Sophie's Smile: A Novel

by Harper, Sheena

  “Hello?”

  “Sophie? It’s me, Liam.”

  “Liam!” I cried. I couldn’t help it. Hearing his voice made me feel safe again, erased all the pain I felt hours ago. I loved him so much.

  “Sophie…I’m sorry.” He was crying, too. His voice cracked and ragged. It was filled with pain and what sounded like rage.

  “Where are you? What happened? Why didn’t you wait for me?” I was angry now. I was hurt, and I wanted answers. I demanded them.

  “Sophie, I know, but I had to. It was the only way…the only way I could have gone.”

  “Whatever it is, I would have understood and I would have gone with you. Don’t you know that by now?”

  “That’s why I didn’t wait for you to come home. I didn’t want you to come with me. It would’ve been too dangerous. I was trying to protect you.”

  “Protect me? By leaving me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Liam, I don’t understand.”

  There was a pause. I heard him mumbling to someone. There was some commotion and then silence.

  “Sophie?”

  “Yes. Are you okay?” I was worried and scared, “What’s going on Liam, you’re scaring me. Who’s there with you?”

  “My dad, Soph…,” I was stunned into silence. Liam never called me Soph. He said he didn’t want to shorten such a beautiful name. He never called me Soph. “It’s my sister.”

  “Emily?”

  “Yes, she called me shortly after I left for work. She was frantic and said her life was in danger. Danger, Soph—ie. Remember I told you that she ran away with her boyfriend, Dan?”

  “Yes.”

  I remembered Liam wasn’t too thrilled about him.

  “Well, apparently he has been abusing her and messing with her head. He’s hurting her, Sophie.” His voice trembled into a whisper, “She told me that he was going to kill her if she didn’t marry him. She got away from him, which is why she finally called me. I went and told my dad and then he and I took the next flight to Vegas to get her back. Can you believe it Sophie, that bastard took my sister to Vegas like a tramp and held her hostage. Sophie…I’m sorry, but I didn’t, NO, I couldn’t put you in danger. What if he finds us before we get Em out of there? We need to get her to Lake Tahoe and keep her safe. I called my mom and she’ll be waiting for us there.”

  “Liam—”

  “Sophie. I had to do this. She’s my sister. She’s my only sister and I can’t lose her again. She used to be this strong and amazing woman with so much ambition and strength. This guy crippled her and is trying to break her. I won’t let that happen. I can’t. You have to understand. Please, Sophie,” he was begging now, “you have to tell me that you understand.”

  I paused. I was frozen by his words. He can’t lose her. I know that she’s his sister, but what about me? I’m his wife. He chose her over me. I didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand, but I also didn’t want him to get hurt and he needed me right now. No matter how angry, scared, or clueless I was, I still loved him; I needed him to come back, safe and secure, to my open arms.

  “I understand.”

  He sighed with relief and gratitude, “Thank you, Sophie. Be safe, my Sophie, and keep smiling. I’ll be home to you soon. Don’t worry, okay? I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  There I was, sitting alone in our bed, feeling empty, hurt, and compelled to get on the next flight to Vegas. He did this to protect me, but I wanted to protect him. If he got hurt, I didn’t know what I would do. How could I live? I decided I would do what I did best—I wrote him a letter that I would add to my shoebox. I never intended to show it to him. Never intended on him ever reading it. It acted more like a diary. A place to escape for a moment and write down every feeling I had without judgment, remorse, or self-deprecation. It was a place I could be free.

  Dearest Liam,

  Our love for each other has grown to be poisonous. Trying to save each other, but otherwise causing more harm. Please don’t leave me. We work best when we’re together. Together we are perfect, but apart, we are not. No matter the circumstances, we should never be apart. I love you. And if you are in danger I want to be in danger with you. If you die I want to die. There is no purpose in this world without you in it…

  But, if you did not make it, I know that it would cause you too much pain, even after death, if you knew that I tried to follow you. If I was hurting. If I was mourning, in grief, and living like a zombie, you would feel it and be saddened by it. You would want me to live, love, laugh, and smile again. You would want me to experience life, to be healthy, find another love, have a chance to be a mom, have a dream and strive to achieve it. You would want me to live out my long life, without you.

  I know this, because I too would want the same for you. I’d want you to live and be happy and stress-free. I wouldn’t want you to be burdened by my death. Instead I would want you to treasure the good times we shared, while forging on to make new beautiful memories with someone else. Someone willing and good, someone who would love you, and if I have not been able to, bear your children. I would love to look down and see you strive for happiness. Maybe even open up a bakery and name the cream puff after me :D. Yes, that would be nice.

  If you die before me, while trying to rescue your sister, I will promise you that I will try to be happy and find meaning in my life again. And if I pass before you, I hope you’ll promise me the same.

  I’ve realized that love is powerful and beautiful and all we could do is treasure every single moment we may have with each other. Life is a puzzle and we shouldn’t try too hard to solve it, just live in it, every moment we may have, loving each other.

  I love you.

  -Sophie

  I folded the paper and placed it in the shoebox. I went downstairs and threw away all the groceries from the night before. Poured myself a bowl of cereal. As I ate, in the heart of Balboa Park, a young waitress was carefully crossing out “Sullivan, party of two” on a piece of paper. And that night I went to sleep, eyes dry, heart lifted, and in peace. In the morning I would inevitably find, wilting by the front door, a bouquet of sunflowers and calla lilies with a card that read:

  Happy One Year, baby doll.

  Loving every moment with you.

  Liam.

  ~ Liam ~

  61

  “Em,” I rushed over to hold her frail and shivering body. It was 105 degrees outside and she was shivering. I held her close. Held her until her breathing subsided and her ugly tears turned soft. She looked up and noticed Dad, silently waiting from afar.

  His fists were held to his sides and his face was red with rage. His entire body was shaking in anger as if he were a bomb threatening to explode. His menacing presence left me in awe. Instead of feeling scared and afraid, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride and reverence. For the first time in years, he seemed to come alive, out of his turtle shell, his secluded and sunken recliner, without a beer in his hand, and without the emptiness behind those forever-sullen eyes. His eyes were no longer empty, but fixed. His brain spun rapidly, and his pulse thrummed. He was a father, and for the first time he seemed to embody that position. I couldn’t help but smile.

  Emily let go from my grasp and staggered toward our father. She stood there for a moment, hesitant to close the gap that separated them all these years; when his eyes softened and his color turned pale, she ran into his strong carpenter’s arms and cried. Flooding tears of joy, pain, and sadness.

  She was home.

  “Where is that little Fucker?” Dad growled. He had death on his mind and his hands were molded into weapons—ready and willing to kill.

  “No,” Emily gasped, “please don’t go after him. I’m safe now. Please don’t go. Let’s just leave,” she pleaded, her eyes crazed and panicked.

  Dad wasn’t giving in so I had to intervene, “Please Dad, listen to Em. Let’s just go. That bastard will get what’s coming to him in the end. Don’t do anything that will land you in j
ail.”

  Glaring at me he countered, “I don’t care. I’d love to rot in jail, just to see that Fuck-Face cry, plead, and suffer.”

  “No.” I stood firm between Dad and Em.

  I was not going to let this Dan kid destroy my family. At least not more than he had already. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  “For Em’s sake, we need to leave for Lake Tahoe, right now. I can’t lose either of you.”

  Knowing what I was about to say would hurt us both, I braced myself before letting the harsh words escape from my chapped lips: “You can’t leave us like Mom left you.”

  That did it. Blindsided, he wheeled back on his heels and froze. He looked at me, eyes full of hurt and confusion, and he relented.

  Trying my best to compose myself, I quickly added, “I think the next flight is in two hours, we should get going.”

  Emily whispered, “Thank you.”

  62

  We were landing in Reno, after a long, tense, and quiet flight. Dad held onto Em’s hand as if she were a two-year-old, afraid to let her out of his sight. She was too weak to walk, traumatized from the events that preceded our rescue, so Dad carried her in his arms. He never complained or let on that her weight was too much for his aged back and bad shoulder to handle. Either the weight was manageable or irrelevant. His senses were fixated on anger, his limbs working on fumes. What mattered was protecting his baby girl, not the week that followed of lying in bed, chasing down painkillers, recovering.

  I never learned the extent of everything Emily went through, and I would never pry those details out of her. I was frightened about what she might uncover. What dark alley and hole did Dan make her crawl into? How did he turn a vibrant and empowered woman into a timid and weak girl? However horrible the images might be, they weren’t true until they came directly from Em’s lips; selfishly, I was glad she didn’t feel the need to share them with me. There was something to be said for staying in the dark, moving only forward, and never looking back.

  The air was brisk and still. The sky was hazy as the sun began its descent toward the western horizon. The smell was clean and welcoming. As a lighthouse glows amidst the dark and looming sea, there, out in front of us, stood the log cabin, calling out to us with its familiarity and warmth.

  Mom and Grandma were already stationed by the door, expecting our arrival. The pink room had already been prepped and scented with lavender; the bed already made up with clean, pressed cotton sheets; the bureau already filled with new, freshly laundered clothes; and, placed squarely on top was a vase brimming with yellow chrysanthemums, Em’s favorite. The room fluttered and glowed as the filtered light and the breeze swept in through an open window.

  They stood by the door; tears streaming down their careworn faces, with lines revealing the many hours that passed without repair from sleep, as Dad carefully carried his precious baby girl through the house, around the corner, and to the pink room. He placed her under the covers, tucked her in, kissed her gently on the forehead, and took a minute to study her now lax face. He brushed off the single tear that escaped from his eye, whispered good-bye, and closed the door quietly behind him.

  Without a detour, a single glance their way, a single word, he trudged steadfastly onward, back outside to the taxi that was waiting idly, letting the meter run.

  Mom turned toward the open door, hesitating. She took one step toward the taxi and stopped. She sighed wistfully, eyes filled with sadness and regret, and addressed me instead. “So how is he?”

  “Dad’s doing well.”

  She nodded, unconvincingly. I was never good at telling a lie.

  “Please thank Ja—, I mean,” she sighed, “thank you for bringing her back to us.”

  I nodded. “Tell Grandma and Em that I love them and I’ll come visit with Sophie soon.”

  She nodded, unable to speak through the tears, and hugged me.

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  63

  Blinking, I was suddenly unaware of my surroundings. I rubbed my eyes, hoping that everything had been a bad dream and I would be under the covers in my bed with my beautiful wife cuddled up next to me. No, I was in a taxi, tainted by cigarette smoke and Febreze. Dad was paying the driver and was about to open my door and wake me when he saw me fumble awkwardly with the handle.

  “Dad, can you get the bags and tickets while I give Sophie a ring?”

  “Sure, Bud, I’ll meet you inside.”

  My heart filled with longing and love as I heard the frantic soft voice of my Sophie.

  “Liam? Are you okay? Is everything okay?”

  “Hi Sophie. Yes. Everything is fine. We brought Em back to Grandma’s and Mom is also there caring for her…”

  “Liam?” her voice softened, “are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I stifled a tear, my throat burning from the never-ending knots, “you should have seen her Sophie…she was so frail…”

  “At least she’s fine now,” Sophie was quiet, “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too.”

  “Are you coming home soon?”

  “Yes, I’ll be home in a few hours. We can celebrate our Anniversary. I’m so sorry I missed it.”

  “That’s okay. I just want to see you and hold you and never let you go.”

  “Okay. It’s a date.”

  She giggled, “Yes. It’s a date. Be safe and I love you.”

  “You be safe. I love you, too. See you soon, my love.”

  The plane ride was excruciatingly long, but at least it gave me time to think of a way to make it up to Sophie. I knew she would be mad that I left her, and I probably could have done it better, but at the time it was hard to think things through. My head had been clouded over in distress. I really only wanted to protect Sophie. No, there was no other way around it. That was the only way to save my sister, and at the same time, protect Sophie. At least for the time being, that was the truth I chose. As I exited the airport into the balmy San Diego air, I stood still for a moment, just a moment. I closed my eyes, and turned my head to the sky.

  My Sophie, I am coming home to you now. I wish with all my heart to never leave you alone again. We belong together. Together forever. Oh, my Sophie…my precious Sophie. I love you.

  Part FOUR:

  Epilogue

  Heart connections are

  Indelible once cast,

  Forged in the mind and tempered

  in the soul; Time shifts space

  and we shift Mind, place

  until we feel the ones we want

  and think the rest undone;

  yet in our hearts connected still,

  memory has no expiration

  and sinewy, hardened ties do last

  among the tender ties anew.

  So, Wisdom saves her heart at times,

  to keep it from the flame

  and save it from the anvil

  just for a while—

  the forge awaits,

  today and every day.

  ~Kyle Harper, Patchwork Heart

  1

  The sun was bright and cheerful, the heat refreshing against the cool breeze that occasionally swept by and brushed Sophie’s thick, silky hair. She was dressed in a light summer dress, cinched at the waste, and cut low to show a teasing glimpse of the swell from her breasts. She had a kick in her step as she walked to the market for a few necessary dinner ingredients. She was going to recreate the dish that she envisioned preparing for Liam a few days ago—his infamous dish that wooed her into saying those three powerful words.

  She felt tickled with nerves and flowed with excitement and romance as she mentally prepped herself for a night filled with passion and desire with the man she dearly loved. In her dreamlike state she almost forgot the calla lilies, and started quickly back toward the market to get them.

  As she turned, her body froze, her eyes haunted and white, blood quickly drained from her face, and the bags of onions, spinach, tofu, and greens flew up like confetti, sprinkling the clear, light blue
sky. Her body lifted like a graceful feather until it crashed onto the hard, black asphalt. Lying limp as a rag doll. Thick substance gushing out like a flow of red fabric under her paling skin. Her mind numbing, her heart slowing, and with her last breath, mumbling the words that a bystander would later repeat: “Liam, I love you,” from her trembling cold lips.

  The blue SUV swerved and crashed into the building, denting the stucco, but crunching the car as if it were made of cardboard. People rushed out of the building, from their cars, from across the street and beyond. Chaos surrounded the tiny parking lot as police and paramedics, their vehicles blaring and flashing, made their way to the scene.

  It took only two hours to clean up the bloody scene and gather the necessary information to fill out a lengthy report. The parking lot was suddenly empty. The horror-stricken observers cleared once the bodies were whisked away on stretchers and covered with blankets. The car was towed and the blood washed. There were cones and orange tape surrounding the damaged building, the only markings still memorializing the terrible accident only hours earlier.

  The only survivor was an innocent baby girl, six months in age. Strapped securely to a car seat, the baby girl was protected by a sleep-deprived mom, who’s only fault was that she loved her baby too much, glimpsed at her rearview mirror a second too long while watching her baby girl nod off to sleep, and punched the accelerator instead of the brake at that crucial, fearful moment.

  2

  When Liam received the phone call, he was opening the front door to his house with a bouquet of calla lilies in his hand. When he answered, the phone dropped out of his quivering hand and into the dirt. His hands shook violently as he tried to regain his choked breath. His knuckles were white as they grasped the door for balance and the bouquet crushed in his other hand. And then, as if from a scene in the movies, blood drained from his face, his eyes rolled back, and he fainted.