Echoes (42 page)
We? Matt was unsure he wanted any part of this. It was wrong to blame the child, against everything he stood for. How many times had he counseled against it? Yet Eric had left a burden of guilt, and Carly was using that.
They were two of a kind. Maybe that wasn't her fault. It was all she'd experienced, that manipulation that smothers and binds. But she knew its power over Sofie. Of that, he was sure.
"When are they coming?"
"Day after tomorrow. Come on." Lance drew him inside, where aromas and laughter wafted. The excellence of the meal disarmed him, the warmth and friendship embracing him once more. Had God instructed Lance to set the hook and reel in Matt Hammond once and for all? Star said he fixed people, but what did he think he could do with an unbeliever, a broken child, and a woman who loved a dead man?
Throat tight, he looked across the table, caught Star's turquoise gaze. She reminded him of Carly—brittle, damaged, and excruciatingly insightful—as she proved with the insensitive and accurate quote, "'He that is strucken blind cannot forget the precious treasure of his eyesight lost.' "
He hated that his loss showed. Gloom descended. He wished he'd gone home to his slow cooker. He'd committed his life to helping kids in bad situations, but he potently resented Carly. As long as Sofie's first allegiance was to Eric's child, she could not break free of the past or contemplate a future.
Lance, of all people, should see that. He turned to question him, and realized that was exactly what the man saw. Then the rest of it hit him. Did they think there was something he could do, something he hadn't tried already, words that hadn't been said?
He no longer argued the validity of faith, was opening himself to the power and presence of God, but Sofie had all that without him. She had them, and now she had Carly. What did they think he could offer?
He got up from the table and thanked them for dinner. "When Sofie comes, tell her . . . well, she knows where I am."
If she sought him out, what then? Carly stirred the animosity he'd felt for Jacky, the weight of responsibility. The weight of failure. Those things were as real as his feelings for Sofie, and he wouldn't be any good to them until he'd dealt with it. But how?
Back at his house, he played his phone messages, staring, stunned, when his mother's voice emerged from the machine. Irony of ironies.
"I thought you should know Dad's going in for a
heart procedure. He'd appreciate your prayers."
"Huh. Won't they be surprised when they find he doesn't have one." He deleted the message.
His house was empty, silent. He turned on the entertainment system, but the music grated. He grabbed his jacket and walked to Murphy's. Halfway into his second beer, he felt a hand slide up his back, a fall of hair across his neck.
"Mmm. You smell good."
He ducked his chin as Sybil slid onto the stool next to him. From one extreme to the other. If that wasn't a picture of his condition, he didn't know what was. He slid her a glance. "Buy you something?"
"I'll have what you're having."
The bartender caught his hand motion, popped the cap on a beer, and placed it in front of her.
She took a long drink, set the bottle on the bar. "I heard a rumor."
"Really."
"I heard Lance Michelli healed a cleft palate." When he didn't bite she added, "Did he?"
He rubbed his face. "I wasn't there."
"You've been there a lot since."
"How do you know?"
"Becca."
He should not have told Becca anything, but in a pique over Sofie he'd divulged too much. "If you want to know something, ask Lance."
"I don't think that would go over too well."
"With his fiancèe?"
"With him."
"I'm sure he'd let bygones be bygones. What's a little murder between ancestors?"
She arched an eyebrow. "You're funnier than I realized."
"Don't let it fool you. Underneath I'm a serious guy."
She laughed. "Why haven't we hooked up?"
"Because we're friends." He felt sorry for her, but anything more was asking for trouble.
"I can fix that." She slid her hand over the back of his shirt.
"Sybil."
She breathed into his ear. "Let's take this to my place."
"Nice try, but unless you serve sodium pentothal, you won't learn anything from me." He did not intend to revisit the miracle issue. Not when his defenses were down. "I don't believe it anyway."
"Why don't you let me decide?"
"What's the deal? You got a thing for Lance?" He narrowed his eyes. "He is your type. Edgy. Dangerous." Not the religious part. Definitely not that. But he saw in her eyes that he'd hit the mark.
She deflected it. "What if I said you're my type?"
"Come on."
She looked him up and down with a smile that made a greater impact than it should have. Part of him wanted to get back at Sofie, to prove he could let go as she had. He'd better be careful or he'd wind up somewhere he did not want to be.
She leaned her elbow on the bar. "Why did you call Lance dangerous? He has supernatural powers?"
"I'm not getting into it, Sybil." After spending the evening with Sofie's family, he felt a sudden acute protectiveness. "No matter how nicely you ask."
She hiked the eyebrow even higher. "Because of Sofie?"
"Because some things are better left alone."
And some wouldn't leave him alone no matter how he tried. The message light was flashing again when he got home.
S
ofie let Carly out of the car and gave her an encouraging smile that covered her own trepidation.
Please let this be the
right thing
. Because she was running out of ideas and short of energy. "Well? What do you think?"
Carly looked at the house and garden in the same way she'd observed the landscape on the drive from the airport. Silently. Punishing her? For what? She needed a place to heal as well.
"Ready to go in?"
But Carly shrank back, so she offered an alternative. "Would you like to see my studio first?"
Carly whispered, "Okay."
Thinking of Matt's excitement, she took her down through the hatch. "This is our secret way in."
No comment. Carly descended wordlessly, followed her into the newly finished studio and looked up at the ceiling. "Cool."
"Star painted it."
Carly had said all she intended to.
"I'll teach you to dance if you want."
She nodded, but it was hard to tell whether from interest or in order to please.
"Only if you want." She had to know she was free now, to say no or to embrace something new. The expectations they placed on each other had to be reasonable, but so far they merely clung. Without Eric governing everything, they were adrift. "Are you tired?"
Carly nodded.
"Hungry?"
She shook her head.
Food was going to be touch-and-go until she got the child stabilized emotionally. She brought her out of the studios through the new main doors and into the house through the kitchen. Nonna was there with a hug for both of them.
"Who is this beautiful girl? Little Carly?"
Sensing her panic, Sofie wrapped the child's shoulders. "Carly, this is Nonna Antonia. You won't remember her, but she knew you when you were just a baby."
Carly stood there, wordless. Not even a greeting. Sofie's heart sank. She had hoped these introductions would snap Carly out of her self-imposed silence. Since the accident, she had spoken to no one but her. Not even the judge had gotten a word from her.
Whether that was Carly's way of assuring they stayed together or a true inability to respond, she didn't know. Selective mutism was unusual, but given Carly's isolation before the incident, not as huge a leap as it might seem. Their communication had remained open to the point of excess—until this trip. Taking her out of her familiar city might be stressing her, but Sofie had hoped once they arrived it would be different.
"Is Lance home?"
"He and Rese are still at work."
She had hoped he'd be there to joke and jostle a response so all the weight would not be on her. She hated to admit it, but she didn't know Carly anymore. Six years had changed too much. She could hardly be more than a dream in the girl's mind. And reality hardly ever matched up.
"Come on. I'll show you our room." At some point they might rearrange or create a separate place for Carly, but the nightmares were so constant they'd slept in the same bed since the funeral. Gradually, she would create some distance so Carly could start dealing on her own, but so far it hadn't been possible.
Sofie led her up the stairs, hoping in this neutral place, this healing place, things would get better—for both of them. They washed and changed and climbed into the big bed. Unorthodox maybe, but the child's night terrors were violent enough she had to be right there to soothe her back to reality. Then reality had a sorrow of its own that required what comfort they could give each other.
Guilt was breaking them, and she didn't know how to stop it. Carly refused to be treated by any other professional. "Only you can help me, Sofie." The tearful assertion dichotomously broke and mended her heart. Somewhere, somehow, healing had to come.
————
As Carly rode with Sofie to the private school Grandma was paying for, dread encased her. It had hardly any students compared to some of her other schools. Like ten kids per teacher. Her whole grade had fifty-four. Sofie and Grandma thought that was a good thing. But she could not get lost in the crowd. How could she be invisible with so few?
Ms. Warrick, the guidance counselor they'd met the day before, had tested her to figure out what she knew and what she'd missed in all the changes from Daddy's erratic work and all their moves—and his death. The woman had looked at her curiously but kindly when Sofie explained as much of the situation as they'd agreed to tell, saying for her the words that wouldn't come.
With Sofie beside her she approached the building. She didn't want Ms. Warrick's kindness. Didn't want caring, understanding teachers. Didn't want friends. The thought of friends made her stomach knot like a fist. She could hurt anyone who tried.
She stopped at the doors, making one last plea. "Please, Sofie. I want you to teach me." If ten to one was good, wouldn't one to one be better?
Sofie's voice was gentle. "You'll be fine."
They both knew that wasn't true. "My stomach hurts."
Sofie drew her into a hug. "It's okay to be nervous. Even scared."
"I think I'm sick."
"Sweetie, you're not sick. You're bright and capable." And then the phrase she'd said over and over. "You are loved. You are beautiful. You are a child of God."
"But I'm not. Any of those things."
"You're all of them and more."
Carly shook her head, unable, unwilling to believe it. The person who had loved her completely was gone because of her. Who would want her now? Only Sofie. Because Sofie
knew
. She'd been there. She'd seen . . .
"There's the bell, Carly. You have your room number. Go on in, honey."
She turned with feet that felt like blocks. All her words clogged up in her throat. When she hadn't been allowed to make friends, she'd wanted them more than anything. Now she had to keep them out, keep everyone out. She couldn't let them see what she was.
She thought about going inside, then sneaking out when Sofie left, but if she made trouble they might not let Sofie keep her.
And Grandma couldn't, and Daddy—Tears filled her eyes. She gulped back sobs.
I am loved. I am
beautiful. I am a child of God
. Lies. All lies.
Exhausted, physically and emotionally, Sofie sighed as the doors closed behind her child. She had agonized over this decision, resisted Carly's pleas. If anything could get her to speak again, a consistent social situation where participation was rewarded should be it. And yet the last glance Carly had sent her sank inside like a knife piercing. Such desolation.
Maybe she'd been wrong. Should she have let Carly decide? Others homeschooled with positive results. But they hadn't come out of Carly's situation. If she didn't learn the give-and-take of social relationships now, how and when would it happen?
Or was she pushing her too soon? In the two days at the villa, Star and Rese and Lance and Nonna had all reached out and attempted conversation—without success. Carly didn't mean to be rude. She just couldn't communicate with people she didn't know, didn't trust. The only person Carly trusted had just let her down.
Sofie stared at the closed doors and refrained from snatching her back. Why was she forcing this? Because she needed space herself? She hated to think it could be as selfish as that. Had she gone six years pining for the child only to force a separation when Carly was most vulnerable?
Maybe Eric had seen that, realized she didn't have the commitment to Carly he'd expected. The commitment he'd had. She hated to think it, but maybe he was right. Being Carly's only source of strength and comfort was harder than anything she'd ever done—except for losing them.
She swallowed the doubt and frustration. No matter how overwhelmed, how insufficient she felt, she would do whatever it took. She only wished she knew what that was.
She turned from the door and saw Matt leaning on her car, dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, sleeves rolled, arms crossed. Her heart lodged in her throat. She had pushed thoughts of him behind the imminent needs of each day, blocked feelings that felt traitorous. But there he was, and for too long she stood, taking him in.
He straightened when she finally approached. "Hi."
She moistened her lips, but her throat went dry as memories of him on the roof crashed into her mind. Eric's grip, his panic . . . his fall. If Matt had just let Carly go to him. . . .
"How are you?" His voice graveled.
She couldn't begin to ponder that. She was as she had to be. "I'm . . . getting Carly into school."
"I saw."
"She's nervous."
"New place, new people."
"So much change." She noted the way his hair had grown out of its cut, giving him a looser, more carefree aspect, but his face didn't look carefree. She could only guess what was going through his mind. "How did you . . ."
