Echoes (38 page)
"You are one terrific motivator."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't get used to it."
————
"Sir?"
Matt jolted.
"Did you want to book this return flight?"
He looked at the woman who had brought up his options on the computer at the ticket desk. He swallowed. One touch of her finger and he'd be headed home—back through security and onto a jet, back to his work, his life.
The people behind him grew restless. He had told Sofie he wouldn't let her hurt herself, and now he was leaving her in circumstances that could do nothing else. What if there was something still that he could do? Not for his own benefit, but simply for hers.
Had it helped to tell Jacky to stand up to things like a man? If Sofie couldn't help herself, would he let her walk into a train too? He looked at the woman, looked at the clock, then picked up his suitcase and stepped out of line.
Sofie's face filled his mind. Her expression when she told him to leave had been angry, but behind the anger there'd been resignation, the kind that saw no way out.
"If there's no arbiter of good
and evil, what separates moral from immoral choices?"
Had his contention that things either hindered or benefited society or individuals with no eternal consequence removed the final obstacle to choices that could prove dangerous and self-destructive? If she believed she had to help Carly at any cost—His stomach clenched. He'd been blinded by jealousy. If she wouldn't forget Eric, then forget her. He'd even resented the little girl.
Matt raised his hand for a taxi. Where were his grand ideals now? He'd been just like his dad, trying to make Sofie tough enough. She should be able to say no, able to let go. When it was her very softness, her compassion, her desire to give that had caught him so deeply.
The cab ride took days. Traffic formed a solid wall. The driver spoke no English, knew no alternate routes. Matt clenched and unclenched his hands, wishing for the first time in years there was somewhere he could turn, someone who could help. Matt couldn't remember his dad ever praying except in front of others as a person of importance.
He rubbed his temple. In the back of the sweaty cab, he groped for words to reach a being out there somewhere who might be listening after all. "God help me," he murmured, then realized they were the words he needed. Everything in him repulsed the urge to say it again, so he modified it to, "Help Sofie. Help me help Sofie." That he could live with.
T
he cab brought him to the building as the setting sun reddened the bricks and turned the windows brassy. A chilly wind bent and unbent the spindly branches on the trees along the curb. Young men and women clumped at intervals along the sidewalk. A few checked him out as he exited the cab, gripping his suitcase, and realized he couldn't get into the building.
A bell beside the outer door rang somewhere, he hoped. After a long wait, a dark-haired woman appeared with a cranky toddler on her hip. Her face was an older, sharper version of Sofie's, and her voice had the harsh New York bark. "Yeah?"
"I'm here with Sofie."
"Oh." She swung the door open. "You're Matt?" She craned her neck up. "Say hi to Nicky. Nicky, this big man is Sofie's friend Matt."
Matt hooked fingers with the tot. "Hey, Nicky."
Nicky turned away, disinterested.
"I'm Sofie's sister Monica."
He just wanted to get upstairs and make sure Sofie was all right.
Monica led the way. "Did you come to meet the family?"
"That's . . . part of it."
"You staying awhile?"
"Not sure yet."
"How come Sofie hasn't come up to say hi?"
"She's, um, working on something."
"She's always working on something. If she were an animal, she'd be a beaver."
"I'm a beaver," Nicky said and tried to gnaw his mother's neck.
"Cut that out." On the second-floor landing, she said over her shoulder, "Hope you're hungry. Momma's cooking."
He'd forgotten all about that. He might have been on a plane eating granola while Doria served a special meal without the guest of honor. "Yeah, thanks."
Monica continued past his floor. He debated between Rico's and Sofie's doors, tried Rico's first to ask if anyone had seen Eric. The apartment was empty. He went across to Sofie's door and knocked.
Carly pulled it open and did a fair job of hiding her disappointment.
Sofie came up behind her. "Matt."
"Can we talk?"
Sofie patted the child and scooted her back inside, then stepped into the hall. Knowing Carly's ear would be to the door, he caught Sofie's elbow and walked her into Rico's apartment.
Her anger seemed spent, but she withdrew her elbow with practiced ease. "I thought you left."
"I'm not leaving."
Emotions crabbed across her face. Surprise, relief, dismay.
"You're not the best judge of things right now, Sofie. I told you I wouldn't let you hurt yourself."
"And I told you this isn't about me."
"But you're part of it."
She sighed. "You said there's no good way this can turn out. I accept that."
"Sofie."
"Carly's been lost to me for six years, Matt. Six of the hardest years of my life. It breaks my heart to think how it's been for her."
If he let himself, he'd find the place she was in. Psychological abuse could hurt more than bruises. That was why Jacky had despaired. Not the whippings that left welts, but the ones that didn't show. "We'll help her together. It's what I do for a living, remember?" She didn't resist when he pulled her into his arms. "Trust me."
"Matt . . ."
He caught her face and tipped it up. "In the cab coming back, I prayed. I don't know, maybe you're right. Maybe there's a whole bigger thing than us."
Tears pooled in her eyes. But he had the distinct feeling she was thinking too little, too late. Had something happened?
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
He felt her deceiving him. Why? Pressing her head to his chest, he wanted to cry himself. She'd let go of Diego and Annie, one for the right reason, the other because she had no choice. But she had a choice now, and she would not let go of Carly. And any way he looked at it he saw trouble.
He might not only be protecting her from Eric, but from herself as well. Okay, then. God help him, he'd do it. And if that was the best prayer he could manage, maybe God would still hear.
He stroked her hair. "I need you to trust me, Sofie. And I want to trust you."
She didn't answer—unwilling to lie, he guessed. But he'd taken all the ground he could and had to stop pushing. He raised her chin, looked into her eyes. "It smelled like dinner downstairs. Think we can get Carly to eat?"
Sofie formed a faint smile. "If anyone can, it's Momma. It's just easier to say yes."
He wondered if she realized the parallel. Didn't matter. He was there to help her say no. She reached for the door, but he caught her arm. "I'm sorry. For before."
She nodded. "Me too." The sadness in her voice suggested that she meant for more than before.
Sofie's mother was nothing like Grandma. She talked a lot. She hugged a lot too. She made spaghetti. A lot of it. And big meatballs. And soggy green beans, though she said, "You don't have to eat those. Have more spaghetti. And ice cream for dessert. Save room for that."
Eat more and save room? Carly smiled, and for the first time in too long, her stomach didn't hurt.
"You're spindly like Sofie used to be. I always told her, 'Eat,' but she'd say 'Momma, I'm full enough for three Sofies.' "
Carly loved hearing about Sofie as a kid. Like she was her real mother and Doria her real grandma. But that thought made her stomach hurt again because it made her think of Grandma Beth falling.
Just don't. Just pretend all this is real
. Because it was all she was going to get and because the tears were too close.
Sofie hadn't yelled about her calling Daddy. She had looked at her with sad, sad eyes like she knew and understood how it had to be. The feeling that gripped now in her chest was the deepest love she'd ever felt. And Sofie loving back didn't hurt.
She stared at her plate because the tears had come anyway, and she tried to blink them away before anyone could see. She was so tired of hiding. Just for once she wanted everything to be okay. But she couldn't pretend it was okay. Nothing was okay. Nothing ever was.
Her stomachache got worse. Daddy would be so mad. Someone would get hurt. Sofie? She couldn't bear to think it. Maybe Sofie could stop him from hurting anyone. Maybe she really could. Wouldn't having Sofie back make him forget the rest? Wasn't that enough? It had to be. It had to.
"Ice cream, Carly?"
She looked up and shook her head. "My stomach hurts."
For a while, Carly had seemed happy, even silly with Momma. But the weight of it all must have settled back. Her stomachaches were troubling, and Matt could be right. She and Momma had watched for eating disorders in their dance students, and this would have raised flags. She doubted Carly's issue was body image. More likely the child just wanted to disappear.
She remembered the feeling too well.
Don't need me so much.
Don't see in me what's missing in yourself. I can't ever be enough
. Lord God, how had Carly stood it? By bingeing and purging?
She would need to talk to her. Bulimia had detrimental effects on the body that didn't show—electrolyte imbalance and stress on critical organs. Carly hadn't binged at dinner though. She'd eaten as normally as anyone could under Momma's prodding.
Matt too. He'd pleased Momma. The pang returned to Sofie's chest. This could have been different, his meeting Pop and Momma, his seeing what she'd come from, the haunts of her youth, the people she loved.
She hadn't realized she wanted that, hadn't admitted how much he mattered. The time they'd spent together with Diego, with Annie, with each other had formed a bond. But she couldn't let it get in the way.
He wanted to trust her, but he shouldn't. She didn't trust herself. Because she knew, had known for six years, that if this time came she'd take it. She would die for Carly. She almost had. Maybe she was meant to.
She smiled at Pop, his surreptitious glances betraying fears that underlay his relief that she'd gotten involved with another man. She realized guiltily that Matt made a great decoy. Strong, intelligent, good-looking. Who would suspect she'd want anything else? When their gazes crossed, he seemed determined to fill the role her family assumed. Suitor and protector. She should not have let him get so close.
She told them about her decision not to complete her degree. No one hollered. No one criticized. What did they care if she became a doctor? She had a good man now and no longer pined for the destructive one.
But there was still the problem of Carly. And so Eric hovered over the gathering like a malignant spirit. She could feel his hunger. And something inside her responded. It had always been so; it always would. Strange how there was almost a peace in that.
————
While he had thought the plan was to keep Carly safe until the police apprehended Eric, Matt had considered Rico and Chaz's apartment adequate. If he'd guessed right that Sofie had been compromised, even across the hall was too far. So when she had tucked Carly in and come back out, he said, "I'll sleep here on the couch." It was short enough he'd be bent up by morning, but he'd hear and see anything that happened in the apartment. "I cleared it with your dad while you and your mother did the dishes."
She raised her brows. "You didn't clear it with me."
"I am now."
"It could give Carly the wrong impression."
"The wrong impression would be us together in your bed."
Her throat flushed, a sign that she still felt something, even if it was discomfort. Her performance at dinner had been amazing. But then, she'd had years of fooling even herself. He had no idea what could be done about that, but right now he was keeping her alive. That was all.
If Eric thought she had come between him and his daughter, the rage that fueled the vicious acts in the photos might be nothing to what he showed now. If he was trying to get her back, the emotional fallout could be as bad.
Sofie looked at the couch. "You'll be very uncomfortable."
He quirked his mouth. "Got a better offer?"
She didn't rise to the bait. She had sunk even further into the place he couldn't reach. And the way he felt now, he doubted they'd strike sparks anyway.
She sighed. "You take the bed; I'll have the couch."
"Thanks, but I'd rather be out here, near the door and windows."
"You're not serious." She crossed her arms. "You think he'll come in through the windows?"
"I think he could."
"There are windows in the bedrooms too. But that's not happening."
"How do you know?"
"I know him, Matt."
Then she looked away, and he thought it must be how it felt to love an addict. To see her going down that path of destruction and be helpless to stop it. "What do you want me to do?"
She pressed her knuckles to her lips. "I can sleep with Carly. You take my room."
He considered that. The bedrooms were separated by the bath. He wouldn't see the hall door from in there, but he'd be closer to his charges. "Okay."
She lowered her hand. "I know this isn't how you wanted things to be."
"Is it what you wanted?"
At least she looked torn. "You knew I would do what Diego needed. And Annie. When Eric took Carly six years ago it was as though she'd been kidnapped. One day she was there and then she was . . . not. I'd gone to church. When I got back they were gone. I never said good-bye, never asked for pictures. Except for what I had in my wallet, he took everything that was her."
"Why didn't you hate him?"
Her brow creased. "I did. Part of me did. But . . . I . . ." She swiped a tear from her eye. "Knew how he felt. That he couldn't let anything come between them."
"You mean anyone?"
"You don't know what it's like to lose a child, Matt. I can't imagine his anguish."