Sophie's Smile: A Novel

by Harper, Sheena

  Luckily, his dad was still idling in the driveway. Jack bolted from the truck, frantically addressing the second fire of the day, and in the back of his mind he thought that he was somehow being punished for wasting his life and not being present for his family. That all the wrongdoings of his past compounded in the past few days, giving him a much needed wakeup call. But in that moment, he only cared about one thing, and that was his son. He carried Liam in his arms, as he carried Em moments before, and drove him five miles to the hospital where Sophie once was employed.

  “Hi Bud, you scared me there for a moment,” Jack’s eyes were soft and gleaming in the dank light of the darkened hospital room.

  “Where am I?” Worry creased his forehead, as Liam was trying to focus on the bleached white floor, the simple furniture that lined the room, and the rough plastic gown that rumpled under the thin white sheets and itched against his clammy skin.

  “Relax, Bud, you’re in the hospital. You fainted.”

  “Sophie,” Liam gasped, “I need to find Sophie.” Liam was exasperated. His breath was hoarse and ragged by the slight exertion and his limbs failed to follow his lead.

  Jack gingerly placed both hands on his shoulders and pressed Liam back down onto the bed, “Later.” Knowing tears escaped Jack’s eyes as he desperately tried to hide the facts from Liam. He, too, couldn’t tell a lie.

  “Dad…please…tell me she’s okay.”

  Jack turned away, his eyes diverting toward the single window that cast a sliver of low light through the slight opening of the plastic blinds. Shadows danced across the walls, fleeting with the slight movements of Jack’s hands as he fidgeted, stuffed them in and out of his jean pockets, and shuffled his feet against the polished floor.

  “Dad?”

  Jack cleared his throat, a habit that inevitably was passed down to Liam, “She’s gone.”

  “Can’t be,” shaking his head, Liam’s voice firm, “I just talked to her a few hours ago.”

  “She was at the grocery store, up the street…there was a car…it happened so fast…”

  “No. I need to get out of here and see her,” Liam tossed the thin sheets off his clammy body, “She must be home by now and worried that I’m not back yet.”

  “Liam,” Jack finally turned to his son, tilted his chin up swiftly with his fingers, and when Liam’s red eyes flickered to his, he said, “she’s gone.”

  Silence filled the stark room, and after what seemed like hours, it was replaced by shrieks of grief and tears of anger, sorrow, and of misfortune.

  In the next few minutes, hours, days, and months, Liam felt all zest for life fade away, slipping back toward his darker days, unable to focus, care, or even live.

  3

  The nights passed, painstakingly slow, excruciatingly lonesome; the days lingered, haunted by Sophie’s presence. Liam’s movements were slow and eerie as if he were possessed by a ghost. His face was pale and streaked with dried tears, a ghoulish purple rimming his eyes, dark and dead.

  Although he visited the market and lay on the hot asphalt where Sophie last breathed his name, he denied the reality of her death.

  Although he had been to the morgue to identify her disfigured, lifeless, yet excruciatingly beautiful body, he held on to the fascination that he was traveling into the depths of a vivid nightmare.

  Although he held a small but lovely ceremony at the place they exchanged vows only a year before, and spread her ashes in the tree-shaded alcove they claimed as their own—making a quick decision to save a piece in a silver locket that weighed heavily on his neck—and planted a calla lily blub next to their bench, he held on to the hope that his beloved would return somehow. Her face radiant and glowing, her lips curving into a smile, and her voice filled with the love and kindness that melted his heart.

  Realization finally set in one night as Liam lay in bed, the scent of Sophie’s perfume no longer present on her pillow, her voice dwindling from his memory, and there he cried until tears no longer formed, until his body gave up.

  He dreamed of Sophie that night. It was the first of many that haunted his mind, and puzzled and distressed him in the morning. They weren’t of her beauty and warmth but of her anger and sadness. She accused him of her death relentlessly and in different, torturous ways. Of course, these horrible images were only brought on by the guilt he felt for leaving her, when he chose to save his sister rather than his beloved wife.

  A psychiatrist would probably tell him these nightmares were normal. That they would one day pass if he only forgave himself. That it wasn’t his fault. That life has many unexpected twists and turns. That sometimes there are no easy answers to life’s injustices. That sometimes bad things happened to good people. That this is the mystery of life and we all must accept the good and the bad in order to survive in this world. The psychiatrist would then numb the pain with some prescription meds, which would only make him dreary, robotic and uncomfortable. Liam would not go to a psychiatrist, because he no longer cared to survive in this world.

  Life moved on outside the walls of his empty home. Neighbors walked their dogs, kids went to school, adults went to work, the sun went up in the morning and set at night. Time did not stop just because Sophie was not there; to Liam, it should have. He went around the dark house turning off every light, taking out the batteries from every device that told time, and shutting off every mode of communication with the outside world.

  Liam’s loved ones were unable to contact him, desperately trying to reach out through worried messages and anxious, unseen visits.

  Time passed, accruing the stale odor of days gone without showering, the scent of dried vomit near the toilet, and the smell of rotten food stained the enclosed walls and dingy air. Unable to eat, sleep, talk or move, Liam stayed locked in the room he had shared for just under one short year with Sophie.

  4

  One day, Emily decided enough was enough and jimmied the lock open—a skill she uncovered during her years with Dan—and entered the front door. The stench strangled her as she gagged on thick vapors; bile lurched into the back of her throat, her stomach churned in response. She hurriedly opened the doors and windows to the dank house. The sunlight spilled in, highlighting the dust-covered furniture and rotten fruit that wrinkled in the web-covered bowl on the dinette. She ignored everything else and stampeded up the stairs to the bedroom where she knew would find her brother.

  “Get up,” she said as she yanked opened the curtains and windows. When Liam idly turned over in response, she grabbed him by his yellowed, sweat-soaked collar and all but dragged him to the shower fully clothed. The cold sprays of water sparked some life into him. His eyes shocked and voice raged in response.

  “Hey!”

  “Hey yourself. Now wash up and get dressed.” With that she slammed the bathroom door behind her and got to work. Emily was back to her old fiery self; stubborn, empowering, and a go-getter. Except for the darkness that still loomed behind the depth of her eyes, she was back.

  Emily was cleaning out his closet when Liam emerged from the bathroom, clean, shaven, and somewhat conscious. Except for the few nicks in his face, he seemed awake and less morbid.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing,” he grabbed Sophie’s purple blouse from Emily’s hurried hands.

  “I’m cleaning out your closet.”

  “Why,” Liam said between clenched teeth.

  “It’s about time.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” she continued softly, “you didn’t.”

  Liam didn’t speak, his eyes cold, but his body seemed to weaken and relent. He turned away from her and headed back to bed but decided on the floor when he got a whiff of the sour sheets.

  Emily finished bagging up Sophie’s clothes, except for the purple blouse that was clutched to Liam’s chest, and headed toward the bed. She removed the soiled sheets and replaced them with fresh ones that she brought along with h
er, hoping to remove Sophie’s haunting scent in the process. And that’s when her foot hit something hollow under the bed.

  Curious, she kneeled down to get a closer look, and pulled out two boxes that hid in the shadows. One was a big white box, simply tied with a red bow. The other was a small shoebox, old and tattered with age.

  “What are these?”

  “Huh?” Liam stirred slightly, still curled in a ball on the carpet, still clutching the purple blouse.

  “These boxes under the bed.” Emily turned so Liam could see the boxes she was holding in her hands.

  “What?” Liam lifted his limp head to look at the boxes she held and stiffened as he began to recollect all the evenings and nights Sophie would write, smile wistfully, and read the contents of the items that she stored in that worn little shoe box. Sophie’s treasure box. That’s the name he secretly gave it, knowing that it held her secrets, the box where she stored her thoughts and memories, the box he was not allowed to open.

  The other, larger box, perplexed him, though. He never remembered seeing that one.

  Silently, he sat up, gingerly touching the boxes with his fingers, trying to feel Sophie’s presence within the grains, edges, and corners of each box. He hesitated before undoing the red ribbon. He held his breath when he opened the lid. And he drew out a longer breath when he pulled the quilt from the big white box. A card fell into his lap.

  His eyes welled up in a fresh batch of tears as he examined the quilt that was made with the love and grace of Sophie’s hands and heart. As he unfurled the quilt across the bed, he instantly recognized the quotes he used to whisper or write to her, the pictures that friends and passersby took of them at the lake, at Seaport Village, during their wedding—he remembered all the times she would sit at her desk, documenting their life together.

  He opened the card. Uncontrollable tears streamed down his face as he read her words, unaware of Emily sliding down beside him, resting her arm around his trembling shoulders:

  Dearest Liam,

  I can’t tell you enough how much I love you. The seconds, minutes, hours, days that passed, becoming months and then years. Our one year anniversary is already here and I relish every moment that I’m able to spend with you.

  I love watching you think, the way your brow creases and eyes go blank.

  I love hearing you speak, confident, warm, loving. Your words of wisdom and kindness.

  I love your heart and the way you shower me with kisses, loving pet names, the way your eye lingers and lights up when you watch me dress and undress.

  I love your romantic gestures and simple surprises with flowers, cooking, baking, and dates.

  I love the fact that you love me so much and I love the fact that I love you just as much.

  I know words can’t express what we mean to each other and how we feel, but I hope this quilt can stitch together some of its meaning.

  I love you with all my heart and I’ll love you forever and always.

  Happy Anniversary, my love.

  -Mrs. Sullivan

  After rereading the card a few times he turned his attention to the shoebox. He was always curious about the contents of this tattered shoebox, but he knew better than to ask. He loved her enough to allow her some secrets and her privacy.

  His heart lifted as he opened the creased notes that he wrote to her while they were dating. The many I-Love-Yous, written across various pieces and sizes of paper, the many notes he’d scrawl for her before leaving early for work, the many cards, poems, and letters he wrote to her during their many joyful years together.

  There were movie ticket stubs, receipts, and also drafts of the notes and letters she wrote, all neatly pressed and protected.

  But it was one letter that held his glance. One letter that sent a lump to his throat. One letter that remained unseen and unreceived until this moment. It was the letter Sophie wrote a few days before she was taken from him, during the few days when he left her side. It was this letter that he ever after kept in his wallet, the letter he never lived without. The letter that saved him.

  He suddenly felt hungry and weak. He suddenly felt both cold and hot. He suddenly smelled the foul air he reeked in. And he suddenly felt alive again.

  He laughed, wincing at the coarseness and the unfamiliarity of his voice, and he laughed some more until he noticed his sister’s silent and scared eyes cautiously watching him.

  “Sorry.”

  “T—that’s okay,” she mumbled, careful not to send him back into a catatonic state.

  “I’m starved. Do you want to eat?”

  “Sure,” she smiled hesitantly, “let’s go out though…your fridge is kinda scary.”

  “Okay. Sounds good.”

  Liam laughed some more.

  5

  After scarfing down four slices of veggie pizza and chugging three refills of lemonade, Liam’s color returned, and he slowly regained his strength. He grabbed for the last slice on the greasy metal pan and lifted it onto his plate.

  Eying her brother carefully and still nibbling on the crust of her first slice of pizza, Emily asked, “So you’re okay with me getting rid of Sophie’s clothes, right?”

  Mid-bite, Liam easily replied, “No.”

  Frustrated, Emily egged him on. “Liam, it’s the next step. You have to let go. Move on. Get a hold of your life. It’s not like you’re in your nineties, unable to enjoy even a simple game of bingo.”

  Liam didn’t have the strength or desire to pick a never-ending fight with his sister; he never won before and he didn’t want to try now, so he paused.

  Taking the time to finish chewing, he replied, “Em, you weren’t here when she came into my life. Sophie was my everything. She showed me the blessings of love and life. I owe her everything and I’ll never let go of her, nor will I ever forget the mark she’s left on my soul. So, I’ll say this only once, never again utter my Sophie’s name with as much of a hint of negativity in your voice.”

  Emily stared, mouth agape. She had no retort, nothing. He was right, she hadn’t known Sophie; for that matter, she didn’t even know her brother. She didn’t know what Liam suffered, or all the trials and tribulations he went through after the divorce. She ran away. And because of that, she had no right to judge or even preach guidance. For the first time, Liam won an argument with his sister.

  Emily stayed with him a few days longer, helping to clean his unkempt house, watching closely as the death in his eyes diminished and he began to regain control of his life.

  When he seemed back to his previous self, and signs of suicide diminished, Emily returned to Lake Tahoe, where she was also building a new life. In the short time since she was saved, she added some meat back onto her bones—courtesy of Grandma’s abundant cooking. Her head was cleared and her body was rejuvenated from the hours of meditation, yoga, and handfuls of “healing” crystals her mother surrounded her with. With her family’s support and talent for ignoring the past, Emily was able to power through the bad days and the worse days. She had miles to go, but the good days were starting to outshine the bad; she promised herself that she wouldn’t ever let some guy ruin her. In retrospect, she hoped this girl—Sophie—would not end up ruining her brother.

  As the days passed, Liam spent most of his free time at the lake; sitting quietly on the cold cement bench, tending to the calla lily he planted, staring across the water, speaking softly into the wind. Sometimes he would take out the letter from his wallet (worn from countless unfolding, tears, and refolding) and reread the passage that revived his soul:

  I’d want you to live and be happy and stress-free. I wouldn’t want you to be burdened by my death. Instead I would want you to treasure the good times we shared, while forging on to make new beautiful memories with someone else. Someone willing and good, someone who would love you, and if I have not been able to, bear your children. I would love to look down and see you strive for happiness. Maybe even open up a bakery and name the cream puff after me :D. Yes, that would be nice.r />
  And each time he read those sweet yet sorrowful words, he whispered, “I’m sorry, but that’s something I just can’t do,” and refolded the paper and tucked it back into his wallet.

  6

  The year passed, much in the same way, but today, on a clear afternoon, the words “bear your children” caused tears to drip softly down his cheeks.

  “Oh, my dear, sweet Sophie, how I wish you were here now so I could take you to our bed and try many times to create a beautiful child together. You would have made a wonderful mother and I would have cared for you both—”

  After spending another hour, idly tending to the calla lily while whispering bouts of love, remorse, confusion, and anything that ailed him, Liam took out his cell and dialed a number he had committed to memory, his mother’s.

  “Liam!” Brenda’s surprised voice hung in the silence.

  “Hi Mom. How are you?”

  “I’m good,” she hesitated, “how are you doing?”

  “Better.”

  I heard her exhale as she continued, “So what’s the occasion?”

  “Sorry I haven’t called sooner…I’ve been busy.”

  “That’s okay. I’m just glad to hear your voice. Did you need something?”

  “Yes, well I think so, that is,” trailing off for a moment, “I think you might be able to help,” Liam stammered.

  “What is it?”