He was tall. For some reason, Sofia had always had a predilection for tall guys, and this one caught her attention. His height and build suggested he was not Portuguese, and she wished she could see his features to guess his nationality. It was a game she had played with her fellow workers on a job as a tourist guide in her late teens. After a few weeks of practice meeting people from other countries, she could guess any new tourist’s nationality. She still tried to predict their country of origin whenever she saw foreigners.
The man kept the camera in front of his eyes and Sofia slowed down, tipping her umbrella back slightly so she could have a better look. Nosiness—that was, curiosity—was a trait Portuguese people cultivated with blunt finesse, and one from which she couldn’t escape at times.
Dark hair stuck to his forehead, and his strong profile reminded her of an actor who starred in the British dramas she watched. He was lost to everything around him. Sofia knew that kind of concentration, the kind that sneaked up and obliterated all distractions. As a little girl, she had been easily distracted. She had tried to hide how she could daydream and disconnect from her surroundings in the most normal situations. All grown up, she still did it, both the dreaming and the hiding. She inhaled quickly as the sense of awareness increased, the kinship felt with a stranger who shared something with her. Not the photography, but the pursuit of a dream without interference. He didn’t even know she watched him.
He wore boots but Sofia didn’t and soon her shoes leaked and her feet were wet and cold. It pulled her out of her daydreaming and into reality. She didn’t have the time to look at men, even if they appeared to be interesting. It was beyond the list of possibilities in her life at the moment, and any related diversions meant nothing more than that. The thought didn’t surprise her, however maudlin it rang.
As she resumed the walk back to the car, Sofia planned to watch an episode of her favorite British show after Mother’s bedtime. In the comfort of the living room, she could gawk at foreign men out of the torrential rain and daydream of sunny days and long strolls with attentive companions.
If only reality could be as fulfilling as fantasy.
Chapter Two
The letter came on Tuesday. The one Sofia had been waiting for eight months, three weeks, and too many days of which to keep track. Heart thumping wildly, she brought it up from the mailbox when she arrived from a long day at school, the tiredness and frustration of dealing with teenagers momentarily forgotten.
Mother shuffled into the kitchen when Sofia called her for dinner.
She put a plate down in front of Mother at the table. “I made one of your favorites, mãe.”
“Sardinhas.” Mother gave her a small smile.
It was a simple meal of grilled sardines, boiled potatoes sprinkled with olive oil and minced parsley, and tomato salad with fresh onions. Mother had a predilection for traditional dishes and Sofia liked to please her when she could. Food was one of the few things in which Mother still had interest.
“Did you have a good day?” Sofia asked.
Mother forked a potato and took a bite. “It was okay.” She chewed. “This is good. Obrigada.”
Sofia smiled. “De nada.”
After dinner, Sofia cleaned the kitchen and Mother retired to her bedroom. Mother didn’t know what that envelope meant, and Sofia had chosen not to tell her since change upset her, any kind of change. It was better to keep it from her until Sofia knew for certain what lay ahead. If only Father were still alive to see her keep the promise she’d made to him.
She tiptoed into Mother’s bedroom and, after making sure she slept, she turned the monitor on and the lights off. The receptor for the monitor went to the hands of Dona Luísa, who lived in the apartment next door. Sofia couldn’t have asked for a better way of having someone watch Mother when she had to leave in the evenings. During the day, Dona Luísa kept Mother company. In the past year, Mother’s mental health had been declining slowly, and she couldn’t be left alone anymore.
In the elevator, on the way down to the garage, she plucked the courage to open the envelope and read the letter.
When she arrived at Margarida’s apartment, Sofia walked through the door and handed her the envelope from the office of admissions at the University of Minho.
Margarida held a finger to her lips. “The baby’s asleep.” She eyed the university’s logo on the envelope. “This is not it, is it?”
Sofia placed her sodden umbrella in the metallic stand then hung her jacket on the coat rack. “They should send advance notice letters, you know.” She kept her voice low. “They make people wait so long. And then one day there it is, and you aren’t prepared for it.”
They sat in the living room. Margarida removed the letter from the envelope, then stopped. “Tell me you got in.”
Sofia pointed at the letter. “You better read it yourself.” She fingered the pendant on the gold chain around her neck.
“I can’t stand it.” Margarida flattened the paper onto her lap and scanned the paragraphs. She let out a squeal then clapped her mouth. “I knew you’d get it!” She wrapped her arms around Sofia. “Parabéns! You’re going to get your doctorate!”
“Well, you knew more than I did.” Sofia returned the embrace and gave her a thin smile. “I’d almost given up hope of getting a reply.”
“No, you hadn’t.” Margarida placed the letter back in the envelope and returned it to Sofia. “It’s me you’re talking to, remember?” She tapped Sofia’s knee. “Besides, you were doing that thing just now.”
“What thing?”
Margarida stood and pulled the blinds closed on the window. “The pendant around your neck. You touch it when you’re nervous.”
Sofia dropped her hand. She didn’t have to pretend around her best friend. “I think I’m going to be nervous for a long time.”
“You told your mother yet?”
“No.” Sofia sighed. “I’ll have to pick the right moment. You know how she is.” She placed the letter in her purse. “Besides, I have to find out more. I need to make an appointment with the office of admissions and get all the details about the payments, and when it starts, and where it’ll take place.”
Margarida smiled wide and stood from the sofa. “I’m so excited for you! You’ve worked so hard for this, and you deserve it, Sofia.”
“I’m still having a hard time believing it’s finally happening.” She followed Margarida to the kitchen. “I just hope that I have enough saved to get through the first semester. The first year, actually. That would solve so many problems.” She leaned against the wall by the kitchen counter. “The schedule has me worried. I’ve heard how demanding the English Literature program can be, and I can’t quit my position at the school.” She crossed her arms.
“Stop fretting about what you don’t know yet.” Margarida turned to the stove and put the kettle on. “It’ll all go well; you’ll see.”
Was it lack of faith that she always worried ahead of time, as her father used to say? How could she long for something so fiercely and yet fear it so deeply? It didn’t make much sense at times.
Sofia sat at the kitchen table. “Where’s Paulo? Is he working late tonight?”
“He’s out helping a friend get settled.”
“Anyone I know?”
“He’s an American from California, an old mission companion. Paulo says they were best buddies.” Margarida placed a baguette on a wooden cutting board, and cut four even slices.
“That sounds like fun for Paulo.” Sofia reached for a small slice of bread, and nibbled on the corner. “What’s the guy doing here?”
“He came for some work-related business, I think.”
A cell phone chimed and Margarida reached for it. She swiped the screen and read the message. “It’s Paulo.” She scrolled through the text. “He says they got done early and they’re coming over in a few minutes.”
Sofia rose from the chair. “I better go then.”
Margarida turned Sofia back toward her
chair. “Don’t be silly. Of course you’re staying.” She walked to the refrigerator.
Sofia crossed her leg and hitched an eyebrow. “I’ll stay, but you have to promise you won’t get any ideas.”
“Ideas about what?” Margarida smiled as she put down a covered plate of cheese.
“Is the guy married or single?” Sofia didn’t try to hide the suspicion in her voice.
Margarida uncovered a small glass container with cold cuts. “I can’t remember.”
“Let’s assume he’s married so you don’t try to fix me on a date.”
Margarida looked up from her task and brought a hand up to her chest. “Who? Me? When was the last time I did that?”
“Do I need to jog your memory?” Sofia fixed her gaze on her friend. “The guy with the wife checklist and the marriage contract on the first date?” The memories of that particular outing brought a shudder to her.
Margarida arranged the slices of cheese and cold cuts on a platter and chuckled. “And he looked so normal too.”
Sofia stood and reached for a glass on the drying rack. “Just because we’re both Mormon, single, and over twenty-five doesn’t mean we should go out together.” She filled it with water and took a drink. “You should know that.”
Margarida laughed again. “I know. I’m sorry. But he seemed like such a nice guy.” She grabbed the baguette and began slicing through the rest of it. “I’m serious. Don’t worry. I won’t be setting you up with this guy.”
“Is he single, then?” Sofia asked.
Margarida nodded.
Sofia crossed her arms. “A returned missionary, and you’re not pushing to see us on a date?” She took a piece of cheese from the cutting board and bit on it. “What’s wrong with him?”
Margarida wiped her hands on the kitchen towel. “I wouldn’t say there’s anything wrong with him.” She paused. “I don’t know the whole story, but Paulo has mentioned that his friend has been through some hard times.”
“What kind—”
The noise of a key turning at the front door interrupted Sofia’s question. Margarida finished plating the bread and carried both platters to the dining room, then walked to the foyer to greet the men. Sofia walked behind her at a slower pace. A nervous feeling curbed her curiosity, and she didn’t wish to find the reason for it.
All kidding aside between her and Margarida, she didn’t usually look forward to the implications of meeting new guys, especially members of the church. In her experience, most single men in the church felt pressured to impress girls at first introductions, which inevitably created awkward circumstances. Sofia preferred to avoid uncomfortable situations whenever possible.
Men’s voices carried over as she approached the others. She paused near the door to the living room. Paulo introduced a tall guy to Margarida. He was broad shouldered, his hair dark and curling slightly over the back of his neck. A sense of familiarity caught Sofia by surprise, but she couldn’t pinpoint the cause. Margarida took the guy’s jacket and hung it in the foyer on the coat rack. The dark blue t-shirt he wore accentuated his back and narrow waist. He was trim and tan, with the healthy glow of those who spent time outdoors.
Margarida gestured toward her. “This is my friend Sofia.”
He turned with a smile on his face and his right hand extended. He had a full beard, trimmed and thick, the kind that takes a whole season to grow. How would he look clean shaven?
“Olá, como está?” His deep voice spoke Portuguese in a heavy accent. Paulo ribbed him about it but he shrugged it off.
“Sofia, this is my friend Josh from California,” Paulo added.
Sofia stepped forward to shake his hand and looked up to meet his eyes, smiling in return. He took her hand in his, then froze. Sofia stopped for a moment as they regarded each other, eyes locked, breath halted, his large, long fingers holding her smaller, slender ones.
When realization came, his smile bloomed, and his eyes crinkled in the corners. He squeezed her hand, then shook it, and Sofia caught herself mimicking his expression and gesture. When he spoke, her own words trailed closely behind.
“Ana Sofia Monteiro.”
“Elder Conrad.”
Margarida and Paulo gasped, and Sofia slipped her fingers from his grasp, taking a step back. She looked away from him, unable to meet the boldness in the way he watched her.
“Wait. You two know each other?”
The incredulity in Paulo’s voice matched Sofia’s feelings. How was this possible? The missionary who had baptized her over eleven years ago stood in her best friend’s apartment.
Josh spoke first, his Portuguese gone for now. “Yes.” He passed a hand through his hair, then chuckled. “I met Sofia when I was a missionary in Famalicão.”
Margarida squeezed Sofia’s arm and gave her the look.
“Elder Conrad was the missionary who baptized me.” Sofia chanced a longer glance at him. The beard, the lack of suit and tie, the full hair and long sideburns were all incongruent with her memory of the last time she’d seen him. But his blue eyes—those she hadn’t forgotten. Her hand reached to finger the chain against her collarbone.
Josh shook his head. “Not Elder Conrad. It’s Josh.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Just call me Josh.”
Of course. Just Josh. He was no longer a missionary nor under the restriction of mission rules. The implications of his new situation flashed through her mind and she halted them. No use going in that direction.
Margarida gestured to the sofa. She sat and Paulo took a place next to her. Sofia sat on the other side, across from Josh. She crossed her legs and cupped her chin, resting her elbow on the armrest, still unsure of what to say.
Margarida glanced between Sofia and Josh, then stood. “I forgot the napkins.” She pushed the tray towards Josh. “Please, help yourself.” When she put a hand on Sofia’s shoulder, Sofia startled.
“Come help me.”
Sofia sprang from her seat and trailed Margarida, happy for a reason to leave the room momentarily.
***
After Sofia left the room with her friend, Josh leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Wow.”
Paulo looked at him. “I can see you haven’t lost your special touch with words.”
“I didn’t expect to see her.” Josh gestured towards the way the women had left.
“Yes, I can tell. And you clearly remember her.”
Josh cut a glance at Paulo’s tone. “How could I not? We taught her for over three months.” He leaned back in the sofa chair. “Wow.”
Paulo fixed a smile. “Yeah, you already said that. Who was your companion?”
“Elder Smith, the red-haired one, when we first knocked on her door. Then Elder Noble.” He crossed his leg and rested his ankle on his knee. “I baptized her and he did the confirmation.”
Through the open door, the voices of Sofia and Paulo’s wife carried over, speaking rapidly. His Portuguese was still too rusty to understand everything they said at that speed. Was she as shocked at their meeting? Of all the people he had planned to see and the ones he might have encountered, Sofia Monteiro was not one of them.
He hadn’t liked Famalicão. It had been cold and rainy for the whole four months he had spent there, and people had never kept their appointments. The local branch had struggled with leadership and Josh’s patience had been tested to the limit during his time there. Except for Sofia. She had been the bright light in all those dreary weeks. Teaching her had been one of the best experiences of his mission.
Paulo’s wife entered the room with a tray in her hands, a stack of napkins, a sugar bowl, and four cups on it. Sofia carried a teapot. They set them on the coffee table. Sofia filled a cup and placed it in front of Josh, all the while with a soft smile on her lips, and her eyes divided between her friend and Paulo. When she lifted her eyes to Josh, he was there, waiting, attempting to reconcile the Sofia he used to know with the one in front of him.
She’d been an attracti
ve girl at seventeen. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed. Of course he’d noticed. He was a guy first, then a missionary. An obedient, rule-abiding missionary who followed the mission guidelines and was never tempted to do otherwise. And a twenty-year-old guy who noted pretty girls, even if he couldn’t ask for their phone numbers, let alone invite them out on a date.
The Sofia in front of him had grown into a prettier woman. Not the stop-a-guy-in-his-tracks kind of pretty, but the kind of pretty that caught him by surprise at the second and third looks. Her gentle features and large brown eyes stole at him, willing something inside he hadn’t felt in a long time. His gaze kept straying in her direction and once or twice she blushed when their eyes met.
The cry of a baby reached them from the hallway somewhere.
Margarida rose. “It’s Amélia. I’ll be right back.”
When Sofia motioned to follow her, Margarida stopped her. A few moments later, she called out for Paulo and he excused himself.
Sofia fidgeted with the hands on her lap, then looked down the hall. “She still wakes up a lot during the night.” She leaned forward and crossed her legs. “I mean, the baby. Amélia.”
She talked fast like most Portuguese did. Her anxiety brought a slight smile to his lips. It was some kind of consolation to know the encounter had rattled her as much as it had him. “How old is she now?” He didn’t want Sofia to think he smiled on account of her nervousness.
“Almost a year, and she’s adorable.” Her hands relaxed and her posture lost the straight edge on her shoulders. “Have you met her?” She smiled.
“I only saw her when Paulo sent a birth announcement. She probably looks a little different.”
One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) Page 15
