Echoes (41 page)
"All of them."
Naturally. He should have asked Chaz to pray. Maybe Chaz had. Maybe two out of three was the best anyone got, and for that much he was truly grateful. He didn't want to think how Sofie would be if Carly had been lost. That was the real answered prayer, but he hadn't prayed it. "Seems a little muddy."
Chaz sat back. "The enemy loves confusion, twisting a little bit of truth with a little bit of lie. The key is to search with the heart. Thoughts are too easily bent."
"Hearts can be pretty bent too."
Chaz spread his long fingers. "If you seek with true desire, mon, you will find what you need."
"I'm worried about Sofie."
Chaz fixed him with a penetrating gaze. "It is for Carly that we must fight."
Carly? She wouldn't let him within ten yards of her and by extension, Sofie. He'd been the one restraining her. He'd forced the issue on the roof. Or had she?
No. Eric was responsible for his own death. He'd been willing to take their lives, as well, to inflict pain on them for resisting his control. Matt clenched his fists. "He's still controlling them. But they can't see it. Or won't. And that makes me the bad guy."
"That stinks to high heaven, 'mano," Rico called from the bench.
Chaz said, "I promise, if you look, you will find your answers."
"I'm not even sure I know the questions." He straightened. "But I do know my being here is complicating things."
"The little girl wants somewhere to focus her anger."
"I'm a pretty big target."
"It is herself she blames. She would rather it were you."
He understood that too well. "It'll be better if I'm out of sight for a while."
"Better for whom?"
He shrugged. "All of us."
Rico sat up and toweled his neck but offered nothing beyond his succinct summation. It did stink, the stench of wasted life as foul as anything there was.
Matt wasn't sure where to start untangling his thoughts and emotions. If God had a role to play, he wanted to approach it reasonably, and reason fled in Sofie's presence. He'd fall to his knees and confess anything if it would break the hold Eric wielded from the grave.
He went into the bedroom for his suitcase, then told Chaz, "I stripped the bed. If you want me to wash the sheets . . ."
Chaz smiled. "We will wash the sheets, mon. It's Rico's turn."
Rico grunted from the floor, where he was doing one-handed pushups at an impressive rate.
"I'll just talk to Sofie, then. Let her know I'm taking off."
"I pray your flight will be uneventful."
"Yeah." He took that to mean the airline flight. Because he was not running away, only . . . what? Across the hall, he tapped the door.
Sofie opened it, her hair brushed and shining, her blouse crisp; an attempt at normalcy for Carly's sake, no doubt. The veneer failed at her eyes, hooded with weariness and weeping. What exactly was she mourning? A death? The chance to reunite? He wanted to ask but didn't. "How's Carly?"
"Overwhelmed with regret."
That had to go for both of them. "And you?"
She lifted a shoulder. "I'm thankful I can help her through this."
He searched her face. She had broken before, but now she had something to hold on to, and it seemed to be giving her strength. Throat tight, he nodded.
"It's what I came for, Matt. What I was made for."
If she believed that, there was less getting through than he'd thought. "Have you spoken with her grandma?"
"Very briefly. She's in a lot of pain." Her voice caught. "There's no way she can keep Carly right now."
"Then you're staying until she can?"
Sofie nodded. Otherwise she'd go into the system, and he was the first to admit how overextended and shaky some of the options were. Even a quality foster home would not provide the love Sofie lavished on her.
No question this was best for the child, at least in the short run. But Sofie? Back in the environment that had bred despair, with loss once again slicing her like a razor? What happened when it came time to let Carly go?
He released his breath. "I have to go back to work. I'm catching a flight this morning."
She showed as much relief as disappointment. If Carly blamed him completely, Sofie wasn't far behind. They'd both been thrown into a tailspin of guilt and regret, grasping for a scapegoat to ease their pain. He'd take all the blame if it freed them to live their lives. But it wasn't working that way.
He pressed back from the jamb. "Anything I can do before I go?"
Something flickered in her eyes that would have encouraged him days ago. Now he realized it was false hope. "No. Thank you, Matt."
He cradled her cheek, sank his fingers into her hair, aching for her to tell him to stay. But of course she didn't. He leaned in and kissed her mouth with pain deep inside. "I'm sorry. I wish things were different."
"I know." Tears sparkled in her eyes.
"Bye, Sofie."
She drew a jagged breath. "Good-bye, Matt."
Whether from Chaz's prayers or not, the flight back was uneventful, the following days at work, not. Cassinia had returned, and they had their hands full, compiling documentation to answer a suit Donald Price had filed for harassing his family.
It should have been dismissed outright, but Price had gotten to someone who'd pushed it far enough that it wasn't going away before they'd been seriously inconvenienced. And the department would think twice before interfering in that household again. Matt shook his head. Did bullies always win?
R
ese stared. She had furnished the four bedrooms in the house next door with two full-size iron beds in each to accommodate guests coming in for the ceremony. The other old-fashioned beds she'd acquired, some full and some single, had been lined up in the villa attic, dormitory style, and now—frighteningly—Mom had taken residence in one by the window.
Star giggled uncontrollably, having tugged her up to see. "It must remind her of the nuthouse."
Rese looked at her mother all tucked into the narrow bed. "It'll be a nuthouse when all the kids get up here."
Star twirled. "She'll think they're elves and pixies, come to play."
"And what will they think?"
Star leaned close and whispered, "Fairy godmother."
Rese crossed her arms. "You'll tell them that?"
"If they don't figure it out for themselves," she said, her eyes bright.
"Right. Well, I guess she can stay. She seems to like it better up here."
"And you can offer the Rose Trellis to Roman and Doria."
Rese laughed. "Good idea. Right next to Lance."
She looked once more at her mother, comfortably ensconced in the bed of her choice, then started down, with Star on her heels. The lower levels of the villa had always been planned to accommodate guests and wouldn't take much effort when the time came. The parlor held conversational groupings, the dining room having small tables they usually combined, but that would be angled separately along the walls for the reception.
Things were coming together. With Lance and Nonna planning the food they'd prepare when Lance's mother and sisters arrived to help, and Star taking charge of decorations and favors—without breathing a hint of what she intended to do—and Michelle and the church ladies lined up to serve, it seemed possible they'd pull it off. Sofie's studio would be open for dancing, both yards for mingling, and plenty of room for people to sit and indulge in Lance and Nonna's cooking.
Unbelievably, she found herself looking forward to it—even to seeing Lance's entire extended family. The neighbors wouldn't complain, because Lance had invited them as well—the nurses across the street, the financier, and whoever else had wandered by at one time or another. The only thing that seemed unresolved was Sofie, and it weighed on Lance with each passing day. It weighed on her too. Had she been wrong to insist he stay?
He came up behind and wrapped her in his arms. "Wow. You're burning enough wood in that skull to heat the West Coast."
Star giggled. "So that's the smoke curling up from your ears."
Rese dropped her head back against him. "Mom's moved to the attic."
"Okay."
"Your parents can have her room."
"Eek." He squeezed and released her. "While we're on that subject, I talked to Rico. He and Chaz want to play live in the garden." He looked over to where he'd hacked out the hedge and built a stone pond and fountain. "Maybe there."
Rese snorted. "Guess I know where you'll be."
"I might sit in for a set or two, but I'm not leaving my bride unattended among the New York contingent." He turned. "You want to sing, Star?"
She fixed her fingertips to her head. "He thinks 'I am easier to be played on than a pipe.' "
"So that means yes?" Lance's grin had a wicked tilt.
Rese cocked her head. "You're in an awfully good mood."
"I heard from Sofie," he told her, his expression softening. "She's coming back with Carly."
Rese released a long breath. "That's great."
"Yeah? Two more mouths."
"And you not moping and praying like a fiend."
"I wasn't moping."
She planted her hands on her hips. "Just try and deny the other part."
"I plead the fifth."
Rese smiled. "Uh-huh. Do you think Sofie'll mind sharing with Carly?"
"Not a bit," he said. "My family commingles with ease."
But she glimpsed a hint of concern still. "What is it?"
He shrugged. "She sounded a little wrung out is all."
"She must be."
"So we'll share the load, hmm?"
She raised her chin. "It's what we do."
His smile took over his face. "Yeah."
————
Three weeks. Matt leaned back from his desk and frowned. He'd given Sofie space after the first couple calls had left them both confused and frustrated. She'd written a thank-you card for the flowers he sent to the funeral, and while it might satisfy Emily Post, he would have preferred the live connection of a phone call.
He had no reason to expect it. Eric had not taken her physically from the world, but through his daughter, Carly, he'd taken her back under his control. Matt hooked his hands behind his head and wished he could forget as easily. How was it fair that he thought of her every day, missed her every day?
Worse still, the things she'd said seemed to have burrowed into his mind—or soul? She'd challenged his comfortable complacency, opened a faith door that drew him deeper and deeper with each glimpse. He might have worked into a semblance of faith in order to please her, to have her. What impetus could he claim now, except the need to know?
Though he kept his thoughts to himself, Cassinia looked at him as though his defection showed. As his reluctant conviction grew, she voiced her distaste for anything Christian as though she sensed the careful reading he was giving the New Testament he'd found in a used-book store. He had none of the radiant belief Chaz displayed, yet she must perceive something that put her on edge in a way she'd never been with him.
Or maybe she was simply dealing with her mother's death, not having made peace before the end as he'd hoped. She blamed him for blowing the Price case while she was gone, for bringing Annie to Sofie, for—The phone rang and he picked it up before realizing it was his cell. He got to that just before it went to voicemail. "Matt Hammond."
"Matt, this is Lance Michelli."
His heart thumped. "What's up?"
"Care to join us for dinner tonight?"
He could say he'd left something in the slow cooker, which he had, or had other plans, which he didn't. He could easily beg off, but he imagined the aromas, the ambience, the conversation—even if it would be without Sofie. "That sounds good."
Pathetic to hold on to whatever part of her he could get, especially if what she'd left him was her strange patchwork family. But something inside felt lighter. Might he hear something around their table that would finally dump him into his father's camp whether he wanted it or not? Maybe it had been an overreaction to throw it all out because one representative—or even many—had been such a poor example. Not even Lance claimed to be perfect.
"Good," Lance said. "Come hungry."
He had no idea. Or maybe he did. When Matt pulled up to the villa, the Road King was parked out front, gleaming like a temptress. The last time Matt had seen it, Lance had mentioned ripping his heart out.
From the steps behind the bike, Lance held out his keys. "The marsala's got a while yet."
Matt raised his brows. Baxter whined. Lance rubbed the dog's head, and Matt had the distinct impression he'd just been afforded a rare honor. Twenty minutes later he brought the bike to a growly stop, climbed off, and handed back the keys. "Sweet."
He didn't know why Lance had called, what the magnanimous gesture meant. They hadn't exactly become friends. He'd done his best for Sofie, but it hadn't worked out, and there'd been no reason for contact since, although the things Lance had said were stuck in his mind.
Truthfully it wasn't only the words, but the way they lived, loved, and worshiped. The way they spent themselves in serving God and one another. That was what he couldn't let go, even when his hurt and disappointment should have driven from him all faithful stirrings.
Lance eased the snoozing dog off his thigh and stood up. "I thought you should know Sofie's bringing Carly to live out here for a while."
For a moment he'd thought Lance was saying she was there. "She got custody?"
"The grandma's facing lengthy rehab and permanent disability. She and Sofie are sharing responsibility, but at least for now Sofie has Carly."
Against the odds, she'd gotten what she'd wanted. He wanted to cheer and cry and thank the God she'd trusted. But then he realized there was probably a long road ahead. "How are they?"
"Coping. Sofie's place and the grandma's both have difficult associations. We're hoping a neutral location might help." Lance spread his arms. "And good things have happened here."
"Is she looking for a miracle?"
"Maybe. The miracle of love and family. Whatever we can offer."
