Sophie's Path

by Catherine Lanigan

  How far would Nate go with this “inside information” about Sophie and the Alliance?

  “Sophie, you have to know that Emory Wills dislikes any of his staff working for what he considers the opposition.”

  “Opposition?” Did the man think they were at war?

  “The Alliance is not funded or endorsed by the hospital. Their methodology is very different from Indian Lake Hospital...”

  “Thank God,” she interrupted. “Sorry.”

  Nate’s frown deepened. “I’m serious, Sophie. You’re the best cardiac nurse I’ve worked with. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “You think I’d get fired for just helping Eleanor? I’m not even doing that much.” Fear grabbed her by the knees and threatened to take her down.

  “I’d say raising money for them to continue is grounds enough. I’m not saying you should stay off the phones or stop putting up posters, but I’d be, well, more discreet.”

  Sophie’s shoulders slumped. She felt deflated. “I see.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “Look, Sophie. It’s not just Emory. I know you. You don’t do anything in half measures. You’re already starting to seem tired. I can see how much you love working in the ER. So do I. But with the Alliance on top of that, you could be in danger of spreading yourself too thin. Don’t let that happen.”

  “I’ll be okay,” she tried to assure him, but she saw the wariness in his eyes.

  “I’m just trying to warn you. That’s all. Forewarned is forearmed. Okay? And you and I never had this conversation. What you do on your free time is no concern of mine. By the way, I have an envelope with my own donation in my office. Anonymous. Give it to Eleanor. ’Kay?”

  Sophie felt her smile rise from her toes. Her chest inflated. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “You bet,” he said and winked. She’d escaped the extracurricular police.

  * * *

  JACK PEELED OFF the plastic lid from the cappuccino that Maddie Barzonni had made for him and chuckled. Today she’d drawn a sunflower in the thick foam because he’d told her yesterday that sunflowers were his favorite summer bloom. He shook his head and walked toward Carter and Associates’ massive window wall, which overlooked downtown Indian Lake.

  That’s what he loved about his new home in this small town. Little things. Thoughtful things that friends did for friends. Maddie’s café had the best cappuccino Jack had ever tasted, bar none. The best barista Chicago could boast didn’t hold a candle to Maddie, and she was teaching young Chloe Knowland to follow in her footsteps. Except when Chloe was running to acting classes, of course.

  Jack was amazed by how quickly he’d become attached to so many people in town. Mrs. Beabots was now his client, as well as Sarah and Luke Bosworth. Liz and Gabe Barzonni, too. Maddie had recently bought a policy for her entire franchise of cafés in Chicago.

  He passed Aleah’s desk and stopped. Her parents had requested all her personal items and Jack had packed them in a box and mailed them himself. He had kept her nameplate. It was identical to the ones they all had. He liked uniformity. He believed clients sensed subconscious impressions. Katia wanted their clients to think of Carter and Associates as family. Jack wanted them to feel protected.

  Jack picked up Aleah’s brass nameplate and held it.

  He wasn’t sure if he felt her presence any more strongly by keeping her nameplate. Most bosses would throw it away once they’d hired a new assistant.

  But Jack wouldn’t do that. He’d keep her nameplate in his desk drawer—not to keep his guilt close, but to remember her as the bright young woman she’d been and hope that he could find another assistant even half as enthusiastic.

  Jack’s eyes slipped over to Melanie who was taking down an insurance application over the phone. Owen was setting up appointments. Katia was on the phone with a new corporate client.

  They didn’t need him right this minute, but as soon as they were off their respective calls, they would.

  His thoughts about Aleah faded as he sipped his coffee, blowing on the surface. Something outside caught his eye. Rather, someone.

  Still dressed in her scrubs, Sophie stood at the corner, watching the traffic. She pulled a huge clip from her hair and let her waves tumble down. Sliding her fingers to her temple, she smiled as if relieved.

  Pretty smile. Pretty woman. He hummed a few notes of the song.

  She adjusted the shoulder strap on her black purse and the light changed. Sophie stepped off the curb and greeted an elderly couple as they approached her in the intersection. As she stepped onto the sidewalk next to his building, another man greeted her with a hug. They conversed for a moment and then parted. The man stopped, shouted something to Sophie. She turned and blew him a kiss.

  Jack cocked his head and lowered his paper cup. Boyfriend?

  A phone rang. Jack heard Melanie’s voice answer just as another call came in. Owen picked up. “Carter and Associates. This is Owen.”

  Jack spun around. Time to get back to work. Time to stop thinking about Sophie.

  * * *

  THE ALLIANCE OFFICE was only a few doors down from Carter and Associates. It was impossible for Sophie to walk to the Alliance without thinking about Jack. What he was doing. How he was feeling. Wondering if she could help him. Assuage his pain. Relieve his grief. As often as she chided herself that Jack wasn’t her responsibility, the memory of his stricken expression while sitting on the edge of the hospital bed lingered in her mind—indelible and haunting. It was the image that shot her full of guilt and recriminations. Both of which were nonproductive.

  Eleanor greeted her as she entered the office. She looked up from the stack of files she was carrying and smiled, exhaling deeply. Was that relief in her expression?

  “Sophie, I didn’t expect to see you today. Are you on break?” Eleanor asked as she tilted her head toward her office. “Come with me.”

  “I have two hours free, so I thought I’d stop by.” Sophie followed her and glanced toward the far end of the main room, where a group of people were sitting in a circle talking with Earl Belkowitz, a counselor she’d met on the day of the open house. They’d spoken only briefly, but she’d been impressed with his easy manner and sense of humor.

  “Eleanor, I counted fifteen people out there,” Sophie said, closing the office door behind her. “Just four days ago, Earl only had six clients.”

  Eleanor smiled. “Word is getting out about our services, and even I have to admit that the response is growing faster than I’d planned for.” She sighed as she plopped the files on her desk, smoothing a clump of hair that had fallen across her brow. She was clearly frazzled. “That group is the second one today. We have requests for daily meetings because for so many, these sessions are their lifeline to sobriety. I love that we’re vital, but...”

  “It’s a lot of work.”

  “And costs a lot of money, as you well know. Thank goodness for you, Sophie. You’ve raised over ten thousand dollars in a short time. I have no idea what I would have done without you.”

  Sophie reached into her pocket. “I have another check here, from my boss. It’s supposed to be anonymous.” She handed it over. “Eleanor...I need to talk to you.”

  Eleanor was reading the check, and her eyes grew wide as she took in the amount. “This is amazing. I could hire that counselor from South Bend I interviewed yesterday...” She stopped cold then lowered herself into her chair. “I can tell you why you’re here, Sophie. You don’t need to say a word. This is too much for you, isn’t it?”

  Sophie felt her face crack with emotion. “That’s the problem—I love what I’m doing and feel like I’m making a difference.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “There’s been...a development. My job may be in question if I continue working with you. Too many people around town know who I am. Too man
y hospital administrators watching too many of us.” Sophie pressed her fingertips to her forehead and closed her eyes. “Honestly, I’m beginning to feel as if I’m on a surveillance camera.”

  “Now you know how my addicts feel when they have to wear ankle bracelets and report to their probation officers.”

  “Uh-huh. I empathize and I still want to help.”

  Eleanor gnawed her bottom lip pensively for a moment. She sat up straighter. “Maybe there’s another way.”

  “Like what?”

  “Be an advocate for an addict. A sponsor.”

  Sophie paused. Fund-raising was making her too visible to the hospital administrators who worried about liability. Perhaps being a sponsor might keep her participation with the Alliance under the hospital radar.

  “But aren’t sponsors usually former addicts themselves?” Sophie asked.

  “Traditionally, yes. Still, we have lots of doctors and psychologists who help out this way. With your experience and medical knowledge you would be the kind of empathetic yet tough-love sponsor I need on the team,” Eleanor explained, her blue eyes suddenly glistening with tears she blinked away.

  Sophie touched Eleanor’s arm. “You have someone in mind for me, don’t you?”

  “Yes. His name is Jeremy...” Eleanor flipped through the charts and withdrew a brand-new folder containing only a single sheet of paper. It was the standard client information sheet, but Sophie noticed most of the lines were blank. No phone. No address. Little medical history.

  “And you want me to take him on?” Sophie asked with a jolt of apprehension. Was she educated enough for this work? She’d immersed herself in a sea of information; she’d fallen asleep with reports and personal testimonies and journals in order to better understand what people with addictions went through. The cure for addiction to drugs or alcohol was not purely medical or scientific. It took immense will and fortitude to fight the insidious lure of narcotics. Addicts were tough to cure. Many often felt as if they were only one half step away from falling over the precipice into oblivion. Back into that dark hole they may or may not crawl out of again.

  “Every case is unique. Jeremy Hawthorne is originally from Phoenix. Hitchhiked to Indiana last year. He told me he plays trumpet, or did in high school, but he sold his instrument to buy drugs. He’s worked odd jobs from town to town. That’s all I know.”

  Sophie felt her heart grow heavy just listening to Eleanor.

  “I’ll try, but I have to ask—why me? I’m not trained—”

  Eleanor cut her off. “Because you have a gift for helping others that comes from someplace deep inside you, Sophie,” Eleanor said. “I can see why you chose nursing. You were born to do it. I’m guessing you’ve never harmed a soul in your life. Human or animal.”

  Sophie struggled not to show the raw emotion coursing through her. All her life, she had wanted to help. From the stray cats, wounded birds and lost fawns she’d nursed as a child on the farm to the first patient she’d ever tended, Sophie remembered all of them. Maybe not all their names, but their faces. Their eyes. Their deep need for relief and their abounding gratitude when she sutured, bandaged and eased their pain with drugs.

  Patients like Jack. He’d held her hand so tightly when he was delusional right after the accident. His concussion had caused him to be disoriented. She’d seen that look in other patients—some when they’d been in hospice, dying. Jack had looked at her like she was the world. Or the next world.

  With a shock, Sophie realized she wanted to see that penetrating gaze of surrender, gratitude and hope in Jack’s eyes again. She wanted to be a safe harbor for him.

  Not once with a man had Sophie ever seen anything but desire or conquest. Men had been pastimes. Not people.

  Jack was different. She’d seen what she could be to a man—to Jack—and that wanting tugged on her head and her heart. It didn’t weigh her down or threaten to drown her. Instead, it was a tether to a hot air balloon that could take her far away, to worlds she’d never dared dream of.

  Jack could take her to a place where she might find her value as a woman to be loved.

  As the idea settled on her shoulders like a gossamer shawl, Sophie shivered. She shook off the foreign feeling.

  What was she thinking? Talk about delusional. In a minute, she’d be the one Eleanor thought was the addict. Thinking nonsense. Daydreaming of impossibilities. Acting like Alice in Wonderland. She needed to stay on track. Sophie was all about helping others. Not herself.

  “You’re right. I’m at my best when I’m helping. When can I meet Jeremy?”

  Eleanor smiled widely and rose to give Sophie a hug. “Is tomorrow too soon?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  SOPHIE FIDGETED UNCOMFORTABLY as she sat in a booth at the crumbling, seventy-year-old Road House Café on the outskirts of town. She’d lived in Indian Lake almost her whole life and had never been to the place. She remembered her mother describing the inedible food and her father grumbling that the building wasn’t safe. Her grandmother told her the ramshackle café had been on the edge of demolition in the 1930s. It still stood. The screen door had banged when she walked in and Sophie had feared the clapboard walls would disintegrate from the vibration. There was an old Coca-Cola cooler outside the front door that still held bottles of soft drinks and beer. Freezing water swirled around them.

  Inside, half the bar stools were gone completely. Three aging bikers stood at the bar talking and drinking coffee from thick china coffee mugs.

  There were about a dozen booths along a wall of greasy, dirty windows for patrons to see across the farmland. Sophie wondered why the owner didn’t just pull down the blinds if no one was going to wash the glass. Though from the look of the wood floor with clumps of dirt kicked under the stools and the torn Naugahyde covering on the seats, no one here was too concerned about appearances or improvements.

  The Road House Café had been Jeremy’s choice of a place to meet. She’d suggested Lou’s Diner, which was close to the hospital, or even the Indian Lake Deli, but he’d nearly hung up the phone.

  “Forget it,” he’d grumbled arrogantly.

  She hadn’t even met him face-to-face and he was brushing her off. Discarding any chance for recovery. Refusing help.

  Maybe that was the problem. He didn’t want to feel like a charity case. She’d have to watch that she didn’t demean him in any way.

  She rubbed her arms as she propped her elbows on the tabletop. The silver flecks in the gray, white and pink-veined Formica had faded and the surface felt sticky. She pulled a thin paper napkin from the metal dispenser, stuck the end in her glass of water and wiped the surface under her elbows.

  A roar of motorcycle engines filled the late afternoon air, turning Sophie’s attention away from the collage of antique ice-cream posters, which she was certain were not cherished collectibles but simply tacked up over the years from vendors passing through. Eventually, they probably covered rot, holes and broken paneling.

  Eight guys, ranging from midtwenties to midseventies, parked their bikes out front, taking up all the room next to her car. Most wore leather vests, no shirts, boots with studs and stainless steel chains hanging from their necks, wrists and waistbands. Two were bald. The rest wore long hair tied with leather or bandanas. They were trying to seem rough. They succeeded.

  Last off one of the bikes and seated behind the biggest, burliest and ugliest of the bunch was a thin young man, wearing torn jeans, a worn and stained black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. He had a backpack with a fading Giants logo emblazoned across it.

  Sophie guessed this was Jeremy as the younger man hung back, assessing the diner as if unsure about entering.

  Even from this distance, she saw eyes filled with despair. There was no life in his face. Not even the ghost of a smile. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever smiled.

/>   Who had this boy been before the drugs? Something told her that was exactly what she had to find out in order to help him. Backward in order to move forward.

  He was still hesitating, looking at the bikes as if he longed to jump on one and ride away. But to where? His addiction would go with him wherever he went.

  On instinct, Sophie rose, left the booth and circled around the group of bikers who, ordinarily, would have intimidated her. She almost didn’t see them, she was so concentrated on Jeremy.

  She glanced out the window. He’d pulled his hoodie farther over his face and turned his back on the diner.

  She went to the door and pushed the screen open. “Jeremy?”

  He looked up, dark hollow eyes peering out from deep inside his hood.

  Silence.

  “Jeremy. It’s me, Sophie. Don’t leave.”

  “You’re pretty.” He stood still, not shifting an inch. Still judging her, but not seeking an escape route, either.

  “Thank you,” she replied, stepping out onto the rickety porch. She inched forward as if she were approaching a wild animal in a trap. He was terrified. And in pain.

  Sophie guessed that he’d agreed to meet her because the ugly truth was that he had no place else to go.

  She gestured toward the array of motorcycles. “Friends of yours?”

  He shook his head. “I hitched.”

  “Are they your dealers?”

  Jeremy nearly smiled. Nearly. “No. They said they were accountants from Chicago. They come to Indiana on the weekends and pretend they have a second life. Stupid, huh? What’s wrong with their first life?”

  “You’re right. In the end, we all have only one life, but there’s nothing wrong with wearing costumes and experiencing all kinds of adventures.”

  “I like adventure. Thrills. That’s my problem.”

  She walked closer. “No, Jeremy. You like drugs. There’s no adventure in drugs. Just imprisonment.”

  Sophie spotted an old picnic table under a spreading oak tree. A tire hung from a rope tied to a low limb. She hadn’t seen a swing like that in years. Not since she’d been a kid herself and played with the Johnson kids at their farm down the road. She’d been lucky. She’d had a normal upbringing.