by Angela Pisel
“I want you to be at home, that’s what I want—” His frustration was now turning into irritation.
“I said I was sorry,” she snapped back.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” Thomas said, regrouping his tone and his choice of words. “Every noise I heard I prayed it was the garage door opening. I need to leave for an early surgery. Fifth cup of coffee, I guess I’m a little on edge.”
“We both are.” Sophie did not want to wait any longer to confront him about his late-night affairs, but she didn’t want to do it on her phone in the hospital corridor, either.
“Remember we have the Heart Ball tonight?” he asked before she could make it to someplace more private. “My whole office is going. It’ll be a good chance for you to hit some of them up for donations.”
The Heart Ball. She had completely forgotten. Her birthday—she guessed he didn’t care.
Thirty years old today, and the only present she wanted she’d just left, asleep in his bed all by himself.
GRACE
I haven’t written Sophie in a few days. My eyesight’s been a bit fuzzy since the fall. I’ve tried to nap two or three times this afternoon, but the sound of cursing, toilets flushing, and opposing radio stations kept waking me up. Carmen was listening to twang (she calls it Grand Ole Opry music), and Roni had on a NASCAR race. I contemplated taking out my own stitches so my head wouldn’t explode.
My pillow had just gotten comfortable when the officer yelled, “Stand for count.”
Flashing dots obstructed my vision, so I couldn’t see who was shouting at me through the window as I tried to stand. I braced my leg against the side of my cot so I didn’t lose my balance.
“Bradshaw, the chaplain is here to see you.”
“Sir?” I replied. He had to know the doctor gave instructions for me to stay in bed.
“Move it along. Put your hands through.”
I held on to the side of the wall and tried to move as fast as I was being ordered to, but the room started to fade. My choices were obey and fall on the concrete floor or disobey and fall on my bed. I chose the bed.
“Bradshaw, if you ever want to see the light of day again, stand up and give me your hands.” His words faded and I didn’t hear what he said next. He continued shouting as he opened the door to my cell.
“When I give you an order,” he bellowed close to my face, “you follow it.”
I’d never seen this guy before. He grabbed my arm and forced me to stand up. The metal on his belt buckle caught the side of my forehead on my way up. I felt one of my stitches pop.
“You can make your last days pleasant or unpleasant. The choice is yours,” he barked as he shoved me against the wall. The cold of the cinder blocks felt good against my face.
He cuffed me and I followed him the best I could to the dayroom.
Live life with a counterintuitive love. I could hear Paul whispering one of his sermons in my ringing ear. Let your enemies bring out the best in you, not the worst.
“She’s bleeding,” Ms. Liz said as we approached the table she was sitting at.
“She doesn’t follow orders,” the officer replied, stretching out the word she. He pulled out a chair and pushed me down in it. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, and walked away.
“I asked for permission to see you in your cell,” Ms. Liz said. She made sure the officer’s back was turned before stroking my forearm. She pulled a tissue from her bag and blotted the blood dripping down the side of my face.
“Do you want to go to the infirmary?” she whispered.
“No.” I wanted Paul.
“Can you get me a drink of water?” The inside of my mouth felt sunburned.
She did, and a minute or two later I felt okay again.
“I have an answer to your question.” She unfolded a piece of notebook paper from her small black Bible.
“What question is that?” I asked her.
“The question you asked me a few days ago. I’ve thought a lot about it.”
She placed the paper on her lap and straightened it with her arthritic hands. “You asked me what’s the one thing I’d want my daughters to know before I died.”
I had remembered, but I didn’t think she would. When she left my bedside that day, I knew I’d crossed a line. In prison, relationships were one-sided. I was supposed to listen and obey. No questions asked. I’d let Ms. Liz into my life when I shared with her stories about my family. I hadn’t expected her to let me into hers.
“The obvious answer to your question is that I would want my girls to know I love them.”
I could tell this conversation meant something to her, too, by the way she looked deep into my eyes.
“I think they know that, though,” she continued. “I also want them to know that every time I look at them, I’m swollen with pride. I still can’t believe I”—she put her curled fingers to her chest—“got to play a small part in their creation.” She looked back down at her paper. “I hope they know that.”
I started to tear up and then I sniffled. She handed me another tissue. I leaned toward her because I didn’t want to miss a word of what she had to say.
Ms. Liz opened her Bible. Notes written in black pen covered the margins. A dark purple velvet ribbon marked her place.
I thought she was about to read me Scripture, but she didn’t. Instead she took a long sip of her bottled water.
“This isn’t a standard conversation I have with inmates.” She put down her bottled water and hesitated, like she was making sure her seat belt was fastened or the stove was turned off. “But as I told you before, you’re different. I feel I can trust you.”
I haven’t heard those words in well over seventeen years.
“I haven’t always been a great mother.” She lifted her Bible off her lap and then looked at me for my reaction.
“No judgment here.” I held up my handcuffed hands and we both laughed.
“Let’s just say my youngest daughter and I have not always seen eye to eye on things. I believed proper parenting meant I had to have a list of rules for my girls to follow. I wanted to raise good girls who waited until they were married to have sex, and didn’t drink a sip of alcohol unless it was presented to them at the Communion table in the Lord’s house.”
She brushed her hand over the cover of the Bible. “Olive always rebelled. If I said curfew was at midnight she’d come in at two. If I said she could date when she turned sixteen, she’d come in with a hickey at fifteen and a half just to spite me.”
Ms. Liz picked up the Bible and placed it on her chest. “I turned this book into a set of rules.”
“Five minutes,” the officer yelled.
“To make a long story short, Olive wouldn’t award me Mother of the Year.
“She got into some trouble with a boy in high school, and she didn’t feel like she could come to me.” Her voice cracked. I wanted to touch her hand or hug her.
“I would have helped her with the baby, but I guess she didn’t trust that.”
I nodded like I knew how Ms. Liz was feeling.
“I didn’t find out she had the abortion until months later. I overheard her on the phone with a friend.”
“How is Olive doing now?”
“She is doing fine, I think, but our relationship is strained. I can see it when she looks at me. Always wondering if I’m disappointed in her.”
Ms. Liz looked over at the officer. He started to walk our way. Our time today was almost over.
“So to answer your question—”
“Time’s up.”
Ms. Liz slipped a folded-up piece of paper from her Bible into my hands before the officer noticed. I squeezed it tight, feeling almost normal as he escorted me back to my cell.
SOPHIE
Sophie hadn’t seen or talked to Thomas all day. He’d left a note for her on the
Keurig machine that morning that read Got paged to OR, call you later, but he didn’t. No “I’m sorry I’m cheating” text or “I hope you’re having a great birthday” long-stemmed roses awaiting her by the front door.
So after hours of analyzing her next move, interspersed with imagining various painful ways to remove Eva’s gel-filled claws from Thomas’s back, Sophie decided to do something for herself. She dug out her measuring tape from the linen closet and began designing a bedroom. A little boy’s room, with trains and LEGOs and walls painted bright blue.
The doorbell rang around 7:30 p.m., right as she was Googling “most secure way to install an indoor tire swing.” She contemplated not answering, pretending to be gone, but the lights in the foyer had already given her away.
The bell rang again before she could open the front door. She expected to see Joey, the neighbor’s impatient kid, dressed in full Boy Scout uniform, selling popcorn. A big tin full of caramel corn dipped in chocolate didn’t sound like a bad idea. A birthday present to herself. She’d pop in a movie and eat herself into a more acceptable place.
When Sophie answered, she found Thomas waiting under the outside lights, wearing his black tux. “Your chariot awaits,” he said, motioning to the limo parked in their circle drive. His arm dropped once he noticed her torn denim jeans and UNC T-shirt.
“The Heart Ball,” Sophie said, now recalling his earlier reminder. “I got distracted and totally forgot.”
“I can see that,” he said. When she stared back at him and said nothing, he looked at his watch and said, “It’s okay, baby. Hurry up and get ready. We still have time.”
“I’m not going to the stupid Heart Ball. You and I, we need to talk.”
“Sophie, what is going on with you?” Thomas put one finger in the air to signal to the driver they’d be a minute. “You’ve been acting strange for days.”
“Are you kidding me?” she shrieked. “You seem to be the one who’s acting. You and—”
Thomas cut her off before she could elaborate. “Whatever is going on with you—you need to calm down.” He turned to make sure the driver wasn’t watching them. He was, so Thomas waved and held up his “one minute” finger again. “We can talk, but now’s not the time. I’ve got a car waiting for us. My partners are waiting on us. I’ve told them all about your fund-raiser. You have to go.”
Sophie didn’t have any more energy to argue or the will to object. In this moment, she hated Thomas, but not enough to damage everything he’d worked for—everything she’d worked for. She could pretend she was happy and devoted to Thomas for at least one more night.
“Please, go get ready,” Thomas begged her, and his eyes rounded. “This is important to me.”
Sophie finally relented, but not calmly. She slammed her bedroom door before jumping into the shower. At least I know the chefs. I pray they’re serving good wine and tons of shrimp. She could drink, eat, and force herself to make small talk for a few hours if she had to.
But when she toweled off from her shower and stood before the full-length mirror, the mottled skin covering her cheekbones clashing with the dark circles under her eyes didn’t make her feel any better about turning thirty.
“Oh, Sophie,” she could hear the synthetics say as she chose between the mint-green sequined dress with the low-cut neckline and the deep purple gown with the keyhole opening down the back, “you look fabulous in that dress.” But as soon as she turned around, she feared one of them would whisper, “If her husband was a carpenter, why wouldn’t she get new shelves?” She pulled the Victoria’s Secret satin strapless push-up from her lingerie drawer.
There’s always going to be someone prettier, someone uglier, someone skinnier or who has bigger boobs, her mom told her before she left to go to prison. Define yourself by the size of your heart, not the size of your jeans. You’re exactly how you are supposed to be.
—
THE DRIVER WAITED OUTSIDE THE CAR with the back door open. “Quite an elaborate ride you’ve secured for us tonight,” Sophie said, trying to fake nice as Thomas walked her to the limo. “Car in the shop?”
Thomas smiled, seemingly glad she was finally ready and in a better mood. She slid in the backseat and he scooted in beside her. “I missed you,” he said as he kissed her cheek and put his hand on her thigh.
She wanted to believe him, kiss him back, cuddle up beside him and hear him say, “I love only you,” but she couldn’t. Too many things had happened in the past few days, not the least of which was Ben’s words: “If the governor doesn’t intervene, your mother will die by lethal injection on February fifteenth.”
For all of her adult life, Sophie had prided herself on making it alone. Not needing to rely on anyone, because everyone will let you down. Thomas was her husband, her soul mate, her best friend, but she let him get only so close. Was that why he’d turned to Eva?
She scolded herself for going to his office, for thinking about telling him the truth about her family. Confessing her betrayals and begging for his comfort and forgiveness.
She didn’t deserve his loyalty, but she wanted it more than anything. As his cologne filled the limo and his shoulder touched hers, she had to stop herself from laying her head on his shoulder and begging him for the truth. “Do you really love me,” she wanted to scream, “or have we fallen apart, too?”
“Are you okay?” Thomas asked when she took his hand off her leg.
“I’m just tired.” She hoped he’d let it go at that.
“How are you feeling? Any more nausea?”
“I’m all better,” Sophie replied. “Actually, I’m kind of hungry.”
“I hope you’re not upset,” Thomas said carefully, “but I ran in to Dr. Chemales in the hospital.”
“Please tell me you didn’t make me an appointment.”
“Don’t be mad. He said he could see you tomorrow around ten o’clock.”
“I could’ve made that myself,” she said in a less-than-grateful tone.
“I’m sorry,” Thomas said, defending himself against more than he knew. “He was rounding at the hospital. I was worried about you.”
“Next time, ask me first.” She attempted to moderate her sharp pitch. “I’m not sure I need to go now.”
“I think you do. It’s not normal to faint for no reason. Please keep the appointment—if not for you, do it for me.”
Before she responded, Sophie pondered the word normal. Was it customary to suspect your husband was fooling around? Or for little boys like Max to be abandoned in a hospital to become someone else’s concern? Was it standard Thanksgiving banter to hear your brother-in-law casually announce your mother’s execution after reading about it in the newspaper?
“Sophie, I can cancel the appointment if you don’t want to go.”
“No, I’ll go.” She didn’t want to argue. About this or about Eva. She decided to let both go for tonight. But only for tonight.
“Thank you for taking care of me.” My health, anyway, she thought to herself as she turned away from him and stared out the limousine window.
—
SOPHIE BEGAN TO SUSPECT SOMETHING else might be going on other than the Heart Ball when the limousine pulled up in front of the Ritz-Carlton and she saw Mindy quickly dart through the revolving doors. The Heart Ball wasn’t Mindy’s thing, especially since she and her husband had recently separated. She had never attended before, and Sophie couldn’t imagine her being here now.
Her suspicions were confirmed when the driver opened her door, winked, and told her she didn’t look at day over twenty-one. Sophie wasn’t fond of surprises, but a significant part of her was relieved Thomas hadn’t forgotten her birthday. From the looks of things, he’d remembered quite well.
She checked her reflection in the limo’s black-tinted windows. Thomas must’ve noticed, because he gently touched the side of her cheek and whispered, “You loo
k amazing.”
As they entered the hotel, Thomas did what he always did when they were together in public. He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her in like she was the most important girl in the room.
—
THE THREE-PIECE ORCHESTRA played “Happy Birthday” on cue as all the synthetics rushed over to greet Sophie. Kate squeezed her arm first. “You look gorgeous.”
Sophie didn’t enjoy being the center of something she hadn’t planned on and hated even more being left alone in a group of people who were clearly more Thomas’s friends than hers. Several doctors from his practice waved hello as they made their way over.
After the formalities were completed, Mindy snuck up beside her and whispered in her ear, “You look great. Feeling better?”
“You want the truth?” Sophie tried to mask her words by saying them through gritted teeth.
Before Mindy could answer, Eva bounced up wearing a bloodred strapless gown dripping with small iridescent beads. “Happy birthday, Sophie,” she screeched, raising her drink glass for a toast. Not the first glass, evidently, since half of her wine spewed over the sides, christening everyone in the near vicinity. Mindy’s champagne-colored dress took the brunt of the waterfall.
“I’m so sorry,” Eva said, trying to find someone to take her glass while she seized cocktail napkins to wipe off the trail of wine cascading down Mindy’s breast. Her rubbing only made the stain worse.
“For God’s sake, Eva, let me do it.” Sophie snatched the soaked cocktail napkins out of her hand. “Let’s go get some club soda.”
“Thomas, dance with me,” Eva said, smearing her words while pulling him onto the dance floor. Sophie turned to watch as Eva, who could not walk in a straight line, pressed herself against Thomas.
“Slow down, Eva. The first dance goes to my wife.” Thomas detached her sticky arms from around his neck. “Where’s your husband?”
“He couldn’t make it.” Her slurring made her statement sound like one long word. “I want you to dance with me.” She fought to get her arms back around his neck.
