Echoes (45 page)
Both promised imperfect neighbors. Both boasted emphatic leadership, zealous disciples, and hearty opposition. It wasn't a question of faith or no faith. It was a decision to put his faith in God or man.
His former arguments clamored. Why would God let Jacky die? But as he'd made clear in the hospital, it was the rest of them who'd failed Jacky. Why did God give jerks control over others? But it was believing friends and colleagues who'd empowered Webb Hammond to torment his sons and dehumanize his wife.
On judgment day, the people who cried "Lord, Lord" would be the ones who'd done things in God's name but never knew him. Matt didn't have to hold them accountable now with his own rejection of the truth. It wasn't his job to judge.
"Okay. I'll do this your way." He went down on his knees. "For my rebellion, please forgive me. From self-righteous antagonism toward you and your people and all my other failings, set me free." Maybe in heaven angels and saints were rejoicing over a lost lamb found. He only felt a lightening of the heaviness and a joy that crept over him like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.
R
ese stood in her suite, hands pressed to her face. She had expected the chaos, anticipated the crowd, the noise, the effusiveness. She'd even convinced herself she would enjoy it. But the kids running rampant, the mothers scolding, Lance's brothers-in-law, cousins, and uncles posturing, Roman grumbling, and Doria dominating it all, drove her into the relative solitude of her space—relative because Star had surrendered her room and moved into the office portion of the suite, where she'd fit a futon for sleeping and heaps of colorful clothes for ambience.
Star slipped in with her now and giggled. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to think."
" 'There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.' "
"Well, not thinking is worse."
"Hmm." She flounced down on the bed. "It's served me pretty well."
Rese settled in next to her, leaning against the headboard. "How long before they miss me, do you think?"
"Long enough, I'd say. They're fairly self-centered."
Rese smiled. "Never thought of that as a good thing."
"Oh, it's very good when you're trying not to be noticed."
"So, how long before Rico misses you?"
"Long enough. He and Lance are playing handball against the shed."
"Working off Roman's insults, no doubt."
"What's with that, anyway?" Star ran her fingers through her fine blond curls.
"He's not Tony."
"What was his first clue?" She drew her knees up. "Why can't people accept others for who they are?"
"Not every place is like this house, Star. Most of the world is like Roman, expecting people to be like them."
"Well, I'm never leaving these walls."
"What if Rico wants to marry you?"
Star faced her with sober eyes. "I'll move the frogs."
Rese shook her head. "I don't think I could stand Lance and Rico under the same roof for long. Too much testosterone."
"Then we'll move next door."
Rese puckered her brow. "Did he . . ."
Star giggled. "No."
"But he's not homicidal anymore? You've made up?"
" 'The quality of mercy is not strain'd. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It is twice blest: it blesseth him that gives and him that takes.' "
"Good," Rese said with a bob of her head. "I'll take bloodshed off my list of concerns."
————
Matt finished reading the study and closed the psychological journal. Maybe it was none of his business, but what he'd read had some real promise. Before Sofie could begin to teach Carly normal relationship skills, she had to get her past the trauma of her dad's death, her own near miss, and Sofie's. If Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing worked half as well as case studies suggested, it might be the key to unlocking Carly's communication.
It made sense that the trauma of seeing her dad fall to his death—and almost falling with him—had lodged in an emotionally charged survival portion of the brain that conjured the event in vivid detail when anything triggered the memory, or she felt threatened, or even in her sleep, where the incident created night terrors as her mind tried unsuccessfully to process the trauma. Getting it out of there was the key. He sat back. EMDR might not be the whole solution by a long shot, but maybe a starting point?
Discussing elements of the trauma was usually part of the treatment, but practitioners had worked around that in language-delayed and preverbal kids. The side-to-side eye movements or other bilateral stimuli activated the memory network where the trauma was stored in frozen detail, simultaneously with the informational networks that allowed the child to process the event. The end result was to replace fear, panic, grief, and despair with some degree of peace and resolution. What more could they ask?
He picked up the phone and started down the list of people he regularly worked with. If they told him he was crazy, all right. But the first woman he called verified the positive results of documented studies and referred him to a specialist. He hadn't expected it to be that easy, wasn't even sure what had turned him in this direction—a small chain of events for which he couldn't take credit and was inclined to ascribe to God. Now if he could only get a few minutes alone with Sofie.
————
Sofie could not believe the beauty of Lance and Rese's wedding day, as the mists lifted to a balmy spring morning, fragrant with honeysuckle, grape blossoms on the old vines, and herbs and flowers in every single pot and bed. Star had forbidden Lance and Rese to set foot in the garden. Since dawn, around all the rented tables and chairs, from every vine and branch, she and Elaine had hung hundreds, maybe thousands, of glass prisms that scattered the sunlight into dazzling rainbows.
What better image of hope and promise could there be? "Look, Carly. How beautiful it is."
Carly nodded.
Sofie encircled her with a hug. "Won't you talk to me, sweetie? This is a day to forget sadness for a while."
Carly returned the hug fervently, and for once Sofie felt the silence was as painful for the child as for her. She straightened the ribbon that had slipped in her hair. "That's all right. You decide when you're ready."
She found their seats near the arched honeysuckle trellis beneath which Lance and Rese would make their covenant. Guests and family filled the chairs, but she kept her focus on the little girl she loved so deeply, watching for signs that the strain was too much. Maybe the rainbows worked a little cheerful magic, though, because Carly gazed from one prism to another, all shapes and sizes; long round teardrops, spheres, and diamonds. Triangular and rectangular prisms, and even, Sofie noticed, some small glass birds. "Look." She pointed. "A hummingbird."
Carly smiled—the most brilliant sight in the garden. Leave it to Star to create this wonderland. In her chair across the stone path, Elaine sat bemused by the light and color. Beside her, Nonna dozed with a smile on her face.
A trio of violin, flute, and cello played near the carriage house as the chairs filled and other guests found places to stand. She and Carly had a bird-finding contest until the music signified the start of the ceremony. Lance had flown in Father Agostino, the jovial silver-haired priest who had taught him to altar serve and would now officiate. He took his place behind the honeysuckle arch.
Rico, with his hair tied into a ponytail, and Chaz, with his shaved coffee-colored scalp, lined up on one side of the bower, debonair in their elegant charcoal morning coats and cravats. Striking in a softer gray morning coat, Lance took his place in front of Rico. If he had one overactive nerve, it didn't show.
His stance had a hint of self-satisfaction, but when she met his gaze, all she saw was joyful anticipation. Her little brother had found his heart's desire, his anchor. No easy thing in his case. Pride blossomed in her chest.
Michelle came down the stone path in a blue sheath, her brown hair curled and pinned to flatter her sweet, plain face. Star's pale blond hair curled naturally into short, soft spirals as she came next in a blue and turquoise gossamer wrap dress with handkerchief layers and tiny bells sewn onto the tips. Sofie couldn't suppress a smile. Neither could Rico.
Uncomfortable in a matching charcoal tux and cravat, Brad started down with Rese. Sofie hardly recognized her in the ivory lace gown that draped her slender figure in idyllic loveliness. Lance could hardly contain himself, and in fact tears glistened in his eyes.
When Father Agostino asked, "Who gives this woman to be married?" Brad answered, "Her mother, Elaine, her father, Vernon, if he could"—he turned to Lance with a touch of a smirk—"and I do." That brought the tears to Rese's eyes. Brad kissed her cheek and took his seat.
Rese's dress was embroidered with seed pearls that caught the rainbows from the prisms. She seemed to shimmer, or maybe she did. A circlet wreathed her head, culminating in the veil below that hung in soft tulle layers to the base of her dress. She carried white calla lilies with Dutch iris, lavender delphiniums, and purple sweet peas Sofie could smell from her seat.
She hadn't imagined Rese in a traditional gown with a veil, looking so delicate and lovely. No wonder Lance beamed. As they spoke their vows and exchanged rings and lit the unity candle, the joy she felt was pure gift, like a spigot suddenly opened. Momma had worried that being the last unmarried sibling would depress her, but how could she think of herself in the midst of this?
Lance kissed his bride and left them all breathless. They stood and applauded when the priest introduced them as Mr. and Mrs. Michelli. Even Carly clapped, a smile again tugging her sweet mouth. Sofie squeezed her shoulders.
As soon as Lance and Rese passed the last row of chairs, guys swooped in to put the chairs around the tables. Typically groomsmen did not provide entertainment, but there was no stopping Chaz and Rico with an audience already in attendance. It still upset Carly to see them, so Sofie took her into the kitchen to fill trays with rabbit-and-fennel-sausage meatballs, prosciutto rolled with fresh mozzarella, pesto-and-crab ravioli, roasted peppers, and thin, crisp eggplant.
Nonna shooed her out, but surprisingly kept Carly. Even more astonishing, Carly stayed. Sofie went back outside. Matt stood talking to Lance. Her heart quickened. What was he doing there, looking so fine in a tailored suit and silk tie?
He glanced over and his gaze snagged. Her feet started toward him without conscious effort as though they knew any moment this opportunity could be lost. Lance looked from one to the other and walked away.
She moistened her lips. "How are you, Matt?"
"This moment's pretty good." His eyes had that liquid-chocolate warmth that had undone her from the start. "I hope you don't mind that I came."
"I'm glad you came. I didn't know you'd been invited." Or she might have looked for him—and been disappointed if he hadn't.
"I swear I didn't crash the party."
She smiled. "You'd hardly go unnoticed." She touched the sleeve of his coat. "Not looking this fantastic."
"You're the one looking fantastic." His inspection was long and thorough.
She'd chosen the buttercup chiffon that deepened to mustard because she'd needed something cheerful, not because it highlighted her copper green eyes and olive skin. But she was glad now that it did.
"Matt, last time—"
"I'm not—" They spoke at once.
She slid her fingers from his sleeve to his hand, and they joined effortlessly. "I know you were trying to help, and I appreciate it. You've been right about everything, but it's hard to know what to do."
He nodded. "I found something that might hel—"
A shriek made them both jump. Carly stood four feet away with a look of stricken rage.
"Carly—"
The child lunged at her, fists clenched and pounding. Sofie took the blows until Matt caught and lifted Carly away. Her screams intensified, and people turned and stared.
Carly's ferocity had surprised her, but Sofie raised her hands. "Wait, Matt."
"Leave it, Sofie. I want to talk to her."
"But she can't."
"I said
I
want to talk to
her
. Trust me."
He had dealt with angry, damaged kids. It was what he did. But could she trust him with Carly? She drew a breath and nodded. Clutching her hands beneath her chin, she allowed Matt to carry Carly away, screaming and biting his shoulder. Though it broke her heart to see the child so hysterical, there was something supremely comforting in turning her over—however briefly—to someone so much bigger and stronger.
Was she wrong? She searched her heart. It didn't feel selfish. It felt . . . right.
Though her teeth didn't penetrate his suit coat, the pressure of her jaws clamping down on his shoulder was uncomfortable enough to make him move quickly into the house. He had no intention of intensifying her panic and fury by removing her from the safe zone Sofie had created. But he hauled her up the stairs and into the white room where Sofie had stayed with Diego. By the books on the shelf and a number of stuffed animals, he guessed it was Carly's room now.
In spite of the noise, he left the door open. To avoid any hint of sexual misconduct, and because it was easier to keep her contained, he sat her in a chair instead of the bed. She had not spoken, but the guttural noises were clear in meaning. If she could rip his head off, she would.
He squatted a long time in front of the chair, blocking her escape but making no attempt to stop either the noise or her thrashing. It was unfortunate he'd been required to touch her at all. That would have reinforced memories of his restraint that day on the roof. But he would not allow her to assault Sofie.
Elfin in appearance, Carly managed to contort herself into an impish gremlin before losing steam and collapsing in the chair. She had probably released a pressure valve that must have been near bursting already. When she'd regained a measure of self-control, he said, "I don't expect you to talk. In fact, I'd appreciate it if you didn't. But I have a few things to say, and this will go quicker and nicer if you listen."