Echoes (36 page)

She leaned back against him. "Are you going?"

"Not unless you say so."

"Lance . . ."

"I'm not asking you to. I just wondered if you'd prayed about it."

She half turned in his arms. "Yes. Maybe my prayers aren't as . . . effective as yours, but I have, Lance. And I don't think you should go."

"Because . . ."

"It's how I feel. Michelle says when you're peaceful with an answer, it's probably right. I don't have peace about you going."

He raised his knee to support her position. "I don't either."

"You don't?"

He shook his head. "First it was that you didn't want me to. So I prayed the Lord would change your mind."

"I'm not sure that's fair."

His smile pulled sideways. "God must agree. I have the impression this isn't my fight."

She turned farther in his arms. "I didn't believe you'd listen to me."

"It would be hard if I was hearing something different. But don't ever be afraid to speak your mind."

She raised her brows. "Has that been an issue for me?"

He laughed. "Get-outta-here. You're the mind-speaking master."

"And just for the record, that title fits more than one of us."

————

As Carly sipped her tea, the door burst open. Matt spun, adrenaline surging, but it was a woman with auburn hair whose Mediterranean allure matched Sofie's. It had to be her mother. He instinctively stood up straight.

"Momma." Sofie met her with a hug.

He could see from where he stood the return embrace was not superficial. This woman had a fierce affection.

She gripped Sofie's face. "What is it? What's happened?"

Sofie covered her mother's hands with hers. "Momma, you remember Carly." She turned carefully for her mother to see the girl at the table. Carly looked miserable.

"Little Carly?"

"And this is Matt Hammond. Matt, my mother, Doria Michelli."

The woman was shorter than she'd looked coming in, her posture giving an illusion of height. He took a step and held out his hand. "I'm honored to meet you." Honored? Who said that kind of thing?

Her grip was firm. "Are you friend or lover?"

"Matt's here to help, Momma."

Her attention hadn't wavered, so he shrugged. "A friend who'd like to be more."

"An honest man. Heaven be praised." Her next look skewered him. "Don't touch my daughter."

"That's pretty much what she said too."

She pressed a finger to his chest. "You do it right, you'll be thankful. God will bless you."

He barely held back the "Yes, ma'am" before he came off a complete fool.

Doria turned to the child. "Little Carly. Let me look at you."

Carly didn't bear scrutiny well. He could almost believe she didn't realize her attributes. Or she intentionally downplayed them. Maybe she realized it was dangerous to attract attention. That kind of automatic response took time to develop, suggesting a previous or ongoing suspicion that it wasn't a good idea.

Doria hugged the girl, then told Sofie, "I want to talk to you."

When Sofie stepped into the hall with her mother, Matt looked at Carly. "Are your ears burning?"

Carly reached up and touched the pink shell of one ear.

He leaned close and whispered. "It means they're talking about us."

"Oh," she whispered conspiratorially. "Is that bad?"

"Let's listen." He strained, eyes squinted. "Hmm. 'Carly's a sweetheart, but that big guy . . .' "

She giggled, but too soon her expression changed again. "I'm the troublemaker."

He sat down at the table across from her. "You didn't start this."

She squeezed her hands into fists. "I miss my dad. I don't want him to be hurt."

"I know."

"I didn't want anyone to be hurt. And it's all because of me." She dropped her face to her hands. "Those poor dogs."

"Did those people threaten or upset you?"

She sat a long time, groping with her answer, then gave a sad shake of the head. "No. They were nice. They were my friends." She sank lower into her chair. "He doesn't want me to have friends."

She'd said that before, but her dad's actions took it to another level. It was one thing to perceive a threat—real or imagined—and protect his daughter from potential danger, another altogether to target people who'd been kind or concerned about Carly.

She pressed a hand to her stomach.

"Your tea might help."

She took a sip. "So you want to marry Sofie, right?"

Her directness caught him off guard. "We're nowhere close to that."

"You're only sleeping with her?" Not as innocent as she looked.

"That's not really your business, but you heard what I told Mrs. Michelli."

"You didn't say you weren't. Only that Sofie said the same thing."

He studied the child. "You're a careful listener."

She shrugged. The fact that she'd learned to be suggested the need to. Maybe she knew more about her dad's behavior than she'd like them to think.

"Your dad's had girlfriends?"

She sniffed. "Not exactly." She didn't elaborate. Maybe she was differentiating between sexual partners and someone who mattered. If he was spending all his affection on his daughter, he'd only have loose change for someone else. So what had Sofie cost him?

And what might Carly cost her now? He realized he didn't want Sofie to come with baggage. Sweet as the kid seemed to be, she was the child of the man who'd almost ended Sofie's life. And what manipulations had she learned and absorbed? Or inherited?

He sat back and looked toward the door through which the women's voices carried wordlessly.

She followed his look. "What's going to happen?" Vulnerability brought a catch to her voice.

"What do you want to happen?"

"I wanted Sofie back, but in an 'I know I can't have it' way."

"Like a dream?"

She shrugged.

"Do you even remember her?"

"Duh. I remember everything about her."

"Good memory. It's been a long time. Most kids, those memories fade."

She shot a look right into his eyes, gauging his temper? "If I didn't remember her, why would I call?"

"Why did you call? Your dad ask you to?"

Her jaw dropped. "Right. I got in so much trouble when he found out."

"What kind of trouble? What did he do?"

She clamped her mouth shut as blood rushed into her face. A second later she ran to the bathroom and threw up. Could be stress; could be she actually was sick the day she called. She was a little young for an eating disorder, but with her high stress level, it wouldn't be too surprising. Instead of coming back to the table, she went into the room Sofie had given her and lay down. She didn't close the door.

Sofie came back into the kitchen. "We're having dinner with Momma and Pop. Lance would tell you to be warned."

"Warned?"

"Momma has a heavy hand with seasonings."

"That's what you were discussing? Dinner?"

She came and sat with him. "She wants to see for herself that you're not planning to eat me alive and"—she lowered her voice—"that Carly hasn't lured me here to get back together with Eric." She looked toward the bedroom. "She's feeling bad again?"

"She could be bulimic. She purged and went to bed."

Sofie's brow creased. "Did something upset her?"

"You mean did I? She didn't want to tell me what happened when she 'got in trouble' the first time she called."

"Oh." Sofie looked down at her hands. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this."

"I don't recall any dragging." He reached over and took her hand. "I'm here because I want to be."

"And I appreciate it." Her long-lashed gaze swept up to his. "But Carly's confused, and Momma's frantic. Pop will be worse. And I haven't even started on my sisters and aunts and friends and neighbors. I wish we could take Carly and disappear."

"That's called kidnapping."

She smiled grimly. "Is that all?" She laid her other hand over his. "Momma thinks you're handsome."

"What do you think?"

"The first thing I noticed was your eyes, the warmth and compassion. Then your hands, the way they cradled Diego, the way they swallow mine."

Not exactly the instant visceral attraction he'd felt for her.

"You seeped into my awareness—the line of your jaw, the breadth of your shoulders, the creases that form beside your mouth when you smile."

He'd smiled more since meeting her than he could remember.

"You're handsome and you're good."

If she followed that with "and I love you like a friend" . . .

"God gave you a great capacity to care."

Care and love were two different things. She had to know he was way past caring.

"You defend the most vulnerable every day."

But not because God expected it. He'd been dedicated as an infant, submerged as an adolescent. His first adult step had been to reject his father's faith, the avenue of control Webb used to bully weaker souls. Matt might be like his dad in every other way, but he would not be a hypocrite. "I don't do it to satisfy some judge in the sky. I do it for the sake of each kid."

She felt him withdraw. She had tried to tell him what it was that drew her to him, but maybe she saw good things in people that weren't there—and missed the dire ones that were. "I better check on Carly."

He didn't object.

Carly lay curled like a kitten in the bed. She opened her eyes. "Daddy?"

"No, honey. It's Sofie."

"I dreamed I was little. Like in the pictures? And you and Daddy and I were all together."

"I've dreamed that too."

Carly scooted closer to her. "I don't feel good."

"How long has it been since you've kept something down?"

Carly shrugged. "I guess I have the flu."

She didn't push it—just took Carly's hand and held it between hers. "Would you like a book to read? I have some of my favorites from when I was a girl, or the twins might have something newer."

"Who are the twins?"

"My nieces Lisa and Lara. They're a little younger than you. They live upstairs." When she'd had Carly before, there had been almost no contact with her family, and of course Carly would have been too little to remember if there had been.

"I'd like one of your favorites, Sofie."

She went into the other room, where the bookshelf held the stories she'd discerningly accumulated. The top shelf held the treasures of childhood:
Heidi
,
Black Beauty, The True Confessions
of Charlotte Doyle
, books that had opened new worlds. She took down
Island of the Blue Dolphins
, gravitating at once to the story she'd read over and over about one girl's courage after being left alone on an island with wild dogs and nature to contend against.

Carly might identify with Karana's isolation and her strength. She brought the book in and found Carly sitting up. "Would you like some more tea?"

"No, thank you." She accepted the book and studied the cover.

"Have you read it?" Sofie asked.

"No."

"It's a Newbery award winner." Sofie rested her hand on Carly's knee under the blanket. Carly looked up at her with such longing, it closed in and swallowed her until nothing else existed.

It was her dream come true, Sofie caring for her, touching her, smiling. Her wonderful voice, her beautiful face. Daddy should never have made her go away, but she would fix that now. Sofie knew they needed her. When Daddy came, she'd see.

"I know I'm too old, Sofie, but . . . would you read it to me?"

Sofie's surprise was swallowed by an affectionate smile. "I'm not sure anyone's ever too old to be read to. Nonna loves it, and she's over ninety."

Carly settled into the pillows and drew up her knees. She was sad for the people who'd gotten hurt, so sad. But she pressed it out of her mind—Daddy, her grandma, the pictures. None of that was real. Only Sofie. Only now.

The woman she'd imagined for so long opened the book. Carly took in every word Sofie spoke and tucked it deep inside. She might only have minutes or hours or days. It wouldn't last. It would be spoiled like everything else, because Daddy loved her too much. Unless, unless she could convince Sofie to come back to them.

It was the only way. She couldn't take it alone anymore. Daddy needed Sofie too. Why else would he have taken all those pictures? They might be the only two people in the world Daddy loved, but together they could make him happy.

She should not have called Grandma. Thoughts of what happened made her stomach a hard ball. She should have waited for Sofie. But now she was here, and when Daddy came—Matt stuck his head in the doorway. "I'm going to take a walk around."

Sofie nodded, acknowledging him with only a small smile. Carly could hardly bear the joy that jumped up inside. She wasn't too late. Sofie didn't love Matt. He might love her, but it wasn't too late to stop her loving him.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-TWO

M
att walked out to the street. He wanted to know the basic layout of their location—entrances, visibility, hazards. The building had an alley down one side, but it was connected to the next unit on the other. Four stories, and Sofie had mentioned a cellar. Fire escapes down the front, and as he reached the corner, he saw the same down the back.

Safe egress in emergencies, but not that hard to access from outside. He could do it if he had to. He didn't know how athletic Eric was, but in any case, the entire building could not be contained. He'd focus on Sofie's part of it.

The interior doors lined up, so he could watch from Chaz's side. He could even sleep in the hall if it seemed prudent. Chaz and Rico might help. They obviously cared about Sofie. Wouldn't Lance's closest friends protect his sister?

Matt headed upstairs through the door he'd propped open, letting it lock behind him, and knocked loudly enough to be heard over the drumming that came from the room where he'd slept last night. Rico pulled it open. "Don't have to knock. It's open."

Matt looked across the hall. "Sofie's too?" He recalled Doria walking in unannounced.

"Everyone, I think. If it's locked you can get the key from Pop."