Sophie (The Boss Book 8)

by Abigail Barnette

  “Sophie. Let him go.”

  I turned at El-Mudad’s softly spoken words. He leaned against the archway into the house, the wreck of the ransacked living room behind him.

  “But—” I began.

  He didn’t need to hear it. He already knew what Neil had been through during his recovery and therapy. They’d regularly talked throughout Neil’s hospitalization when Neil hadn’t been able to bear contacting me.

  El-Mudad knew Neil in a way I didn’t. I trusted El-Mudad in a way I didn’t trust myself.

  I had to let Neil go.

  Nodding, I stepped back.

  “Neil,” El-Mudad said with a compassionate, closed-mouth smile. “Come home to us.”

  Neil nodded and went out the door.

  Chapter Five

  “Maybe he just went for a drive,” El-Mudad suggested after the slowest hour in the history of time.

  We sat on our balcony, looking out at the sea while Rashida took a post-trauma nap in our bed downstairs. I could barely make out a person walking their dog at the shore’s edge, blending in against the blue-gray of the twilight waves.

  “Maybe we should get a dog,” I mused to keep my mind off the fact that my drug and alcohol addicted husband with severe PTSD, depression, and anxiety had just gone through an emotional crisis and was now out there somewhere unsupervised in a world designed to cater to his ills.

  El-Mudad thankfully came along on my trivial conversation. “No dogs.”

  I tilted my head. “Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Because they’re dirty.”

  “You like horses,” I argued.

  “Do I keep a horse inside my home? Do I let it sleep on my bed and lick my face?” He pretended to gag. Or maybe it was a real gag. He didn’t seem to be joking about his opinion of dogs.

  “You had a pet tiger as a teenager.” I turned my gaze back to the white caps on the sea.

  “Nefertiti was totally different—” El-Mudad began to protest, but his phone chiming cut him off.

  “Olivia’s French lesson is over,” I said without him having to check. “I didn’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  He made a noise as he glanced at the screen. “You’re right. Time to put on our reassuring faces.”

  I took his hand and squeezed it. “We can do this.”

  We had to.

  We left Rashida asleep and went to intercept Olivia. She waited for us in the den, and she was not pleased. “I want to go in my room! Mariposa said no!”

  “Mariposa said no because your room is being cleaned,” El-Mudad explained. “You’ll be so surprised when you see it.”

  Mariposa lingered in the doorway. She’d gotten a brief run-down of the situation when I’d warned her that the social worker would be contacting her, but we hadn’t had time to have a proper sit down about it.

  El-Mudad apparently thought that could wait. “Would you mind bringing one of Olivia’s swimsuits? I think it would be nice to go for a swim.”

  Olivia’s face brightened. Even though we had a pool in our house and got to use it pretty much whenever she wanted to, swimming never got old for her. “Can Amal come?”

  El-Mudad’s gaze flicked to me, then back to Olivia. “I don’t think Amal would like to swim today. Rashida might. And Sophie, perhaps?”

  The last thing I wanted to do was continue to plaster a smile on my face. But that’s what was going to happen. It might as well occur with a view of a hot half-naked guy. “I think that would be great. Olivia, you can come change in my dressing room.”

  Her eyes lit up and filled with stars. “Can I see your jewelry?”

  “You can see some of it. But we don’t want to waste too much time.” I also didn’t know if it had been sorted by the cleaners or lumped back into its drawers. “Why don’t you go with El-Mudad and find out if Rashida wants to join us. I’ll meet you in my room.”

  “The all grownups room,” Olivia scolded me sternly. “All of you.”

  Well, the social worker probably had gotten an earful.

  I tried not to think about that.

  In the bedroom, I checked my phone. I almost dialed Neil, but it wouldn’t do any good. He needed space.

  And I’d already left five voicemails.

  I picked out my green I.D. Sarrieri halter-neck one-piece because although it was more suited to looking good than actually swimming in it, I needed the boost of feeling pretty. I pinned my hair in a loose bun and used a makeup remover wipe on my eyes so there would be no unfortunate raccoon effect.

  Olivia strutted into our huge closet with one arm already out of her shirt. El-Mudad followed behind her with her adorable red-and-white polka-dot tankini. “You take it from here. I’ll meet you both downstairs.”

  As I helped Olivia into her suit, she asked, “Where’s Afi?”

  “Afi is…” I began, wondering what I should tell her that wouldn’t be an outright lie. “Afi went somewhere.”

  “But where?” She pointed to the massive collection of footwear on one wall. “He didn’t wear any of his fancy shoes.”

  “Frickin’ Sherlock Smallfry here.” I pressed my fingertips to my forehead. Neil had left in a pair of kick-around-the-house loafers, something he rarely did. Of course, Olivia would have noticed. She noticed everything. “He must have forgotten his fancy shoes. I bet he feels ridiculous.”

  She giggled. “He’ll think his feet were naked!”

  That pretty much summed up Neil’s relationship with fine Italian leather. If Olivia was this observant already, she was going to be so cool when she grew up.

  She was going to be so much like her mother.

  Unexpected tears choked me, and I turned away. Clearing my throat, I said, "Let's get you changed."

  El-Mudad had been right; swimming was a good distraction for Olivia and Rashida from just waiting and worrying. I didn't forget that Neil was out there, probably making destructive choices, but nothing short of a memory-erasing machine would do that. I took my phone with me, in case Neil called. He didn't. I only checked my texts seven times.

  After an hour in the pool, I took Olivia to get changed. I rechecked my phone. No texts, no calls I'd inexplicably missed. I made sure my ringer was on, anyway.

  Dry and dressed, Olivia and I went to the dining room, where Rashida, Amal, and El-Mudad waited.

  I slid my phone onto the table beside my placemat. El-Mudad raised an eyebrow. I ignored him.

  "Why are we eating in here?" Rashida asked, quickly adding, "And where's Neil?"

  The answer to the first question was tied directly to the second question, which I didn’t want to answer. We’d chosen the dining room because if Neil came home drunk during dinner, the kids wouldn’t see him.

  Amal said something to her sister in Arabic, and El-Mudad scolded her in kind.

  Quietly, under her breath, Rashida said, "That's not true."

  "Look, Olivia," I said, changing the subject and reaching for the bowl of salad on the table. "Julia put the purple tomatoes in!"

  We passed the bowl around and filled our plates, then ate mostly in silence.

  “A lady came to my school today and talked to me,” Olivia announced suddenly.

  El-Mudad and I exchanged glances. He cleared his throat. “Did she?”

  Olivia nodded, pleased to have the attention of the table.

  “What did she want to talk to you about?” I asked.

  “She said she was checking to make sure I was safe,” Olivia prattled happily, wielding her fork like a serial killer’s knife to stab at her food. “If my house is safe and my people around me are safe and nice. And I said yes, and I said she was nice too. I think she was nice because she’s the police.”

  “The police aren’t nice, Olivia,” Amal said flatly, dropping her fork. “Tell Julia I'm going to eat in my room. If it’s not still ripped apart.”

  “Amal!” El-Mudad called after her. She didn’t return, and he didn’t follow her.

  Olivia’s little face looked so wounded
.

  I reached over and patted her back. “She isn’t mad at you, honey.”

  Olivia tilted her head and gave me a doubtful look.

  Rashida seemed so small and afraid as if she were shrinking in on herself under the weight of her growing dread.

  It wasn’t until I’d lived as an adult in a house with children that I understood just how much can be communicated with furtive looks. However, as a child around adults, I’d learned that even though I didn’t know what those furtive looks meant, they never meant anything good.

  El-Mudad and I shared one before he explained things in a way that hopefully, Olivia could understand. “The lady who came to talk to you is called a social worker. And you’re right. It is her job to make sure you’re safe. You didn’t do anything wrong, and you didn’t make Amal mad. She had a bad day.”

  “And she’s cranky?” Olivia asked, her forehead wrinkled with concern.

  “Yeah. She’s just cranky,” I reassured her.

  She seemed to think about it for a moment, then said, “That’s okay. Sometimes I get cranky, too.”

  Rashida stayed very quiet throughout dinner. I wondered what Amal had said, but I couldn’t ask in front of her.

  After they finished with their food, we sent the girls off to the den and promised we’d join them when we were done. I toyed with my fork to stop myself from picking up my phone. “What did Amal say before she stormed off?”

  El-Mudad wiped his mouth and took a final sip of his water before answering. He couldn’t meet my eyes. “She said that Neil left to get drunk and that the two of you would kick us out when he came back.”

  “Oh my god.” My heart hurt so bad it made my sternum ache. “You know that’s not true.”

  “Of course, I know. And Amal does, as well. But when she’s hurting, she lashes out at others. Her pain doesn’t excuse her behavior, but...I understand it.”

  “It’s too much to feel.” I knew that overwhelming emotional anger, too. “Please, talk to Rashida. She adores Neil. I don’t ever want her to think—”

  “Consider it done. Why don’t you put Olivia to bed tonight, and I’ll discuss things with my girls, then?”

  “Sounds good.” I pushed back from the table.

  “Wait. We need to talk.”

  “Please,” I said, lifting a hand. “Please, don’t make a decision about leaving us. Not tonight.”

  “I’m not leaving you! I wouldn’t even think of it!” His dark eyes shone with hurt. “Sophie, please. Trust me enough to believe that I won’t run from you.”

  “I do trust you.” I did, though I felt as though I were about to be scolded. Which was silly; El-Mudad only ever treated me with respect. My emotions were so out of whack after the afternoon we’d had. “I’m sorry. I keep expecting some other, hideous shoe to drop.”

  “I know. This experience is surreal, and we’re all…” he flailed his arms a bit. “But I need to be fully informed about what’s happening here. I missed quite a lot of it, trying to collect my children before border agents could scoop them up.”

  El-Mudad was usually easy-going. He was the peacemaker of the three of us, preferring calm and kindness to Neil’s blunt reason and my occasionally histrionic reactions. Now, he was just as angry as either of us could get.

  I took a deep breath. “We’re pretty sure Valerie and Laurence reported us. They said we had drugs in the house, and Olivia wasn’t safe. The only person who would have known that drugs had ever been hidden in this house is Valerie.” The words picked up speed as they tumbled out of me. “She knew exactly where, El-Mudad. The social worker knew about the drugs he’d hidden in the bookshelf. Only Valerie knew I’d found coke in there. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that your girls got dragged into this, and I swear to god there isn’t anything in this house right now.”

  “I know there isn’t.” He reached across the corner of the table and took my hand. “I only wanted to make certain I knew all of it. You must stop being afraid that I’m going to leave you.”

  “We’ve brought all of this drama into your life. Neil and I are drama magnets or something,” I lamented.

  “Do you remember what happened when Neil went to the hospital?” El-Mudad asked patiently. “Did I run from you?”

  “You kind of ran toward us.” I laughed ruefully and covered my eyes, dragging my hands down my tired face, stretching it out of shape.

  “And I would do it again. A hundred times.” He leaned in, his deep, intense eyes holding mine. “So often, I felt helpless, knowing you two needed me but not being able to be there for you. When we separated, even though we were not so serious as we are now, I despaired. I wanted you. I needed you both. But I couldn’t tell you. Now that I’m here, do you think I would run away?”

  I leaped from my chair and threw my arms around his neck.

  “Hey, hey,” he chuckled against my ear, pulling me into his lap. “Stop this. You must stop worrying that I’m going to leave the two of you. I’ve never been so happy as I am now.”

  Speaking without crying would have been too tricky, so I just let him hold me.

  “We should check on the girls and put Olivia to bed,” he said after a few moments.

  I wiped my eyes and nodded. An embarrassed laugh bubbled up through my foolishness. “I’m sorry I’m so dramatic.”

  “We’ve all been through a lot today,” he reassured me. “Let’s take this one minute at a time.”

  I moved through Olivia’s bedtime routine automatically. It seemed as though I should say something to her about what had happened at dinner and school, but without knowing how much of the situation she could comprehend, everything I could think of to say felt wrong. Even if we’d had a book that addressed the subject, Olivia only wanted Fancy Nancy. As the oft-read story concluded and Olivia still hadn’t asked about anything going on around us, I wondered if it were possible to scrape through this entire experience without Olivia ever realizing something was amiss.

  Then, as I tucked her Olaf the snowman comforter around her wriggly little body, she went still and serious and asked, “Sophie, do you want to know what the lady asked me?”

  I tried to remember my effective child communication strategies. I couldn’t ask her what she talked about with the social worker; it seemed wrong to interrogate her about the interview. I settled on, “Is there something you wanted to share about that?”

  “She asked me what I liked the most about my family. You know what I said?” Her eyes glittered with joy.

  “What?”

  “I said Sophie!” Olivia slapped her hands on the blankets on either side of her knees. “Sophie is my favorite part of my whole family because she’s pretty, and she smells good when she hugs me.”

  My throat closed up, and tears sprang to my eyes. I smiled to hide them, like limping on a twisted ankle to downplay an embarrassing stumble. “Oh, Olivia, that’s wonderful. You’re my very favorite...ward.”

  Her little forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

  “It’s a fancy princess word. Get some sleep.” I kissed her forehead and stood, my chest tight with rapidly expanding emotion.

  “I love you, Sophie,” Olivia said softly.

  I turned, one hand resting against the doorframe. “I love you, too, precious girl.”

  I managed to hold my smile up until I got to the hallway. I stumbled a few steps, then leaned on the wall for support.

  El-Mudad lingered outside the door, only steps away. He put his arms around me and tried to soothe me with shushing sounds. “Don’t do this, my love. Come on. We’ll find something to occupy ourselves while we wait for Neil. He will come home tonight.”

  It was too painful to try to hold up my hope, but I had to fake it for him.

  The only thing we could think of to distract ourselves was playing cards. We set up at the kitchen table for a game of Rummy. El-Mudad put some soothing piano music over the sound system to break up the background tension, but neither of us was super invested in the game. We kept checking
our phones. At one point, I put on coffee to stay awake. But all we could do, ultimately, was wait.

  “Sophie?” El-Mudad asked quietly.

  I glanced up from my hand. “Hmm?”

  He tapped the eight of diamonds I’d just discarded.

  A run of diamonds ending in seven sat in front of him on the table.

  “Fuck.” I sighed and dropped my cards as he picked up my eight and added it to his run.

  I checked my phone. It was three-thirty.

  The alarm box by the door beeped.

  I got to my feet. So did El-Mudad.

  The silence prickled across my skin, knitting a shroud of dread around me. I knew Neil would be drunk. Maybe fucked up on something. I knew every line of what his facial expression would be when our eyes met, and the shame that had been building with every step consuming him in an instant. And I knew that’s what he’d be feeling because we’d talked about it so many times.

  We would talk about it this time. But not tonight.

  Neil came through the door, blood-shot eyes fixed on the floor, taking a few steps before finally looking at us. And there was that damn expression that pierced my heart. Even from a few feet away, I could smell the alcohol on his breath, in his sweat. He swayed on his feet.

  “I, uh…” He paused and squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear escaping as his face crumpled. “You must be so disappointed in me.”

  I bit my lips to hold back my own tears. It didn’t work. “No. No, baby. Not at all.”

  El-Mudad and I both went to Neil, enfolding him in our arms. He held my cheek to his shoulder and wept against me while El-Mudad hugged us both tight.

  That was the last we spoke of it. We were mostly silent while El-Mudad and I took Neil to the bedroom and helped him undress, apart from an occasional “thank you” on his part. We took him to a cool shower to sober him up a little and to get the stink of vomit off him; he’d gotten sick on the ride home. He brushed his teeth and drank some water, and took a few ibuprofen tablets. “I think I should skip my usual meds tonight.”

  “I think that might be wise,” El-Mudad agreed. Neil took a cocktail of meds for his depression and while skipping pills was never a great option, it seemed unsafe to mix them with a bender after a few years of sobriety.