The Secret Life of Daydreams

by Whitney, Lucinda

  “Her name is Sofia,” he replied at last. Josh reached for his phone, found his favorite picture of Sofia, and showed it to Grandpa.

  “A brown-eyed beauty, she is. And look at all that hair.”

  Josh stole a glance at the picture before putting the phone back in his pocket. How he missed those eyes and her soft curly hair. He missed Sofia more than he had ever thought possible.

  “What’s the story here? Why do you say her name like that?” Grandpa asked.

  Josh’s forehead wrinkled. “Like what?”

  “Like your best friend died. So what’s the problem with her? Is she a staunch Catholic or something?”

  “No, she’s LDS.” He paused, wrestling with the memories. “I was the one who baptized her eleven years ago, when she was seventeen.”

  Grandpa let out a low whistle. “The plot thickens. Is she married?”

  “She’s single.”

  “Then what’s keeping you apart from her?”

  Josh blew out a breath and stood, then clamped his hands on the railing. “She wants to get married in the temple.”

  Grandpa’s eyebrows shot up. “And since when is that a problem?”

  Josh crossed his arms. “I’ve been away from the church for the past six years, Grandpa. It’s not like they’re gonna let me in with my credit card.” He kicked his shoe against the wooden railing. “Besides, I still have unresolved issues.”

  “Unresolved issues, huh? More like excuses.” Grandpa waved a hand in dismissal. “And don’t come tell me you don’t believe anymore because I don’t believe that.”

  Did he still believe? He’d kept himself drowned in work and trips and busy enough to avoid thinking about the gospel and its teachings. Ignoring his problems almost made them non-existent, didn’t it?

  “Have you been smoking?” Grandpa asked.

  Josh glanced at Grandpa. “Of course not.”

  Grandpa nodded. “Drinking?”

  “I drank a beer four months ago.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Had a few cups while I was in Portugal.”

  “Have you fornicated with anyone since the divorce?”

  Josh’s head reared up. “Is that what you think of me, Grandpa?”

  Did they all think the same? Did his family believe he’d been living immorally since he left?

  Admittedly, Josh had struggled in the beginning. He was a mess after the divorce and, as he had tried to sort through the emotional and psychological wounds, his mind had fought the release of physical temptations. After all, he’d been married for a while and had enjoyed such intimacies. Giving in would have been easy, specially in his fragile state. But letting go of his personal morality and chastity for a few moments of illicit pleasure was not a trade he’d ever consider. It was better to remain lonely and in control than to expose himself to the misery of another failed relationship. In a way, the teachings of the gospel regarding abstinence and fidelity had never left him, despite what his family might think of him.

  Grandpa raised a hand. “I better leave the questioning to your bishop.”

  “I’m not ready for that.” He didn’t know who his bishop was, if he even had one.

  “So you’re telling me that you prefer to continue being miserable.”

  Josh crossed his arms. “As opposed to what, Grandpa?” He spoke fast. “What am I supposed to be doing about my miserable life?”

  “You tell me, Josh. What do you want from your life? To be happy with the girl you love or keep traveling around until the day you die because you have issues?”

  Josh’s impatience grew. “I screwed up, Grandpa! And not just a little bit but a lot. Why should I think I deserve another chance?”

  “Everyone deserves another chance, as many as it takes.” Grandpa’s voice softened. “Just because you made a mistake doesn’t mean you let that mistake define who you are.”

  Josh turned his face toward the first pink streaks rounding the mountains. The morning glow arrived dimly, quietly, before the fanfare of the sun in all its glory inundated the new day.

  He closed his eyes for a moment, and Grandpa’s words churned inside him. Did he have the courage to move past his mistakes and take another chance? He’d been running for so long, hiding his heart from everything he knew. After the divorce, breaking the ties was easier and the pain of isolation was his punishment. Staying and rebuilding his life would have hurt even more. How was he supposed to start over when his faith was less than a speckle?

  “Your parents aren’t around, or I’d let them set you straight,” Grandpa said. “If I’m pushing it’s because I know you can take it. You’ve just been doing things alone for so long you can’t even see what else is possible. Jesus already paid for your right to have another chance, but you have to reach up and grab it.”

  “I don’t even know where to start.” Josh hung his head low and rested his forehead against his fists.

  “Yes, you do. The peace will come. You just need to give it a small effort.” Grandpa paused. “And you need to want it. If you don’t want it, you can’t get it.”

  “Uncle Josh, Grandpa Sterling!” On the deck below, one of his young teenage nephews waved at them. “Aunt Laureanne and Mom say it’s time for breakfast.”

  What was the kid’s name?

  Grandpa waved back. “Thanks, Noah, we’ll be right down.” He turned to Josh. “Well, Josh, my boy, did I give you enough to think about?” The trademark Conrad blue eyes glinted at him, tempering the seriousness in his voice.

  Josh’s mouth quirked in a lopsided smile. “Yes, Grandpa, I’ve got plenty to think about.”

  Sofia put the book down on the bedside table and held Mother’s hand. Mother breathed in slowly, evenly. She’d fallen asleep after the first page, and Sofia had read the whole chapter in the book of John, not only for Mother but for herself as well. Reading from the scriptures aloud, with the cadence of the words and the rhythm of the sentences, lent the calmness Sofia had been missing in her days. She’d learned to take the hour she spent with Mother at the care center as her way to slow down from the daily madness of life.

  After working two months at the café, Sofia had been given a full-time schedule. The tips supplemented her salary and the careful budgeting kept her on the right track. If she sold her car and walked or took public transportation, she’d have enough to cover household expenses for the next six months. She visited Mother three times a week and she attended church on Sundays and she worked six days out of seven, keeping her hours full and her mind occupied.

  But sometimes at night, alone in bed, Sofia let her heart wander back to the memory of Josh’s arms around her, to the outings and the conversations and the minutes in each other’s company. Their time together had been parceled from the beginning, and Sofia gave it wings in her dreams only, the only place where the alternate ending to their story took life.

  When she arrived at home, she locked the door behind her and set the chain. She walked into the living room, where her eyes rested on the large canvas leaning against the far wall. Three days after Josh’s departure, a courier had delivered a box. In it, Sofia had found an art canvas of the Madrid temple and a small printed album with Josh’s favorite pictures of the two of them together, and she couldn’t get enough of either one. The album had a permanent place on her bedside table and the large canvas sat in the living room, the first thing she saw when she entered the apartment and the last when she left each day.

  Josh had photographed the Madrid temple in the early hours of the day, when the sky split into equal parts of night and light, and the flood lights illuminated the building. On the first day when she had received it, Sofia had sat on the sofa curled up to the side and stared at the picture for some time. The beauty and simplicity of the image stirred a feeling of gratitude and peace, a quiet inspiration of faith and love that she wanted to keep in her heart. How powerful the evocation of an image and its meaning.

  With her phone, Sofia took a picture of the canvas hanging on
her wall and the album on her bedside table, and attached them to an email to Josh with a simple message: “Obrigada. Não tenho palavras.” What else could she say that would do it justice? Indeed words were not enough when they failed the expression of her heart.

  After dinner, Sofia retrieved the mail from her purse. Among the bills, a letter from the university stood out, the red logo taunting her. The envelope was large and the return address was from the English Literature department. She put it to the side at first but then grabbed it and ran a finger under the flap and removed the papers from inside. A schedule. A map of the campus. A letter of welcome with a student ID number and online login. Her teacher’s email.

  There must be a mistake. Why was she receiving welcome papers when she hadn’t paid the fees for the semester? It didn’t make any sense.

  The next morning, Sofia left the apartment early and walked to the office of academic services at the university. The long lines had her waiting forty minutes before her turn.

  She handed the letter to the secretary. “Bom dia. I received this letter, but there’s been a mistake.”

  “Student number?” The secretary typed on her keyboard.

  Sofia recited her ID number.

  “Everything looks in order. You’re set to start classes at the end of September.”

  “But I can’t start. I didn’t pay the tuition fees.”

  “Like I said, everything looks in order. If you need help with tuition, you need to address that at the finance office.”

  Sofia walked to the finance office and stood in line for twenty minutes. When her turn came, she showed the letter again and explained the situation.

  “Student number?”

  Sofia stated her number and the finance secretary spent a few minutes going over her records. “And you say you didn’t pay the tuition so you can’t start the program?”

  “Yes, that is correct,” Sofia replied.

  The secretary turned the screen around and showed it to Sofia. “Your tuition has been paid in full for the first year, both semesters included.” She pointed at the records. “If you didn’t pay it, then you have a very generous godmother. Congratulations.”

  Sofia stilled. For a moment, she stared at the screen and then looked back to the secretary. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. There’s no mistake about it.” The secretary clicked a key, and when the printer was done, she handed Sofia the printout. “Here you go.”

  Slowly, Sofia reached for it and tried to stuff it back in the envelope, along with the letter. Her hands trembled and her heart beat wildly, and she dropped them onto the counter.

  The secretary reached for them and swiftly replaced the letter inside the envelope, then handed it back to Sofia with a smile. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Sofia blinked and a tear rolled from her left eye and she wiped at it with her fingers. “Obrigada.” In her mind, she repeated the words it’s going to be okay, it’s going to be okay.

  Somehow she managed to get to the café and she worked her shift without any incidents. Her chest squeezed with a riot of emotions she wasn’t prepared to face, and she pushed them to the bottom, unwilling to deal with them just yet.

  At the end of her work day, she walked to the nearby garden and called Margarida.

  “Sofia, how are you?” Margarida asked in a cheerful voice.

  “I need to come over and talk to you. Is that okay?”

  Margarida’s voice turned serious. “Of course. Is everything okay?”

  Sofia took a breath. “Yes, everything’s fine. I just need to show you something.”

  Twenty minutes later, Sofia knocked softly on Margarida’s door. Margarida pressed a finger to her lips and they walked to the living room.

  “I just put Amélia to bed. Hopefully she stays.”

  Sofia handed Margarida the letter. “I’ve been shaking all day.”

  Margarida’s forehead wrinkled. She read the letter in silence. “I can’t say I’m surprised, Sofia.”

  Sofia clasped her hands on her lap. “So you don’t think I’m crazy to think Josh is behind this?”

  Margarida placed the letter down next to Sofia. “Who else would it be, right?”

  Sofia pressed her hand to her mouth and inhaled in little bursts. “How did he find out? Why did he do it?”

  A key turned in the front door lock and Paulo entered the apartment. Sofia and Margarida turned to him.

  Paulo took a few steps and stopped at the entrance to the living room. “What’s going on?”

  “Sofia received a letter from the university and she found out someone paid for her tuition.”

  Paulo sat next to Margarida and turned to Sofia. “I was wondering when you’d find out.”

  “You helped him, didn’t you?” Sofia said. “He hardly had any time before he left.”

  “He asked me how to do it and then I was supposed to take over if he didn’t have the time. But he went to the campus on the day he left and got it all done without any problems.”

  Sofia opened her purse and removed a card from her wallet. “The day after he left I got this in the mail. A six-month prepaid parking pass to the above-ground parking lot closest to the café. Because he thought the other parking wasn’t safe enough.” She closed her eyes. “But to pay the entire tuition for a whole year…”

  “A bouquet of flowers each time you go to class,” Margarida said.

  Sofia’s lips quirked as she wiped at the corner of her eye. “A very expensive bouquet.”

  Paulo’s forehead creased. “What flowers?”

  “Never mind.” Margarida winked at Sofia.

  Josh’s flowers. How was she ever going to repay him?

  Sofia squared her shoulders. “Enough blabbering about.” She stood. “I have a thank-you email to write.”

  Once outside on the street, Sofia inhaled a calming breath. As evening turned to night, the air cooled down from the earlier hot day temperature. She’d left the rolling blinds down and the sliding doors cracked and hopefully the apartment would be comfortable when she arrived.

  Sofia sat behind the wheel and her cell phone rang. It was from the care center. Why were they calling so late in the day? Her heart sank.

  “Está lá?”

  “Sofia, this is Doutor Paiva, your mother’s doctor.”

  “Sim, senhor doutor. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m very sorry to have to inform you that your mother has passed away. We suspect a brain aneurysm.”

  *

  The soft rays of first morning light filtered in shyly through the open blinds. Sofia had failed to draw them up again after spending the day before making funeral preparations and arranging for time off from work at the café.

  She lay in bed, watching the morning invade her bedroom. The day ahead loomed cold and bleak despite the weather forecast. What if she could skip to tomorrow? She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them tightly, fighting back the tears. If only she could take a mental vacation from her responsibilities. As far away as possible.

  Fortunately, some of the decisions had been made long before. Mother had been a devout Catholic in life, and it would be no different in death. Sofia had met with the priest yesterday and reviewed her final instructions. The viewing and mass were scheduled to take place in the morning, and the funeral in the late afternoon, at the cemetery of the small parish in Guimarães where Mother had been raised.

  The obituary was placed in the newspaper, even though Sofia didn’t expect anyone else to come. The only family she had left were some distant aunts and their families and, despite her efforts, their likelihood to attend was small. Margarida and Paulo would be driving with her and maybe some of Mother’s old friends from the village would come.

  Sofia was the only close family present. Her grandparents, her tia Joana, her father—they were all gone. The burying was a final chapter in her family life, one that made her the last living member. What if something happened to Sofia and she herself died? No
ancestors and no descendants. The end of the line.

  She shook herself and got up from bed. Her mind wandered back to the last time she’d visited with Mother, grateful for the hour she’d spent with her the day before her death. Had Mother even been aware of Sofia’s presence? In a way, Sofia had already mourned her loss, as the disease had taken her mind and spirit little by little in the previous months and years. The funeral was the final act, a way to say goodbye.

  Behind the bedroom door, a simply tailored black dress hung from a wooden hanger. Short sleeves and a straight skirt that hit just below the knee. Instead of a slit, it had a pleated insert in the back to allow for wider movement when walking. Her black patent heels sat on the plank floor. It was the same outfit Sofia had worn to Father’s funeral and it was only fitting to wear it again, a symbolic connection to both parents.

  The cell phone pinged from its place on the bedside table. It was only six-thirty, too early for social calls. No more bad news, please. Not today.

  Sofia glanced at the caller ID and her heart skipped a beat. Josh.

  Sofia, I’m so sorry for the loss of your mother. You are in my thoughts and prayers. I’m sorry I can’t be there.

  She stared at the screen for some time. They’d exchanged a few emails since his departure, short and not too personal. Every other day, Sofia checked his Facebook page for updates of his travels and for new pictures. But Josh had been unusually quiet and not posting much. And now a text.

  For several minutes, she didn’t reply to Josh. What would she say? The longing in her heart, the words that stuck in her throat—she couldn’t voice those. Too late for them.

  Instead, she typed, Josh, thank you for thinking of me, and for your kind words.

  She checked the message a few times and hit ‘send.’ Staring at the phone all day would not bring a return message any sooner.

  Margarida and Paulo drove Sofia to Guimarães. The bright sunlight hit the side of the car and Sofia adjusted her large black sunglasses. The mood was somber and her black outfit sucked all remnants of confidence.

  The viewing took place in the village where Mother’s parents and their ancestors had lived for generations, and more people from the parish came to attend than Sofia had anticipated. But funerals were as much a social event as a religious one and good manners dictated at least a token appearance. After all, tradition held the fabric of Portuguese connections, strong in places and fraying in others.