Sophie’s Last Stand

by Nancy Bartholomew

  I looked at the curtained wall a few feet behind us and nodded. “All right. Might as well. Joey’ll be in surgery for a good two hours.”

  Gray let go of my arm and led the way, pulling the curtain back and letting me enter the tiny space where Della—Kathy—sat on the edge of a narrow examining table.

  “How’re you doing?” I asked.

  She looked worse than usual, pale, unkempt, her clothes dirty and ripped in places from her fight in the basement. Most of all, she looked young, much younger than Gray’s guess of twenty.

  “Okay,” the girl muttered. “You were the only one good enough to trust me, and I don’t want you thinking the worst.”

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  “I’m a fuckup,” she said. “I guess that’s why I got into all this mess. When my dad got killed it was like, time to grow up, you know? I felt like it was my fault. Maybe if I’d done something or said something it would’ve helped. When he died I had to find out what happened, you know?” She didn’t wait for me to agree with her. “I didn’t even know him. He was hardly ever home. The therapist they made me go see in high school said I got in with a rough crowd just to show him I didn’t care.”

  She shrugged, one tear snaking its way down the side of her dirty face. “When Mom said he was running around, I told her she was nuts, but after a while I started thinking maybe he was. I mean, he always said he was working on something, but I heard him talking to that woman one time on his cell phone and I got to thinking maybe Mom was right.”

  Outside the curtained cubicle, I could hear the sounds of the emergency room springing to life as someone new arrived. The back bay doors hissed open, calm efficient voices could be heard issuing orders, and another life-and-death situation took precedence over the less severe patients who waited for attention.

  “After he died, I started trying to find out what happened. I guess I did pretty good, ’cause I got one of Dad’s friends to tell me everything they’d found out. That’s how I heard about Nick’s tape. A snitch told somebody Nick was talking about a tape, but when they went to interview him, he clammed on them.”

  Della shook her head. “It was easy,” she said. “I was a girl and Nick loves girls.” She blushed. “Sorry. That was stupid.”

  “Stupid?” I echoed, clueless. I was aware of Gray in the background, quietly listening and almost certainly remembering every word.

  “Saying that, I mean. He was your husband.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”

  Della shrugged. “It was pretty easy. I hooked up with Connie’s band and started visiting Nick in jail. At first Connie took me, but then I went on my own. When it got time for him to get out, I told him Connie was two-timing him with another guy, a mobster named Tony. Nick went crazy. It was pretty easy from there.”

  I felt myself getting anxious and impatient. “So how did you get to New Bern? Did you come down with Nick?”

  Della nodded. “It was all I could think of to do. My dad’s partner said they knew who killed him, or had him killed—they just couldn’t prove it. I thought if I got the tape it would make the case. Then, a day before Nick was due to get out of prison, Connie took Nick’s car and disappeared.”

  “And?”

  Della smiled softly. “I figured that left Nick needing help. So I was waiting for him at the gate when he got out. He knew right away when Connie Bono wasn’t there that she’d ripped him off. I told him I felt bad for him on account of his girlfriend doing him dirty. I told him I’d help him. So that’s how we got to New Bern. Connie Bono knew the video was with Nick’s stuff. She just didn’t know where.”

  “Did Nick kill Connie?” My throat went dry as I asked the question.

  Della frowned. “Hell, no. She was dead when we got here. Tony’s wife did that.”

  Gray cleared his throat. “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “She told me. She said Connie was trying to sell the pictures to the highest bidder, her or Tony, and so she followed Connie down here.” Della shrugged. “It’s just her stupidity that made her off Connie before she had the video. I guess she thought finding it in the house would be the easy part.”

  Della looked up at me, her eyes pleading. “I didn’t want to hurt you. Nick came up with the idea of me working for you. Then Tony’s people showed up and it was just a big mess. Nick and I got separated and I was on my own.”

  The curtain rustled and a male voice called out, “Knock, knock!” and entered without waiting for an answer. A young doctor with brown-rimmed glasses stood inside the curtain, chart in hand, and smiling. “Well,” he said, “looks like you’ve been on the receiving end of some cuts and bruises, huh?”

  That was the very least of it, I thought. I stood up to leave, then turned back to Della.

  “I’ll take care of Durrell until you can come get him,” I said. “Where is he?”

  Della shrugged. “I don’t know. He’s not my dog. You can have him if you want.”

  “What?”

  She smiled wryly. “Nick got him from the pound. He said you were a sucker for ugly dogs and you might take me in easier if I had him, sort of like insurance.”

  The look on my face must have registered because in an instant she changed, becoming apologetic. “Honest, Sophie, at that point I really thought we were doing the best thing for you and my dad. I didn’t know it would turn out so bad. Really.”

  I nodded and walked out into the hallway. “Honest, Sophie…” Della’s voice echoed over and over again in my head.

  Chapter 18

  It was a command performance. Ma commanded and we performed. Three days after it all came to a head, Ma made dinner and this time no one was excused. It was like the Resurrection; on the third day Jesus comes back and explains all to the disciples. Ma had that sort of Catholic sensibility about her. She wanted the pieces put in place, the ends tied up and the Last Supper served, even if it came after the fact.

  She spared no effort to capture our attention. She cooked all day, producing veal Spiedini, stuffed squid with tomato sauce, lemon and garlic chicken, pasta with spinach and potatoes, and a host of other dishes that flowed from the kitchen in an endless stream of smells and textures.

  The dining room wasn’t large enough to accommodate us all. So Pa and the old guys fashioned an L-shaped extension to our large wooden dining table, hastily manufactured with sawhorses and sheets of plywood, then draped in white sheets. The chairs were borrowed and the silverware was a combination of family heirlooms and everyday stainless. The china came from the attic, the kitchen and Darlene’s apartment.

  We were all there. Joey, released from the hospital and surrounded by his family, laughed and cut up like always, his heavily bandaged arm and a blue sling the only indication of his brush with death. Pa’s friend Pete sported crutches and seemed just as even-tempered as he’d always been. Wendell Arrow and Rebecca came, along with my neighbors Bill and Trey, the police officers Ma now claimed as her own, and all of Pa’s cronies and their wives. The women from Ma’s water aerobics class even made a showing. Everyone was here, all except for one. Gray Evans had yet to make his appearance.

  I stood in the living room, trying not to look through the sheers that veiled the bay window, trying not to act as if I’d even noticed his absence, but not fooling anyone. Joey finally came over to stand beside me, nudging me softly with his sling and acting wounded when I bumped his back.

  “Oh, great, hit a crippled man, Soph! That’s how it is around here, no respect for the hero in his own country.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You, a hero? As I recall, I’m the one who attempted to push you out of harm’s way when you blundered onto the scene of a crime in progress.”

  Joey slapped his good hand up to his forehead in mock horror. “Oh, sweet Mother of God, is that how it is? You can’t even deal with reality. Blunder? So now I blundered? Oh, I think not. I had a carefully calculated plan. If you’d just stayed where you were, I could’v
e handled the entire situation.”

  A car turned onto the street and I glanced out at it, hopeful, then disappointed when it made the circle and disappeared from view.

  “What?” Joey said, his voice dropping so only the two of us could hear what he said. “Where is he? He is coming, right?”

  I looked at my brother and saw my every thought, doubt and feeling mirrored in his eyes. He always knew, that Joey.

  “So, what’s with you two?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I haven’t talked to him since it happened.”

  “What?” Joey’s voice rose and I saw Pa glance over at us and frown.

  “I told him I needed some time to think, that’s all,” I said. “So I—”

  Joey looked horrified. “So you’ve been ducking the man! Soph, how could you do that to him? Marone! What’s with you? After all he’s done, you’re blowing the guy off? Aw, Sophia!”

  Joey shook his head and looked at me, squinting as if this would help him see past my face and into my brain.

  “Wait,” he said, his voice taking on an “aha” quality. “You’re not ducking him because you have to think about it. You’re ducking him ’cause you’re scared. You’re chicken!”

  “I am not! I needed a little time to think about it, that’s all. There’s been a lot going on, Joey. It’s not like I’ve had any time to examine this and be sure.”

  The wrinkles on Joey’s brow relaxed as he listened. He seemed a little less worried about my sanity and more like he understood.

  “Soph, you know what?”

  “What?”

  “You think too much, that’s what! You’re all grown up now, so act like it. Talk to the man.” He was looking over my shoulder, watching Gray’s beige Tahoe pull up in front of the house. When he was certain that I’d noticed, as well, he looked back behind him into the rooms filled with friends and family, all talking and laughing together.

  “Before you say it, yeah, I called him. Now, go take care of this,” he said, nodding toward Gray.

  He left, turning away and leaving me to answer the door. I walked slowly to the front door and had my hand on the knob, turning it, as Gray reached the porch. I opened it before he could ring the doorbell.

  “Hey,” I said, smiling, but aware that my hands were icy cold and my stomach was lurching as if I’d suddenly landed on top of a runaway train.

  “Hey yourself, stranger,” he said. The smile was there, but his eyes were full of questions and uncertainty. “Long time no see.”

  I glanced behind me at the houseful of people and stepped out onto the front porch, closing the door softly behind me.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  Gray nodded, his eyes searching my face and taking inventory. “I figured.”

  The door swung open behind us and Ma stood there, her hands on her hips, managing somehow to smile and look impatient all at once.

  “So,” she said to Gray, “you are here. Bene! Now we eat. Come on!”

  She grabbed us, propelling us into the house ahead of her and bringing up the rear. There was no escaping Ma.

  “Everybody!” she called. “Let’s eat!”

  Pa stepped up to Gray, shook his hand and led the two of us into the dining room, motioning and directing the others to their places while Ma coordinated the delivery of the food. Pa walked to the top of the long table and took his place as the head of the family, the silent cue for us all to bow our heads.

  “Heavenly Father,” he began. The room was pin-drop silent. “We’re here today to honor and thank you for the lives you have spared and the many gifts you have bestowed upon us.”

  Pa, breaking with tradition, spoke in English instead of Italian.

  “I look around this room and I see my family and friends. I feel the love that grows here between us all, and I feel grateful.” Pa’s voice cracked. I winked one eye open and lifted my head ever so slightly, just in time to see him pull out an oversize white handkerchief. He blew his nose loudly, and there were several muffled giggles from Joey’s kids.

  Without so much as lifting her head or opening her eyes, Ma reached out and slapped Joey soundly.

  “Hey!” he cried. “What’s that for?”

  Pa, seemingly oblivious, went on with his blessing. “I just want to say thank you for the food, my family’s safety and the gift of so many good friendships.” There was another pause, then another loud honking sound as Pa blew his nose again and continued, but this time with the traditional blessing in Italian.

  At the sound of “Amen,” we all lifted our heads, and I was surprised to see tears in the eyes of most of the guests sitting around Pa’s table.

  “I love youse guys,” Pa said, his voice gruff with thinly veiled emotion. He raised his glass of Chianti and held it out toward the assembled gathering. “Now eat!”

  Everyone laughed and the party continued. The food kept emerging from the kitchen, platter after platter and course after course. I sat next to Gray and realized that eating was impossible. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, but his presence was everywhere. I felt him; felt the heat that seemed to radiate from his body and the current of energy that ran between the two of us like electricity. I was aware of everything he did and said; even the slightest movement from him brought an automatic heightening of awareness in me. It was driving me crazy.

  Darlene sat next to me, with Wendell next to her and his daughter on his other side. The three of them laughed and carried on while I sat like a frozen marble statue.

  Darlene leaned toward me. “She was depressed,” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “Sophie! What’s wrong with you? Keep your voice down! Becky—she was depressed. Every year around this time she gets really depressed. It’s called an anniversary reaction.”

  I looked at Darlene and frowned, feeling stupid.

  “This is the time of year her mother died,” Darlene said, her voice almost too low to understand. “That’s why Wendell didn’t let me meet her. She was in the hospital and he didn’t feel he could tell me.”

  I nodded. “Why not?” I asked.

  Darlene sighed. “Because he was protecting her,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “He didn’t think she’d want people knowing she was in a psych ward.” Darlene smiled indulgently. “Poor baby. He just doesn’t get biochemical imbalances. Nowadays, they get you on the right medication and you’re fine.”

  She reached out and patted his knee without even turning her head to look at him. He was talking to his daughter, but as I watched, I saw his hand slip down to clasp hers. I witnessed this, feeling as if everyone else had an understanding that continued to elude me. Darlene and Wendell made love look simple.

  I thought about it for a moment, about how it felt to watch her and Wendell, how out of place I’d felt as the bystander. Then I thought of Nick and how much pain he’d caused me. Did I really want to feel like that again?

  The voice in my head said, Do you really think Gray is like Nick?

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I muttered under my breath.

  “I can’t help it,” Gray’s voice answered. “You bring it out in me.”

  I nodded and reached over to take his hand. “Gray, I’m not the same woman I was when I married Nick, and I don’t ever want to be like her again. But I couldn’t just walk off and let Nick die alone, either. I needed to be able to say goodbye. I needed to let go of that phase of my life.”

  Gray nodded. “I know that now. I’m just sorry I couldn’t see it when you needed me. I’m sorry, Sophie.”

  I squeezed his fingers and smiled. “I guess things were a little hectic, huh? You were trying to take care of me and you didn’t think I was listening.”

  Gray looked into my eyes. “You know, I haven’t met the other Sophie,” he said. “It’s the one I know now who stole my heart.”

  I squeezed his hand tighter and started to speak, but the firm pressure of a hand clamping down on my shoulder stopped me. Ma had snuck up on
us and now stood just behind our chairs with her strong hands resting on our shoulders.

  “Hey,” she said, smacking me lightly on the side of my head. “What? My food is no good for you?”

  “Ma, no, I…”

  To my surprise, Ma broke into a huge grin. “Aha!” she cried, turning to beam at Gray. “So it’s your fault my daughter, she no eat!”

  Gray smiled right back at Ma, but didn’t say anything. Ma took this for an affirmative answer and nodded. She started to turn away, then, lightning quick, turned back. Smack! Her hand landed upside Gray’s head and he yowled in mock pain.

  “Hey!” he cried. “What did I do?”

  Ma beamed down at him. “Nothing,” she said, bending over to kiss him gently on the cheek. “Nothing at all. Now eat!” With one final mock swipe, Ma left us, wandering down the table, talking to her guests and laughing, lapsing into Italian every now and then as she dispensed some particular piece of wisdom.

  Gray watched her for a moment, then turned back to catch me watching him.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all!” I leaned over, clear in my intent, and kissed him. I felt his arms close around me and heard the giggles of Joey’s children as they turned to look at Aunt Sophie kissing her handsome detective.

  “Marone a mia!” my brother cried. “Have a little respect here, will ya!”

  The room dissolved into laughter and I could hear my sister’s voice rising above the others.

  “I knew it all along,” she was saying. “I told her. You can’t mess with destiny. I should know because, after all, I am a professional therapist!”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-6209-0

  SOPHIE’S LAST STAND

  Copyright © 2005 by Nancy Bartholomew

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.