Beloved Wolf (11 page)

 

Chet could still be an entertaining companion, a fact that rather amazed Sophie as they walked around Prosperino, peeking into shops, stopping for ice cream, sitting in the park for an hour, watching the world go by.

Chet was bright, sometimes funny, and with a
seemingly endless store of anecdotes, about his clients, about the world in general.

But, then, Chet was a salesman. He'd certainly sold himself to Sophie.

But it was all froth, and Sophie realized that now. Chet was all surface. He had his good looks, his impeccable wardrobe, his nice manners. He had his collection of stories, his “trust me” grin, and some pretty smooth moves.

If she wanted to sell toothpaste, she'd plunk down the bucks to have Chet Wallace plan the advertising campaign. No question.

But that didn't mean she wanted to marry the guy.

She should have realized it sooner, much sooner. But Chet had decided to sell himself to her, and he'd done a good job. He'd sold himself, and his ideas for the future—his future—all before she could look deeply enough to realize that there
was
no “deeper” to Chet.

Now they sat across the table from each other in a small dimly lit restaurant, and Chet was doing it again. Selling himself.

“I can't tell you how sorry I am that I let you walk home that night, Sophie,” he was telling her earnestly, reaching out to take her hand. “I've kicked myself all around the block, several times, for that one.”

“It wasn't your fault, Chet,” Sophie told him, thankful to remove her hand as the waiter placed shrimp cocktail in front of Chet, a cup of soup at her place. “I was angry, and I left. And I didn't pay at
tention to my surroundings as I walked, which was also my fault. So let's just drop it, okay?”

“But I want to make it up to you,” he persisted. He reached into his slacks pocket and pulled out a piece of white paper he'd folded into quarters. Unfolding it, he said, “Here. Look. I've made up a new logo.”

Sophie turned her head slightly and looked at him out of the corners of her eye. “You've made up a
what?
”

“A new logo, for our company,” Chet explained, unfolding the paper. “You know, I've decided that, business-wise, it would be smart to keep your maiden name. Colton. I mean, it's the gold standard when it comes to dependable, reliable, all that good stuff. So, instead of Wallace and Wallace, I figure we should go with Colton and Wallace. C & W. Look,” he said, holding out the paper. “See how I've entwined the two letters? What do you think of the font?”

Sophie felt her stomach clamping, effectively robbing her of her appetite while at the same time making her feel as if she'd been punched in the gut. “Chet,” she said earnestly, searching for a way to say what had to be said. “Chet, it…well, this isn't going to work.”

He looked down at the paper and frowned. “Really? Wrong font? I guess it could be less modern. I know you like traditional print. Okay, back to the drawing board.”

“No, Chet, not back to the drawing board,” Sophie told him, pushing her untouched cup of soup to one side. “I…I'm getting out of the business. That's what
I was trying to tell you that night. I wasn't all that sure then, but I am now, having been away from it all these weeks. It's not what I want, what I set out to do with my life. I don't think I could face going back to that world.”

“Oh, okay. I understand now.” Chet's look was part concern, part shock and—amazingly—part “poor, misguided girl.” He took a deep breath, sighed. “It's the scar, isn't it? Pretty wicked, I agree. But you wouldn't have to see clients, Sophie. I could handle that part. Actually, until you can get it fixed, or use some sort of stage makeup to cover it up, that's probably for the best.”

Sophie sat back in her chair, unable to speak, which didn't stop Chet, who barely took a breath before reaching into his pocket again, pulling out a small black velvet box she recognized with a sinking heart. “Chet…no,” she said, sighing.

Finally—
finally
—the penny dropped, and Chet figured out that Sophie wasn't jumping at the chance to make up, make it all better, put his ring back on her finger.

“Sophie?” he asked, frowning. “What's wrong? Your mother said—”

“Ah, yes. My mother,” Sophie replied sadly. “Tell me, Chet. What did my mother say?”

 

Dr. Wilkes sat back on the chair and smiled as Louise plugged in the fountain, then switched it on. “Ah, perfect! And it only took us—” she raised her arm, looked at her watch “—six months.”

Louise stood up, pressed her hands to the small of
her back as she stretched. “Very funny. But it does look nice, doesn't it?”

Dr. Wilkes nodded, smiling. “It looks fabulous, Louise. And I love the sound of it, don't you? Louise? Don't you love the sound of it?”

Louise was standing unnaturally still, her face suddenly quite pale, her full bottom lip trembling as she stared at the fountain.

“Louise, what is it?” Dr. Wilkes asked, coming over to put an arm around her friend. “What's wrong?”

“I…I…” Louise shook her head, as if trying to snap out of a trance. She pressed a hand to her mouth for a few moments, then took a deep breath, blinked several times as if to keep back tears. “I don't know. It's brand-new, and yet I've known it forever. Heard it forever.” She stabbed her hands into her hair, covering her ears. “Turn it off, Dr. Wilkes. Please…please turn it off.”

Dr. Wilkes did as Louise asked, then came back to her patient, gently prying Louise's hands away from her ears, holding her cold fingers within her own strong hands. “Louise, look at me. Tell me what you remember. Tell me what you feel.”

Louise wet her dry lips, slowly shook her head, her eyes directed at the doctor, but obviously not seeing her. “There are flowers. Flowers everywhere. The smell of the ocean. Sky. So much blue sky, wide and high, with cotton candy clouds. Do you see me? I'm there. I can see me. I'm on my knees, pushing something into the ground. A marker. Yes, some sort of small metal marker, with writing on it.”

She blinked, then looked at Martha Wilkes. “Oleander. It's oleander.
Nerium oleander.
Such beautiful, deep green leaves. An evergreen, you know, with lovely flowers. Red. White. I like the pink best. I keep the children away, though, because it's pretty, but really quite poisonous. The leaves, the flowers, even the wood.” She smiled, her face suffused with joy and love. “Not, as I told him, that I expect the children to gnaw on the branches.”

Dr. Wilkes blinked back tears of her own as Louise's eyes cleared for a moment, then filled with panic as all the blood drained out of her face. “Louise? Are you all right?”

“No…no, I'm not,” Louise whispered, closing her eyes, swaying where she stood. “Oh, God, I'm going insane, Dr. Wilkes, aren't I?”

“No, Louise, you're not. I promise you, you're not going insane.”

“Then what is it? What's going on inside my head?”

Dr. Wilkes led Louise to a chair, her patient responding much like a doll that could be placed just where you wanted it, then stay there until you wanted it again. “I'm not sure. But we're going to find out, Louise. I promise you. We're going to find out.”

S
ophie stood in the drive in front of the house, watching as the BMW's taillights disappeared into the darkness.

It had been a long day, and Chet probably should have stayed the night, but she couldn't deny that she was glad he'd chosen to start back to the city, stopping at a motel along the way if he got too tired. And he would, too. Chet was very safety oriented—at least when it came to his own safety.

“And his total cholesterol is a very laudable one hundred and eighty-six,” Sophie reminded herself, at last able to smile as she remembered the exchange between Chet and her father that morning.

Her smile faded, however, as she turned back to the house. Was her mother still awake? Should she wait until the morning before seeking her out? Could
she hope to get any sleep if she didn't talk to her tonight?

No. Probably not.

Squaring her shoulders, Sophie headed toward her mother's bedroom, not sure if she was glad or dismayed to see a light still burning under Meredith's door.

She knocked, tentatively, and then pushed open the door, stepped inside the large room. The bed had been turned down, but was empty. She glanced toward the sitting room that branched off from the main bedroom. “Mom? Mother? Are you in here?”

That was strange. Where was she, if the lights were on, and she wasn't in bed or stretched out on the chaise in the sitting room? Sophie looked toward the bathroom, but the door was open, the interior of the large room dark.

Sophie walked further into the room. “Mom? Hey, Mom? It's me—Sophie.”

There was a small sound coming from behind her, inside the sitting room, a pathetic and only possibly human sound. She'd only peered through the closed, glass-paned French doors that separated the sitting room from the bedroom and not opened them.

Now she decided to take a closer look.

“Mom?” she repeated, opening one of the doors, tiptoeing inside the feminine hideaway furnished to look like a display in a home and garden magazine. She moved to her left and turned on the nearest lamp.

“Mom!” she exclaimed as Meredith, who crouched in the corner beside the French doors, her knees drawn up to her chest, lifted her crossed hands
to her eyes and whimpered. Sophie rushed to her side, went down on her knees. “Oh, my God! Mom! What's the matter? Are you sick? Did you fall?”

“Go away, go away,” Meredith implored pitifully, burying her face in her hands. “You hate me. I know you hate me. Go away.”

Sophie didn't know what to do, what to say. Her mother had been in here, in the dark, crouching in the corner like a frightened child? It didn't make sense. “Hate you? Mom, don't be ridiculous. Just stay right here. I'll go get Dad,” she said, trying to rise, but Meredith's hand snaked out to grab her, hold her still.

“No! Don't go, Sophie. Don't leave me! Oh, why can't I do anything right? I brought Chet here for you, and you sent him away. Oh, yes, Sophie. I saw him, you know, talked to him. He told me I should have minded my own business. He hates me, too.
Everybody
hates me. I do everything wrong. I just want to sit here in the dark, be alone, and have a good cry. I'm such a mess.”

Sophie's brain was reeling. How could her mother react like this? Overreact like this? “Mom, it's okay. Really. Chet and I had already pretty much known that our engagement wasn't going to work. We're still friends, honest, and I'm going to be his silent partner in his new agency, because he's very good at what he does. So he's fine. He's happy as a clam, now that I think about it.”

Meredith narrowed her eyes, suddenly looking quite fierce. “He took your money? My God, of course he did! They're all alike, all of them! Take and take and take. My little Jewel, taken. My life,
taken. Everything gone…” Meredith's words trailed off and she slowly got to her feet, nearly tripping over the long, flowing silk caftan as she pushed past Sophie and headed for the bathroom.

Sophie followed her, watching from the doorway as her mother opened a drawer next to the sink and pulled out a small brown plastic medicine bottle. Meredith tapped two large blue pills from the bottle, threw them into her mouth, swallowed them dry, then pressed her palms against the counter and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “There. That's better.”

Sophie walked into the bathroom, one hand held out. “Let me see that bottle, Mom. What are you taking? Who prescribed it for you?”

Meredith's mood seemed to shift yet again, and she smiled. “I'm seeing a doctor in Prosperino, and he says I'll be fine, if I just take these pills. Just a little problem with my nerves, left over from…from the accident. And then the separation between your father and me, then having another baby, and going through menopause these past few years. Well, it has been hard, Sophie, so very hard. Hard on me, hard on your father, hard on all of us. And I'm sorry, Sophie. I'm so, so sorry.”

“I know, Mom, I know,” Sophie soothed, hurting for her mother while at the same time rejoicing inside that, at last, her mother was opening up, talking to her.

“I was doing much better, until you were hurt, and then I lost ground. That's why I didn't come to you, Sophie, because I felt so sick. You understand that, don't you? But we can't tell your father, especially
since I'm already feeling better, now that you're home with your father and me again. No, we can't tell your father. Not with his condition. You know how depressed he is, Sophie. We can't burden him anymore, now can we? Promise me, Sophie. Promise me this will be our little secret. Because I feel much better now, I really do.”

“Mom—”

“No, no, really,” Meredith persisted, seeming to slowly take control of herself once more. “We're going to have a party, Sophie. A great big party to celebrate your father's sixtieth birthday. And then we're going on a cruise. Oh! Don't tell him that. That's a secret, my birthday present to him. My…my doctor says it will do us both a world of good. So you see?” she ended, taking in a deep breath through her nose, letting it out slowly. “You see how it would ruin everything if you talked to your father? I'm doing better every day, I really am. Tonight was…just a small setback, that's all.”

She leaned over, kissed Sophie's cheek and hugged her. “See? I'm fine now. Everything's fine now. And I'm so sorry, Sophie. My own dear little girl. I'm so very sorry for screaming at you like that. Please, forgive me.”

How long had it been since Sophie had felt her mother's arms around her? Too long. She returned her mother's embrace, willing to forget anything, all the harsh words, all the strange statements, if only her mother would hold her, stroke her hair, love her. She held Meredith, and she sobbed.

“Okay, Mom,” Sophie said at last, sighing,
breathing in the scent of her mother's perfume. “It'll be our secret. At least for now, it will be our secret.”

 

River hastily stood up as he saw a dark shape revealing itself against the even darker background of the night.

He'd been sitting on the bench outside the stable, feeling fairly good about the world in general ever since he'd seen Chet Wallace's fancy sports car heading away from the ranch an hour earlier.

It may have been petty, to take joy in old Chet's obviously early departure, but he'd take his jollies where he could get them.

But now he wondered—somewhat belatedly, he realized—why he hadn't thought too much about how Chet's departure would have affected Sophie. Was she relieved? Feeling guilty?

River watched as Sophie came closer, knowing her slight limp even in the dark. “Over here,” he said, stepping out of the shadows, into the soft yellow light of the pole lamps. “What's up, Soph? You didn't have to walk all the way down here in the dark. If you'd phoned, I'd have come on up and— Hey, what the hell?”

Sophie had run the last few steps toward him, and now was plastered against him knee to chest, holding on to him for dear life, sobbing on his shoulder.

“Soph, calm down, sweetheart,” he said, returning her hug, rubbing at her back, his heart sore as he felt her tremble against him in her grief. “What's wrong? Did he hurt you?” The thought had him grabbing Sophie's shoulders, pushing her slightly away from
him so that he could peer into her face. “Sophie, for God's sake, answer me! Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, almost violently, then grabbed at him once more. “Hold me, Riv. Please, just hold me.”

So he held her. There wasn't a whole hell of a lot else he could do. He waited for the storm to subside, then finally reached into his pocket for a blue-and-white folded handkerchief, handing it to her, waiting until she'd wiped her eyes and blown her nose.

“You can keep it,” he said at last, trying for a little humor, just to break the tension. “In fact, if you're going to keep this up, I'm going to buy you a gross of the things for Christmas.”

Sophie gave out with a short, self-deprecating laugh, then reached up to stroke River's cheek. “I'm sorry, Riv. I've got to stop doing this. Dumping on you. But…but it's been one hell of a day.”

“Wallace?”

She looked at him, her expression puzzled for a moment, as if she'd forgotten the man existed. “Chet? Oh, no. Chet didn't do anything. He was more than happy to take my money and run.”

River tipped his cowboy hat back on his head, looked at her quizzically. “Your money? What did you have to do, Soph, pay him off?”

That got another small smile out of her. “No, I did not, you idiot. But he did finally understand the benefits to be had in being my business partner rather than my fiancé. I'm to be his silent partner, by the way, which also works for both of us. He's probably already halfway back to the city, crunching numbers
in his head, planning a new logo for his agency. Probably something with a very modern, avant-garde font.”

“Logo? Font? You know, Sophie, nobody would blame me if I slapped your face, thinking you were more than a little hysterical.”

At that, Sophie's smile faded, and she gave a small shiver, as if a cold wind had just blown across her shoulders. “Can we talk?” she asked after a moment, her liquid brown eyes pleading with him. “I—I really need to talk to you.”

He led her toward the bench, then changed directions, taking her hand, leading her around to the outside stairs that ran up to his small rooms above the stable. He preferred living here, near his horses, rather than in the main house with the family, where his room sat unused.

Once he got her settled in the living room, he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator for himself and poured her a glass of white wine—the wine he'd bought the day before she came home, in the hope that one day she'd be here with him.

She took the glass, sipped at its contents, then put it down on the small coffee table as he sat down beside her on the couch. “Thanks. I guess I needed that.”

“Yes, I guess you did, too. Now I'm wondering
why
you needed that.”

She told him. He sat very still, watching her closely, as she told him.

“You should have gone with your first instincts, gotten Joe,” he said at last, as Sophie wiped at her
moist eyes yet again. “He needs to know this, Soph. This is beyond you, beyond me.”

She shook her head. “I promised, Riv. I promised it would be our secret.”

“Then you came here and told me,” River pointed out, swallowing down the last of his beer. It tasted bitter, and he didn't think he'd want another one.

“Yes, I did, didn't I?” Sophie said, sighing. “And now you're in on the same promise, the same secret. You won't tell my dad, will you?”

He wanted to. Oh, God, how he wanted to. “No, Soph. I won't tell him. Besides, I'm pretty sure he already knows. Aren't you?”

She bit her lips together, then nodded. “Yes, I suppose he does. She…she's got problems. Big problems. I mean, her mood just shifts from happy, to sad, to boiling angry. It was like watching a chameleon change colors in front of my eyes. She loves Dad, I'm sure of that. And yet…sometimes I think she hates him, hates everybody. And she's afraid of him, afraid of all of us. We're cluttering up her life, we're in her way, we're making demands on her she can't handle. All she wants is to be left alone, just her, and Joe Junior, and Teddy. It's as if nobody else matters. Oh, she's planning this big party for Dad, but that's just because she thinks she has to, I can tell. I don't think her heart is in it.”

River lifted one eyebrow. “Really? I think you're wrong there, Soph. Meredith does like her parties, the bigger and showier the better. You can't deny that.”

Sophie took another sip of her wine. “I guess you're right. There have been a lot of them over the
past few years, haven't there? And none of them any fun.”

“Not for you maybe, but Meredith has a whole scrapbook stuffed full of photographs and stories clipped from the Prosperino newspaper and others. I saw it one time. She's got everything in there, and has drawn hearts and stars on the pages, little arrows pointing to each picture of her, each mention of her name.”

“I didn't know that,” Sophie said quietly. “That's sort of sick, too, isn't it? Well, not sick, exactly. But juvenile. Damn, Riv, why is she acting this way? When she opened up to me, when she held me— Oh, Riv, it was so good to have her hold me again, the way she did when I was little. But now, now that I'm away from her, I keep remembering how she looked. Heartbroken, then wild-eyed, and then almost too happy. If I've seen all this, what has Dad been seeing? He's so protective of her. He must know, mustn't he? He must know even more than we do.”

River took the glass from Sophie's hand, placed it on the table as he turned toward her. “Let's not talk about this any more tonight, okay? It will only upset you.”

Sophie stood up abruptly, skirted the coffee table, and began pacing on the area rug that River had bought on his last trip to the reservation.