Sophie's Path (17 page)

He put his latte in the microwave before finding a napkin and straw for Sophie.

He heard her cooing as she talked to Frenchie. Then he heard her return to the reception area. Funny, it warmed him in some odd way to know that she and
his
dog were so...loving.

When he stepped out of the break room she was sitting. Gazing out the window.

The light on her face made her look like a Renaissance master's painting. He tripped on the carpet.

“Oops!” He spilled the top fourth of tea on the floor.

Jack handed her the glass and then bent down and used the napkin to sop up the tea.

“Here, let me help, Jack,” Sophie said, touching his shoulder.

He could feel her warm hand through his shirt. He remembered that hand as she'd cleaned his wounds. Wiped his brow. Held his hand in the ER. He hadn't known who she was. He was nothing to her then. A number. A victim. A patient.

But she'd treated him as if he were the only human in the world worthy of her time and care. It had been her voice he'd clung to when trying to find consciousness in the sea of pain.

He should thank her. Deep down, he was grateful. He owed her. She'd been patient with him since the accident, even if they disagreed. But his guilt would always keep them apart.

Still, she had been good to him. Great, even.

He put his hand on her knee. “Sophie—”

“Hey, Sophie! You're here!” Katia exclaimed. She turned to say her goodbyes to a man and woman who disappeared down the stairs, then headed toward the waiting area. “Jack? What are you doing?”

“Tea. I spilled the tea,” he muttered getting to his feet.

Katia's smile was suffused with curiosity. “Okay. Need any more help?”

“No.” He gave the carpet one more dab. “I think I got it.”

Katia clasped her hands together. “I just need to get my purse and we can go, Sophie.”

“That's great,” she said as Katia went back to her office.

Sophie looked at Jack. “Do you have a paper cup I could put the tea in to take with me? I don't want to waste it, though I wouldn't mind stealing this pretty glass.”

“Uh, sure. I'll get it for you.”

She stood. They were very close.

She smelled like roses and freesia and vanilla. Orchids. Rare, precious flowers. His blood pounded in his ears.

“I don't mind doing the pouring, Jack. And I saw where the break room was. I know you have work to do.”

“Yes. Work.”

He watched her walk to the back of the office, her skirt swinging ever-so-slightly, the muscles in her calves moving rhythmically. He liked her walk even more than he liked the sight of her running. Her hair swayed in a curtain and he marveled at how natural she looked. She was all woman.

He continued to watch, turning to the window, after Katia and Sophie said goodbye to him and left. They got into Austin's 1958 Mercedes convertible, white with a dark-brown leather interior. Jack remembered signing the insurance policy on it. It was one of the few Austin paid for road usage. He'd wanted Katia to have a “fun” car.

As they drove north, Katia's auburn hair blowing in the wind and Sophie's thick, dark brown waves lifting off her shoulders, Jack felt weak in the knees. Katia was bonding with Sophie. They were becoming friends.

Jack wanted to become Sophie's friend, as well.

With the recent disclosures Jack had heard about Benedictine and the Indian Lake Hospital, he now understood why Emory was making such a fuss about his rules and policies. He was seeking every loophole and excuse to fire employees. And he was doing it to save his own butt.

Jack wondered if Sophie knew how thin the ice was under her feet.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

S
OPHIE
SAT
IN
Dr. Caldwell's office, looking out at the church spires of Indian Lake. He was talking to one of his surgeons on the phone, though she wasn't paying attention to their conversation. She'd been summoned to his office and all she could think about was why.

Sophie was well aware that her performance had been slipping over the past weeks, and before news of it could get to the top echelons of the hospital, Doctor Caldwell had stepped in.

She hadn't felt this remorseful since third grade, when she'd been caught stealing Andrea Wilson's mittens. Sophie had hated the cheap, plain black mittens her mother had bought her at a discount store. Andrea was an only child of wealthy-enough parents that she had a different pair of mittens for each of her four winter coats: a pink parka, a purple wool coat, a long red coat with a black velvet collar and cuffs and a white rabbit fur jacket with a hood.

When Sister Mary Rose asked Sophie why she'd taken the mittens, Sophie hadn't understood the nun's reasoning. To her mind, Andrea had plenty. Why shouldn't she share her things for a while? Sophie didn't want the mittens forever. Just through the rest of the winter.

When Sophie's mother found out about the incident, she forbade her from eating any sweets for two months. Sophie often wondered if that long-ago punishment was the reason she craved sugar when she was depressed or feeling angry, sad or guilty.

“Sophie, you know that Doctor Barzonni and I value you very much. That's why it distresses me that we have to have this conversation.”

Sophie put up her hand and shook her head. “You don't have to say any more. I know exactly what's wrong. And I will correct it.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows and sat back. “Then enlighten me because I haven't the foggiest.”

“I've been working too many volunteer hours. Believe me, Doctor Caldwell, it's not my job here. I'm not stressed in the least.”

“Well, that's good to hear. I was afraid we were too much and that we would lose you.”

“On the contrary, I intend to stay on staff with you and Doctor Barzonni until I retire—if you're both here that long.”

He swiped his face and chuckled. “Let's hope so!” Then he looked at her with probing eyes. “So it's the ER?”

She nodded. “I do need to cut back. I don't want to cut it out, but just dial it back a bit. I, er, have a few other things I've been volunteering to do and I realize now that it's too much.”

He sighed heavily. “That's a relief, Sophie. Quite frankly, Dr. Barzonni and I were afraid that your father's cancer was back.”

“Oh, no. It's nothing personal. My family is fine. There are no other, um, significant situations taking my mind off work. I'm well aware that I need to refocus.”

“Good.”

“I've already said this to Dr. Barzonni, but would you reassure him for me that there won't be any more slipups? In or out of the ablation unit.”

Dr. Caldwell smiled and extended his hand. “Consider it done. I'm glad we had this discussion, Sophie. I hope I wasn't prying about your father...”

“No, no. He's doing just fine. Great, actually. He's hired more harvest help than ever before and we're expecting a great year. He's quite happy. So is my mother.”

“That's all good news,” Dr. Caldwell replied. “Give them my regards.”

“I will.” Sophie hoped her relief wasn't too obvious as she took her leave.

Sophie went to the elevator bank and pressed the button with shaking fingers. She'd been tenser than she realized. Understandable. Acceptable. If she'd lost her job, she would have flushed away all her years of education, study and hard work to get to the position she now cherished. Sure she could get work at another hospital in another county. A nearby state. But she didn't want to. Not for a minute. Even when she was in Grand Rapids, she missed her family too much. Sophie liked Indian Lake. Parts of it she loved. Despite her reputation and the way too many women still looked at her with skepticism, even disdain, she'd made a good name for herself in the ablation unit. She was part of a real team. Dr. Caldwell was actually protecting her. Warning her. Obviously, he and Nate respected her.

And that meant the world to Sophie.

Her work with Dr. Caldwell, Nate and her co-workers was the gold in her life. This meeting had opened her eyes and helped her chart her course of action.

Bullet One, dodged.

Now for Bullet Two. She had to find a way to help Jeremy be less dependent on her. She needed to find him a job.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

C
OILS
OF
FOG
drifted off the placid lake and floated across the running trail where Jack pounded the asphalt, pleased that his ankle had healed quickly and well. It couldn't be that he'd had top-notch nursing care. It couldn't be that before the ER doctor had had a chance to examine him, Sophie had realized his ankle was badly sprained and had splinted it, elevated it and wrapped it in ice.

No, Jack knew that his fast-healing body was due to his morning concoctions of fruits, vegetables, aloe vera juice, whey powder and almond milk. That had to be it. He was responsible for curing himself and he was proud of it.

Because of the fog, Jack didn't push himself. It would be just his luck that when he'd finally gotten to the point where he could take the stairs two at a time again, he'd trip over some stupid tree branch he couldn't see.

“Which should be going away by now,” he groaned. He looked to the east, expecting to see the sunrise, but all he saw was a milky glow in the distance. What the heck? It was summer; it was supposed to be hot. Instead, the last few days had dropped into the upper sixties and it felt more like September than July. At this rate, he was going to have to start wearing a headlamp each time he came out. Maybe one of those light bars like Barry had had on his Jeep back in high school. Jack, Ava and Barry had all had a lot of fun in that Jeep back then. Blasting Foreigner tunes and Bon Jovi. Driving up and down Lakeshore Drive up to Oak Street Beach. Cubs baseball games. Soldier Stadium in the fall. Eating too much pizza at Gino's, with the graffiti-covered black walls and concrete floors.

Jack felt his insides turn sour. He used to do a lot of fun things. But they'd been kids. Kids did idiotic, crazy stuff. Adults were responsible.

He was being very adult. And not having any fun in the process. Was that the cause of his dour moods lately? Or was it that his life just...wasn't a life?

Man. Lately, he couldn't seem to shake that thought.

It wasn't just fun, either. There was no love in his life. Except Frenchie, he supposed, but when it came to people, he was alone. Sure, he'd thought about finding the right somebody, but he'd never fallen when he should have. Never zinged. Never been entranced.

Shaking off his moodiness, Jack rounded the north side of the lake, careful of his footing as he passed the Lodges. No tourists out and about this early, which was surprising for summer. He'd figured the kids would have been aching for the first dive off the floating raft. Maybe the gloomy morning kept everyone inside. It was probably more appealing to moms, dads and kids to pull those covers over their heads and sleep in till nine.

Yeah. Only running fanatics came out at five in the morning.

Like me
.

Or Sophie.

He nearly stumbled thinking about her. The angel. The Good Samaritan. The talented nurse. The pretty farmer's daughter. The one woman who made him clench his jaw and see red.

Why would he be so fascinated, so drawn to the one woman he could never forgive?

What kind of self-sabotaging behavior was that?

He couldn't get her out of his mind. Whether she was dressed up—like she was last night at his office—or wearing no makeup, scrubs and sneakers, she was beautiful. Inside and out.

But she had screwed up—big time. Her decision not to stay with Aleah was unforgiveable.

Jack couldn't forgive himself for being the driver. For taking Aleah to Chicago in the first place. But there was a deeper guilt he'd been reluctant to face.

Jack had been falling for Sophie ever since her angel voice brought him back to reality in the hospital. While he'd been basking in her tender care, she'd been wasting precious minutes that should have been spent saving Aleah. He'd needed Sophie, but had he kept her at his side too long? Jack had been pointing the finger at Sophie, but how culpable was he? He tried to see the situation from her point of view. Sophie wanted to save all her patients that night. Jack still believed Greg Fulton was in the wrong. Getting behind the wheel when he was high was unconscionable. But it was Sophie's duty to help everyone who came through the ER doors.

Jack was well aware of the increasing drug problems all over the country. Clearly, Indian Lake was not immune. He'd heard the reports from the City Council, the concern about the situation at the Rotary Meetings and especially in the hospital halls. No one knew what to do.

Jack felt even guiltier because he didn't know how to help. Deep down, that was what gnawed away at him. Jack fixed things. He made the world safer. And here was something he had no idea how to fix.

Feeling guilt grip his heart, he put more energy into his strides. He could pound away his pain. He'd done it before.

Jack's mind drifted and, with the sound of his shoes hitting the trail, he remembered a day long ago when he'd heard a similar sound.

He and his sister, Ava, had been racing each other home from school. Laughing. Goofing off. Suddenly, they'd heard what sounded like a bomb dropping several blocks away.

Within seconds the air was filled with siren screams.

One, two, then three police cars had shot past them. The entourage turned off the main street onto the street where they lived. Though it was daylight, the cars' bright lights ricocheted off the picture windows of the houses and aluminum garage sidings.

“Come on!” Jack had yelled to his sister, who was as curious and as much a daredevil as he was back then. “Let's see what's going on!”

They took off running, their sneakers slapping the sidewalk.

The police cars flashed blue-and-red lights, but their sirens were silent.

They had pulled up to Jack's house.

Both kids stopped dead in their tracks.

Smashed into the monster oak tree in their front yard was their uncle Marty's car with their uncle in it, draped over the steering wheel.

The front end of the car was halfway up the tree trunk, the hood pleated and busted open.

“He came around that corner at fifty miles an hour,” the older of two cops was saying as Jack and Ava walked slowly toward the wreck. “It was like he was trying to hit that tree.”

Jack was dazed as he looked from Uncle Marty's bloodied head to the front porch where his mother stood, dressed in jeans and a pretty peach-colored blouse, her hands covering her mouth. She was stark white.

Their mother spotted them and burst into tears. “Ava! Jack! Come here. Now.”

Ava instantly obeyed, but Jack hung back.

He wanted to see. To investigate. To learn. What had happened to his uncle Marty?

Jack walked up to the policeman. “Is he alive?”

The man was gentle, but firm. “You need to stay back, son. This is nothing for you to see.”

“That's my uncle Marty.” Jack pointed.

Another policeman had opened the driver's door and was reaching inside. He put his fingers on Uncle Marty's neck. The cop shook his head.

Just then the ambulance arrived. Two paramedics raced toward the wreckage while another two took out a stretcher.

A fire truck pulled up, then another fire truck and a fourth police car. The place was like a scene out of a Mel Gibson movie. Though in shock, Jack couldn't tear his eyes off the drama. He knew his uncle was dead. He wasn't waiting for a final pronouncement. But there were still questions.

Like...why?

The neighbors had scrambled out of their houses. Mrs. James came over to hug Jack's mother. The Albertson kids, all four of them preschoolers, watched from the driveway until their mother made them go inside. Other neighbors just ogled. They made Jack feel ashamed, as if he'd done something wrong.

The firemen used a hook and chain to pull the car down off the tree. Then they pried Uncle Marty out from behind the wheel, placed him on a stretcher, covered him with a gray wool blanket and wheeled him away.

Until then, everything had seemed to be happening in slow motion, but now the world went into fast-forward. Suddenly, Jack registered that half the vehicles had left and his mother was still on the porch, clutching Ava to her side and talking to one of the cops.

Jack went to his mother. She simply held out her arm, reeled him in and hugged him close. Jack put his arm around her waist and rested his head against her hip. His head bobbed up and down with her sobs.

He hugged her tighter.

“Did you know he'd been drinking today?” the cop asked, writing down details in a spiral pad like the one Jack used at school to write notes to Sherry Cramer, the pretty girl who sat in front of him.

“He's an alcoholic,” his mother explained. “He's been sober for years. Since my kids were born. But Marty lost his job last month. And with no wife or kids of his own, he was despondent. The doctor put him on antidepressants, but I guess he didn't mention his drinking. I think he was mixing. He and I got into a big fight yesterday about it. I warned him that if he didn't stop, I wouldn't let him see the kids.” She burst into a fresh round of tears. “This is all my fault. I should never have pushed him. They told me at Al-Anon to protect my family first. I never dreamed he'd do anything like this.”

“Mrs. Carter, your brother would have done this or something similar even if you hadn't said a thing,” the policeman said. “I've seen it too many times. Don't blame yourself. This was his decision.”

She swiped her nose on the sleeve of her pretty blouse. “So it was suicide?”

“Yes, ma'am. That's how we see it. Listen, I know it's not much, but you need to take comfort in the fact that he didn't hurt anyone else.”

“But you think this was premeditated?”

“I do. He knew exactly how fast to come around that corner so he would hit that tree. Plus, he wasn't wearing a seat belt and the air bags had been disengaged.”

“Oh, my God,” she sobbed and pulled Jack in closer.

“We're going for now, Mrs. Carter. When your husband gets home, would you ask him to call me? Here's my card. Just in case he has anything else to add to the investigation.”

She nodded. “My husband is on the road. Iowa. He's supposed to be home tonight. He sells insurance.”

“Tough business.”

“We do okay. For the kids, you know.”

The cop smiled and touched first Jack's head and then Ava's. “You kids take care of your mom.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack had said. Ava kept crying and sniffling.

Jack remained on the porch and watched a tow truck haul the mangled car away. The policemen drove off in silence. Except for the deep ruts that Uncle Marty's car had made in the grass and the scar on the tree trunk, there was no sign of what had happened. Life on the street returned to normal.

Jack had almost forgotten about that day so long ago. He'd only been about eight at the time. It was amazing how well the mind could repress memories that caused pain. Or illumination.

Was his trauma from the accident and Aleah's death linked to his own past? Did his feelings about his uncle Marty and the senseless waste of his life color his attitude toward Sophie and what she was doing?

Jack was more confused than ever.

Sweat ran from the top of his head down his temples and to the back of his neck, soaking his T-shirt. Obviously, he'd needed this run to rid himself of impurities. Flush out the toxins, including terrible memories and maddening thoughts of Sophie.

* * *

A
FTER
HIS
RUN
, Jack cleaned up, grabbed Frenchie and headed to work. As soon as he pulled out of his driveway, though, he realized he was nearly out of gas. He stopped at the gas station on Indian Lake Drive, which skirted the south end of the lake and led into town on the overpass that ended at Main Street. Jack filled up the car while Frenchie watched him through the window, which was open a crack. He made silly faces at her and she cocked her head and barked at him. He couldn't help laughing. She was too much fun to tease.

Jack decided to go inside the mini-mart and buy a bag of chewy treats for Frenchie before going to the office. He grabbed a bottle of water as well, then went to stand in line. An elderly woman paid for her gasoline and bought a coffee and a pack of cigarettes. In front of him was a young man in a hoodie, which was odd since it was so hot outside. The guy was thin. Very thin. He had a wrapped sandwich and an energy drink in his hands.

The elderly woman left and the guy was next. He put his purchases and a wad of one-dollar bills on the counter.

“You're a dollar six short,” the gray-haired cashier told him.

“What?”

“You need more money. One dollar and six cents. That includes the tax.”

“This is all I have.”

“Yeah? Then put something back. It's not enough,” the clerk barked.

“I, uh—”

Jack stepped forward. “I'll pay the dollar six for him,” Jack said.

The guy turned around and smiled at Jack. “You didn't need to do that.”

Jack took in the guy's cracked teeth and a face that was old before his time. He shoved the money onto the counter.

“No worries,” Jack said. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks, man.” The guy seemed to retreat into his hoodie as he gathered his food and shuffled out the door.

Jack paid for the treats then went outside. And stopped dead in his tracks.

The thin guy in the hoodie had walked over to his car and was tapping on the windshield. “Hi, Frenchie! Do you remember me? Boy, is this a nice car or what? And you have a car seat? You're doing great, girl. Just what I wanted for you.”

Jack approached his car slowly, taking in every word. Stunned, he asked, “You know my dog?”

The man pointed. “That's Frenchie. I would know her anywhere. You must be Sophie's friend.”

Jack's mouth fell open slightly, but he managed to hold his surprise in check. “You're...Jeremy. Right?”