Echoes (19 page)

"Sofie?" Matt rapped softly on the door.

She pressed back from the counter, forcing deep breaths, then turned and went out. Concern etched lines into his face.

She straightened her spine. "I'm all right. It just took me by surprise."

"Okay." But he cradled her elbow and held on all the way to his vehicle.

She climbed in and buckled her belt, but there was no safety strap that could protect against invisible blows, against the mind's uncontrolled spiraling. Eric had sounded hurt. Angry too, maybe, but the crack in his voice . . .

"Do you think it was Carly calling those other times?" Matt's question drew her back.

"It must have been." Her number was in Eric's phone. They hadn't forgotten her, hadn't wiped her out of their lives. Carly had found her, reached out and reconnected their severed hearts.

"Do you think she's in trouble?"

Sofie jolted. "What do you mean?"

"Will he be angry she called?"

Her hands clenched. "Maybe."

"Do we need to have the call traced?"

She turned. "Can we?"

"Only if you think she's in imminent danger."

"Not like that. He isn't like that." There'd be nothing to see, no signs of abuse.

Matt took the corner harder than necessary.

She tried to explain. "Carly might worry that she's disappointed him." How well she remembered that cavern of disappointment. "It's better to work with Eric, to—"

"Play by his rules." Matt's voice sounded flat.

"Carly must know that. She's ten."

"And that's why you've worried about her the last six years?"

She wrapped herself in her arms. "She sounded . . . so much older."

"Ten isn't old enough to protect herself."

Tears pooled in her eyes. "He would never hurt her."

"He saved that for you?"

She swallowed the swelling in her throat. "He did not abuse me. He just . . . needed . . . a lot." That wasn't a good explanation, but she didn't know how else to say it. Eric wasn't a fiend; he was mesmerizingly charismatic, handsome, and . . . fathomless.

Matt pulled into the driveway and stopped. With the engine running, he got out and walked around. He opened her door.

She slipped out. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spoil—"

"Don't worry about it." His face said the opposite.

"Thank you for dinner."

"My pleasure." He closed the passenger door and motioned her toward the porch.

"It's all right. You don't have to walk me in."

He nodded. "Okay. Good night." He made no move to kiss her. If he even thought about it, nothing showed.

She managed a smile, then climbed the steps and went inside.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

L
ance approached the back door with Baxter at his heels, both of them windblown and disheveled. He'd ridden as long and hard as he could, but it hadn't worked its magic, and he guessed it showed. Rese let him into the kitchen and slipped her arms around his waist. "Are you okay?"

He hated that she kept asking that. "I am now." He hooked his arms over her shoulders.

"Want to talk about it?"

He kissed her hairline. Not so long ago, she'd avoided all personal conversation, and he'd been the one making her open up. Now she'd switched roles on him, and he realized how difficult it could be to find the words. "For so long, I've been trying to prove I'm not a screw-up. Even though I'm not a cop like Tony and Nonno, or a working stiff like Pop and Bobby and Lou. Even though Pop still thinks I need to get a real job." He rested his forehead against hers. "I wanted people to take me as I am, but now . . ." He closed his eyes.

"Now what?" Rese nudged him.

"Maria called me a saint. Star looks at me like I'm the fixer of all ills. Nonna says God's had a love affair with me since I was born. Even Rico, who knows me better than anyone—"

"Rico?"

"Remember when he smashed up his wrist?"

She nodded.

"He thinks I healed it."

"But the surgery . . ."

"The doctors pinned him together, but then he drummed."

She grimaced.

"I only held it for a second, just to feel for swelling or . . . I'm not even sure why I took hold of him. When I let go, he looked as if I'd grown another head."

"You've helped people, Lance. You can't expect them not to notice."

He rubbed his face. "Cassinia all but accused me of brainwashing Maria. She thinks I'm on some power trip, making disciples of impressionable girls."

"It doesn't matter what she thinks."

He appreciated the sentiment, but what had really troubled him was seeing behind Cassinia's animosity; the abortions that had hardened her. The pain fueling her insults hurt more than the words, and he didn't know what to do about it. With Baxter between his arms and the wind in his face, he'd begged God not to show him things he couldn't fix.

God's answer?
Know my heart
.

Letting God's love flow through him was a gift he could embrace. But feeling that love rejected? That was asking too much.

"You're not responsible for other people's opinions, good or bad."

He sighed. "Keep telling me that, okay?"

"Have you eaten?"

He shook his head. He'd broken his own rule, had not been there for dinner, making or eating. "I'm sorry."

"Nonna kept a plate for you."

He'd noticed lately that she'd started calling her Nonna like everyone else. "I'm not really hungry."

"Lance."

He put his head to hers again. "Please don't push it."

She stared into his eyes. "I need to know you're okay."

"What would convince you?" he asked with a smile.

"Could you strut or throw a fit?"

He laughed. "Fagedda-bout-it."

"Pierce something?"

"It's not rebellious now that everyone's doing it."

"Oh, the truth comes out. I thought you just liked the look of an earring." She touched the diamond stud in his ear.

"Yeah, well . . ." He pulled her close, dropping his gaze to her lips. "Did you agree to marry me?"

"Refuse that highly romantic proposal?"

He closed his hands around her waist. "You want romantic?" The tiny intake of her breath spurred him as he took charge of her mouth, warming to the subject until Sofie passed by with a hand raised as a shield.

"Sof." He turned only his head.

She lowered her hand. "I'd have gone around if I knew you were making out in the kitchen."

Her words were light, but something in her expression kicked him hard. "Are you okay?"

"Of course." Sofie never could lie.

"What happened? Was he a jerk?"

She looked confused. "Matt?"

"Who else?"

She folded her arms. "No. Matt was fine."

"If he messed with you, Sof . . ."

"It's not Matt, all right?" Her arms tightened. "I talked to Carly."

"What?"

Rese stepped back as his attention diverted.

"She called my cell. I think she tried before and reached you."

"That was Carly?"

"Who's Carly?" Rese asked.

Sofie sighed. "Eric's daughter. He's the one I was with before."

Lance's stomach knotted. "What did she want?" He kept his tone even.

"Just to talk, I guess. We only had a minute, and . . . then Eric came on."

"You talked to him?"

"I should have, but I didn't know what to say."

He snagged his hair with his fingers. "You can't get mixed up in that again."

She looked away.

"Think, Sof. Remember how it was."

"She sounded so sweet. Different, but . . ."

"Don't make that mistake again."

Sadness filled her eyes. "Please don't be Pop, Lance. Or any of the rest of them. You're the only one who didn't judge." She pulled open the door and went out.

"I should've," he said as it closed.

Sofie slipped inside the darkened carriage house, slumped onto the couch, and dropped her face to her hands.

"What is it, cara?" Nonna whispered.

Sofie looked over at her, standing in the doorway in her white nightgown like the old women in folktales who transform into beautiful fairies. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Waking and sleeping are one breath and the next," Nonna said as she sat beside Sofie. "What happened?"

As pointless as it would have been to evade Lance, it was more so with Nonna. Sofie told her about the call, and Eric's voice at the end. How lost he'd sounded, and hurt. How she ached from the few words she'd shared with Carly and all the lost years. Nonna listened without comment.

"I don't know what to do. If I had found out where she was . . ."

"It's better left alone."

But it wasn't. If Carly knew how badly she missed her, how much she wanted to see her, touch her, make her more real than her dreams, would she be the glue that somehow drew them all back together again? Her heart fluttered. No. Eric would suck her in again, engulf her with his need. Four pivotal years she'd belonged to him. Now she had learned to breathe again.

Yet what about Carly? Sofie ached to think of the child bearing his love undiluted. No one could give Eric enough . . . or could she? Was there a way, something she could have done, could . . . do?

" 'As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats his folly.' "

She closed her eyes. Nonna had minced no words the last time, and yet when everything fell apart, she'd been there, a silent presence holding on, refusing to let her go.

"He could have changed, Nonna. I've changed."

"He's an empty gullet."

"I'm thinking of Carly."

"No you're not. You've tasted his poison." Nonna stood.

"Please. He's a person. He deserves some respect."

"Respect is earned." She went back into her room and closed the door.

She was right. As much as Sofie loved her, Carly was not her burden. A horrible ache seized her. Then whose? Memories came back of Carly's little hands, her precious voice, a smile that took all the strength from Sofie's legs. She'd been so darling, the sight of her could trigger tears, and Sofie wondered if Eric had been that way as a child. Had he realized, even then, the power he had to render people helpless?

Rese studied Lance as he turned back from the door Sofie had passed through. He looked as bleak as she'd seen him. "Are you going to explain?"

"Ever wonder how the devil could be beautiful?"

She frowned. "Have I gotten to that part?"

"Lucifer. Angel of Light. The best of all God's angels."

"That's who dated Sofie?"

"Eric Malden. And he didn't date her. He devoured her."

"Okay, you're scaring me." She had wanted to know Sofie's story. Now she wasn't sure.

"How else would you explain a beautiful young woman, full of life and talent, smart as a whip and loved by everyone, taking a razor to her wrists?"

"I can't."

Lance looked away. "I was touring for a lot of the time they were together. Maybe if I'd been there, looked closer, trusted her less. It seemed to me people were doing a lot of judging and not much loving. I knew how that felt and didn't want to pile on. And with my reputation, who was I to throw stones?"

"What happened?"

"He derailed her friendships, cut her off from her family. He took away her will, her identity, her existence outside of him. And then he left. It took a long time to work her back into the relationships she'd had before. She's only now seeking out new ones."

"So Carly . . ."

"Sofie was her mother for four years. That child was hers in every way that mattered." He shook his head. "We knew she hurt, but she hid how badly."

He cast his gaze to the ceiling, jaw cocked, as memory triggered tears. "Monica found her. The bossy sister who runs everyone's life found her in the tub and hollered to wake the dead—literally. Tony was downstairs with Pop. He staunched the blood and kept her breathing." His voice broke. "While Rico and I played a gig in Manhattan."

"You could not have known."

He lowered his chin and composed himself. "But you can see why I get weary of people thinking I'm something I'm not."

He turned when Star came in, pulled a padded envelope from his jacket pocket. "Here, Star. This came in the mail."

Star read the return address and went still. "Thanks." She took it and walked out.

"What was that?"

"From Rico."

Rese clamped her hands on her hips. "Ashes of her painting?"

"Come on. Rico's not vindictive."

"If you say so." She remembered him searching Times Square for Star with a hard determination that made her glad they hadn't found her.

"Dangerous, but not vindictive."

"Okay. I have to tuck Mom in. Will you check on Star?" Since it was his friend stirring the pot.

"Sure."

They divided in the hall upstairs. Rese's mother had already fallen asleep, so she made sure the medicine cup was empty, turned off the TV and the lamp. If Mom had too many more days when she didn't want to get up, Dr. Jonas needed to know. Rese slipped out just as Star, wearing earbuds, retreated into her room. Lance looked dazed outside her door.

"Everything all right?"

"Rico wrote her a song."

"Is it any good?"

"No, I said,
Rico
wrote it."

"I heard—Oh."

"See, Rico does rhythm. I do lyrics."

This was touching something deeper, their friendship, their history. And explaining about Sofie had left him raw. He brushed her cheek with his thumb, kissed her softly, and went into his room. Moments later she heard his fingers on the strings.

Rese slipped into Star's room and found her on her back, eyes closed, but her hands moved gently to the music. She sat on the bed beside her, and Star opened her eyes. She patted the mattress, and Rese lay down alongside. She'd expected to find her distraught, but her face had a peace she hardly recognized.

"Listen." Star transferred the earbuds and restarted the CD.

It sounded like the music Star and Rico had recorded in the subway tunnel with Rico on Chaz's steel drum and Star's eerie, wordless vocal. Overlaid was Rico's slightly accented voice speaking one word at a time. "Chance. Perchance. Persuade. Dissuade. Disdain. Explain. Refrain. Sustain. Regain. Renew." Hypnotically the words came, threaded together, a rhythmic heartbeat over the airy, echoing tones.