by Angela Pisel
“I can’t put Sophie through that.” No good mother would ever ask her child to do that.
“Let her make the decision. Put her name down and then let her make the decision.”
I’d spun this conversation around in my mind several times since Ben left. Would Sophie be mad if I put her name down? Would she be mad if I didn’t? I wished I could ask her, but mostly I wished I didn’t have to.
I decided to listen to Ben. I used my left hand to steady my right as I wrote: Ben Taylor—my attorney and friend. Dr. Thomas Logan—my son-in-law. Mrs. Sophie Logan—my daughter.
SOPHIE
Two people in Sophie’s immediate circle had her right where she once feared they wanted her—exposed and open to attack, with no refined skills to mount an effective defense. But to her surprise, her worst-case scenario had become a welcomed Utopia.
“I can’t imagine the pain you must be going through,” Mindy said after Sophie finished summarizing her past seventeen years without a mother.
Mindy pressed her hand into Sophie’s thighs. “This must have been tough for you to carry all alone. Please let me know what I can do. Day or night, I’ll be there for you.”
The wounds in Sophie’s filleted chest healed some when she heard her friend make this promise.
“I know your mom will be okay. I promise you. This will all work out.”
Sophie felt her heart rate slow down for the first time in a long time.
Mindy appointed herself co-chair of the Secret Chef fund-raiser, keeping Sophie busy with smaller details, anything that could be conquered from a chair, like who should sit next to whom or whether the Oxstyle rose or the lotus with purple flowers might inspire a prospective donor to give more money.
Ben and Sophie exchanged phone calls every evening at 6 p.m. If he didn’t have anything new to report, he’d call anyway, “just to see how the pregnancy’s going.”
Sometimes Thomas answered. When Sophie held out her hand, he’d reluctantly give her the phone and say, “I’m just trying to relieve some of your stress.”
The truth was, Sophie had never felt better. Sure, she agonized over the possibility the governor would decide not to grant clemency, but what were the chances of that? Her mom was innocent. She pictured the governor at a press conference flanked by her mom and Ben. “What we owe this woman can never be repaid.” The crowd would roar and cameras would flash. Her mom would hug Sophie and say, “I can’t wait to hold my new grandbaby.”
“When am I going to get to talk to her?” she asked Ben every time they talked.
“Whenever the warden says she can call,” was his pat but polite answer.
Ben warned her not to get her hopes up, for a phone call or for anything else. “Plan for the best, but prepare for the worst.” Sophie didn’t even want to think what that meant in this case. She sat on the deck off her bedroom with her laptop and ordered new linens for the guest bedroom. “Lavender and yellow are my mom’s favorite colors,” she explained to Thomas.
He agreed without hesitation to let Sophie’s mom come live with them after she was released. “She can stay with us as long as she likes,” he said, rubbing her lower back at night. “Anything to make you smile.”
She was grateful beyond measure for Thomas’s quick and unexpected forgiveness. She knew her lies didn’t come without consequences, but she’d yet to see them. When she’d asked if he was upset with her, Thomas had said, “We’ll talk later, after your health stabilizes.”
He hadn’t said it in an alarming way, more in a manner that let Sophie know his rock-solid reality was off-balance. His life’s checklist jumbled and out of order. The woman he’d been sleeping next to for all these years was not who she’d advertised. Like the optical illusion that appears to be a beautiful young lady until you tilt your head and squint your eyes and the picture becomes an old woman. Sophie imagined all kinds of things when she caught Thomas staring at her.
He didn’t answer her when she asked what his parents thought. Instead he said, “It only matters what I think.” But the way he snuck into the garage when Carter called told her all she needed to hear.
She overheard him on the phone one evening after he thought she’d gone to bed. “You’re looking at this from only a prosecutor’s angle. If anyone is at fault, it’s the doctors and the hospital.” She tiptoed closer and angled her ear to the door. “Somebody should’ve figured out this baby was really sick.”
Before Thomas slammed down the phone, Sophie heard him shout, “Screw my status at the hospital. An innocent woman does not deserve to be executed.”
Sophie pretended to be asleep when Thomas snuggled up against her in bed. She hated to see him caught in the middle. She’d have to see his family and explain to them why she’d made up a past to gain a future, but that wasn’t going to happen today or tomorrow. In the meantime, nothing could derail her concentration or dampen her enthusiasm. Every moment from here on out would be spent on what she should have been doing all along—helping her mom get off death row.
GRACE
The warden had received my papers eighteen days ago, but I still hadn’t been cleared to make a phone call. I didn’t know what was worse—worrying you’d refuse to talk to me or worrying you’d think I didn’t want to talk to you. I prayed today would be the day I heard your voice.
“Did you hear Roni’s coming back?” Jada said to me.
“No.” I put down my journal. “How do you know?”
“I heard Jones and Mackey say so.”
“Is she okay?”
“Okay enough to return to death row.” Jada stood up and flipped the television on to The View.
I slid my pen inside my journal and walked back to my cell. I took the box of handmade Christmas ornaments from under my bed. All seventeen of them wrapped in toilet tissue and stacked in cushioned rows, waiting to be one day opened by Sophie. One of my favorites lay triple-folded for extra protection.
I took it out of the box and told myself Sophie would understand. On top of the paper I wrote: Please forgive me. Love, Grace.
While the officers chatted about NCAA basketball, I snuck over to Roni’s cell and placed the white ceramic ornament in the center of her bunk. Under the impression of my handprint, in blocked-stamped letters, was the word FAMILY.
Carmen ran to the telephone to begin her fifteen-minute phone call. I decided to stay in my cell and forgo the torture of hearing her exchange sloppy kisses and sentiments like “I wanna wrap my arms around you, too, baby.” Some things are better off left unimagined.
I wet some brown paper hand towels and started to scrub my toilet.
“Your turn, Bradshaw,” Officer Mackey shouted.
“Me?” I yelled back. I threw the wet towels in my sink and wiped my hands on my pants.
“Hurry up,” he called. “Clock’s a-ticking.”
I searched my room for Sophie’s number. I found it right where I left it. Under the cover of my Bible. I’ve prepared myself for this conversation a million times. Now I couldn’t remember anything I’d rehearsed.
“Give me the number,” Officer Mackey said as I approached the phone.
I handed him the small yellow piece of paper. For the first time, my mouth didn’t feel dry because of him. He dialed the number and then handed me the phone.
“I’ll give you an extra five,” he whispered.
“Thank you.” I put my hand over my heart to show him my appreciation.
And then I prayed you’d be home . . . Please, God, let Sophie be home. Please let her answer.
SOPHIE
“The invitations have been mailed and the clubhouse confirmed,” Mindy said. She sat across from Sophie in her living room. The smell of sausage and shrimp jambalaya drifted over them as they worked. “The only thing left to do is make sure the chefs show up and the people of West Lake bring fountain pens to write big fat checks.”
/> “No kidding.” Sophie tried to pay attention to Mindy, but when Mindy was going over the secret-auction items, Sophie read the blog on the Innocence Project’s website. Three hundred sixteen inmates exonerated and counting. She’d sent them three letters about her mom’s case since she came home from the hospital. She made a mental note to send the fourth.
“Yoo-hoo.” Mindy waved her hand in Sophie’s face. “Earth to Sophie.”
“Sorry, I’m having a hard time concentrating.” Sophie picked up her checklist. “Thank God the clubhouse was open. Much less work than having it here.”
“You’ve been having much more important ‘events’ in your home,” Mindy said, pointing to Sophie’s stomach. She air-quoted the word events, and then raised her hand to give Sophie a high-five.
Sophie laughed. “You’re such a guy.” She appreciated Mindy’s attempt to lighten her mood.
“Give me some credit,” Thomas interrupted as he walked in from the kitchen.
Mindy held her fist to bump his.
“The cornbread will be done in about ten minutes,” Thomas said. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
“Smells delicious, but I have to get home to the twins.”
“What’s gotten into him?” Mindy winked at Sophie as Thomas went to stir something on top of the stove. “Quite the chef.”
“He loves to cook now. Home by six and meal on the table by seven-thirty.” Sophie glanced in the kitchen to make sure he couldn’t overhear. “He does everything for me. I think he’s scared something’s going to happen to the baby.”
“Your doctor said everything’s okay, right?”
“Yes. I saw Dr. Johnson today and my blood pressure’s fine. Baby’s heartbeat is strong. I’m about fifteen weeks.”
“Are you still on bed rest?”
“Modified, I guess. The doctor told me my first priority has to be the health of the baby. I’m not supposed to worry.”
“Easy for your doctor to say.” Mindy scrunched her forehead and nose. “Doctors can be so blunt sometimes,” she whispered, so Thomas couldn’t hear her. “At least the fund-raiser is on autopilot now. Don’t worry about a thing. Just show up on February fourteenth and enjoy.”
Sophie pulled out the calendar on her iPhone to count the days.
“Twenty-four days until the fund-raiser.” Twenty-five days until . . . That won’t happen. That can’t happen.
The phone rang as Thomas was taking the cornbread out of the oven. “I’ll get it.”
Sophie prayed it was Ben with some good news. She helped Mindy gather the last of her papers and gave her a quick hug.
“Can I use your restroom?”
“You know where it is,” Sophie told her.
Mindy closed the restroom door just as Thomas said, “Of course we’ll accept the charges.”
GRACE
You know all of what happened next, but I had to write it down. I had to make sure every moment we shared was documented. I couldn’t bear the thought of forgetting even one second.
“Of course we’ll accept the charges.” My son-in-law’s deep voice reminded me of your history I hadn’t been a part of.
“Hi, Thomas. It’s Grace.” I willed my cracking voice to be strong.
“How are you?” His voice sounded anxious. I don’t think he expected this phone call to be from me.
“Did Ben tell you I was going to call?”
“No. I mean, yes. He said he gave you our number, but not to get our hopes up you’d be allowed to call.”
“I’m surprised, too.” I fidgeted with the cord. He wasn’t the only one anxious. “I don’t have much time. Is Sophie there?”
He hesitated, so I asked again. “Is she there?”
“She’s saying good-bye to a friend. Let me get her.”
Thomas covered the receiver, but I could hear his muffled voice. “Take this in the study. I’ll get rid of Mindy.”
My darn legs started trembling so much I had to brace my back against the wall. Breathe, I told myself. A large part of this moment felt as foreign as the first time I met you. Mom, meet your new baby girl. The masked doctor placed your red-blotched skin on top of mine. Look, she has your long fingers.
I didn’t know that baby any more than I know you now. Did you want to talk to me? It’s taking forever. Did you have company? Did they know about me?
The recording announced, “Thirteen minutes.” I looked for Officer Mackey. He’s at his desk, reading the newspaper.
Finally, I heard a click on the other line.
“Mom?”
Your voice sounded fragile, but I’d have recognized it anywhere.
“It’s me,” I said.
Your next words sounded like they could break. “I can’t believe I’m finally talking to you.”
“I can’t believe it, either.”
“I have so much to tell you. So much to apologize for.” Your voice faded, and I could barely hear you.
“Sophie, it’s okay. It’s all okay. I understand. I’m not mad at you.”
“I talk to Ben every night. He’s going to get you out.”
“I know he’s doing everything he can, but, Sophie, I want to hear about you. Tell me about your life.”
I heard you take a few deep breaths, and then I think you started to cry.
“Please, stay calm. Your blood pressure . . .” I could hear Thomas in the background.
“Are you sick?” I asked. Like William? The automated voice reminded me of my dwindling time.
“Not exactly.” Stay calm, Thomas told you again.
You sniffled, and I heard you ask him to get you a glass of water. After you took a drink, I heard the most magnificent words I’d ever heard.
“Mom, I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a grandma.”
SOPHIE
“You’re going to have a baby?” her mom shouted into the phone.
“I’m due in June.”
“My love runneth over.”
Sophie closed her eyes. Suddenly she was six again. “Mommy, see my picture. It’s our family.” Her mom had placed the picture up against her heart and said, “My love runneth over.”
“Are you feeling okay?”
Sophie kept her eyes closed. She could feel her mother’s tender arms around her, shielding her and stroking her hair.
“I’m feeling great, Mom. The doctor’s watching my blood pressure, but I’m fine, I promise.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment. Sophie could hear her mom sniffling into the phone.
“Are you happy?” her mom asked. Sophie could tell from her tremulous voice that that was all she cared about.
“I try to be.” Sophie answered that question honestly for the first time since her mother left her. “I tried for as long as I could to pretend everything was okay. I became good at it, but I can’t do it anymore. I miss you. I need to see you and bring you home.”
“I want to see you more than you know,” her mom said, her voice now barely above a whisper.
“It’ll happen, Mom.” Thomas stroked her hair while she talked.
“I like your husband.”
“I thought you would. He reminds me of Daddy.” Sophie reached up and held Thomas’s hand. “I wish you could have been there. On my wedding day, I mean.”
There was quiet on the other end.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Sophie interjected.
“You only make me feel good,” her mom finally said. “Everything about you makes me feel good.”
The phone beeped, indicating their time was almost up.
Sophie took her hand off Thomas and gripped the phone. “I love you, Mom.”
For the first time in eleven years, her mom whispered back, “I love you, too, Sophie.”
GRACE
We just hung up the
phone and I have so many things I still want to ask you. Big questions, like “Do you want a boy or a girl?” and “How are you decorating the nursery?” but mainly I’m curious about the small details most mothers know about their kids, like “Do you still need to hear the dryer running when you fall asleep?” and “Do you still eat your toast with cinnamon sugar sprinkled all over it?” The observations mothers store in the back of their mind that no other person would even care to notice.
I want to be able to run to the grocery store and buy you lemon drops because sucking on them will help your nausea (are you having morning sickness?), or make you thirty different freezer meals just to have on standby when you’re too tired to cook. All the tangible favors moms are privileged to do for the ones they love. Since Lakeland won’t let me out to run those errands, I’ll have to concentrate on the intangible gifts that only come deep from within a mother’s soul.
I can’t explain how amazing it was to hear you say “I love you.” Parts of me that hadn’t been alive since the last day I saw you breathed again. I floated back to my cell.
I know Thomas loves you, too. He told me so when we met, but he showed me when I overheard him caring for you when we were on the phone. I can sleep, like never before, because I know you have someone else in your life who adores you.
I don’t know how many phone conversations we have left or if I will ever get to see your face again. Those are the decisions I can’t control and you can’t, either. No matter what the governor does or doesn’t do, please know I will be fine and in a much better place surrounded by love.
You will be fine, too. Every morning when you look into the ever-changing expressions on your newborn’s face, know I am with you.
Guard against letting any more of your moments be soaked in regret. I’m choosing to let go of any resentment and make a conscious effort to let my enemies bring out the best in me—not the worst. I’m praying you will have the strength to do the same.
