Echoes (43 page)
"On my way to work." He motioned up the street.
"Oh." Another workday, answering cries for help, swooping in like the man of steel to save the world. Only he hadn't. "Lance told me you came for dinner last week."
He nodded. "I like good food."
"And Harleys?"
"Anything you don't know?"
She sighed. "Too much."
"Ribs still hurt?"
His dive had kept her and Carly from falling, but it had been too late. Something in them had broken when Eric died, and Matt was connected to it, whether they wanted that or not. "Lots of things hurt."
"Yeah."
"Matt . . ." She folded her arms. "I don't know how this is going to be."
"How do you want it to be?"
"In a perfect world?"
"In the one we live in."
She looked down at the ground. "There's a lot to deal with."
"For you? Or Carly?"
"For all of us."
"We could work it out together." His tone was cautiously optimistic.
The thought of someone to lean on, even just to walk beside her, nearly brought tears. "I'm not sure that's possible right now."
"Why don't we have dinner and talk about it?"
"She's not—"
"I don't mean Carly. You've got people to watch her."
Her heart sank. He wanted to pick up their relationship where she'd dropped it. She saw it in his face. But how could she give more than she was giving? "I can't leave her. She won't speak to anyone but me. It's a form of mutism."
"Selective."
That was the term, but it made it sound manipulative. "She has no more control over it than a stutterer."
"Why can't Lance . . ."
"Heal her?" An edge came into her voice.
"I'm not being flippant." The sincerity in his eyes showed that much.
"What Carly needs is love."
He looked at the school into which the girl had disappeared. "Carly needs to know you can't hoard love."
That stung. They weren't hoarding love, they were surviving it.
He wanted her to say something, but what could she say? Things were too complicated, too painful. She felt as though she'd been to war and shells were still breaking overhead. The past six years had been an illusion, and she'd been thrust back into the reality of Eric and Carly and her own inadequacy.
There was only one way through. Matt didn't understand she had to do everything she could for the child. Nothing else mattered. Only in loving Carly did she find absolution.
He could have driven past. But he'd stepped into the punch instead of waiting to be hit unexpectedly. Sofie had looked so achingly lovely with her hair silky-soft around her neck, her slacks and fitted top setting off her supple figure, her smooth olive skin and expressive eyes. He'd wanted so badly to take her into his arms, but that wasn't why he'd stopped.
He had gotten out and approached her because he'd wanted to fight for her, wanted her to fight for herself. But her expressions and body language had been as conflicted as his own, and he'd given up. Just as he hadn't stopped Jacky from walking away, he hadn't blocked Sofie's spiraling back into destructive patterns of thought and behavior. Maybe Chaz was right. Flight was his first response.
As he parked outside the office, his phone rang. He read the caller ID and decided it was time to stop running. "Hi, Mom."
"Oh, thank God. I thought you were out of the country or something."
"I've never been out of the country." Since Dad didn't believe in spending American dollars in foreign economies, no vacation they'd taken had crossed a border. He hadn't had time or reason to since.
"But I've tried to reach you."
"How serious are things?"
"They're going to open up his heart. He could die. Why haven't you answered my calls?"
"When's the surgery?"
"Tomorrow morning. You'd have been here already if you'd returned my first call."
Been there? "I don't know that I can get away."
"Your father is having open-heart surgery. You're all he has, and you don't think you can be there?"
He'd sprung for an expensive last-minute ticket to New York to be there for Sofie. He had far less inclination now, but he might never get the chance to make Jacky's case if he didn't go. "I'll see what I can do."
Nine hours later, he landed in Phoenix, then met his mother at the hospital. He'd sent flowers on her birthdays, cards for Mother's Day, but he hadn't seen her in five years. Her face had lost its sharp definition, her waist thickened. Her limbs were still thin, but the skin hung loose. Her hair was blonder than it had ever been in real life, her eyes a nondescript blue, not brightened by any inner illumination.
She was neither vague nor unintelligent, merely trained to appear both. The submissive wife. Once again his antireligious bias rose up, but this time he didn't reach for an equally useless philosophy. He'd seen faith in action, a sweating, serving, loving faith. It sprang from freedom, not domination.
"Oh, Matthew, I'm glad you're here." Her hug was not the bold embrace of Doria Michelli. Mom's was an insecure, artificial contact after the archetypal enfolding of Sofie's mother's love. Maybe it was her diminutive size and softness, or that she was afraid to show she had substance. Hugging her, he felt sorry more than anything else.
And that surprised him. He'd expected to be angry. But that would come. With Dad. If the man was going to die, he'd make sure he didn't go with a clear conscience. Seeing Sofie's decline had sharpened his resolve. One bully would face himself in the mirror, even if it was the last thing he saw.
His mother's arms slipped away. She stepped back and observed him. "You're so like Webb, it takes me back."
His jaw clenched. "Where is he?"
They went into the room where the giant, Webb Hammond, lay diminished. He worked hard for oxygen, a scowl carving a furrow between his brows until he turned. Matt's stomach clenched at the pride and pleasure that came to his father's face.
"Matty." His florid throat sounded congested. "Get over here where I don't have to strain to see you."
Matt moved to the bedside. "Broken pump?"
"Nothing they can't fix. I'll pay enough for it. Send all their kids to Harvard." The bravado didn't work as well with the tube in his nose and the flimsy gown tied around his chest.
"When did this start?"
Webb shrugged. "Few months ago." He turned. "Leave us alone, Liz. You're hovering."
"I'll get Matt some coffee."
He didn't want coffee, but he also didn't want his mother there for what he meant to say. He waited for the door to close, but before he could speak, his dad said, "Listen up. If I don't come through this, you're in charge of your mother."
"I thought you said—"
"They're cutting open my heart," he growled. "Think there are any guarantees here?"
Matt swallowed. "You're in the geriatric capital of the world. I imagine they do plenty of heart procedures."
"Procedures." He spit the word. "They don't have any idea why my heart is only doing half its job."
As far as Matt could tell it had never done even that much.
"Whatever they find, it won't be good. When it comes, you take your mother with you to Sonoma. She didn't want to move out here anyway."
"Then why did you?"
His father scowled. "Too many memories back home."
He'd been searching for a way to introduce the subject, and now Dad had handed it to him. "Of Jacky?"
His father's jaw snapped shut. Years of clamping down on that name had caused an automatic reflex. "It wasn't healthy for your mother."
Right.
"Point is, she can't stay in Phoenix alone. You'll need to get her located near you."
"That's not as easy as it sounds. Sonoma has limited real estate and elevated property values."
"She'll get something from insurance. I kept a paying job and have something to show for it. Unlike you, quitting the sure thing you had for some namby-pamby social work. Should have asked my advice. I'd have saved you the regrets."
"I have no regrets."
"Sure you don't. Lousy pay. No gratitude. No respect."
"You're wrong." He seethed. "What I do is important. It gets kids safe before bad things happen."
"Well, I've got news for you. Bad things happen."
"They shouldn't."
His dad glared. "I thought I raised you tougher than that."
"What did you think about Jacky?"
His fists balled. "Enough with Jacky."
"Enough? You wouldn't talk about him, wouldn't let Mom."
"She went through it, okay? What good would dragging up the accident—"
"Accident? At least call it what it was."
His father's voice chilled. "What are you talking about?"
"The way you drove him, drove both of us. Someone should have held you accountable years ago for the things you did."
"Things I did? I made you the man you are."
That was the sad truth. "And Jacky? What did you make him? Besides dead."
For the first time ever, his dad had no response.
"You're the one with regrets, Dad. Or you should be. He never had a chance."
"You don't know anything."
All he wanted was for the man to acknowledge the wrongs against his son. But he saw that would never happen. "How do you sleep at night?"
Blood rushed to his father's face. A monitor started to wail. He rasped, "You hear that?"
"Yeah." Matt looked him straight in the eye. "Sounds like a train whistle."
S
ofie startled awake and caught Carly before she bolted, screaming, out of bed.
SofieCarly thrashed, yanking against her hold. "No. No, please."
"Shh, Carly. Wake up."
Carly clawed herself loose. "Stop. Don't hurt them."
Sofie turned on the light. "Carly. It's all right, honey."
Her eyes were open, but she kept flailing until reality finally penetrated her dream. Then she sank back into her pillow, heart pounding. "I'm sorry."
"It's all right, honey."
"It was Grandma's little dogs, on their back legs begging. And he . . . he . . ." She gulped. "Matt pushed them over the edge."
She couldn't tell if Carly had actually dreamed Matt as the aggressor or if she switched it with her waking mind. Either way it troubled her. While it might make the dreams easier to bear, it would not help for Carly to transfer Eric's cruelty onto someone who had only tried to help.
"Matt would never hurt Grandma Beth's dogs." Or anything, or anyone.
"But he did. He pushed them over. I couldn't catch them." She started to sob.
"Shh." Sofie pressed her cheek to Carly's hair, drew the child tight against her. That might be the form her dream took, but the real event that triggered it was right there too. Now was not the time to defend Matt, only to bring Carly the comfort she so badly needed.
"I tried. I tried but he held me back."
Sofie kissed her head and let her cry.
"Why wouldn't he let go?"
Now she was dealing with reality. "He didn't want you hurt."
"No." She shook her head hard. "He doesn't care about me. He wanted you."
"He wanted me safe, yes. Wanted us all safe."
"Not Daddy."
Sofie swallowed the ache. Matt had probably not been concerned with Eric's safety. He'd seen a bully and transferred his animosity. If not for that, would he have caught Eric too? Could he have?
"I hate him. Those poor little dogs."
"Matt didn't hurt the dogs."
Carly pressed her face into the pillow. "I hate him. I hate him. I'm glad he's gone."
Sofie rubbed her back. So much anger, so much hurt had to come out. But she would not allow Matt to bear the blame—not in Carly's mind, not in her own. Of them all, only Matt had acted solely for the good of others.
"I wish he was dead," Carly hissed.
Sofie rose up to her elbow and turned the child to face her. "Don't ever say that again." Death was too final, too painfully eternal. "Do you hear me, Carly?"
Carly stared, dismayed. She looked so much like Eric, intense, mercurial. But in her eyes, Sofie saw remorse, or at least regret. She hoped and prayed it was not feigned.
"Go to sleep. You have school tomorrow." Sofie lay down and rolled to her side.
So far she had thought only of the child's loss, of her pain and grief and guilt. God knew that was crushing them both. Matt's words pressed in.
"Carly needs to know you can't hoard love."
She had resented it, but now she wondered if he could be right. Was Carly using grief and guilt to separate the person whose love she wanted from everyone else?
Her chest constricted. She didn't want to think it. Didn't want to believe she'd fallen into that again. Was there more of Eric in Carly than she wanted to believe? She pressed her hands to her eyes. How could she begin to handle this?
Something stirred inside, an inner knowing that she wasn't alone. The One who'd been there through everything, who knew her inside and out, had weathered her doubts and justifications. God had not failed her. There must be a way, would be a way through this valley. Please, God, let there be a way.
Carly closed her eyes. No way could she say anything, even if she wanted to. She'd made Sofie mad. There'd been no hard, cold rage, but she could tell. Why, why had she said it? She should only have thought it. With everyone else it was easy. It happened without trying, and she could not change it even if she wanted to. But Sofie had been her one safe place. Now there was not even that. Now there was no one.
Because of Matt.
Hatred rose up so strong it was almost alive inside her. She did wish he was dead, wished he was dead and Daddy was alive. She wished it so hard it hurt. And she wanted to hurt him. Just like Daddy had hurt those others. Her stomach clenched but she didn't want to throw up. This bad feeling could stay right where it was. She wanted it.
————
Matt stood in the hall with his trembling mother. He'd said his piece, but it didn't feel as good as he'd thought it would. It felt like a sucker punch, and he'd never been a dirty fighter, had only defended himself and others. Or had he?