Echoes (24 page)
"Thanks. And for you."
He thought over his day: a runaway who believed the streets treated him better than the kids in his private school, the five-month-old who'd been transferred to a permanent coma facility, the ongoing mess with the Price children, whom the police had removed again. Cassinia was on leave for a family emergency, and since he'd handled the rough part last time, it had fallen to him again. After all that, he should have expected to run into Sofie, but he hadn't, and so hadn't steeled himself.
"Yeah. So . . . maybe another time."
She settled the alternate choice into the crook of her arm. "Thanks again for the advice."
He stepped aside to let her pass, then moved into the wine shelves himself. If his mind would clear he could make the decision quickly. As it was, he stood there dumbfounded by the task.
Sybil rounded the far end of his short aisle. "Are you choosing white or red?"
He watched her slinky approach. There was something to be said for uncomplicated. He should get sloppy drunk and fulfill her every wish. "White."
She smiled. "Dry?"
He reached into the shelf and grabbed a vintage he could count on to be generally accepted.
"Hmm." She tilted her head. "I'll bring something more robust."
"Good. I'll see you soon."
Maybe Sofie had gone already. Maybe she'd still be in line. He didn't know which to hope for. No, that was a lie. The second definitely, just to see her a little longer. She'd been unequivocal, though polite, in her refusal, so there was no risk in looking. But she'd either come only for champagne or was somewhere else in the store. Did he have time for a search? Maybe some slivers under his fingernails while he was at it? He paid for his groceries and left.
Sofie drove home with a stone in her heart. She hadn't realized how much hope she had packed into the possibility of a new relationship. Someone like Matt, whose warm brown eyes welled with appreciation without that other aspect lurking behind, wanting more than she could give, wanting . . . more.
She carried the champagne to the carriage house and down the rebuilt stairs to where everyone waited. What she had envisioned, they had created. It was no longer a smuggler's cave but a dancer's dream. Lance opened the champagne and poured flutes for them all.
Sofie raised hers. "For the talent, heart, and effort that went into this, my thanks." She met Rese and Lance's eyes, Nonna's and Star's and Elaine's. "For your love and not saying I'm totally foolish, my deepest gratitude."
"Salute." Lance raised his glass.
"Salute!" Their voices rang.
She wrapped an arm around Nonna's shoulders and whispered, "Grazie."
"For what?"
"Everything."
"Oh, that." The old woman laughed. "It's nothing."
The weight that had descended in her encounter with Matt peeled away. She couldn't change what he thought of her, but knew condemnation for what it was. She looked around the room. In fact, it illuminated her true friends.
H
ow could seeing her for three minutes so totally dominate everything? He kept thinking of things he could have said, questions he didn't ask. He kept seeing the look in her eyes when he'd invited her over. Right. She'd love to come be insulted again. He turned as Becca handed him a piece of cake.
"Here you go, gloomy-face."
"Thanks, Bec." He took the cake. "Where's Ryan?"
"He told me to find out what's wrong with you."
"That's funny, Ryan worrying about me."
"It's the new improved Ryan."
"Right." Since Sofie had gotten the sparring partners to talk, it seemed Becca hadn't been as through as she'd claimed. He had taken her at her word and tried to get Ryan to save what dignity he had. Instead Ryan had made a complete fool of himself and earned another chance. Go figure.
Not as good at fixing lives and relationships as he was busting up families that didn't work. "Say, Bec. What was it Sofie said to you that day Ryan hijacked the cherry picker?"
She tipped her head to the side, thinking. "Only that Ryan was original, and I'd have a great story to tell. I figured at least life wouldn't be boring."
Matt smiled. Sofie had seen the outrageous behavior as clever. Maybe she valued that kind of thing, or else she guessed Becca might. He would have sympathized with her righteous anger and demanded Ryan leave. Sofie had seen the alternate route.
"So what's eating you, Matt?"
Ryan joined them but didn't enter the conversation.
"Nothing. I ran into someone."
"In your car?"
"No, Becca. Not literally." Though it felt like it. "Just saw someone who . . ." he'd ruined his chances with. "It's no big deal."
"It was Sofie Michelli." Her eyes drilled into him.
He crossed his arms. "Why would you think that?"
"Am I right?"
"Who's Sofie Michelli?" Ryan looked from one to the other.
"I said hi to her in the store—that's all."
"You should have invited her."
"Who is she?" Ryan butted like a fly against their interchange.
"I did." Matt shrugged. "She had something else going."
Becca cocked her head. "Oh yeah?"
"She's opening a dance studio."
"Really? Cool." Becca hooked her arm through Ryan's. "We'll take something. Salsa, maybe."
Right. Malibu Barbie and Ken dancing salsa.
"You should too, Matt. Help her get going. It's not easy starting a business."
"I know how to dance. Learned in charm school." It had been all but required to move in the circles he had navigated for a while.
"Bet you didn't learn it all."
"No, just enough." He turned. "Hey, Domino, have enough steak?"
His square-built buddy had never met a cut of beef he didn't love. Running into him was like hitting a brick wall in their pickup football games, but if you could topple him, he fell flat on his back, and you didn't want to be under him when he landed.
Sybil slid past Domino and curled her fingers into the crook of Matt's arm. "Hi."
"Want some cake?" He held out the plate he hadn't touched.
"Can I eat it too?"
Becca tugged Ryan away. Smart. He gently extricated his arm. "Excuse me. I need to let in some air."
Every three months or so they got together, and even when he hosted, Becca usurped the entertainment portion of the evening. As he opened windows, she began arranging teams for the Cranium game she was crazy about that mostly drove him crazy. She'd understand.
He slipped out the door. After striding less than a block, he hooked back around and got into his car. He didn't want to end up there on foot in the middle of the night. Again.
He parked along the curb in front of the villa, then stood outside the gate before glimpsing her in the glass-fronted carriage house. The night smelled faintly of mist and the wet leaves sloshing under his feet as he walked the length of the iron fence to the driveway and turned in. By the look on her face when she answered his knock, it could be a short conversation.
"The time in the store wasn't enough to totally ruin your day, so I thought I'd—"
"Finish the job?" She stepped out and pulled the door to the frame without letting go of the knob behind her.
"There I was in the middle of my party, eleven people in my house, and I just walked out."
"How long before they notice?" she asked, raising her brows.
He laughed. "Right away, I'm sure. Becca was dividing the crew into teams for Cranium. Have you played?"
She shook her head.
"Sort of a charades–Trivial Pursuit amalgamation."
"You don't like to play games?"
"Only when there's something to hit, catch, or tackle."
"Which of those did you plan to do here?"
He dropped his chin. "I deserved that." He cocked his gaze back up. "Any chance we could start over?"
"That doesn't really happen in my experience. Forgive and forget isn't as realistic as forgive and remember."
"Probably healthier," he agreed. "Keeps you from making the same mistakes."
"To a degree. Which parts were you hoping to erase?"
"Anything that's upset you, everything that's hurt you, and the rest of whatever's made you mad."
"Wow. Doesn't leave much."
Her wit had a bite. "I could fill in the gaps."
"Why?"
"Because . . ." He pressed his palm to the jamb, leaned and studied her. "I'd like to show you I'm not always a jerk."
"I don't think you are."
"Really?"
"Really. I think you're warm and caring and good at what you do. I'm sure your friends are disappointed you've ditched them."
"They'll proceed without me. Ryan and Becca have reconciled, by the way, thanks to your pep talk."
A smile flickered on her lips. "There still seemed a lot of effort on both their parts—hers to prove she didn't care, his to prove he did. So much energy must count for something."
"I should have noticed the lack of apathy."
Another flicker of a smile. "You take things at face value. If Becca says she's through, she's through."
"What I really want to know is . . . are we?" He swallowed the knot in his throat.
"That depends." She raised her chin and searched his face. "What is it in me that you can't tolerate?"
His breath made a hard escape, and with it the candid answer. "You made me think of something." Of the times people had hinted, warned, begged. "How she always made excuses."
"I'm sorry?"
"People told her things were going south with us boys, but she always made excuses for him. 'He's not like that' was her favorite."
"Your mother?"
He nodded. "She wanted to be like the other church ladies, with a solid husband, a happy family, everything right and proper in God's view. She submitted and supported him in everything."
Sofie listened with her luminous eyes fixed on him.
"She was proud of him." His voice ran over the gravel in his throat. "Right up to the day Jacky walked in front of a train. Even afterward she made excuses. I live with the guilt of what I said that day, but I was just a kid. She was his mother."
He clenched his hands, his big hands.
"Matt's just like him.
He'll be fine."
Pain streaked down his neck, his spine, lodged in his lower lumbar region. "She still calls it a tragic accident."
Sofie clicked the door all the way shut. "Come into the main house for some tea. The others are over there already. I was just turning off the lights."
In other words she didn't want to be alone with him. But she brushed his hand with her fingers in passing.
He opened reflexively, wanting to capture her hand, to trap and imprison it. Instead he followed her to the main house. Music washed out when she opened the kitchen door; a male and female voice, and a guitar played exceptionally well. It came from the front room, and there was laughter intermixed. He wouldn't mind joining them if it meant he got to stay, though Sofie made no move to leave the kitchen.
She poured him a cup of tea. "Milk?"
He shook his head.
She got herself a cup, too, brought them over and sat down at the table. He sat down diagonally from her. The room smelled of herbs and laughter, and another song began in the parlor, a very complicated picking on the guitar that made his high-school strumming seem babyish. "Who's that playing?"
"Lance. But you don't like to talk about him."
"He's really good, isn't he?"
"I told you that. If he hadn't quit the band they'd be on their way up. I'm not sure Rico will ever forgive him for that."
"What did he do instead?"
"He joined the Peace Corps."
Matt laughed. "A man of contrasts."
"Like you."
"No. I'm pretty much what you see." Then why did Cassinia call him a tough guy and Sybil call him a softy? Why did he work so hard to mask the man he'd worked so hard to be? He stared into his tea.
Sofie sipped, then set her cup down. "You think I'm like your mother."
"No." She'd jolted him out of his introspection. "You're nothing like her. She's . . . bland."
Sofie tipped her head. "Then why—"
"I'm afraid you'd let me be like him."
"What?" It came out on a breath. "You can't be serious."
"I am." He sat back and crossed his arms. "You look at pictures of us, I could be a carbon copy. In the courtroom, I could make a witness cower. I like being in control, going into bad situations and taking charge."
"You do it to help those who can't help themselves."
"Dad thinks he does the same." He clenched his jaw. "He doesn't tolerate weakness and stupidity. Neither do I."
"You don't tolerate cruelty either." Her liquid gaze washed over him.
He took her hands. "I'm sorry I hurt you."
"I've already forgiven you."
"Before I apologized?"
She nodded. "I don't harbor grudges. It only makes the wound grow deep."
He tightened his hold. "I'd still prefer you forgot all the bonehead things I've said and let me start over. I want to get to know you, spend time with you—watch movies, play games, take walks, whatever you like to do."
"That's all?"
"I'd like badly to kiss you."
One corner of her mouth drew up. "Not to be confused with kissing me badly."
He laughed. "I hope not. I'm pretty rusty though."
"Didn't feel rusty to me."
"I can do better. With practice." Drawn by her incredible mystique, he leaned in, then drew back as Rese Barrett came into the room.
She stopped short. "Oh. I didn't know anyone was here."
Sofie shrugged. "Seems to be where people linger. What is it about this kitchen?"
"Memories." Rese folded her arms.
Sofie breathed deeply. "Is it the same in all the places you renovate?"
"Some more than others."
Matt looked up. "Ever find one haunted?"
She frowned. "Only Sofie's studio."
"The bat cave?"
"Bat cave?"
"Matt's name for it." Sofie laughed. "Doesn't fit anymore. It's fun and elegant and light now." She turned to him. "Lance even excavated an outdoor entrance."
