Her dad kissed her head. "I'll come back on my lunch break. Maybe you'll feel better by then."
"Okay. Thanks." She closed her eyes, opened them a whole minute later to find him still looking at her. "Can I have a drink of water?"
"Sure." He went to the kitchen, filled a glass, and brought it with the animal crackers. "You'll be okay?"
She nodded. "I just want to sleep." She was so tired—tired of being on guard, tired of being lonely, tired of it all. "Bye, Daddy."
He left, then five minutes later came back in. She hadn't moved. She knew better. He went out again. She waited. Five, ten minutes. Even then she didn't move. She wasn't sure she could make herself take the box out.
He could walk in any minute, say he'd changed his mind about leaving her alone. He'd never left her alone before. Never. Not without someone he'd picked especially, someone he knew would never cross him, someone completely gaga over him so the whole time all she heard was how nice her dad was, how handsome, how cool. And he was, but sometimes couldn't he leave her with a family?
He probably didn't want her to see what it was like. He picked single moms or single women who would throw themselves at his feet if he told them to. Sometimes they were pretty and nice; sometimes they were overstressed and nasty to their own kids, but never to her, because they wanted him to come back. That felt worse than if they'd been mean to her. She hated how the kids glared, knew what they were thinking. It wasn't fair.
No one ever yelled at her; no one ever hit her. What kind of kid was she to think she had problems? Yeah, my dad loves me too much. They'd feel real sorry to hear that. She pressed her face to the pillow. It wasn't like he molested her. So why, why did it feel so wrong?
Carly slipped out of bed. She had actually dozed and come awake with a jolt, thinking she'd slept through the day and not looked into the box. It had only been forty minutes since Dad had finally gone.
She listened hard as she pulled the box out from under the bed. She'd hear the car, wouldn't she? Clutching the box to her chest, she climbed back under the covers. They didn't offer any safety, but it still felt like it. Didn't monsters go away under the covers?
Swallowing hard, she lifted the lid of the box and set it to hold the pictures. She slid her hands in and lifted the whole stack, flipping them so the oldest were upside down on top; then one by one she turned over the pictures and studied them, warmth spreading inside her. There were others of Sofie with her. In each she got a little older, and Sofie stayed just as beautiful, just as wondrous as she'd imagined.
Photo after photo she studied, until she came to one of Sofie alone. Then another and another. These were taken from farther away. She frowned, turning them over in a hurry to find what she suddenly guessed she wouldn't. Her heart ached. She wasn't with Sofie in any more of the pictures.
It must be when Sofie went away, but then why did Daddy still have pictures? They went on and on, almost all of them on the same street or in front of a church with two towers. Sofie didn't face the camera, or else she was so fuzzy it was hard to tell.
Then came some that looked like the pictures Dad took now with his new digital camera, and they were automatically dated. There were a few of Sofie in a crowded room and the date was last year. Last year? She shook her head. It must not be Sofie. It couldn't be. But the next was more recent still, only a couple months ago.
And then she remembered he'd gone to find her after their phone call. Daddy had known where she was. All this time, he'd gone there and taken pictures. Her throat swelled with tears. Was he seeing Sofie without her?
She chewed her lip. No. Sofie never looked like she knew her picture was being taken. A lot of times it was almost the back of her head. It didn't make sense. She flipped quickly through the rest of the stack, stuck the two that had gotten out of place back into the middle anywhere, and closed the lid.
Waves of anger shook her as she slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen. She climbed onto the counter and shoved the box back onto the shelf. But her hand touched something else. Another box. More pictures?
Before she could grab it, a sound nearly sent her stomach through her throat. A key opening the front door.
Daddy
. She closed the cabinet and slid one leg down, then scrambled to the floor and looked frantically for some reason to be there. She groped for a glass and hurried over to the sink, praying he wouldn't look inside her with that cold stare.
She had barely made it to the sink when a thin, nervous woman she'd never seen before stopped outside the kitchen.
"Carly?"
She turned. "Who are you?"
"Paula." The woman flashed an anxious smile. "I work with your dad."
Oh right. For the whole week he'd been at the job.
"He asked me to stay with you."
And she'd done it. No doubt he'd given her instructions to report back, but that was how much he cared. She held up the glass. "I needed a drink."
Paula took a canvas bag off her shoulder. "Water might irritate your stomach. I brought 7-Up. And saltines."
Wow. A fairy godmother
.
Paula poured her a small glass of soda. "Carbonation soothes an upset stomach. But don't drink it too fast. Just little sips."
"Okay. Thanks." She started back to her room, but paused in the doorway. "Umm . . . just wondering, but how could you leave work?"
"I've been there long enough." She waved a hand. "I can take a sick day."
She'd use a sick day to care for a kid she didn't know? Daddy must have poured it on. "It's nice of you to come, but I'd've been all right." Better. Much better by herself.
"Oh, honey, after all you two have been through? It was the least I could do."
No telling what he'd said. The dead mother for sure. He always started with that. And by the hollow she felt inside, it might be true. He would not have mentioned Sofie; he never did. Because the one good thing that had ever happened to both of them didn't create sympathy.
Carly felt sorry for Paula. Her dad would give her enough to keep her hoping, so he could call on her again and again. But Sofie had been the only one he'd really gotten close to—if the photos told her anything. "I'm going back to bed."
"Okay. Tell me if you need anything."
She lay down, thankful for the reprieve from school, where everyone expected something from her, and from Dad, who expected even more. That woman, Paula, had no idea. But now there was no way could she get into the other box. She'd have to wait for night.
————
As Star let him into the villa, Matt breathed the savory aroma of coffee and some delectable breakfast that drew him to the kitchen. He found Sofie there with Annie on her lap, sitting across from Lance at the table. The rest of the house seemed quiet, but Elaine and Antonia must have been there somewhere. Did Elaine ever go out?
Her level of disability was severe. With her volatility, she would not function in even the most routine employment situations. Sofie had explained that the tasks they gave her there were an opportunity to participate without any real expectations.
Lance looked up with a friendlier expression than he'd worn last night. "Hungry?"
Matt had hoped he'd ask. "If it's not too much trouble."
When Lance got up, Matt turned his attention to Sofie. She looked tired, but not too ragged. He dropped his gaze to Annie. With two fingers stuffed into her mouth, the toddler watched him with the wariness he'd expected, but when he stooped next to her, she didn't draw away.
"Hey, punkin." He touched the hand her sling held toward him. "Does your arm hurt, or your head?"
Annie just stared.
Sofie stroked her hair. "I called the doctor's office. They said she could have Tylenol."
Lance delivered an individual crock with some kind of baked egg dish that smelled as though it would settle in and hold him from the inside out. Matt thanked him. "This is excellent." As delicious a meal as he'd tasted.
"Thanks." Lance crossed his arms. "So what's the plan?"
Matt looked from him to Sofie and back. "If you're open to keeping Annie while we investigate, I'll go to the office and make the petition."
Lance cocked his head. "I stayed home this morning to sort things out. But I'm working with Rese now." A subtle change came over his features. "Annie's care will fall to Sofie, and I'm not sure that's a good thing." Honest and direct.
"I have other options if—"
"I'll keep her." Sofie tightened her hold. "As long as she needs me."
The fact that Annie wasn't crying for her mother was telling. He guessed she didn't get a lot of positive attention from Vivian, who was either working at the spa or tweaking on meth. Sofie's was probably the softest touch she'd had in a long time.
He wanted to make sure Sofie was okay, but he didn't want to do it in front of Lance—who wasn't. Understandably. If he had considered the parallels before he'd brought Annie over, he might have chosen differently. Or maybe not.
Sofie knew how to say no, had no qualms saying so to him. She could have refused him, but it didn't surprise him she hadn't. Who could resist Annie Price? She had a chunk of his own heart that as a rule he tried not to surrender. He couldn't think of a better place for the little one to weather this storm than here with Sofie, but she still could have said no.
"So." He dabbed his mouth. "I'll swing by later with supplies." The hospital had sent him home with a few diapers, but she'd need more. Maybe a stuffed animal or something to cheer her up. At two she'd no longer be on baby food, but perhaps some toddler-friendly snacks.
"Okay." Sofie smiled. "Come for lunch." Seemingly on the same wavelength, she added, "Macaroni and cheese."
"Sounds good." He stood up and stroked Annie's cheek with one finger. "Be a good girl."
She said nothing, only burrowed a little closer.
He straightened. "Later, then. Thanks."
Surprisingly, Lance pulled on a leather jacket and walked him out. Not surprisingly, he didn't prevaricate. "My sister's a beautiful woman inside and out. I understand your feelings for her, but . . ." He took his Harley keys from his pocket. "You hurt her, I'll rip your heart out."
Matt did a double take before Lance grinned, then walked off toward the bike. A joke. It had been a mob-style joke delivered in a Bronx accent, but he'd only half convinced himself of that when the Road King roared to life and Lance raised a hand in passing. Yeah. A joke.
————
Annie hadn't said anything all morning, not one word, only whimpers when she wanted something and little grunts when she didn't. Nothing like Carly, whose vocabulary at two had caught people's notice wherever they went, who had vocalized while dropping off to sleep such things as, "Sofie, what does precocious mean?"
Annie had just turned two, a stage that seemed especially tender. Sofie taped the diaper on, noting the tapering of her soft thighs into her hips, her round belly with the little nub of navel—and the bruises behind one leg and the small of her back. Without thinking, Sofie bent and kissed them, drawing the pain and injustice into herself.
Annie's arms came around her and she lifted the child, pressing her to her breast until their heartbeats met. "You are loved. You are beautiful. You are a child of God." Those were the words Nonna had spoken to every one of them, every time she'd held them close.
Annie reached and Sofie picked up the flannel that had comforted Diego not so long ago, tucking it between them in a soft mound that molded to their shapes. Annie plugged her fingers into her mouth, and Sofie breathed the scent of her shampooed hair. She had bathed her in the sink, careful not to wet the cast.
She carried her over to Nonna, waiting in the overstuffed chair in the corner by the stove, but Annie would not release the hold on her neck. Sofie had never known a tyke to refuse Nonna's grandmotherly care. Maybe it was too much for the child to absorb another pair of arms, another lap.
"You sit." Nonna pushed herself up. "I'll cook."
An outsider might be appalled by a ninety-one-year-old woman giving up her seat, but Sofie obeyed, knowing Nonna chose to fill her remaining days in the same way she'd filled her others. While Annie became a limp weight on her chest, she watched Nonna boil macaroni, salt, and pepper and set it aside. She made a white sauce into which she dumped freshly shredded cheddar and farmer cheese, stirring until it pulled like shiny golden velvet from the spoon, then layered it all into a buttered baking dish and sprinkled the top with Parmesan, thyme, and rosemary.
Slowly, she slid it into the oven, then straightened and reached for her cane. "I'll rest now," she said and headed for the back door.
Sofie mouthed a thank-you as Annie pressed closer in her sleep, one hand clinging to the collar of her shirt. She rested her chin on the child's head and closed her eyes. Last night had been difficult, but Annie showed no dizziness or disorientation today. In her wordless way, she had communicated her needs.
Sofie kissed her soft, fair hair, then let the drowsiness overtake her. The next thing she knew, someone was touching her shoulder, and she opened her eyes to Matt.
"Hi." He smiled. "I didn't want to startle you."
"Hi," she whispered over Annie's head.
"Brought some things." He set a couple bags on the table. "Diapers. Snacks. What smells so good?"
She glanced toward the oven. "Mac and cheese. Nonna's."
He feigned a long Irish sigh. "Think she'd marry me?"
Sofie laughed—which woke Annie, who looked at Matt and started crying. Some men would back off, leave the crying tot to her, but he crouched down to render his height nonthreatening. "Hey, punkin. Got you some animal crackers. You like them?"
Sofie's stomach squeezed. They'd been Carly's favorite. She used to empty the box for her and lay the animals out in a line like a parade. She would name each creature and make its sound—inventing something for the rhino and giraffe. Then Carly would pop the cookie into her mouth with a smile of complete joy.
He pulled a box from the bag and made a production of opening it in front of her, unfolding the paper lining and pulling it apart. "What's in here?"