Sophie's Path

by Catherine Lanigan

  “No need.” Mrs. Beabots lifted a linen cloth from some pie dough she’d made earlier and began rolling it out. She fluttered a hand in the air, waving off Sophie’s thoughts as if they were distracting moths. “Quite honestly, this isn’t the first time these thoughts have crossed my mind. And I’m not dwelling on it now. It’s just that while I still have the energy and my wits about me, I thought I should be doing more. You know what I mean?”

  “Like what?” Sophie asked. “Do you want to travel? See the world? Or a bucket list kind of thing?”

  “Heavens, I’ve seen the world. Or most of it,” Mrs. Beabots replied, cutting small circles out of the dough and placing them in the tartlet pans. “Measure out three separate cups of sugar for me in those metal cups, would you, dear?”

  “Sure. So, when was this that you traveled and where did you go?” Sophie asked with genuine curiosity. She didn’t know much about Mrs. Beabots and her background. In fact, nobody did. The woman was the essence of secrecy. Even Sophie’s mother and grandmother had heard little about Raymond Beabots or Emma before they move to Indian Lake in the midsixties, opened the Rose Street Grocery and bought this old Victorian home.

  Sophie’s curious nature had often gotten her into trouble when she was young. Her mother told her it was the root of her flirtatiousness. She was always curious about the next guy around the next corner. That same investigative bent had served her well in her medical career, and if she hadn’t settled on heart ablations, she might have gone into diagnostic medicine. Tracking down clues and symptoms to pinpoint disease.

  Mrs. Beabots still hadn’t answered, and Sophie realized her curiosity might be getting her into hot water yet again. She stopped measuring. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

  Mrs. Beabots met Sophie’s gaze. “It’s just that no one has asked me that in a very long time. Not even one of my girls.”

  “Your girls?”

  “Sarah and her crowd. Oh, they’re all grown up now, but since I had no children of my own, I’ve always been quite close to Sarah. Maddie, too. And Liz.”

  “And Olivia. Katia, too,” Sophie added.

  “That’s right. My circle is growing. Now I include you.” Mrs. Beabots smiled widely.

  Sophie blushed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed. Grade school? Possibly. She wasn’t the blushing type—never had been. But Mrs. Beabots was an icon, and to be a part of her private world was intriguing and flattering. “I’m honored.”

  “You’re the only one of my girls who has both parents alive. We support each other the way families should. They help me with little things that have become a major consideration for me now that I don’t drive anymore.” She frowned. “Getting to the grocery in a rainstorm is a real chore if you don’t have a car.”

  “The winters alone must slow you down.”

  “Believe me, they do. But I manage. I hope you won’t mind if I need to ask for a ride now and then. When you’re available, of course.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Sophie said. “I’ll check with you whenever I go out. I do that with my mom as it is. She can’t always get away from the farm and since I’m in town, I pick things up for her all the time.”

  “Isn’t that wonderful?” Mrs. Beabots sighed. “Such a lovely thing to have family. Frankly, that being the case, you may not have as much time for us and our get-togethers over the holidays and such. But you’re always welcome.”

  “Thank you.” Sophie smiled.

  “Now, hand me that bowl there.”

  Sophie did as she was asked. “This looks like you’re baking for an army. Is it someone’s birthday?”

  “Birthday? Oh, no.” She smiled. “This is for Eleanor Fieldstone’s new project. She’s having an open house the day after tomorrow and she prevailed upon me to make something special for her fund-raiser.”

  “Fieldstone?” Sophie knew she’d heard Eleanor’s name lately, but couldn’t place it. Had she been a patient? That happened to her a lot. Then it clicked. “Is she the woman who started Recovery Alliance last year?”

  “She is. Do you know her?” Mrs. Beabots filled the last of the trays with pie crust.

  “I’ve never met her, but I’ve heard about her work with drug addicts.”

  Mrs. Beabots shook her head. “It’s a terrible plague in this town, drugs. I was over at the police station the other day—”

  “The police station? Why?”

  “Oh, Trent Davis is a favorite of mine. Actually, it was his birthday and I baked him a cake. All those boys over there at the station love my cakes.”

  “Funny, but his name sounds familiar, too.”

  “I know his mother very well. Trent just made detective. I think it’s because of the gangs around here. His mother told me he’s helped spearhead two large stings and the police have rounded up over twenty drug dealers.”

  “I had no idea it was that bad.”

  “Tip of the iceberg, Trent says.” As Mrs. Beabots rattled on, Sophie remembered that Trent was one of the investigating policemen after Jack’s accident. He had asked Sophie for a copy of Greg Fulton’s medical records, and he’d questioned Jack about the incident, though Sophie hadn’t been present for that. Still, she’d gotten the impression that Trent was courteous, professional and thorough.

  “Trent will be at the open house. I’ll introduce you. He’s very handsome.” Mrs. Beabots winked.

  Sophie shook her head. “That’s okay,” she said, fending off the obvious attempt at matchmaking. “I believe I’ve already met him. Besides, I don’t have time for romance right now. But I would like to meet Eleanor. I’d like to find out more about her work.”

  “That would be perfect,” Mrs. Beabots said, filling the tartlets with cream and sugar. “I needed someone to drive me there and help with my desserts.”

  Sophie couldn’t help smiling to herself. Mrs. Beabots was as crafty as she was charming.

  * * *

  THE RECOVERY ALLIANCE was located across from the county courthouse in one of the original Main Street buildings from the 1870s. It had been refurbished extensively in the late 1970s, becoming a dress shop, and still had maroon awnings out front with gold key scallop edging. The front door, made of brass and etched glass, was so heavy Sophie had a difficult time juggling the two pans of sugar tarts and her purse as she pulled it open.

  The main area, formerly used as the showroom, still had the original warped floorboards, which had been recently sanded, stained and coated. There were no rugs, drapes or decorations, except the crystal chandelier that had once hung in the dress shop.

  Along the walls were several old bookshelves, which looked like they’d come from a garage sale or a schoolhouse auction. They were filled with brochures, some tattered paperbacks and stacks of colorful folders. Three round folding tables covered in homemade cloths sat in the middle of the room, while at the far end a long table held a coffee urn, teapot, pitcher of lemonade and trays of sandwiches, fruits and vegetables. Sophie added Mrs. Beabots’s tarts to the array.

  Half a dozen people were putting out little bouquets of garden flowers, brochures, survey sheets, pens and name tags on the tables.

  Just as they finished putting out the desserts, a tall blonde woman in her late fifties wearing a brown summer linen suit walked over to them. She gave Mrs. Beabots a hug.

  “The tarts are just beautiful. Thank you so much for this, Mrs. Beabots,” she said with a smile. “Frankly, I’m hoping your famous pie will be a draw for people.”

  “My goodness, Eleanor, your work is getting quite the buzz around town. I don’t think you need me or my pie in the least.”

  “I wish that were the case,” Eleanor replied glumly. “I was hoping for two dozen volunteers and these poor five folks have shouldered the entire burden. Courtney, over there, missed a day and a half of wo
rk just to get our brochure out on time. She only walked in from the printer’s ten minutes ago. That was close.”

  While Eleanor spoke, Sophie noted that the offices and private rooms in back still seemed to be in makeshift condition. Though the partition walls were up, there were no doors. If they needed privacy, they didn’t have it yet.

  “Let me introduce my friend, Sophie Mattuchi. This is Eleanor Fieldstone,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Sophie lives upstairs in my house now that Katia is getting married. She’s a cardiac surgeon’s nurse at the hospital.”

  Sophie held out her hand. “I’m very interested in the work you’re doing. From what little I’ve researched, I believe you’re an addictions specialist.”

  “What is that?” Mrs. Beabots’s blue eyes were filled with curiosity.

  “I’m board certified in addiction medicine. I worked for years in Chicago, but when my husband became ill, we sold our house and moved here to Indian Lake to slow down a bit. Once he died, I needed a challenge.”

  “I absolutely agree with that,” Mrs. Beabots said firmly. “We all have to have passion. Without it, life isn’t worth living.”

  Sophie cocked her head. “Really? I thought it was love we all needed.”

  Mrs. Beabots waved her hand as if shooing a fly. “You can love all kinds of people, and be loved, but passion for a cause fills those holes inside you when you realize you want your life to count for something.”

  Eleanor nodded. “I think Recovery Alliance can make a big difference. Indian Lake needs us. Education is essential to stopping this problem. The police can only do so much and they are called in when there’s a crisis. The Alliance’s job is to inform and educate parents and kids before they start experimenting with drugs. I want to get to the kids in elementary and middle schools. By the time they hit high school, it’s too late.”

  Mrs. Beabots folded her arms over her chest. “This is so disheartening. High school is too late?”

  “That’s part of the addiction problem today. When children get hooked so young, their brains are still developing and they have no chance to mature like their peers. They don’t understand consequences. They can’t think the way we do. They are relegated to a life of chasing the next high.”

  “Is there any hope?” Mrs. Beabots asked.

  “Yes, there is. But it takes a great deal of commitment. Most importantly, the parents are the drivers. Too many times I’ve seen that the child is dedicated to his recovery, but the parent is not.” Eleanor shook her head then continued, “The Alliance uses a Twelve Step Program with addicts and our recovery rate is in line with AA. What sets us apart is the education we give to parents and younger kids.”

  Sophie nodded. “About a month ago I was involved with the treatment of an ER patient, an addict, who died. I’ve been trying to find something that goes beyond the hospital’s emergency care for people with drug problems.” Sophie held out her hand. “I want to help you all that I can.”

  Eleanor squeezed her hand. “Believe me, Sophie, we can use you. This means a lot to me.”

  “What do you need?”

  “Well, your job at the hospital must keep you very busy. How many hours a week can you give me?”

  “I can spare a couple nights. One weekend a month, possibly, when I’m not working in the ER.” Sophie remembered Tanya’s warnings about employee involvement with non-affiliated programs. There were a lot of reasons for her to walk away, but already she could see the positive impact Eleanor’s program could have. This was too important for Sophie to pass up.

  “I’ll take it,” Eleanor replied excitedly. “We’re desperate to simply get the word out that we exist. I need help on social media. Do you think you could meet with local businesses? We need funding, but we also simply need them to talk about us. Maybe sponsor radio or internet ads.”

  “I can do that,” Sophie said firmly. “Let me put some ideas down on paper. My first thought is Maddie Barzonni’s café. I could start there. Maybe the Book Shop and Java Stop for another. What do you think?”

  “Terrific. Here’s my card. Call me when you’re ready to start and I’ll get some materials together for you.”

  Sophie smiled as Eleanor walked away, then she realized Mrs. Beabots was staring at her, dumbfounded.

  Sophie swallowed hard. She felt every ounce of Mrs. Beabots’s concern. Sophie knew exactly what she’d just done. She’d broken one of the hospital’s explicit rules. She was not to align herself with other organizations that conflicted with the hospital’s programs. She couldn’t let anyone know she was helping Eleanor.

  “Mrs. Beabots...”

  “You don’t even have to ask. As far as I’m concerned, all you did was drop me off.”

  “You understand, then?”

  “Maybe even more than you do. Emory Wills runs a tight ship over there at the hospital. He’s always been like that. Too controlling.” Then she winked. “And absolutely no fun. Now, let’s have some coffee and see if my tarts are any good.”

  Sophie filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee for Mrs. Beabots. The black liquid reminded her of all the coffee she’d downed the night Aleah died. Aleah’s face haunted her. Flashes of that night came back to her. Jack’s pleas for her to save Aleah. The fear in his eyes and the compelling, imploring look he gave her. He was incapable of saving Aleah himself and he’d counted on her to do it.

  And I failed.

  Sophie watched several groups of people come through the front door of Recovery Alliance. Men, women and kids of every age. Some she’d seen around town at the grocery store, the dry cleaners, even at the hospital. They were her neighbors.

  Warmth spread through Sophie, then surged like a fire that had been fanned. It was nearly overwhelming, but somehow reassuring. For the first time in a long time, she felt balanced and whole. With a start, she realized she was feeling exactly what Mrs. Beabots had talked about. Sophie had found her passion.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SINCE MEETING ELEANOR, Sophie had spent her break hours calling Scott Abbot at the bookstore, Jerry Mason’s construction company, Louise Railton and Captain Redbeard. All had agreed to put up posters in their businesses. Scott couldn’t have been more cooperative, especially once Sophie told him she’d learned of the Alliance through Mrs. Beabots.

  After about a week of doing outreach and learning about the Alliance, Sophie realized how desperately the Alliance needed operating capital and volunteered to make fund-raising phone calls, as well. She’d never asked anyone to donate money before. Sure, she’d sold Girl Scout cookies door-to-door when she was in elementary school, and she’d helped Isabelle Hawks last year with her art booth at the summer festival, but she’d never asked someone to give her money for a cause or charity.

  “How difficult can it be?” she asked Eleanor on Tuesday morning. Sophie had an afternoon shift and decided to spend her free hours at the Alliance offices.

  Not even an arched brow and a “you’ve got to be kidding me” glance from Eleanor could daunt her, though. Sophie enthusiastically grabbed the receiver. “I’d better get to it.”

  Eleanor nodded knowingly. “I’ll bring you coffee. And shut the door for privacy.”

  Sophie’s first call was to Austin McCreary. She bumbled her way through her pitch and sounded like a grade schooler asking for a hall pass. Though she didn’t have any training or a script to follow, she hoped her passion for helping the people in the next room would shine through. Austin was gracious and donated five thousand dollars.

  “This is very generous of you, Austin. We all want to thank you,” Sophie said.

  “Actually, Sophie, once I get back from my honeymoon, I plan to help Eleanor even more. Aleah’s death has really shaken Katia and me up. It’s made us look around our little town and see that there’s some serious work to be done. Thank you for all the help you’re giving Eleanor.�
��

  “It’s not much, really. Just a few hours here and there. She can’t do it all.”

  “It’s like sticking your thumb in the dam, I’m sure,” he said. “Good luck.”

  Austin’s donation gave her the confidence to go to Mrs. Beabots, Helen Knowland, Debra La Pointe, Sarah and Luke Bosworth and Gina Barzonni. Not one turned her down.

  What surprised Sophie the most was the outpouring of affection toward her for helping the Alliance. She almost felt as if she’d been accepted by them, despite her long-standing reputation. Almost.

  * * *

  SOPHIE STRIPPED THE blue nitrile gloves from her hands and pulled off her surgical gown after the last ablation surgery of the day.

  “Good job today, Sophie,” Nate Barzonni said, pulling off his mask.

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Sophie smiled, enjoying the feeling of accomplishment she got each time they completed a surgery. “I’ll check on the patient.”

  Nate stopped her. “I understand you made a phone call to my mother yesterday.”

  Sophie’s mind was still on the ablation. “Your mother?”

  “About the Alliance and the donation?”

  There was something in Nate’s voice she didn’t like. That sharp, stern edge she heard only when he was frustrated during a surgery. She remembered her conversation with Tanya and gulped. “Is there a problem?”

  “Not with my mother. When she told me what she donated to the Alliance, I thought it kind of her. What concerns me is that it was you who made the call.”

  “Um, why?” Sophie felt as if she’d fallen into frozen waters. Suddenly, the world had grown cold.

  How could she have believed word of Gina’s contribution wouldn’t get back to her son? True, Sophie still didn’t understand how the hospital could frown on anyone who was trying to make a positive difference in people’s lives. But Tanya’s warning had been serious. Sophie had been so caught up in the work she was doing, and the positive responses, she’d forgotten how small Indian Lake truly was. She’d forgotten to be cautious.