Echoes (15 page)
Lance came up behind her, peeked in at the sleeping baby, and whispered, "You okay?"
She nodded, shocked that he was home already. How long had she stood there watching the baby breathe?
"Want to tell me what Diego's social worker was doing here at five a.m.?"
"He needed to talk."
"About Diego?"
"It was personal."
Lance turned her around. "And he came to you?"
"I'm a good listener," she said with a shrug.
"Yeah, but how does he know?"
She smiled. "We've talked before."
"Yesterday? At the hospital?"
She nodded. "He's dealing with something that's needed it for a long time."
Lance searched her face. "You talked to him too?"
She glanced away. "He deserved to know."
"He's interested in you."
"I know."
"Are you okay with that?"
"I'm fine, Lance."
He studied her a long moment. "Okay." He looked down at the baby, then back. "I got Maria's mother's phone number."
"What?" She grabbed his arms. "How? When?"
He grinned. "Which would you like me to answer?"
She socked his shoulder. "Tell me."
"After Mass I went by the hospital and convinced her we needed to know where her
mamá
stood on it all. She really wants to go home, but her uncle's all but convinced her she can't. I hope he's lying."
Sofie walked to the nightstand and said, "Use my phone." But when she reached down, it started ringing. She flung it open before the noise could wake the baby. "Hello?" she answered softly, but the other end was quieter still. Weary and in no mood to play games, she said, "I'm hanging up now."
"Wait. Um . . . sorry."
The line disconnected. Shaking her head, she carried the phone to Lance.
"What was that?"
She frowned. "Wrong number." The same number? The same young voice? Lance had enough concerns, and Matt had overblown it the last time. Maybe the girl had mixed up a number in her directory. She'd clear it up the next time—did she hope there'd be one?
She and Lance walked out of the bedroom and down the stairs while he placed the call to Mexico. He shot her a glance. "Pray."
She stood in the parlor beside him while he introduced himself in Spanish, then gently explained Maria's situation. In Lance's face she saw the pain he must be causing the listener. She could not imagine being Maria's mother, learning what had been done to her child. She prayed with all her heart.
C
arly slumped on her bed, the phone open in her hands.
Stupid, stupid
. Why hadn't she said something? Why hadn't she just said, "Hi, Sofie?" Was that so hard?
She'd been so excited about the phone—not so she could call Daddy 24-7 or gab to all the friends she didn't have. But so she could call Sofie. And now she was too scared to say hi?
She looked around the room at the things Daddy had given her: a computer loaded with educational software, more stuffed animals than she could cram into her shelves, books, CDs. Did he think giving her stuff made up for spoiling her chances at friends?
Her private school didn't allow harassment, but ignoring was perfectly acceptable. When her birthday came, she wouldn't have a party with girls sleeping over, telling secrets and laughing all night. Daddy would take her somewhere fancy, like it was a date, and she'd open one really nice present. He thought she liked that better.
She sighed. He'd been so nice the last few days. None of his bad moods. No accusing her of things that she didn't even know about. No icy eyes freezing her inside. It would take a while for all that to build up again, so for now he was the kind of dad everyone wanted.
She fell back on the bed. Some kids never saw their dads. Some dads hit their kids. Daddy just wanted so much from her. Could someone get loved too much? Anyway, he was all she had. She'd read that in a story about traveling players. The girl who did cartwheels on the road to Oxford had looked at her dad playing on the stage and thought he was all she had.
She liked that thought. It helped the loneliness not to hurt so much. She imagined herself in that girl's place. Like the girl in the book, she and Daddy moved
a lot
. He sold things really, really well and made lots of money. But then he'd stop getting along with the people he worked for. So once it got to where he couldn't stand them, they'd go somewhere else. Sometimes when he changed jobs it took a while to find another, and they wouldn't have takeout or go to movies, and once they moved in the middle of the night.
They used to go three or four times a year to see Grandma Beth, who lived in Riverdale in a big white house that looked like a president's mansion, but the last time, when she refused to give Dad money, he'd said in his cold, scary voice,
"If your granddaughter
isn't reason enough, then you won't care if she doesn't know
you."
Grandma Beth had cried. But they hadn't seen her since. Carly sighed. If only she'd been reason enough.
————
Matt woke up with the sickening knowledge that it hadn't been a dream. He'd been drained by Ryan's needs and exhausted emotionally and physically, but that didn't excuse his total meltdown. That could be explained only by two words: Sofie Michelli.
His rubbed his face, rough with stubble, and his eyes, gritty with fatigue. He turned his wrist and read the time. Ten thirty. He was tempted to fall back into bed, but his mind had revved up, and the three hours he'd slept were all he'd get.
He washed up and went to the kitchen, chugged cranberry juice from the bottle, and stuck a couple of eggs on to boil. He sniffed the remaining sole filet and laid it in a skillet to sautè in olive oil. He tossed in some tofu cubes, sprinkled it all with soy sauce, and sat down at the table, where he had a stack of work waiting.
Half an hour later, Ryan dragged himself from the guest room. "What's that smell?"
Matt looked up. "You?"
Ryan sank into a chair. "Don't tell me . . . fish."
Matt nodded.
Ryan shot up and dry heaved into the sink, spit several times, and rinsed it down. Thankfully he'd done most of his throwing up in the guest toilet minutes before. He collapsed into the chair. "That's cruel, man."
"I don't suppose you'd want the boiled eggs either."
Ryan glared.
"Tofu?"
He dropped his head to his arms on the table. "Just shoot me."
"You know you can't take anything harder than beer."
"Then why do you have it in the house?"
"Because I can. I can also stop before I cause myself damage. I've had that bottle since Christmas three years ago."
Ryan looked at the half inch left in the bottom. "Maybe I should kill it."
"Whatever you think." Matt closed the Walenski folder and slid it aside, took up Diego Espinoza's with a sinking feeling.
Lance and Sofie clearly felt the infant should be returned to his mother, so much so that they would take her into their home again to keep them together. Maria could attend that American high school she'd wanted, he thought grimly, when she wasn't busy raising her son—and dealing with the aftermath of her abuse.
She'd need counseling, which Sofie could provide even without a doctorate; her master's and the field work she'd completed qualified her under the state guidelines if she cared to pursue that avenue. He'd seen for himself what a careful and compassionate listener she was. His jaw clenched.
He opened the folder and studied the top sheet. They'd all been taken aback when the DNA results for Diego and the dead fetus showed two different fathers. The best medical guess was that she'd gotten pregnant with Diego after her body had encased the nonviable fetus like a sort of cyst against the wall of her womb, and the hormones of the new pregnancy had prevented the normal course of expelling the miscarriage.
All that served to strengthen Maria's description of multiple abusers. The best those men and the uncle could hope for would be deportation. Cassinia had suggested castration. He suspected justice would be somewhere in between. But that wasn't his case.
His case was probably right now nestled in Sofie's arms, and she had told him unequivocally not to consider her in the equation. He had worried how she'd handle returning the baby, but she was handling it better than he. She'd made up her mind as to what was right and expected him to execute it.
A pain stabbed his chest. Stress, he guessed. How could he have broken down like that? He'd lived with Jacky's death for twenty years. And in all that time, no one had drawn the poison of it out of him as Sofie had. She'd make one dynamite therapist, though he hadn't gone looking for therapy.
What was it about that place? Was it some safe zone where masks fell away? A haven of healing that drew needy souls. He was losing it. Ryan groaned softly across the table, face in his arms. Matt closed the folder and looked again at his watch. It was Saturday, and normally he'd have nothing pressing, but Maria was being discharged from the hospital.
————
Though Maria was the reason Lance was at the hospital, it was Sofie who lay heavy on his mind. Had she told Matt enough for him to realize how fragile she might be under the polished exterior she'd formed layer by layer like a pearl? She had moved forward, gone back to school, gotten her feet underneath her. Leaving Belmont had been a big step, but bigger still would be the new relationship everyone hoped she'd find. Was Matt the guy?
He assessed the big man who joined him outside the open door. No flags came up, but he'd been tragically unaware the last time. Matt seemed nice enough, conscientious, thoughtful. Lance greeted him and said, "I have some new information." He handed him the slip of paper on which he'd written the Mexican phone number. "This is—"
Matt's attention swerved the instant Sofie came out of Maria's bathroom, the look they shared a dead giveaway. If Matt wasn't the one to help her let go, he sure wanted to be. Before either spoke, Maria called for Diego, and Sofie carried the freshly changed infant to the bedside.
Maria seemed stronger than the day before, though he still detected an edge of pain and fear. How had they not realized how sick she'd been? But then, they'd only seen her the day she gave birth and after the infection had taken hold. He hadn't known this brave girl was in there.
She fixed him with a piercing look as he reached her bedside. "Did you talk to my mother?"
Well, that was one way to break the news.
Matt raised his brows. "You spoke with her mother?"
Lance handed over the piece of paper. "That's the number." He'd been trying to tell Matt before Sofie swept him away.
"What did she say?" Maria was breathless.
"Digame."
Warmth flooded him. "She said she loves you."
Tears rushed to Maria's eyes. She spouted Spanish faster than he could catch it, then said in English, clutching her son, "We can go home?"
Lance glanced at Matt. "We'll talk about that when she gets here."
"Wait a minute." Matt frowned. "She's coming here? How?"
Maria huffed. "She has a travel visa. She is a respected professor at the university."
They all turned to look at her.
"I am not trash." Her voice carried a note of injured fury.
"No one thinks that." Lance rested his hand on the crown of her head and looked into her face. "No one thinks that, Maria."
She stared up, tears brimming, and with a jolt he realized
she
did.
No
. The pain of her violation dragged him down into her misery. The depth of God's love for her and for the life she'd brought into the world overcame him.
Feel it, Maria. Believe it
. She had said love claimed her, love for her tiny son. Now he wanted her to feel that same love directed at her, the love of the Father for His child, the boundless love of God.
"Lance." Sofie touched his elbow. "Cassinia's here."
He stepped back to make room for the gray-haired woman who eyed him guardedly. Matt also had fixed him with a wary scrutiny.
Sofie whispered, "Matt's explained to her about Maria's mother."
He had? When?
"Are you okay?"
He swallowed. "Yeah." But contact was proving hazardous.
Cassinia frowned. "I need to speak with Maria alone. Mr. Michelli, please take the infant."
Lance lifted Diego and followed Matt and Sofie into the hall, the energy between them almost palpable. He quirked the corner of his mouth. "You two want to be alone?"
Sofie glared.
"I can take Diego for a stroll down the hall." The teasing had come naturally, but he was also eager to avoid their puzzled expressions. In fact, a stroll wasn't a bad idea. He'd almost reached the nurses' station when Cassinia came out. He returned and found her steel-faced.
"She swears there's been no coercion, so whatever that eye thing was you had going with her, I guess she's making her own decisions." She scratched her pierced eyebrow. "In spite of the repeated rapes that resulted in Diego's conception, she appears to have formed a protective bond. I'm ordering a professional evaluation, but for now it seems in Maria's best interest that she return home with you." Doubt colored her voice, but she couldn't circumvent the obvious wishes of her charge without a pressing motive.
Sofie smiled up at Matt as though he'd single-handedly accomplished it, and maybe he had. Lance scrutinized him once more. If he wanted to know Sofie, he'd better be prepared to prove himself.
Whoa
. He'd sounded like Pop.
————
Brad put his knee up on the bench and leaned on his thigh. Rese ignored his stare as long as possible, but the snickers from the other guys at last made her look up. "What?"
"Will you be wearing the white dress and veil and all that?"
Naturally, that brought hoots and exclamations.
"You're getting married? Tying the knot?"
"Rese Barrett in a dress?"
"Who's the sucker?"
"All right, lay off." Brad stilled the outburst.
She lowered her chisel. "We haven't planned anything yet." They'd gone in on Saturday morning to finish the final details of the current job so they could move on to the new project. Couldn't he tell she was in the zone?
