Echoes (27 page)

She looked surprised, and the irony struck him that he'd at last turned the tables.

"Why not?"

"I can't support an animal being crated up for months and fed iron-deficient formula to make it weak and tender."

She leaned against the counter and scrutinized him.

He returned it defensively. "What?"

"I know how to pick the palest pink-flesh, white-fat, milk-fed veal. I know what makes it that way, but I hadn't thought—I like that it matters to you."

"A lot of things matter to me. Religion isn't the only basis for a moral compass." He folded his arms. "I'll eat the vegetables or whatever you make to go with it."

She wrapped the veal back in its paper and took a different package out. "The chicken is free-range."

He nodded. "Good. Thanks."

"Scaloppine?"

"Whatever you do will be great. I'm not picky—in the usual sense. Can I help?"

She took out a marble board and stainless-steel mallet. "Want to pound it thin?"

"Sure."

Her fingers brushed his hand as she transferred the utensil. "Sofie." He took the mallet, then he took her hand. Whatever their differences, there was no denying his interest. "I'm glad you came here to start over."

She looked into his face. "I am too."

He resisted the urge to kiss her and wondered if there was some spiritual deposit made by his sacrifice. That probably required an account.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FOUR

L
ance sniffed the air as he followed Rese inside. Chicken, probably scaloppine. Sofie or Nonna had been busy he noted as he reached the kitchen and received the full effect of the aromas. Even Star sat cutting garnishes out of thinly sliced vegetables. It felt strange surrendering his kitchen, but working with Rese was where he needed—and wanted—to be. At least for now. He didn't mind being grunt labor if it included him in that part of her life.

And the girls could handle meals just fine. He kissed Nonna's cheek, then noticed Matt in the dining room with Sofie. They shared a soft laugh, gazes meeting as they plunked down the silverware. Matt saw him and straightened. Then Sofie looked up.

He searched her expression, but she seemed all right, maybe more, so he gave Matt a nod and said, "We got a letter from Maria." He held up the envelope.

Nonna turned. "What does she s . . . ay?"

"I'll read it when Rese comes out." He glanced toward the suite where she had gone to wash up.

"Then, here." Nonna handed him the wine and corkscrew. "While you wait." Never mind that he'd worked a nine-hour day. No one stood idle in Nonna's kitchen.

Rese came out just as he slid the cork free. "Where's Mom?"

Star shrugged a shoulder. "She stayed in bed."

"Doesn't she feel well?"

"She didn't want to talk about it."

"We'll get her down for the meal." Lance drew her to his side as Sofie and Matt came into the room. "Let's hear what Maria says." He tore it open and handed three photos to Rese to pass as he read.

"Dear Lance and everyone,
   "I want to say how thankful I am for your help, and for getting me home. As you can see, Diego is eating always. He is so big. One day I hope I can show him pictures of his godparents and all of you. Mamá says that is a hint.
   "I am better now, stronger all the time. I think of the good things you did for me. Those are what I remember when I wake afraid and angry—that Lance (I know he says God) made my baby well and Sofie made him happy and that you were all so kind.
   "One day Diego will do great things, and I will tell him it was because of the good people God put in his life. I will go back to school soon—my own school that Mamá said was good enough. There are so many people to watch Diego while I am gone. They all want to hold the miracle baby.
   "God bless you, and I send my love. Maria"

The pictures came around to him, and he studied the fat cheeks of his godson, Maria's teenage smile, and the last photo that could hardly contain everyone in it. She was back where she belonged, with loved ones to help her deal with all that had happened. He looked across at Rese. "Guess we made the right call, taking her in."

She nodded. "Good thing we weren't running an inn."

"And that Sofie arrived to keep Diego." He looked across at his sister, who turned to her suitor.

"And that Matt gave us physical custody."

Matt smiled, and for the first time Lance considered him part of them, part of the fabric God wove.

"All things according to God's w . . . ill," Nonna said.

"Amen," he breathed, then waved the photos. "We need refrigerator magnets next time you're out, Star."

She formed an elfish smile, and he could only imagine what she'd come back with. The crazier the better, as far as he was concerned. "Smells good. Let's eat."

Something had changed, though it took most of the meal to put his finger on it. Then Matt realized he must have passed some test, crossed a portal into the heart of this family. Lance had exchanged wariness for an irresistible geniality, and even Antonia looked on with kindness.

Their acceptance touched him, and he was reluctant to do or say anything that would once again mark him the outsider when every person at the table—even Elaine, whom they'd coaxed down to join them—seemed a part of the whole. In this house, no one got marginalized. It was more than a meal they shared; it was a sort of communion.

He stayed deep into the evening, not wanting it to end, not wanting to leave them. They talked philosophy and Shakespeare, history and politics. Even religion, but not the kind he'd heard before. When Star asked something, Lance quoted the prophet Isaiah, talking about a world where lions lay down with lambs, then claimed that time was now. He called it the kingdom of God overlapping the world of sin, the city of God in the midst of fallen creation. A reality inside a reality.

Matt hoped the man wasn't crazy. But if they were all mad, why was sanity prized? The laughter was real. And the love. They were all disarmingly real in a way he'd never experienced. Maybe everything outside these walls was the illusion.

At last Elaine rose and informed them it was time for bed. She issued a number of warnings they all took in stride; then Rese went up with her to prepare for the night. Antonia had long since slumped down and was snoring softly in her chair.

Lance rubbed his hands. "Guess I'm on cleanup."

Star stood to help him.

Sofie's affectionate look slid from her grandmother to him. "Matt, will you help me get Nonna to her room?"

He stood, grateful for such an intimate opportunity. He hadn't been part of a family for a long—Well, never. Not a family like this that loved unreservedly, accepting the foibles and flaws of each member—especially the weakest.

Sofie gently nudged her grandmother awake, and as he gave the old woman the strength of his arm, his eyes teared. He fought to keep Sofie from noticing, but by the time they'd conveyed her grandmother to bed and went back out to the cold night, she'd caught on.

"Are you all right?"

He pressed through the tightness in his throat. "If there's a heaven, I think it looks like tonight."

She smiled up at him with such pleasure, he caught her face between his hands.

"Sofie, I need to kiss you."

She shrugged one shoulder. "Then kiss me."

She trembled as he took her mouth with his. Not a desperate kiss, no grief outpouring. It was a connection borne of the night's camaraderie and deep desire. He kissed her slowly, a man to woman kiss, expressing what he felt, what he wanted, who they were, who they might be together.

He stopped when she drew back.

"I can't."

"It's just a kiss."

"I know you want more."

He caressed her face. "Sofie, I want anything that includes you. Whatever that looks like; whatever you make it."

She stared into his face unbelieving, but he meant it. He'd court her like a squire if she wanted that.

He squeezed her hand. "I'll call you tomorrow."

————

Lance woke with a jolt, senses heightened.
Lord?
The urgency remained. He slipped out of bed and went into the hall. Grief struck him, but it could be any of his companions and each would require a different mode of action. He listened until he heard the soft sobs from Sofie's room, then went to her door.

He didn't knock, just slipped in and knelt beside her bed. He cupped the back of her head and whispered, "Sof."

She didn't withdraw or hide her tears. When at last she turned, he asked, "What is it?"

"I'm afraid if I let go, she'll be lost."

"Carly?"

"I dreamed I was holding her over an abyss. Her hands were slipping out of mine. Behind me voices demanded, 'Why can't you let go?' as if they couldn't see she'd be lost if I did." She drew a jagged breath. "It was so real. The feeling that I had to hold on, no matter what anyone said, what anyone thought."

"Dreams can be deceptive. Have you prayed?"

She shrugged. "I say the words, but . . ."

"Then let me." He took Sofie's hand and rested his other palm on her head. The Father's love came immediately, but it seemed to drain away.
Lord
.

It was a leak Sofie refused to close. Her connection to Carly? Guilt over her attempted suicide? A lingering desire for Eric? He didn't know what caused the rent in her spirit, but she had to be willing before it could heal, and he sensed that now was not the time. What comfort she could accept, she'd received. He opened his eyes and saw that she'd fallen back to sleep.

————

Matt stood with Sofie at the top of the deep-green forest overlooking the sparkling Pacific. After spending the evening before with her family, he had picked her up for a day in the bay area. A brisk wind rising from the ocean below tossed her hair and battled for his breath. In the face of such majesty he didn't know what to say anyway.

He had not been joking about heaven last night. If eternity was anything like the evening he'd spent with Sofie's family, he could almost accept it. Seeing Lance unguarded had explained the way people like Maria viewed him. His charismatic presence emphasized the things he'd talked about, the kingdom of God on earth, a new creation.

Matt shook his head. He got it, but it wasn't that easy to change the mindset he'd methodically developed since leaving home. Many of his friendships and nearly all his work relationships would be impacted. There would be fallout he couldn't even foresee.

But he put it out of his mind as Sofie bent beside him and peered over the cliff. "Does the height scare you, Matt?"

"I'm used to it. Ever since seventh grade."

She nudged his ribs. "I mean the height of the cliff."

"Oh, that." He looked down. "I wouldn't walk a tightrope over those rocks, but heights don't bother me."

She leaned on the concrete pillar that held the metal cables surrounding the overlook. "What does? Snakes, spiders?"

He grinned.

"Come on. What makes Matt Hammond tremble?"

"Tremble?" He turned her around, bracing her against the barrier at the top of the cliff. "You make me tremble."

She pushed his chest. "I mean scared tremble."

"So do I."

"What, I scare you?"

"Half to death."

"Why?"

"You're like a siren luring me from my course."

She folded her arms. "What course?"

"My certainty. My reality. Even my mundanity."

"You're hardly mundane."

"I get up. I work. I eat. I sleep."

"You change lives."

"Yeah, maybe." He studied the shape of her eyes, the arch of her brows. For beauty like that, a man would do anything. "I thought I had it all figured out. Then came you. I'm telling you, Sofie, the first time I saw you I could hardly breathe."

She smiled. "Is that why you wouldn't let go of my hand?"

"I think time stopped for a while. I can't be blamed for that."

She laughed. "And that's scary?"

"Scary is not wanting it to start again. Today only has twenty-four hours, but I want every one of them to go on and on."

"Very poetic."

"And I'm not. See? You've brought something out that's never been there."

"Not true. I saw you with Diego. I heard the rhymes you murmured. Wynken, Blynken, and Nod."

"But that's not me. It's Eugene Field." He half smiled. "My favorite poet."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "The guy loved kids, understood the magic. And losing his son almost killed him." He stared out over the sea behind her, words coming to his mind.

   "Last night, as my dear babe lay dead,
   In agony I knelt and said:
   'O God! what have I done,
   Or in what wise offended Thee,
   That Thou should'st take away from me
   My little son?' "

His chest squeezed. Had Dad ever searched himself for blame? Had he questioned a God who gave someone such unfit power over smaller lives? His voice graveled.

"Upon the thousand useless lives,
   Upon the guilt that vaunting thrives,
   Thy wrath were better spent!
   Why should'st Thou take my little son
   Why should'st Thou vent Thy wrath upon
   This innocent?"

Sofie searched his face. "You're saying God's unfair?"

"I'll leave that for another day."

"Then what?"

"Field asked what he'd done to make God take his child."

Sofie went still. "What had he done?"

"I don't know. What mattered was he asked."

Sofie could not get Matt's words out of her head. It surprised her that he'd committed to memory the agony of a man wrestling with God when he didn't believe God was there. But the poem had shown Matt a model he admired, one that contrasted with the example his own father had set, the example he was afraid he'd follow.

He needed someone to take the blame for what had happened, but both adults seemed to shun the guilt until he was the only one holding it. She knew that burden too well. Maybe that was why they'd connected on a deeper level than she'd expected.

She rested her head on his shoulder as they drove back to Sonoma. His broad shoulders would bear the weight of her past if she let them. But could she?