect. It’s always perfect, Aunt Peg. Thank you.”
Her hand reaches across the table, almost, but not quite touching my arm. “Then what is it? Talk to me.”
I lean my elbows on the table and wipe a glistening tear off my face. I don’t know wh
at’s going on with all this fluid coming out of my eyes. I guess something existential is happening to me, and it is so cryptic and so imposing that I can’t figure out its underlying nature, so maybe I cry instead.
“Sophie, I hadn’t seen you cry in a long time.” She puts her hand on my cheek and I slope my head into it, acknowledging her touch.
“I know. It’s embarrassing. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’m becoming one of those whiny people who can’t keep themselves together.”
“Oh, honey. There is nothing to be sorry for.” She strokes my hair. “You have feelings for this man?”
“No.”
She crosses her arms and throws me a sermonizing glare with those all-knowing eyes.
“I’m not lying, Aunt Peg.”
And again, she makes it clear she’s waiting for an honest answer.
“Okay, okay...fine. I don’t know!” I bury my face in my hands. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. What do you want to talk about?”
A fraction of a second passes by before I realize I actually want to talk about this. “Okay, maybe I do have something,” I finally admit. “But not feelings. Definitely not feelings. I guess everything is just so hard for me right now.”
She fixes a meditative gaze on the kitchen area as if her source for wisdom lies there. Aunt Peg divinely knows everything. “Whatever it is about this man that is keeping you worried, it will all turn out okay, dear. Everything does. The universe has a habit of delivering us the things we need when we need them.”
“What about the things we want?”
“Yes, that too. As long as you feel deserving of that something you want.”
“I don’t know. Maybe love isn’t even possible in New York.”
“Don’t be absurd, child! Of course it is! I am a happily married woman.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t usually happen.” I scan the house looking for Uncle Pete, trying to change the subject. “Where is he, by the way? Uncle Pete.”
“He went to pick up the girls from a backyard party. They’ll be here any time. Now you eat.”
I do as I’m told, forgetting the soup and knifing the eggplant bake into small pieces and relishing the taste of it. “How are they doing?”
Her eyes light up with pride. “Well, Lily is doing very well in school and Gracie is taking up swimming lessons.”
“I’m glad. They’re such wonderful girls.”
“You’re a wonderful woman too, Sophie. As for this man, just remember, follow your heart but keep your wits about you.”
As I finish eating the eggplant, the doorbell rings.
“That must be Peter and the girls. You know your uncle, always forgetting his keys!” She raises her voice as she walks toward the front door. “I’m coming!”
I stand, tapping my cheek to help myself snap out of my daze.
As I’m rinsing out my bowl in the sink, I hear Aunt Peg announce, “There’s someone here to see you.”
I straighten up and very slowly twist around. My heart splashes across the floor like some disastrous Picasso painting. A theoretical autopsy follows; it involves the investigation of my busted arteries. Coroner’s report: Sophie Cavall died of one stab of realism to her chest with a sharply pointed object. Murder weapon: Oliver Black.
“Hi,” I say.
I sweep together the pieces of my shattered heart and pick them up off the floor, trying to gather them into my arms, but as I walk up to Oliver, pieces keep on falling. I can’t...I can’t pull myself together. He doesn’t know what he looks like. He doesn’t know what he does to me.
“Hello, Sophie.”
“I’ll leave you two to talk,” Aunt Peg cuts in briefly. “Can I get you anything? Have you had lunch?”
“Yes. I have,” Oliver says courteously. “Thank you, Miss Sullivan. I’m good.”
“Why are you here?” I whisper, standing very close to him.
“Do you want me to leave? Just say so and I will.”
I shake my head. I feel like my soul is partially visible and about to break through my body. “No. Stay. I’m sorry about today. I really am. All those things I said...I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” he responds. And then, everything turns right with the world. The earth continues to spin upon its axis. The sun rises above my horizon and a crown of animated hearts hovers above my head like a halo, jiggling around in a circle.
I smile again. “Aunt Peg, this is Oliver.”
“Of course he is! He introduced himself on the way in. I’ve heard all about you, Oliver.”
So much for discretion.
The doorbell rings, yet again, and my aunt trails off to open the door leaving Oliver to whisper in my ear. “I thought we weren’t playing this twisted relationship around your aunt.”
I sneak a smile. “Ha.”
There come my little cousins like little hyperactive critters, hurling their party backpacks and goodie bags on the sofa.
“Toffee, toffee, you’re here!”
All I do at this point is laugh secretly—only a handful of people know the origin of my cousins’ special term of endearment—and take a deep breath as I know their loud wailing warns of their impulses to tackle me to the ground. They pull on the imaginary string attached to my back and yank me like a doll.
“Bang, bang!” Gracie—the younger of the two and full of mischief—acts out, symbolically shooting me twice in the stomach with her tiny hands cast into the shape of guns.
I half-utter an agonizing, “Oh, no! I’ve been shot!” My body arches forward until I’m pressing my hands down on my stomach, pretending to quell the pain, and my body collapses onto the ground.
Oliver looks overwhelmed for a second, but then he follows my lead, laying a concerned hand on my imaginary wounds. “And the winner for best actress goes to...” He helps me up on my feet.
The girls yell “Yay!” as if prince charming just came galloping on his white horse and rescued me.
I stand, stooped. Smiling, I fix my posture and throw my hair back. “These are my cousins.” Oliver’s face is filled with delight as he looks down on them both. “Uncle Pete, this is Oliver.”
“Well hello, son! Welcome to our humble abode!” he says with his ever-present cheer. Uncle Pete has a receding hairline, but his remaining light hair is parted on one side like a well-behaved child. Soft green eyes hide behind thin-rimmed glasses and he has the widest, most openhearted smile.
Oliver holds out his hand. “Sir.”
“Firm grip. Well done.” He pats him on the shoulder. “Call me Pete. How’s this,” he nudges my shoulder, “little troublemaker been treating you so far?”
“Magnificently,” is Oliver’s answer, and with it comes a wink.
God, he’s good. Uncle Pete throws an arm around me and squeezes me. “Did you tell him about your uncle’s winning streak on Cuban Dominoes, ladybug?”
“No, Uncle Pete. I haven’t. But I’m sure we’ll get to that.”
“Do you know how to play Cuban dominoes, son?”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m not familiar with the game.”
“Peter, sweetheart,” Aunt Peg says. “We don’t want to overwhelm our guest.” She gives him a quick smooch on the cheek.
“Is he your boyfriend?” Lily abruptly asks. She’s only seven but she’s a little know-it-all, funny, and she’s not afraid of anything.
I’m quick to answer. “No.”
“I like him,” Gracie whispers into my ear. She attaches herself to me timidly and peeks out from behind.
Lily skedaddles to the kitchen with her party favors in hand and Oliver kneels to look into Gracie’s face. “It’s very nice to meet such a pretty little girl like you.” She bashfully slides her thumb into her mouth and smiles.
Even a five-year-old likes him. Don’t fret, Gracie. He has a similar effect on me, except that it doesn’t necessarily make me want to suck my thumb.
Aunt Peg takes Gracie’s hand from out of her mouth and
tells us she made apple pie.
***
“SO, TELL ME, Oliver, what does a young man like you do for a living?” Uncle Pete probes as we gather around the dining table.
“I work in construction mostly, Pete.”
Now he’s going to be modest?
“How nice,” Aunt Peg marvels.
“Like soldering and bricklaying?” Uncle Pete guesses.
“No, not at all,” Oliver replies. “Being my father’s only son, there were certain things expected of me. Among them, showing interest in his line of work.”
“And what’s that?”
“Structural engineering.”
“Oh, I see. With your father being involved with engineering, you set out to be an engineer?” For reasons unknown, Uncle Pete seems determined to know more about Oliver.
Oliver smiles. “No, Pete. Although, I have to admit it would’ve been strange if I hadn’t known my way around structural systems if that was my father’s business. After his health deteriorated and his company spiraled down, I made it my life’s mission to not only take over the business, but also make it more of a success than he ever did. It was and still is about providing the world with magnificent structures.”
I remember I have a voice and decide I should contribute to the conversation. This might be the opportune time to mention what I found on the Internet. “Oliver develops energy-efficient structures across the globe. You know his buildings generate more energy than they use? It’s all clean, self-sustaining energy,” I state like a schoolmarm, placing my hand on his arm.
Whether it is my lying on his arm, or my knowledge of his business, I don’t know, but Oliver tries to clear his throat and almost chokes on the pie. I can’t help laughing under my breath. He oughta know he’s not the only one with access to public articles on the Internet.
I’m finding the business chatter all too fascinating. “Did I say that right?” I ask Oliver.
“Yes,” he replies. “Thank you for covering the basics, Sophie.” He gives me a look that says I should say no more. I sit there, in silence, curious about his need to keep things so broad.
“That is a fine line of work, son,” says Uncle Pete. “What are the core markets?”
A Diamond in the Rough Page 11
