With Love from the Inside (14 page)

Sophie hadn't seen or talked to Thomas all day. He'd left a note for her on the Keurig machine that morning that read
Got paged to OR, call you later
, but he didn't. No “I'm sorry I'm cheating” text or “I hope you're having a great birthday” long-stemmed roses awaiting her by the front door.

So after hours of analyzing her next move, interspersed with imagining various painful ways to remove Eva's gel-filled claws from Thomas's back, Sophie decided to do something for herself. She dug out her measuring tape from the linen closet and began designing a bedroom. A little boy's room, with trains and LEGOs and walls painted bright blue.

The doorbell rang around 7:30 p.m., right as she was Googling “most secure way to install an indoor tire swing.” She contemplated not answering, pretending to be gone, but the lights in the foyer had already given her away.

The bell rang again before she could open the front door. She expected to see Joey, the neighbor's impatient kid, dressed in full Boy Scout uniform, selling popcorn. A big tin full of caramel corn dipped in chocolate didn't sound like a bad idea. A birthday present to herself. She'd pop in a movie and eat herself into a more acceptable place.

When Sophie answered, she found Thomas waiting under the outside lights, wearing his black tux. “Your chariot awaits,” he said, motioning to
the limo parked in their circle drive. His arm dropped once he noticed her torn denim jeans and UNC T-shirt.

“The Heart Ball,” Sophie said, now recalling his earlier reminder. “I got distracted and totally forgot.”

“I can see that,” he said. When she stared back at him and said nothing, he looked at his watch and said, “It's okay, baby. Hurry up and get ready. We still have time.”

“I'm not going to the stupid Heart Ball. You and I, we need to talk.”

“Sophie, what is going on with you?” Thomas put one finger in the air to signal to the driver they'd be a minute. “You've been acting strange for days.”

“Are you kidding me?” she shrieked. “You seem to be the one who's acting. You and—”

Thomas cut her off before she could elaborate. “Whatever is going on with you—you need to calm down.” He turned to make sure the driver wasn't watching them. He was, so Thomas waved and held up his “one minute” finger again. “We can talk, but now's not the time. I've got a car waiting for us. My partners are waiting on us. I've told them all about your fund-raiser. You have to go.”

Sophie didn't have any more energy to argue or the will to object. In this moment, she hated Thomas, but not enough to damage everything he'd worked for—everything she'd worked for. She could pretend she was happy and devoted to Thomas for at least one more night.

“Please, go get ready,” Thomas begged her, and his eyes rounded. “This is important to me.”

Sophie finally relented, but not calmly. She slammed her bedroom door before jumping into the shower.
At least I know the chefs. I pray they're serving good wine and tons of shrimp.
She could drink, eat, and force herself to make small talk for a few hours if she had to.

But when she toweled off from her shower and stood before the
full-length mirror, the mottled skin covering her cheekbones clashing with the dark circles under her eyes didn't make her feel any better about turning thirty.

“Oh, Sophie,” she could hear the synthetics say as she chose between the mint-green sequined dress with the low-cut neckline and the deep purple gown with the keyhole opening down the back, “you look fabulous in that dress.” But as soon as she turned around, she feared one of them would whisper, “If her husband was a carpenter, why wouldn't she get new shelves?” She pulled the Victoria's Secret satin strapless push-up from her lingerie drawer.

There's always going to be someone prettier, someone uglier, someone skinnier or who has bigger boobs,
her mom told her before she left to go to prison.
Define yourself by the size of your heart, not the size of your jeans.
You're exactly how you are supposed to be.

—

T
HE DRIVER WAITED OUTSIDE THE CAR
with the back door open. “Quite an elaborate ride you've secured for us tonight,” Sophie said, trying to fake nice as Thomas walked her to the limo. “Car in the shop?”

Thomas smiled, seemingly glad she was finally ready and in a better mood. She slid in the backseat and he scooted in beside her. “I missed you,” he said as he kissed her cheek and put his hand on her thigh.

She wanted to believe him, kiss him back, cuddle up beside him and hear him say, “I love only you,” but she couldn't. Too many things had happened in the past few days, not the least of which was Ben's words: “If the governor doesn't intervene, your mother will die by lethal injection on February fifteenth.”

For all of her adult life, Sophie had prided herself on making it alone. Not needing to rely on anyone, because everyone will let you down. Thomas was her husband, her soul mate, her best friend, but she let him get only so close. Was that why he'd turned to Eva?

She scolded herself for going to his office, for thinking about telling him the truth about her family. Confessing her betrayals and begging for his comfort and forgiveness.

She didn't deserve his loyalty, but she wanted it more than anything. As his cologne filled the limo and his shoulder touched hers, she had to stop herself from laying her head on his shoulder and begging him for the truth. “Do you really love me,” she wanted to scream, “or have we fallen apart, too?”

“Are you okay?” Thomas asked when she took his hand off her leg.

“I'm just tired.” She hoped he'd let it go at that.

“How are you feeling? Any more nausea?”

“I'm all better,” Sophie replied. “Actually, I'm kind of hungry.”

“I hope you're not upset,” Thomas said carefully, “but I ran in to Dr. Chemales in the hospital.”

“Please tell me you didn't make me an appointment.”

“Don't be mad. He said he could see you tomorrow around ten o'clock.”

“I could've made that myself,” she said in a less-than-grateful tone.

“I'm sorry,” Thomas said, defending himself against more than he knew. “He was rounding at the hospital. I was worried about you.”

“Next time, ask me first.” She attempted to moderate her sharp pitch. “I'm not sure I need to go now.”

“I think you do. It's not normal to faint for no reason. Please keep the appointment—if not for you, do it for me.”

Before she responded, Sophie pondered the word
normal
. Was it customary to suspect your husband was fooling around? Or for little boys like Max to be abandoned in a hospital to become someone else's concern? Was it standard Thanksgiving banter to hear your brother-in-law casually announce your mother's execution after reading about it in the newspaper?

“Sophie, I can cancel the appointment if you don't want to go.”

“No, I'll go.” She didn't want to argue. About this or about Eva. She decided to let both go for tonight. But only for tonight.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”
My health, anyway,
she thought to herself as she turned away from him and stared out the limousine window.

—

S
OPHIE BEGAN TO SUSPECT SOMETHING
else might be going on other than the Heart Ball when the limousine pulled up in front of the Ritz-Carlton and she saw Mindy quickly dart through the revolving doors. The Heart Ball wasn't Mindy's thing, especially since she and her husband had recently separated. She had never attended before, and Sophie couldn't imagine her being here now.

Her suspicions were confirmed when the driver opened her door, winked, and told her she didn't look at day over twenty-one. Sophie wasn't fond of surprises, but a significant part of her was relieved Thomas hadn't forgotten her birthday. From the looks of things, he'd remembered quite well.

She checked her reflection in the limo's black-tinted windows. Thomas must've noticed, because he gently touched the side of her cheek and whispered, “You look amazing.”

As they entered the hotel, Thomas did what he always did when they were together in public. He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her in like she was the most important girl in the room.

—

T
HE THREE
-
PIECE ORCHESTRA
played “Happy Birthday” on cue as all the synthetics rushed over to greet Sophie. Kate squeezed her arm first. “You look gorgeous.”

Sophie didn't enjoy being the center of something she hadn't planned
on and hated even more being left alone in a group of people who were clearly more Thomas's friends than hers. Several doctors from his practice waved hello as they made their way over.

After the formalities were completed, Mindy snuck up beside her and whispered in her ear, “You look great. Feeling better?”

“You want the truth?” Sophie tried to mask her words by saying them through gritted teeth.

Before Mindy could answer, Eva bounced up wearing a bloodred strapless gown dripping with small iridescent beads. “Happy birthday, Sophie,” she screeched, raising her drink glass for a toast. Not the first glass, evidently, since half of her wine spewed over the sides, christening everyone in the near vicinity. Mindy's champagne-colored dress took the brunt of the waterfall.

“I'm so sorry,” Eva said, trying to find someone to take her glass while she seized cocktail napkins to wipe off the trail of wine cascading down Mindy's breast. Her rubbing only made the stain worse.

“For God's sake, Eva, let me do it.” Sophie snatched the soaked cocktail napkins out of her hand. “Let's go get some club soda.”

“Thomas, dance with me,” Eva said, smearing her words while pulling him onto the dance floor. Sophie turned to watch as Eva, who could not walk in a straight line, pressed herself against Thomas.

“Slow down, Eva. The first dance goes to my wife.” Thomas detached her sticky arms from around his neck. “Where's your husband?”

“He couldn't make it.” Her slurring made her statement sound like one long word. “I want you to dance with me.” She fought to get her arms back around his neck.

Kate injected herself into the situation just as Sophie was about to.

“Let's go get you some coffee,” Kate said, grabbing Eva hard enough to get her attention. “You're making a fool of yourself.”

“I'm just trying to have a good time. Isn't that what you're
supposed to do at parties?” She glared at Thomas, then directed her comments to Sophie. “Stop being so frigid all the time and dance with your husband.”

Sophie took a step forward before Thomas stopped her. “Not here. Not in front of everyone,” he said. “My partners are here.” He looked around to see if anyone was watching while he pretended to adjust the clasp on Sophie's pearl necklace. “Please don't make a scene.”

Sophie nodded, but not before giving one last long and threatening stare at Eva.

“Let me refill your drink glass,” she said to her, sweetly enough for those eavesdropping to overhear. She went in for a hug to make sure everyone around thought the two of them were okay. Sophie wrapped her arms around her synthetic friend. She moved Eva's twisted updo away from her ear so she wouldn't miss a word. “Go home, Eva, before I do something that will make you incredibly uncomfortable.”

Nobody in life gets exactly what they think they are going to get.
I tried to remind myself of that as Officer Mackey shouted at me from outside my door.

“Bradshaw, time to go to the infirmary.”

It was dark outside and infirmary visits happened only during the day.

I looked out the slit in my door and tried to see if he was alone.

He stared back at me. “The infirmary called,” he said. “Put your hands through.”

I did as I was told.

After the door opened, I said to him, “I feel fine. Stitches come out after the tenth day. Do you know what this is about?”

“Nope. I'm just following orders.” His words sounded hollow.

Carmen had had a nighttime appointment a few months ago. I had peeked out my window when I heard her being escorted out of her cell. I heard her crying when she came back. When I asked her about it the next day, she told me to shut up and that it didn't concern me.

I was beginning to wonder if she'd answer my question now. My mind told me I should trust Officer Mackey—he'd never harmed me before—but my pulse didn't. Flight or fight was kicking in, and neither one of those was a viable option.

Officer Mackey put his thumb up to the scanner outside of the
infirmary. At first the scanner lit up red. “Damn technology,” he said under his breath. A series of green lights appeared after he wiped his thumb off for the third time.

When the door slid open, I could see barely anything. Total darkness except for a small dim light located within the locked medicine cabinet. Six unoccupied gurneys lay eerily empty, waiting for their next patients.

“Sit down,” Officer Mackey said. He attached shackles to the legs of the chair closest to the infirmary door.

Was this where Carmen sat before? Sweat dripped through my stitches; the wound started to feel like a bee sting. I bent my head down to wipe the sweat off, but I couldn't reach.

I closed my eyes and did the only thing that calmed me when I couldn't stand this place anymore. I pictured Sophie at nine, chocolate frosting all over the tips of her fingers and smeared across the corners of her mouth. “I couldn't wait until my party, Mommy. Are you mad?”

After an eternity of sitting in the dark, the door to the infirmary opened. Warden Richards entered flanked by two male correctional officers. None of them spoke or looked in my direction. The officer on the right flipped on a light.

“Do you have the paperwork?” The warden flickered his fingers in the direction of the closest officer. He had a shaved head and looked as though he might have been in the military.

“Yes, sir.” He handed the warden a manila envelope from off the counter.

I heard the scanner outside beep and the prison physician entered the room.

“Glad you could join us,” the warden said, without looking up. He licked his thumb to separate the papers from the envelope.

“I apologize, sir. I was almost home when your secretary called.”

The warden stopped shuffling and squinted at the doctor. “We need to get this one right.” He then squinted at me.

“Yes, sir,” the doctor replied. “Mayberry's veins collapsed. I'll make sure this one”—he angled his head in my direction—“is well hydrated.”

“Bring her here,” the warden snapped, motioning to a chair tucked under a table. “I want to get home at some point tonight.” An officer unshackled me and escorted me over.

“You have quite a cut on your head.” The warden pulled his eyeglasses from his front pocket and put them on before examining the side of my head. “I thought we'd do this next go-around in the infirmary. Might save us a step.” He chuckled at his own humor.

I did not.

“Ms. Bradshaw, do you remember me reading the death warrant?”

I nod. I barely did, but I could summarize.

“We have strict protocols to follow when we put an inmate to death. Lots of paperwork to fill out, you know.” He rubbed the back of his neck at the enormity of it all. “We usually wait until the execution date is within forty-five days to fill all this out, but you know, with the holidays upon us, I'd like to get this started.”

He pulled out several forms and lined them up on the table. I struggled to read the fine print.

“Turn on another light,” the warden barked. Someone flipped one on.

I didn't understand the legal jargon. The light didn't help.

“Do I need to read all of these now?” The first full sentence I'd said since arrival.

“Are you refusing to read the documents?”

“No, sir. I wanted to know if I could go over these with my attorney before I signed?” I made sure the tail end of my sentence sounded like a question.

“Document that prisoner number 44607 refused to sign.” The metal legs on his chair scuffed against the floor as he stood to leave.

“Can I take the papers to my cell and read them over?” I asked respectfully.

He stared at me for a second, glancing first at my stitches, then directly into my eyes, assessing, presumably, the request of a mother he thought wicked enough to murder her own baby.

“You have forty-eight hours,” he said to me. To the doctor he said, before he walked out the door, “Check her veins. This needs to go off without a hitch.”

When I returned to my cell, I reread the note Ms. Liz had shared with me. The one thing she wanted her daughters to know before she died.

Handwritten on the slip of paper were her words:

Trust your struggles. You don't have all the pieces yet.