Sophie's Path (24 page)

“Ma'am, I have to take him now,” the orderly whispered.

“I know. I...know,” Sophie answered, feeling a finality like she'd never experienced before.

There probably wouldn't be a memorial in Indian Lake for Jeremy. Other than herself, Eleanor, Jack and Mrs. Beabots, she wasn't sure who Jeremy had bonded with. His roommate, Buddy? But did he care about Jeremy the way she did? Did anyone?

Once again, guilt clanged inside her head. If only. If only. If only she'd answered her phone thirty minutes sooner and taken Jeremy's last call. If only she'd thought to reach out to his parents days ago. Weeks ago. Maybe his suicide could have been avoided.

She made her way to the nurses' station, her heart heavy.

Maybe
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

S
OPHIE
CONSIDERED
THE
cold microwave dinner in front of her, stuck her fork in the tasteless diet ravioli and left it there. She pushed away from her kitchen table and went to the refrigerator. She stared at the array of condiments and ingredients that, when properly sautéed and blended with garden vegetables and choice cheeses, would become superb Italian dishes.

She slammed the door closed. She'd never felt less like cooking or eating in her life. She didn't feel like running, either. She didn't feel like working, talking to friends or joking with coworkers. Not even thoughts of Jack brought a smile to her face.

Was this how Jeremy had felt? This massive, yawning tunnel to a frightening future?

Sophie went back to her laptop to continue her search for Jeremy's parents. Eleanor had no record of Jeremy's Phoenix address, so Sophie had run searches on the internet and found six Hawthornes in the Greater Phoenix area. She called them all; four were dead ends, and she left voice mails with her contact information with two others. The next day she received an email that read,
I'm Jeremy's mother. Call me
.

Sophie instantly picked up the phone. “Hello. Is this Elizabeth Hawthorne?”

“Yes. Yes! You're the one who helped Jeremy?”

“I am,” Sophie replied, and before she could say another word, Elizabeth cut her off.

“The police called us and told us he was dead.” Elizabeth's voice was ragged.

“I'm so sorry.”

“They warned us at rehab that it might end this way, whether he stayed with us or not.” Elizabeth blew her nose and paused for a long moment. “We hadn't heard from him in over two years. Frankly, I assumed he was already dead. He was so angry when he left. We'd found an enormous stash of heroin and plastic bags of used needles, and he'd managed to steal over five thousand dollars from what we thought was a secret bank account. He'd found the password... It doesn't matter. He just couldn't stop. Jeremy told me he never wanted to get straight. He liked his world out of this world.”

“Mrs. Hawthorne, I have to ask. Was Jeremy ever diagnosed as manic-depressive?”

“Oh, yes. One doctor told us he was bipolar. He was prescribed several medications throughout middle school and high school. He was bullied by the older kids. I moved him to a private school and that was just as bad.” She sighed. “He was my only child. And I thank you, Miss Mattuchi, for giving him kindness and attention in his last weeks on earth. If I'd known where he was, I would have come to get him.” Elizabeth's voice caught, and she paused as she wrestled with her emotions. “My husband and I will take care of having Jeremy's remains brought home.”

Sophie gave Elizabeth the number at the hospital to make those arrangements. “I'll never forget Jeremy, Mrs. Hawthorne. Though his life was tragic in the end, he was a good person.”

“Thank you for seeing that in him, Miss Mattuchi.”

Sophie had hung up the phone knowing she'd done her duty, done the right thing. But still, she felt as if her own spirit had fled her.

All of her training commanded that she remain as neutral in these situations as possible. As empathetic as she was, she was usually able to put up emotional barriers when patients died. Death was part of her job, especially in cardiac care.

Yet with Jeremy, she couldn't hold back her grief. Maybe that's what had tripped her up. Maybe she was guilty of letting her guard down, taking off her psychological armor when she walked out of the hospital and joined the ranks as a volunteer at the Recovery Alliance.

She should have realized what she was doing.

Sophie hadn't known Jeremy all that well or all that long. Yet his death hit her like a bullet. If she didn't snap out of it, her emotions could crush her.

She plopped down on her sofa and turned on the television. She'd scrolled through over three hundred channels before she realized she hadn't read the title of a single show. She turned it off.

She'd just risen to see if there was any ice cream in the freezer when she heard a knock on the door.

Only one person ever came to visit Sophie. Her landlady.

Sure enough, Mrs. Beabots stood on the other side of the door, holding up two articles of clothing, both encased in clear, zippered garment bags. “Which one?”

Sophie peered at the long swirls of bright colors that resembled a shawl in one bag, and then at the black lace top in the other. “What are they?”

“Beach cover-ups. For this afternoon's picnic.”

“You'll look stylish in either one,” Sophie said diplomatically.

“Goodness, you don't think these are for
me
, do you?” Mrs. Beabots laughed, then grew serious. “I think you need the splash of color, frankly, even though your mood suits the mourning black.”

Sophie stared at her landlady. “Who told you?”

“Who do you think? Maddie, of course. Dr. Caldwell told Nate. Why on earth would you think you could keep the truth from me for more than a day?”

Sophie shook her head. “Dumb, I guess.” She stepped back to allow Mrs. Beabots to enter. “I suppose you know everything.”

“I know the most important thing. Your heart is breaking and you're not allowing your friends to help you,” she replied with just enough accusation to stiffen Sophie's spine.

Then she softened. Mrs. Beabots must have endured plenty of deaths and heartbreaks, including the loss of her husband, over the years. She'd lived through love, loss and pain, yet she'd found a way to make life bright for others and keep on going. She knew something that Sophie apparently needed at this moment. Sophie decided to listen.

“Maddie tells me she's called you half a dozen times and you haven't answered once.”

“True.”

Mrs. Beabots's finely penciled eyebrow arched. “Katia called me from Venice and said she was concerned she hadn't heard from you in a few days.” She cleared her voice. “Jack Carter told her he hasn't been in touch with you, either...” Her eyes narrowed into discerning slits.

Sophie whisked her hand through the air dismissively. “Not important.”

“I see.” Mrs. Beabots turned back to the cover-ups. “Maybe the black one, after all. It's chic. I wore it on the Italian Rivieria.”

“You're kidding.”

Mrs. Beabots grinned mischievously. “You don't think I was old all my life, do you? Now, you do have a bathing suit, right? All I have are old bikinis that, sadly, have virtually disintegrated.”

Sophie nearly smiled. Nearly. “I have a suit. It's black, actually.”

“Hmm. Why did I know that?” Mrs. Beabots shoved the cover-up at Sophie. “We'll leave at one. Can you help me take the lemonade and sandwiches?”

“Uh. Yes. You want me to drive?”

“Of course! I thought that was obvious. Sarah's car is full with the kids and Beau. And I have all this food, beach towels, my tote...” Mrs. Beabots placed her hand on Sophie's cheek. “You need this, my dear. Laughter is the best medicine.”

She started to walk away and then turned back. “However, it's best to look good when you're mending a broken heart. Wear those gold hoop earrings you've got. Very smashing. Very Sophia Loren.”

She left, closing the door softly behind her.

Sophie chuckled and realized she actually did feel slightly uplifted. Was that possible?

She peered at the label through the heavy clear plastic. “Yves Saint Laurent.” Her eyes flew to the closed door. “Hey, this isn't real couture, is it?”

* * *

J
ACK
CARRIED
F
RENCHIE
out to his deck and put her down next to the railing, where he'd finally installed a fine screen so that Frenchie couldn't fall through.

It was a crystal clear day—no humidity and a gentle breeze. The lake was filled with end-of-summer water-skiers, speedboats, fishing boats and swimmers. The picnic tables down at Cove Beach were filled with families grilling hot dogs and hamburgers while kids raced around with plastic shovels, pails and beach balls. Motorboats dragged people clinging to blow-up toys in the shape of dragons, Disney characters, fish and porpoises.

“They're all having fun, Frenchie,” Jack mused as he popped the top on a power drink.

Frenchie looked up at him. She didn't bark or blink. Just stared accusingly.

Jack took out his cell phone and checked his texts. Not a word from Sophie for two days. He knew from Katia that Jeremy had overdosed. He wondered if any of them would ever know if it was an accident or suicide. Like his uncle Marty. He couldn't imagine the pain Sophie was going through, but he wanted to be there for her. Jack scooped up Frenchie and remembered the day he'd met Jeremy. Frenchie had loved him and he'd cared about Frenchie. Jack felt a tug on his heart in the same place where grief over Aleah had come to live. Now there was a place for Jeremy, too.

Jack had tried contacting Sophie in just about every way he could, but she was MIA. He wanted to console her, but deep down, he had to admit it hurt that she was shutting him out.

“She acts like I'm nothing to her!” he shouted.

Frenchie barked.

“Sorry, girl,” Jack apologized. “But she's not giving me a chance to help her.” He stared out at the people at Cove Beach.

Jack leaned over the rail. “Wait a minute.”

He dashed into the living room, retrieved his Bushnell binoculars, scrambled back to the deck and focused on the stretch of sand.

“Holy cow!” he said, half to Frenchie and half to himself. “Everyone's there! Nate and Maddie. Sara. Luke. Your favorite, Beau. The kids. Oh, and there's Rafe. He's holding Olivia's hand. Hmm. What's up with that? Mica. Gina. Sam. Even Gabe and Liz.”

He swung the binoculars to the left and almost dropped them.

“Sophie.”

He understood she was in mourning. He was trying to give her space. But had she cut him out of her life without telling him?

After two full days of torturous silence, he knew he loved her. Jack hadn't realized he could feel this alone. This isolated. It was as if she'd been his anchor and now he was adrift.

“Jack, you are such an idiot. You're in love with her. And you haven't told her.”

Frenchie barked.

He smiled. “I think we should go visit Beau.”

Frenchie barked again and ran to the kitchen, where Jack had hung her leash on the hook by the door.

* * *

S
OPHIE
SAT
ON
an American flag beach towel wearing her black halter one-piece and the cover-up that Mrs. Beabots had loaned her. In her ears were large gold hoops that glistened in the sun. Mrs. Beabots sat nearby in a striped canvas fold-up chair. She handed Sophie a tube of Italian sunscreen.

“Use this, dear. It's the best.”

“My mother uses this,” Sophie said, squirting out a dab and rubbing it into her arms. As she handed the tube back to Mrs. Beabots, she spotted Jack heading directly toward them.

Maddie spotted him, too. “Hey, Jack! Come join us!”

Beau jumped up from Sarah's side and bounded toward Frenchie. Jack laughed. “You don't mind if we crash?” He held up a large bag. “I brought veggie sticks.”

Luke smiled. “There's another towel next to Sophie.”

Sophie held her hand over her eyes, pretending to block out the sun, but she was actually trying to hide her frown. Jack was the last person she wanted to see. He'd called her. Texted. Emailed. She'd successfully avoided him for two days. She didn't want to see him, yet his smile lightened her spirit instantly.

She leaned over to Mrs. Beabots. “Why do I feel like this is a setup?”

Mrs. Beabots didn't take her eyes from the lake. “This is what friends are for, dear. Giving fate a little push.”

Jack let Frenchie off her leash and immediately the little dog raced over to Sophie and jumped into her arms.

Jack sat down and pulled his knees to his chest. He looked at Sophie. “Is it okay if I sit here?”

“Sure,” she replied, unable to stop her smile as Frenchie licked her.

Jack leaned closer. “I've been trying to talk to you for days. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Jeremy.”

Sophie stroked Frenchie's head. “You heard?”

He nodded and gently touched her arm, letting his hand linger for a long moment. “I'm here for you, Sophie. If you need someone to talk to.”

His tone and expression were sincere. She believed him. At least at the moment. But what about weeks from now? Months or years? Was it possible for either of them to get past their grief? About Aleah, about Jeremy...?

“Jack...thanks. I—” A loud bang brought all conversations to a stop.

Rafe was standing in front of them, hitting a cast-iron skillet with a metal barbecue fork.

Mrs. Beabots winked and whispered, “Here it comes.”

It?

“May I have your attention?” Rafe spread his arms wide, his red-and-white Hawaiian shirt flapping in the breeze.

“What's going on?” Jack asked Sophie.

She replied with a shrug.

“With my mother, my brothers, my sisters-in-law, Sam, and all my good and dear friends present...” Rafe continued. Then he reached out and pulled Olivia to her feet.

Olivia gasped, noticing something behind them. Sophie turned to see Olivia's mother, Julia, walking toward them carrying a multi-tiered cake.

“Right on cue, Julia!” Rafe laughed.

Mrs. Beabots beamed widely. “Cat's out of this bag!” She clapped her hands together and then placed them over her mouth.

Sophie reached over and put her hand on her knee. Mrs. Beabots was crying.

“What are you doing, Rafe?” Olivia asked.

Rafe dropped to his knee and held Olivia's hands.

“For real?” Olivia's eyes filled with tears. “Rafe?”