“I might have known....” Sophia heard her grumble. That wouldn’t be the end of it either, Sophia thought. You’re a terrible mother, you have no business being a mother, you can’t even take care of yourself, etcetera, etcetera. Sophia bit the inside of her cheek. She went into the bathroom, closed the door and leaned against it. After a moment, she used the toilet, idly twitching aside the curtain at the window that gave a view of the side yard as she did so.
The picnic table her dad had built was still there looking weather beaten and forlorn. Summers when Aunt Frances had come to visit, she and Sophia’s mother had sat out there smoking and drinking Gin Rickeys. Sophia had watched them from this window, perched on her knees on the toilet lid. The murmur of their voices, their giggles and sometimes outright raucous laughter, had drifted in the night air along with the smell of dust, a headier sweetness of honeysuckle, the smoke from their cigarettes. Once while Sophia had looked on in secret, she’d seen the sisters slow-dancing together on the tabletop while Frances hummed snatches of Moonlight Serenade. Esther’d had her eyes half closed; she’d looked soft and dreamy, almost beautiful. It had made Sophia think of the way Lauren Bacall looked in the movies when she was thinking of Humphrey Bogart.
Sophia had been astonished, mesmerized; she hadn’t been able to take her eyes from her mother. The tenderness and longing in Esther’s posture, her expression, had made Sophia want to cry. She still wanted to cry just thinking of it. That love she had seen glowing in her mother’s face, where did it go? Who was it for? Sophia didn’t understand. And she wouldn’t, not until she found the love letters. Then, reading them, she would realize that it had been Teddy her mother had been dreaming of. Teddy alone had had the power to soften her mother’s heart, to melt away the bitter lines that etched the corners of her mouth and fissured her brow, while Sophia was the embodiment of Esther’s lifelong disappointment. Her burden. Her duty.
She, Sophia, was the reason why Esther would not have deserted her family and gone to Teddy. Sophia would know the answer to that question without having to ask.
But now she washed her hands, splashed cold water on her face, dabbed it dry and looked at her reflection in the glass. She felt muzzy and hollow, and as if she wasn’t here.
And maybe that was best.
Leaving the bathroom, she detoured to the doorway of her parents’ bedroom. Her dad was in the bed, curled on his side, snoring softly. Sophia walked to the bedside. “Daddy?”
He didn’t stir. She guessed he was sick. He often was. Of his wife’s harsh tongue, Sophia thought. She wondered if he would mind if she laid down beside him and slept too. For maybe the next ten or fifty or one hundred years. She touched his cheek that was remarkably smooth and unlined. He slept so soundly as if he had not a worry in the world. Even Dylan did not sleep so well. Certainly he wasn’t concerned for them.
Sophia would remember this image of her dad all her life, his closed eyes, the near unmarred oblivion reflected in his face, and she’d think that she had known then, even through her haze, that he’d made his escape; she’d never see him again. And she would wonder: How could she have known this about her dad but not about her son, who would die first and more horribly?
o0o
In the kitchen, her mother was holding Dylan on a folded bath towel on her lap. “I used a kitchen towel for a diaper, but he’s got no rubber pants on and I won’t have him soaking me.”
At the sight of Sophia, he started to fuss and she reached for him, but Esther turned him sharply over her shoulder and rubbed his back until he grew quiet. Sophia sat opposite her and tried to imagine Esther’s hand stroking her back that way, but she didn't think it could have happened.
She said, “Is Daddy sick?”
“You know your father never has been a strong man.” Disgust crimped the edges of Esther’s voice.
Sophia glanced at the clock. Nearly noon. She watched the second hand jump and wondered if her mother would offer them lunch. She wondered if Esther would let her go into her old room and lie down; her head felt so heavy—
“Sophia!”
She jumped.
“Whatever is the matter with you? Are you on dope?”
“No, of course not. What would make you say—?”
“Why did you come here?”
“Terrence is out of town.”
“He’s left you.”
“No, not—not yet, but—”
“What did you expect?” Esther demanded. “This child wasn’t six weeks old when you took up with him, a stranger you met in a grocery store.”
“We’re going to be married, Mother.”
“He’s finally asked you? You have a ring?”
She ducked her chin, slicked her hair behind her ears.
“Oh, Sophia, how can you be so stupid? He isn’t going to marry you. Why would he when he’s getting all he wants for free? Never mind that you’re dragging some other man’s child.”
“At least he wanted me. You didn’t. Aunt Frances didn’t. I heard what she said to you on the phone the night I left her house. I heard her say we weren’t her responsibility. You turned your back on me, both you and Aunt Frances did.”
“Wait just one minute, young lady. You were given every chance. You were an honor student, scholarship material. You said you wanted to be a doctor and this family—your family— put everything aside to help you.”
Sophia lowered her head. She would not cry. She would not give her mother her tears.
“But you chose to go after that boy, you got yourself in trouble.” Esther’s glare is merciless. “And now, after all that I did to see to it you had the opportunity I never had, you have the nerve to come back here and accuse me of turning my back on you?”
Sophia didn’t answer.
“You’ve made your bed.” Esther plunked Dylan into Sophia’s lap. “I can’t unmake it. In any case you appear to be doing all right if that fancy car outside is any indication.”
“It isn’t mine. It belongs to Terrence.”
“Huh. So he knows how to make money. Or did he inherit? Is his family wealthy?” Esther narrowed her eyes.
“I’ve told you, he’s a fashion photographer and right now, he’s in Spain taking pictures for a catalogue. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. He’d be furious if he knew; he’d probably have me arrested for stealing his car. I’m not supposed to drive it because he—he thinks I’m—” Stupid. Sophia bit her lip. It was the same claim her mother had just made about her. Who knew Esther and Terrence would have so much in common?
Esther stood up, pushing her chair under the table. “I gather what you’re going to say next is that Mr. Rich and Famous Fashion Photographer is mistreating you.”
Sophia lifted her shoulders. “He isn’t so fond of Dylan, you know, because, like you said, he’s not the—”
“Didn’t I tell you? Before you had that child, a baby isn't a doll you pick up and play with whenever you're in the mood. You don't go around picking up stray men to be a child's father, either. But now you’ve done it, you’ve got to stick with it, for your boy’s sake. It’s what mothers do, we sacrifice.”
“Look at me, Mother.” Sophia shifted Dylan to her right side and raised her blouse. “This is what Terrence did to me last night. Six months ago he broke my collarbone. The hospital wanted to call the police.”
Esther kept her gaze on Sophia’s face. “Has he hurt the child?”
“No, it’s probably just a matter of time though.”
“Well, I expect he would have by now if he was going to.” Esther handed Sophia the folded bath towel and went to the refrigerator; she opened the freezer door, hunted through the contents. “It’s all you’ve got, Sophia. Do you understand me? No other man’s going to want you now, not a decent one anyway and the next one might do worse to you.”
Esther yanked a package of frankfurters out of the freezer and slammed the door. She set the package in the sink and met Sophia’s gaze. “No man is perfect. At least this one has ambition and pl
enty of money. It’s more than your father ever had.”
So it was all right that Terrence beat her? Sophia searched Esther’s expression hunting for some other meaning. A glimmer of understanding, compassion. But there was nothing, only the blunt edge of Esther’s decision: Sophia wasn’t welcome here.
She stood up, hefting Dylan in her arms. Pain that was more heart-deep than physical chewed at the edges of sense, of composure.
“A child needs a father.” Esther followed Sophia to the back door.
“Terrence doesn’t know the meaning of the word.” Sophia settled Dylan into the front seat of the Jaguar. “Sit down,” she told him through gritted teeth, but he wouldn’t and when she pulled his legs out from under him, he began to cry. She came around the rear-end of the Jag; she wanted to cry herself.
She started to get in the car, but she was angry and shaking and went instead to the foot of the stoop to look at Esther through the screen. “What sacrifices did you make for me, Mother? Do you mean the kitchen towel you pinned on Dylan a while ago? I’ll mail it back.”
“That’s enough, Sophia. I did my best by you. You will not now blame me because things haven’t worked out to your liking.”
“He’s going to kill me.”
Esther’s eyes rolled. “For heaven’s sake, Sophia, do you never tire of all the drama? You get that from your father’s side of the family. Certainly none of my people were so overblown.”
Sophia wheeled and dropping herself into the driver’s seat of the Jaguar, she slammed the door against the brunt force of her mother’s voice, closed her ears to Dylan’s piercing wails. Within minutes, she was back on the rural route heading for the highway. When she reached it, she turned south heading to Fort Worth. Where else? She would go back to the loft, put Dylan to bed. Take more Demerol and knock herself out. Terrence wouldn’t know; he wouldn’t be home for a week or longer. By then she’d have come up with a plan. She would think of something.
She wiped her eyes, under her nose, bent forward straining to see. The drizzling rain and clouds of mist that billowed off the pavement glistened like opals, like tears. Her tears and Dylan’s. After a time his broken sobs settled into ragged breathing, the occasional weary sigh. The rain stopped, but the windshield kept fogging. She was groping for the defrost when Dylan spoke, when she heard him say, “Uh-oh, Mommy,” and looked up.
She had no more than a moment to register an appearance of legs and a brushstroke of brown fur leaping into her lane before reflex brought her foot down hard on the brake. The Jaguar fishtailed. She felt the rear end lift. There was a scream. Hers? Dylan’s? The telephone pole loomed from nowhere. There was the sound when the Jaguar collided with it and then nothing.
The cooling tick of the engine, the errant breath of the wind.
Chapter 22
Saturday, October 9, 1999 - 8 days remain
“Grace is here.” Carolyn has waylaid Sophia in the driveway.
“They found Thomas?”
“In Livingston.”
“Thank heaven.”
“Maybe not. He was trying to go to the prison to see his dad.”
“What? But how did he—?”
“It’s a long story. Someone called Cort and he drove up there and got Thomas and took him home. Grace said when they got there, she lost it; she had to leave. She didn’t know where else to go. I made her a cup of tea,” Carolyn adds.
“Chamomile.” Sophia smiles.
“What else?” Carolyn smiles, too, and Sophia’s mind eases a bit. “Larry’s telling her about the time he was arrested and jailed after he had a car accident in Mexico when he was in high school, how it nearly gave his parents a heart attack. I think he thinks it will make her feel better.”
“Who knows, maybe it will.” Sophia reaches into her car for her purse.
“I told him about the baby.”
“And?” Sophia shuts the car door.
“He’s ecstatic.”
“I knew he would be. So, the wedding is—?”
“We’ll see, Mom. He has to leave pretty quick. He’s got a case to prepare for, and he doesn’t want to take a chance with the weather.”
The storm in the gulf was a hurricane now, named Marie. “But it’s small.” Sophia spaces her thumb and index finger an inch apart. “Only a category one.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way. Can I use your car to drive Larry to the airport?”
Sophia passes her the keys.
“I’m not flying back with him.”
“I wasn’t—”
“I can hear your mental wheels clicking. Anyway, I thought I’d stay home awhile longer, if it’s all right.”
“Of course,” Sophia says.
“It’s just— I’m going to be a mom.” Carolyn looks star struck.
“That you are.” Sophia smiles.
“It’s so different from what I thought I’d be doing.”
“You need time to become accustomed to the idea.”
Carolyn nods. “When I go back to Chicago, we’ll have to tell his parents.”
“Are you worried about that?”
“His mother has her heart set on a huge wedding. She wants to micro manage every detail.”
“You can’t let her bully you.” Sophia is thinking of Madeleine.
“I told Larry I’d be just as happy living in sin.”
“What did he say.”
“You know how he is. He’d live any way I want to.”
“You know it would be hard to find anyone more good natured.”
“Yes, but now it’s all up to me what we do.”
Sophia touches Carolyn’s cheek, tucks her hair behind her ear. They go together toward the house.
“You sounded so serious when you said we should sit down. You aren’t sick, are you?”
“No, no, Cecie. I’m fine. Let’s not make more drama of it than it is.” She opens the kitchen door and Grace rises and walks straight into her embrace.
o0o
Pleading a need to use the powder room, Sophia detours upstairs to her bedroom to telephone Cort. “Grace is here,” she tells him when he answers.
“I figured. Is she still upset?”
“She’s a little calmer now. How’s Thomas?”
“Miserable. And not just from the hangover.”
“I guess the police were mistaken. Grace said Luke was driving?”
“I’m not sure what’s true. According to what I was told Thomas had Luke pulled out of the car by the time paramedics arrived. He told the police he could smell gasoline and he was afraid the car would catch fire, which is all fine and dandy, except the cops and the witnesses who were there say he was tending Luke on the passenger side of the vehicle. I don’t think he would have pulled Luke across the seats, do you?”
“Grace didn’t mention that.”
“She wants to believe him.”
Sophia sits on the bench at the foot of her bed.
“I guess Thomas has until Luke wakes up to tell the truth. Right now, I just pray to God the boy does wake up. Otherwise—” Cort doesn’t fill in the rest; Sophia imagines that he can’t. She hopes he never has to.
“You found Thomas in Livingston?”
“Yep.”
“Has he said why he went there? Why he wanted to see his dad?”
“Not yet.” Cort hesitates. “There’s something on his mind, though. Even before the accident I was getting this vibration. He seems—”
A silence prickles.
“Cort?”
“I don’t know. I have a hunch he’s covering, but for what or who I’m not sure.”
“He mentioned Brian to me when we talked,” Sophia says, “that he thought Brian should be the focus of his mother’s concern, but when I asked Grace about it at dinner last night, she was mystified. Do you have any idea what he meant?”
Cort says he doesn’t. “But you know,” he adds, “Thomas is pretty broken up right now. He’s vulnerable. I don’t think he’s got the stomach to carry what
ever this is by himself much longer.”
“He may just need a little more time.”
“I guess that means I should wait until after he’s come clean to wring his neck.” Cort laughs, but the sound is uneasy.
Still, Sophia joins him wanting to sustain the lighter moment.
He says, “I want you to know it wasn’t my intention that you should be so involved.”
“What was your intention?”
He exhales, a huge frustrated breath. “Okay, so maybe I did think you’d help us. It was all over the news how you testified for that pervert Doaks and I figured why not? If you would go to court for that sick bastard surely you’d agree to at least have a look at Jarrett’s case.”
Cort’s pause seems to invite comment, or more likely, a defense. Sophia crosses her arm over her middle.
“He’s my brother, Dr. Beckman.”
She waits through another hitch.
“I’m not—none of us is ready to lose him and, believe me, I know how nuts that sounds in view of my feelings for Grace.”
“I understand, but speaking strictly to the legal aspect, as Grace has pointed out to me, your brother’s case is not the same as Jody’s. Now if I can continue to be of help to you and your family in a supportive role as a counselor, then I’m prepared to do that, but with regard to any appeal involving grounds of mental defect—”
“That’s off the table. The judge denied Grace’s request to force Jarrett to take medication for depression.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“She took it hard, really hard. I tried to talk to her, you know, but I think—” Cort clears his throat. “I think she—she could really use a friend right now, a—another woman who— It’s been a while since she’s had anyone.” he stops again.
Sophia studies the floor giving him space to recover his balance, thinking this is no longer a question of psychology, even for her, but of humanity. The way Cort sounds, the anxiety and pain in his voice, it is as if he has brought her his wounded treasures and laid them on her doorstep. Here are my loves in need of succor, compassion. Faith. He wears his feelings for his family in his eyes. It’s useless for Sophia to pretend she hasn’t seen that.
The Volunteer Page 19
