Pandora's Box (66 page)

He tried to shoo away the sadness that had crept into the room. “You’re not going to die anytime soon. Tomorrow you’ll be twenty-seven, and there are so many great things you’ve done at such a young age, my love.”

And that is the problem.
Her crestfallen look made his heart shrink in his chest. “I don’t believe in coincidences, Alistair Connor. There is an obvious presence of motivation in the way life… or God, if you wish, brings things into our lives. Sometimes, I have difficulty in defining its true nature. I guess on my grave, it would be written: ‘
Here lies a young PhD that spoke six languages and spent her years studying and working
.’ Or ‘
Here lies a great philanthropist’
. They all sound to me like:
‘Here lies a poor rich woman.
’” She chewed her lip trying to contain her dismay inside. But she babbled the next words, “I wanted something silly and warm, like, ‘
Here lies a beloved wife and gentle mother that will be missed
.’ Something significantly normal. Something everyone had and I could have had too, but I was so afraid that I had snubbed it. And I decided then and there, that if I survived that… nightmare, I would want nothing more. Or better, I would want something more. I want to continue with my work at the Foundation but… Can you understand what I am trying to say?”

“Aye,
mo gràdh,
I can.” He swallowed his own melancholia and said firmly, “You’re not quitting, Sophia. You’re redirecting your efforts to other places. Suffice to admit that you long to savor the flavor of different slices of life. Don’t make this such a big thing. Everyone will understand if you choose to drop some of your responsibilities. Momentarily. Or forever. Just one. Or everything.”

I didn’t look at it from this angle.
“I’ll continue working as a lawyer, but only on the Foundation.”

“It’s already a big commitment, Beauty.”

“Alistair Connor,” she sighed and dipped her hands in his hair, “I don’t want to be a fake and I don’t want to be perfect. But I can’t be this huge flaw.”

Oh, my sweetheart. You have never been a fake or a flaw. And in the end, all of us are hiding something or pretending to be something that we aren’t to protect ourselves.
He cupped her face in his hands and looked deep into her begging eyes. “Sophia, give yourself time. You have been through too much. You’re perfect just the way you are, with your qualities and defects. This is what I love in you. This is what each and every one who loves you, respect in you. You need a break? All you have to do, Sophia, is say it. Life is such an ephemeral yet strong happening, that we have to approach it with zero expectation and whatever it gives us in exchange for our time here, we have to make out of it our happily ever after, because death, its partner in crime, will someday come to collect her share. You know you have an army by your side to command. I’ll help you in whatever you want, all right?”

She nodded.

“All right?” he asked again, demanding to hear her answer out loud.

Bobbing her head, she breathed, “Yes.”

“Good. Don’t worry about this anymore. Talk with Leo tomorrow and I’m sure he’ll help you settle everything in Cambridge. I want to see you smiling. It’s your birthday and Easter. It’s a time for happiness, rebirth and renewing.”

“Thank you,
meu amor,”
she breathed on his lips. “I must be an annoying wife, complaining all the time.”

“You don’t have to thank me. And you’re never annoying. Period.” He searched his mind for a subject that would distract her. A smile opened on his face when he asked, “Are fathers welcome in the delivery room?”

“Yes,” she smiled back at him. “If you don’t faint at the smell of charred meat and blood, you are more than welcome. In fact, I’d love you to be there.”

What the fuck?
Alistair’s eyes widened. “Charred meat?”

She rolled on her back, showing him a very faint scar he had never noticed. “Gabriela’s cesarean. I still remember the smell when they started cutting me—”

“I don’t want to see you being cut,” he shook his head, propping himself on his forearm, his finger tracing the scar. “Why don’t you go for a normal birth?”

“Because I don’t want to go through what happened with Gabriela again. Hours in a gnarling pain to hear that I was weak and squeamish. I went to the hospital twice, but my ob-gyn wouldn’t admit me because I had no dilatation, in spite of the painful contractions. On the second time, Gabriel paid for a suite and called a friend of ours. Shocked, he rushed me into an emergency cesarean. I’d be one of those mothers who would die giving birth in past centuries. I had a lot of expectations about having not just a normal birth, but maybe even a natural one. There’s a lot of literature and pressure about how it’s up to the mother to have a natural birth. You’re a failure if you’re given pain relief or if you didn’t have this wonderful natural birth at home,” she said sarcastically. “Gabriela and I needed medical intervention for the sake of our health. Women shouldn’t come out of their birth experience feeling traumatized or violated. What makes me mad is the hypocrisy and the conspiracy of silence between women, even female doctors, not to tell about the experience so the mothers can’t change their minds before it. Natural birth can only be a wonderful experience if it’s healthily experienced.”

“Did he kill him?” he rasped.

Sophia looked at him, surprised, “Did who kill who?”

“Did Gabriel kill your obstetrician?”

“Her, not him.” She smiled. “And yes, almost. But he was more worried about Gabriela and me.”

He was looking at her seriously, his eyes worried. “What does John think of this?”

“Oh, John is open-minded, and knows that often you don’t have any control and that it’s important not to feel that it has anything to do with you, ultimately. This will be a dream birth, only it won’t be a normal or natural birth. Besides, my body is my body, end of story.”

“Ah-ah. Nae, Marchioness,” he contradicted her, settling himself between her tights. “I have to disagree with that. Your body is mine. You’re mine. End of story.”

She grinned at him. “Thanks for reminding me of this, Lord Possessive.”

Leibowitz Oil Building.

Wednesday, May 11
^th
, 2011.

5.03 p.m.

“Who am I supposed to do all my daily bantering with now, love?” Edward teasingly pouted at Sophia.

She smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I’m still Head-teaser, boss. Just not the head of the legal department. For a couple of days per week, you’ll find me in my same office across the hall; I’d be still on the board but I’ll be just more focused on the Foundation’s work.”

“Only two days’ work and with the same income? That’s not right,” he teased.

“After my maternity leave, you’ll be seeing more of me.”

“I will take this into consideration.” Then not being able to avoid it, Edward pulled her into his embrace, something he had been wanting to do since he had visited her last time at Craigdale and seen with his own eyes how she was recovering. With a hoarse, moved voice, he said, “Oh, Sophia. I couldn’t believe when MacCraig called me… I think I never prayed so much in my life. More than anything, love, you know that you’re my dear, dear friend.”

Alistair knew Edward had also greatly felt Sophia’s kidnapping but hadn’t imagined how much. The blond man had always kept himself in check during all his visits to the hospital and Craigdale. He had always been cheerful and never said a word about what had happened.

“I know, Edward. You are a great friend too,” she hugged him back, with her eyes full of tears.

“Davidoff!” Alistair exclaimed. “You’re going to make my wife cry.”

“God forbid,” Edward stepped back, his hands still on Sophia’s shoulders and she could see his lashes were wet.

She laughed, tearfully. “I guess
I
made
him
cry, Husband.”

“Well, love, so far, you and my mother are the only women who can do it,” he smiled at her. Clearing his throat, he turned to Alistair, and ordered, “You, MacCraig, take care of her.”

Alistair, leaning against the window, just crossed his arms over his chest, with a smile. “I will.”

“I know,” Edward smiled back and sat on the sofa, crossing his legs. He patted the place beside him for Sophia. “So, would you like to tell me the real reason behind this visit?”

“Well, Edward, you know better than I do, that you English have strange traditions.” Sophia perched on the edge of the sofa, looking at her old friend, with a curl on her lips.

He rolled his eyes at her but said nothing.

“I have never heard of three godparents for just one baby.” Sophia’s lips opened up in a grin when Edward’s eyes widened; first with incredulity, then with joy. She flicked her wrist in the air, motioning to Alistair and back to herself. “We would like you to be one of the godfathers of this little warrior.

“You’re christening him in the English church?!” It didn’t make sense to Edward.

“No, my dear,” she laughed at his confusion. “In fact, this baby boy is going to have four god-parents. We are having an ecumenic Christening. Tavish Uilleam and Valentina are going to be the godparents for the Scottish Church. For the brit-milah, I chose Gabriela and as you is Jewish, if you accept, of course, I’d like to pair you with her.”

“If I accept?!” He pulled her in a tender embrace and looked over his shoulder to Alistair. “Sophia, MacCraig, thank you. I’ll be more than honored.”

Cambridge, Faculty of Law, In one of the auditoriums.

Wednesday, June 15
^th
, 2011.

1.34 p.m.

Sophia still blushed while talking with Alistair about sex, but she was in her comfort zone in the auditorium, talking about pedophilia, sadism, masochism, rape, and verbal, physical and psychological violence against women and children.

She explained the possible modern approaches to identifying the victims, curbing the occurrence of these crimes and the re-insertion of offenders back into society. Her gestures and the richness of her voice showed her enthusiasm and passion on the subject of her dissertation. What could have been a gruesome topic, breathed and glowed with hope.

Watching Sophia, Alistair felt proud and aghast in equal measure. He glanced around. The auditorium was full of her students, teachers, colleagues, friends and even journalists.

She was not authoritative or professorial but convincing and engaging. In a sea of men and women wearing somber tailored suits, Sophia was pure youth and vibration in a silk orange blouse with cap sleeves and black flowing trousers that softened her professional attitude. Her belly was already showing but the loose clothes were elegant and classy. She had found her place in the Cambridge Socio-Legal Group after Leonard and Professor Holbrook introduced her to the Chair.

When Sophia finished her presentation, there was a stunned silence before the room exploded into applause.

In the next hour a lively debate ensued, which reflected on different areas from law, psychology, sociology to health studies.

Her colleagues, students and other guests slowly vacated the auditorium until only Alistair, Lachlann and Leonard remained.

“Sophia’s approach is so captivating that I’m sure she has gained a few volunteers to her foundation today,” said Lachlann to Alistair as they climbed up to the stage where she had just closed her folder.

“And many fans,” Leonard provoked.

But Alistair surprised him with a big smile as he put his arms around her from behind, kissing the top of her head. “That goes without saying, Leo.”

It was then that he felt a little thump against his hands. When Sophia’s belly softly and noticeably undulated under his hands, his heart stopped beating for a second to rush to a galloping pace in his chest and he gasped out loud.

Sophia craned her head back with a huge smile on her face as he splayed both hands over her belly continuing to feel the little movements, puzzled with how it was even possible to be filled with such a marvel wonder.

“Sophia,” he couldn’t do more than whisper her name in fascination, as the baby moved again demanding his attention.

She put her hands over his and breathed, “Our little warrior is saying hello to his Highland Daddy.”

Atwood House, In the Family Room.

Thursday, November 17
^th
, 2011.

2.57 p.m.

“This baby is as stubborn as his mom,” Alistair told Tavish as he watched Sophia rubbing her belly and putting another cushion behind her back, looking for a more comfortable position, as she chatted with Carolina and Alice. “The scan last Monday showed he simply refuses to take position. And, God, she is so… so…”

“Big?” Tavish smiled when his brother bobbed his head without taking his eyes off her. “Are you worried?”

“Maybe a little concerned,” he replied, noncommittally, pushing off from his forehead a lock of his ink-black hair.

When Tavish’s rich laughter sounded in the room, calling the women’s attention, Alistair shot him an annoyed look.

“John has everything ready for the C-section on Monday if nothing happens until then. I’ve come to terms with the fact that this tiny wee baby is part of her, and me, of course—” 

“You should,” Tavish interrupted. “Considering the not so tiny wee baby is—”

But Alistair continued from where he was interrupted, not even realizing he didn’t sound like a sane man at all. “
And
that he’ll do whatever suits his fancy and won’t budge whatever I do or how much I beg. But I will convince him.”

“Oh, man.” Tavish slapped his thigh. “You’re afraid.” 

Afraid?
“I’m scared,” he hissed to his brother. “To death. To make it worse she has never been so calm. Or should I say careless? I found her playing ball with the twins and Gabriela in the back garden yesterday. Last Wednesday, out of the blue, she realized she had a hundred million things she still had to do and disappeared the whole day with Manuela, the baby’s nanny, and Steven. Without taking Zareb. Then, on the weekend, she decided to dedicate herself to some
redistribution
of the furniture. After almost a million disagreements, all of which she won, of course, Steven, Zareb and I finally managed to rearrange the reception room according to her whims. She even asked us to move the grand piano to the other side of the room and then thought it was better where it was before.”