One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) (21 page)

Margarida turned Sofia back toward her chair. “Don’t be silly. Of course you’re staying.” She walked to the refrigerator.

Sofia crossed her leg and hitched an eyebrow. “I’ll stay, but you have to promise you won’t get any ideas.”

“Ideas about what?” Margarida smiled as she put down a covered plate of cheese.

“Is the guy married or single?” Sofia didn’t try to hide the suspicion in her voice.

Margarida uncovered a small glass container with cold cuts. “I can’t remember.”

“Let’s assume he’s married so you don’t try to fix me on a date.”

Margarida looked up from her task and brought a hand up to her chest. “Who? Me? When was the last time I did that?”

“Do I need to jog your memory?” Sofia fixed her gaze on her friend. “The guy with the wife checklist and the marriage contract on the first date?” The memories of that particular outing brought a shudder to her.

Margarida arranged the slices of cheese and cold cuts on a platter and chuckled. “And he looked so normal too.”

Sofia stood and reached for a glass on the drying rack. “Just because we’re both Mormon, single, and over twenty-five doesn’t mean we should go out together.” She filled it with water and took a drink. “You should know that.”

Margarida laughed again. “I know. I’m sorry. But he seemed like such a nice guy.” She grabbed the baguette and began slicing through the rest of it. “I’m serious. Don’t worry. I won’t be setting you up with this guy.”

“Is he single, then?” Sofia asked.

Margarida nodded.

Sofia crossed her arms. “A returned missionary, and you’re not pushing to see us on a date?” She took a piece of cheese from the cutting board and bit on it. “What’s wrong with him?”

Margarida wiped her hands on the kitchen towel. “I wouldn’t say there’s anything wrong with him.” She paused. “I don’t know the whole story, but Paulo has mentioned that his friend has been through some hard times.”

“What kind—”

The noise of a key turning at the front door interrupted Sofia’s question. Margarida finished plating the bread and carried both platters to the dining room, then walked to the foyer to greet the men. Sofia walked behind her at a slower pace. A nervous feeling curbed her curiosity, and she didn’t wish to find the reason for it.

All kidding aside between her and Margarida, she didn’t usually look forward to the implications of meeting new guys, especially members of the church. In her experience, most single men in the church felt pressured to impress girls at first introductions, which inevitably created awkward circumstances. Sofia preferred to avoid uncomfortable situations whenever possible.

Men’s voices carried over as she approached the others. She paused near the door to the living room. Paulo introduced a tall guy to Margarida. He was broad shouldered, his hair dark and curling slightly over the back of his neck. A sense of familiarity caught Sofia by surprise, but she couldn’t pinpoint the cause. Margarida took the guy’s jacket and hung it in the foyer on the coat rack. The dark blue t-shirt he wore accentuated his back and narrow waist. He was trim and tan, with the healthy glow of those who spent time outdoors.

Margarida gestured toward her. “This is my friend Sofia.”

He turned with a smile on his face and his right hand extended. He had a full beard, trimmed and thick, the kind that takes a whole season to grow. How would he look clean shaven?

“Olá, como está?”
His deep voice spoke Portuguese in a heavy accent. Paulo ribbed him about it but he shrugged it off.

“Sofia, this is my friend Josh from California,” Paulo added.

Sofia stepped forward to shake his hand and looked up to meet his eyes, smiling in return. He took her hand in his, then froze. Sofia stopped for a moment as they regarded each other, eyes locked, breath halted, his large, long fingers holding her smaller, slender ones.

When realization came, his smile bloomed, and his eyes crinkled in the corners. He squeezed her hand, then shook it, and Sofia caught herself mimicking his expression and gesture. When he spoke, her own words trailed closely behind.

“Ana Sofia Monteiro.”

“Elder Conrad.”

Margarida and Paulo gasped, and Sofia slipped her fingers from his grasp, taking a step back. She looked away from him, unable to meet the boldness in the way he watched her.

“Wait. You two know each other?”

The incredulity in Paulo’s voice matched Sofia’s feelings. How was this possible? The missionary who had baptized her over eleven years ago stood in her best friend’s apartment.

Josh spoke first, his Portuguese gone for now. “Yes.” He passed a hand through his hair, then chuckled. “I met Sofia when I was a missionary in Famalicão.”

Margarida squeezed Sofia’s arm and gave her the look.

“Elder Conrad was the missionary who baptized me.” Sofia chanced a longer glance at him. The beard, the lack of suit and tie, the full hair and long sideburns were all incongruent with her memory of the last time she’d seen him. But his blue eyes—those she hadn’t forgotten. Her hand reached to finger the chain against her collarbone.

Josh shook his head. “Not Elder Conrad. It’s Josh.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Just call me Josh.”

Of course. Just Josh. He was no longer a missionary nor under the restriction of mission rules. The implications of his new situation flashed through her mind and she halted them. No use going in that direction.

Margarida gestured to the sofa. She sat and Paulo took a place next to her. Sofia sat on the other side, across from Josh. She crossed her legs and cupped her chin, resting her elbow on the armrest, still unsure of what to say.

Margarida glanced between Sofia and Josh, then stood. “I forgot the napkins.” She pushed the tray towards Josh. “Please, help yourself.” When she put a hand on Sofia’s shoulder, Sofia startled.

“Come help me.”

Sofia sprang from her seat and trailed Margarida, happy for a reason to leave the room momentarily.

***

After Sofia left the room with her friend, Josh leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Wow.”

Paulo looked at him. “I can see you haven’t lost your special touch with words.”

“I didn’t expect to see
her
.” Josh gestured towards the way the women had left.

“Yes, I can tell. And you clearly remember her.”

Josh cut a glance at Paulo’s tone. “How could I not? We taught her for over three months.” He leaned back in the sofa chair. “Wow.”

Paulo fixed a smile. “Yeah, you already said that. Who was your companion?”

“Elder Smith, the red-haired one, when we first knocked on her door. Then Elder Noble.” He crossed his leg and rested his ankle on his knee. “I baptized her and he did the confirmation.”

Through the open door, the voices of Sofia and Paulo’s wife carried over, speaking rapidly. His Portuguese was still too rusty to understand everything they said at that speed. Was she as shocked at their meeting? Of all the people he had planned to see and the ones he might have encountered, Sofia Monteiro was not one of them.

He hadn’t liked Famalicão. It had been cold and rainy for the whole four months he had spent there, and people had never kept their appointments. The local branch had struggled with leadership and Josh’s patience had been tested to the limit during his time there. Except for Sofia. She had been the bright light in all those dreary weeks. Teaching her had been one of the best experiences of his mission.

Paulo’s wife entered the room with a tray in her hands, a stack of napkins, a sugar bowl, and four cups on it. Sofia carried a teapot. They set them on the coffee table. Sofia filled a cup and placed it in front of Josh, all the while with a soft smile on her lips, and her eyes divided between her friend and Paulo. When she lifted her eyes to Josh, he was there, waiting, attempting to reconcile the Sofia he used to know with the one in front of him.

She’d been an attractive girl at seventeen. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed. Of course he’d noticed. He was a guy first, then a missionary. An obedient, rule-abiding missionary who followed the mission guidelines and was never tempted to do otherwise. And a twenty-year-old guy who noted pretty girls, even if he couldn’t ask for their phone numbers, let alone invite them out on a date.

The Sofia in front of him had grown into a prettier woman. Not the stop-a-guy-in-his-tracks kind of pretty, but the kind of pretty that caught him by surprise at the second and third looks. Her gentle features and large brown eyes stole at him, willing something inside he hadn’t felt in a long time. His gaze kept straying in her direction and once or twice she blushed when their eyes met.

The cry of a baby reached them from the hallway somewhere.

Margarida rose. “It’s Amélia. I’ll be right back.”

When Sofia motioned to follow her, Margarida stopped her. A few moments later, she called out for Paulo and he excused himself.

Sofia fidgeted with the hands on her lap, then looked down the hall. “She still wakes up a lot during the night.” She leaned forward and crossed her legs. “I mean, the baby. Amélia.”

She talked fast like most Portuguese did. Her anxiety brought a slight smile to his lips. It was some kind of consolation to know the encounter had rattled her as much as it had him. “How old is she now?” He didn’t want Sofia to think he smiled on account of her nervousness.

“Almost a year, and she’s adorable.” Her hands relaxed and her posture lost the straight edge on her shoulders. “Have you met her?” She smiled.

“I only saw her when Paulo sent a birth announcement. She probably looks a little different.”

At Sofia’s chuckle, Josh was relieved to get the reaction he had expected at the observation he made.

“Yes, she does look a little different.” She flicked the end of a braid over her shoulder. Her hand touched a few curls around her face, and she smoothed them down. He remembered her with short, curly hair, sometimes held back with a thin headband or little barrettes to one side.

Paulo’s and his wife’s voices comforted the baby. Outside, the rain washed against the windows less strongly than it had during the day. On the opposite wall, an acrylic painting of the Madrid temple took center stage in the room under a modest row of gallery light bulbs. His eyes came back to rest on Sofia.

“How have you been, Sofia?” Josh looked straight at her, unable to tame the shock of meeting her again in this fashion.

She shifted in her seat, then returned the look, no longer as timid as before. “I’ve been well, thank you.” Her reply in English came with the slight British accent he recalled. “And you?” After her question, she laughed a little and shook her head. “Sorry, but this is just—It’s caught me by surprise.” She leaned back and crossed her ankles. “I’m…a little bit flabbergasted, you could say.”

Her honest confession was the kind of straightforward conversation he appreciated. “I know what you mean. I’m totally shocked as well.” He couldn’t take his eyes from her. “It’s been eleven years.”

“Eleven and half, actually.”

“And do you live in Braga now or are you still in Famalicão?” Josh had never been able to say the name of the town like the locals did, and after all these years he was sure he still butchered the pronunciation.

Sofia pushed the platter of bread and cold meats towards him and he took a slice of bread, then bit the corner.

“I came to Braga after high school.” She placed a piece of cheese on a napkin and held it in her hand while she talked. “I was accepted to the Universidade do Minho, and it made more sense to stay here.”

“What was your major?” Josh took a slice of meat on a toothpick.

“Portuguese and English teaching. And you? I mean, what do you do?”

“I’m a freelance photographer.”

At his answer, Sofia sat up and leaned forward in his direction. “You’re a photographer? Were you downtown yesterday in the afternoon?”

Josh tilted his head. “Yes, I was.”

“I think I passed by you on my way to the parking garage. Did you have this black waterproof thingy over your camera?” Sofia’s hands spread apart to convey the size.

He smiled. “The rain sleeve. It protects the camera and lens when it’s raining.”

“And you wore a blue rain jacket?” He nodded and Sofia smiled. “I wouldn’t have recognized you.” She touched her chin. “The
beard
. It makes you look so different.”

Josh passed a hand along his jaw line. When was the last time he’d shaved his face clean? “It suits the life I lead.” That sounded presumptuous. “Easier to maintain than shaving every morning when I’m traveling,” he added. His mind flickered to the time in his life when going without shaving had become part of the rebellion. Now it was just part of him.

Paulo entered the room, followed by his wife, who carried the baby propped up. Large brown eyes cast a glance around the room. The baby’s cheeks were flushed. She whimpered and made a face when she saw him. Sofia rose and approached them, cooing in Portuguese and smiling at the baby, distracting her from Josh. When Paulo walked to the kitchen, Josh followed.

“Sorry, man. Amélia’s not feeling too well.” He opened a cabinet and drew out a baby bottle, then reached for a container of bottled water and filled it.