by Trixie More
After that, no one spoke to her. Until the ID came back, it was just speculation. She wasn’t sure if she should go home and tell Ben or if she should wait until it was official. George’s fingerprints weren’t on file. They didn’t have any DNA around to match it to. The ID in the wallet was the best they had. She already knew what the results would be.
The fight from yesterday replayed itself in her mind as she waited for the crime scene unit and the coroner to release the body. She’d told Ben she wouldn’t stay with him if he paid her. He’d been so angry, looking up at her, fury and hurt on his face. I want you out of our house. That’s what he’d said. He’d lost her yesterday, and today, the woman who betrayed him was about to walk into his house and tell him that his brother was dead.
She felt tears start at the inner corners of her eyes. Shame and humiliation burned inside her. How could she have been too chicken to tell Ben that she didn’t love him, too weak to say that the texts from George had stopped? The first tears slid down her face, her nose began to run. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than what she was about to do.
At five thirty, she sent an email from her phone to Jacob letting him know she wouldn’t be coming in. When the traffic was rumbling and groaning on the bridge, and the sun was fully up, the body was wrapped and lifted to a gurney. When the coroner’s van’s doors closed and the body left the scene, so did she.
The subway ride to Ben’s would be short. Sophia preferred to walk, to delay the moment Ben would no longer have a brother. She had no time to spare. If she didn’t get to Ben’s before the police, they would break the news to him, pressing him on the details of his whereabouts, his relationship with George, how long he’d known his brother might be dead. There wasn’t a way to roll back the clock and change the way their partnership had ended, but there was a way to let him receive this news in private, where he could respond as his heart wanted. She could give him the safety of hearing this from a friend.
The tears were starting as she walked down the steps to the train. She couldn’t make her mouth stop pressing down, couldn’t keep her nose from running, or the thoughts from her mind.
George was dead. It was real.
Debra was a widow; their children, fatherless. The man, who risked everything to provide for his family, was gone. Debra would never hear another word of love from the man she’d stood next to in the eyes of God and pledged to spend her life with.
The swaying of the train rocked Sophia. From the dirty plastic seat, she watched as the tunnel flashed by the window, everything in motion, nothing staying the same.
The first thing he couldn’t believe was that she was at the door at six in the morning. He hadn’t even had coffee. The second thing he couldn’t believe was she was crying and he hardly cared.
For a foolish minute, he thought maybe Sophia was there, filled with remorse and ready to make a new start of it. After he let her inside, it was clear that wasn’t what was going on.
“Are you going to tell me what this is about?” he asked.
Sophia headed into the living room and plucked some tissues from the box on the table. She blew her nose.
“I will in a minute. Can I use the bathroom first?”
He shrugged. After a minute, he heard the flush and the water running. Then he heard her in their bedroom, his bedroom now. He poured himself another cup of coffee and headed into the bathroom. He needed to be to work by seven, so he decided to let her spit out whatever it was on her own time.
After a minute, she wandered back down the hall. This wasn’t good. Ben could tell because she was really looking at him. He took a swipe with his razor, clearing a section of beard. In the mirror, he could see her leaning against the doorjamb. She had changed into a sport jacket and slacks. She looked like she’d be heading to work.
“Everything all right?” he said, trying not to make it sound like the accusation it was.
He watched her in the mirror. Sophia glanced down, shaking her head slightly. He lined the razor up and cleared another strip of shave cream from his cheek. She remained silent and Ben focused on finishing so she could spit out whatever was bothering her.
He brought the hand towel to his chin and wiped his face, turning around and leaning on the sink. “What’s going on?”
When her eyes met his, he felt it all the way in his gut.
“They found a body today,” she whispered. Her eyes were round and luminous and so, so dark.
“What?” Dread pooled high up in his stomach. He would not vomit.
“Ben,” she said softly, walking toward him, raising her arms slightly and suddenly she was far too close. He put up his hands and she stopped. “I believe it’s George.”
“George?”
“I believe so.”
“You believe?” He felt very careful, like each word was a soap bubble that could not be allowed to break. He held her gaze with his. “You don’t know?”
She tipped her head slightly, her full lips soft, her dark eyes filling. “They found his wallet on the body.”
He didn’t understand. Was it George or not? “And?”
“And they called me,” she said.
Anger, so familiar, hot and fast, rose in his throat. He felt the heat of it, his blood starting to move again, the certainty it brought with it, the confidence. “Because you could never just let it go!” Why was he lashing out at her? Didn’t he want to be kept informed? “They should be calling me!”
She looked down, raising one long-fingered hand to her forehead before she looked him in the eye again. “The body is too badly decomposed to identify it visually.” She seemed to realize how cold her words were, and she changed her tone quickly. “I couldn’t tell if it was him, Ben. I’m so sorry. The wallet, the type of clothes, it all matches with George.” She took a step toward him and this time, he let her touch him. “I think it’s him.”
It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Deb was still getting texts. Ben clung to that thought as he’d been doing for so long now. How long had it been since he’d truly believed in those texts? Each time a bit of doubt crept in and he considered the idea that maybe the texts weren’t coming in, that Deb wasn’t being truthful, he’d roughly pushed the idea aside. Now, his mind rejected the thought of a decomposed and unidentifiable body actually being George.
“Ben?”
Sophia sounded far away; his ears felt like they’d been stuffed full of cotton. The floor tipped a bit and Ben reflexively reached out for the sink, steadying himself. He braced his feet. The room was rocking like an I-beam in the wind.
“Ben? Breathe. Please, breathe.”
Her hand was cool on his face and he opened his eyes and felt no comfort from her.
She made this happen.
The thought was crazy. He knew it even as it came into his mind. Sophia hadn’t made this happen.
She wouldn’t let it go.
Still, that’s not what caused this. George was dead because of whatever madness he’d been mixed up in, borrowing money from loan sharks. Ben let Sophia lead him to the toilet. The slam of the lid was loud in the tiled room, but he was glad to be seated.
“I don’t understand, Soph.” He finally looked her in the eyes and she was just Sophia again. Just the most beautiful and most determined woman he’d ever known. Except for...Ben dropped that thought and kept his eyes on Sophia. “I don’t understand. He didn’t borrow that much money! We paid them back five times what he’d borrowed. There was no reason to kill him.”
“I know,” she said.
Her agreement just made it worse. She’d never agreed with any of it. She hadn’t agreed that they should pay, hadn’t agreed that George was still alive. Now, she was right.
He looked away, his stomach in knots. Sophia hadn’t caused this, he knew that, but right now? That’s not the way he felt. The sound of water dripping echoed in the room. The faucet wasn’t shut off. He got up, Sophia put a hand on his elbow as if he might faint, but he let her leave it there. He twisted the cold
water handle hard. The dripping stopped and now, the bathroom was the last place on earth he wanted to be.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said.
She followed him to the kitchen. Looking at the coffee in the pot just made his stomach lurch so Ben merely sat at the table. Sophia brought him a bottle of water and twisted the cap off. The familiar plastic shape and green label seemed out of place, like it had landed there from Mars, along with the great emptiness that was spreading inside him. His brother was dead. There was no older man, blood and bone and family, standing with him in the world. When his parents died, he’d be the last of the line.
The harsh cough he heard was his own and then, the tears came. He covered his face.
“I’m so sorry, Ben.” She was seated beside him, her leg tucked beneath her, sitting sideways, rubbing his back. The last time they’d done this, she’d been trying to wheedle an identification out of him.
“This isn’t going to stop you, is it?” he asked. His voice sounded far away and flat.
“Ben.” The hand on his back stopped moving. “Let’s not do this now.”
The empty hole inside him grew and hopelessness washed over him. He could build skyscrapers. He challenged death and won on a daily basis. He would never matter more to Sophia than her obsession with George. George was dead and she wouldn’t stop. If anything, she’d be more dogged than ever before. God, he was so lonely. He wiped his face and looked around. His cell phone was on the counter. It was time.
“What?” Sophia asked.
“I’ve got to call out and then, I’ve got to go home.”
Manhattan looked sophisticated and cold today. The wind that built itself into a frenzy between the tall, elegant buildings pulled at Sophia’s hair and coat. He’d said he needed to go home. She knew what he meant. Any good son would want to be there for his parents at a time like this. Still, what did it mean that he thought of his parent’s house as home? He didn’t use that term to speak of their apartment anymore. His apartment really, it wasn’t hers.
Sophia didn’t have a place of her own. Even if she hadn’t kissed Doug Lloyd in an alley, even if this had just been a typical day, she would have felt this way, like a visitor in Ben’s life, a woman who didn’t feel everything she should; faking it. While her timing couldn’t have been more abysmal, there was no doubt, their separation was overdue. Poor Ben. He had to be going through hell. A hell she’d made worse through her reckless actions.
Sophia stopped on the sidewalk, the people behind her grunting in displeasure as they broke around her and streamed by. It wasn’t just that. She’d never felt any more for a man than she had for Ben, but, still, a voice inside her kept whispering that this, this feeling wasn’t it, wasn’t enough. Worse than that, she’d kept bringing pain into his life. She saw that now. He wanted to heal, to move past the loss of his brother. Now that the body was found, he’d need that more than ever. And her? She wanted to keep the idea of George with her day and night, chasing and hunting until she sunk her teeth into the people who’d done this and brought them down, like a lioness taking down a jackal. She wanted to catch them, shake them and fling them to the ground. She wanted to triumph. She wanted, for once in her life, to be the strong one, the victor.
The wind flung her ponytail into her face. The hand she used to brush it aside was trembling. She was shaking, all over, in her legs, her stomach.
“Hey, lady, are you alright?” A young guy was standing next to her. He had that astounded look they all had when they met her for the first time—as if he’d found gold. “You need to sit down?” He touched her arm and she startled like a deer, the energy infusing her as she stepped away, one step, another, and then she was running down Fifth Avenue, more prey than predator.
By noon, she’d collected herself. She’d hung up her raincoat, combed out her hair in the ladies’ room, and gathered her thoughts. Jacob had been in a meeting when she’d burst into the building, and for that, she was glad. Now he would be coming over, ready for lunch. There would be no eating for her today.
“Hey.” Jacob was walking across the floor, the greeting obviously meant for her.
“Hi, Jacob,” she said, raising a hand. “Sorry I was late this morning.”
“What happened?” he asked, coming to Sophia’s desk.
“They found my...” she hesitated. Ben wasn’t her partner anymore. “Ben’s brother.”
Jacob tipped his head to the side, his eyes careful and flat.
Odd expression, she thought.
“George Connelly. They found him dead this morning.”
“George Connelly?” Jacob said the name like he was speaking with his mouth full, his lips barely opening, his jaw tight.
“I never asked you, did you know him?”
His brows drew down, and he looked at the floor for a moment. When he looked up, the sharp, flat expression was gone. He shook his head.
“No.” He shook his head again, his face clearing. He was just Jacob again. “No.”
Sophia nodded. “Well, I’ll be in and out this week. Whatever Ben needs, you know.”
Jacob bobbed his head. “Yeah, right. Just let me know. If you need me to cover for you...”
“No,” she said. “I’ll manage my work.”
“Okay, then,” he said. “How ‘bout lunch?”
“No. I just got here.”
“Okay, then.” He moved away from her desk. “Let me know if you need anything?”
“Sure,” Sophia said, already turning back to her computer. The door to the office closed behind him, and she released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
The next week went by with the timeless quality of tremendous grief. Sophia couldn’t bring herself to abandon Ben, and she couldn’t bring herself to intrude. So she came and went from Derrick’s place. The rush of arrangements, Ben, Debra, and the rest of the Connelly clan, moved through the chores with a muffled quality. Her brother helping, like he always did. Allison cooking and feeding the clan, clearing off the robotics table and helping them all create the memory board the night before the funeral. Debra was tame, quiet, looking to Ben for his lead when usually, she ran her own show. Ben’s father, always larger than life, looked smaller, stooped, and sallow. Ben’s mother, invariably sweet and caring, simply looked lost.
For Sophia, Ben was almost unrecognizable. His temper was nowhere to be seen, and he shrugged at all her suggestions as if nothing she did mattered to him anymore. The whole clan turned to Mastrelo’s to gather, after the viewings, somber with the casket sitting sturdy and closed, draped in white and yellow flowers and green ferns. After the funeral too, when the box was put in the ground with George’s children watching beside their mother, Mastrelo’s was where they went to tell the stories. Customers of George’s garage formed clumps around the bar, remembering all the splendid cars George had owned, the drag racing, the crazy stunts behind the wheel.
Although he had once been her partner, her lover, and her love, Sophia felt a distance as vast as the River Styx between herself and Ben. When it was all over and time to leave, Derrick and Allison took Ben home, Sophia stayed behind to help her grandparents close the bar. It was enough. Enough to know that no matter what happened next, she had Rose and Angelo. She would always be welcome at her parent’s home if she needed a place to stay, and she held pride of place behind the bar at Mastrelo’s. In her heart, she felt the guilt of having betrayed Ben a day before he’d lost his brother—again.
The next morning, Sophia woke in her hotel bed alone with the strongest urge to check on Ben. She wished she’d been there to make sure the coffee maker would brew a pot for him, wanted to stop at the little shop for bagels and leave the warm bag next to the coffee maker. Sophia composed a text with a purple sad heart emoji. Now that it was over, she felt tender and soft toward him.
You only want what you can’t have, she thought. Sophia deleted the text without sending it.
At work, her thoughts were scattered. Half the time thinking a
bout Ben, half the time wondering if anyone would tell her what they’d found at the autopsy. By noon she’d decided to call Phil and invite him to lunch.
In her mind, she knew she was taking advantage of his infatuation with her, but she couldn’t resist. He liked her. He wouldn’t turn her down, and then, she’d have information. She’d be back in the hunt.
“Hey, Phil?” She spoke quietly so the others in the office wouldn’t hear her. Taking her cell phone, she let herself out into the hall and then further away from the office door.
“Sophia?”
“Yeah.”
“Hi.” His voice started to warm up. “How are you doing?”
“We’re holding up,” she said, misleading him with her words. “Listen, I was wondering if I could buy you lunch?”
There was a silent moment. Was he considering turning her down? She couldn’t remember the last time a man had done that.
Unless of course, you counted Doug, she thought, and the pain she felt at the thought surprised her.
Phil cleared his throat. “Is this about Connelly?”
She felt her face heat, and a small thread of shame curled in her gut. Still, there were people out there that had threatened her family, who had committed crimes for which they hadn’t paid. If she mislead Phil and caught George’s killer, the price was fair.
“I’m sorry, Phil,” she said. Her voice was small and low. “I just need to know.”
More silence. Then Phil said, “Look, meet me at the deli. You can buy me a Reuben with fries.”
Relief washed over her. What did it mean that she was glad she could buy her way out? “Great. Thanks so much, Phil. I’ll see you in an hour?”
“Sure.”
An hour later, Sophia was seated at a sticky table, a plastic basket lined with grease coated wax paper cradling a huge sandwich and a cup of hot fries.
Phil took a bite and closed his eyes. “Soph, you’re a pretty woman but you can’t compete with this masterpiece.” He swallowed reverently and tucked into the first half. They ate in silence until the sheer size of their undertaking made them both stop for a breather. Sophia wiped her face. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten with this abandon.