Sophie's Path

by Catherine Lanigan

  Dr. Caldwell looked up. “A friend of yours?”

  “I’m his sponsor,” Sophie replied without thinking. A split-second later she realized what she’d just admitted to.

  “His what?”

  She shook her head to wave off his questions.

  “We’ll talk later,” Dr. Caldwell said.

  Sophie turned back to her patient. One part of her wanted to rush to Jeremy and do all she could to save him. Yet as she watched the older man fight for each breath and heartbeat, she was glued to the spot. She made her decision.

  “Doctor, go. I’ve got this,” she assured him as he threw her a questioning look.

  “Code Blue. Bay 9. Code Blue.” The alarm in the hall sounded.

  Sophie struggled to focus, to stop herself from racing to Jeremy’s side. She’d been here before. With Aleah.

  Why was fate testing her again like this? Paths of decision. Forks in the road with life-or-death stakes. She’d known that becoming a nurse would mean facing mortality. She just didn’t think it would be like this.

  Suddenly, her patient stopped breathing again. She began CPR and pressed the Code Blue alarm.

  She had to stop feeling sorry for herself. If she’d learned one thing from Aleah’s death, it was that no matter what she did for her patient or for Jeremy—all the eventualities were in the hands of God.

  “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t you die on me,” she whispered to the man she’d met only a few minutes ago. His chart said he was seventy-eight. Old. But not that old. Was he the only world those two kids had? If he died, was there another family member who would be responsible for them, or would they end up in Child Protective Services? Orphans. Wounded physically from the fire. Mentally and spiritually from the loss of their grandfather, whose life Sophie held in her hands.

  She had to save him. Locking her elbows, she bent into her work. She counted the depressions.

  The man inhaled deeply as if sucking in a breath after being underwater. A drowning man breaking through the surface.

  Tears filled Sophie’s eyes. She felt the sob ratchet through her lungs and happiness radiate through her like dawn. “There you are!”

  She didn’t know this man from Adam, but in that moment she felt as if she could read his heart and mind.

  His eyes flew open, and he stared at her with intense clarity.

  “You’re going to be all right,” she assured him, while gently placing her hand on his forehead. “Everything is going to be all right.”

  He winced and then closed his eyes. He tried to speak, but the words came slowly. “My grand—children.”

  “They’re here with us. The doctors are helping them.”

  “Alive?”

  “Yes, they’re alive.”

  “Then I saved them.” His head rolled on the gurney. “Fire. Everywhere. Gretchen was burned.”

  He clamped on to her forearm and with strength she would not have expected, he asked, “How bad is it?”

  “I’ll find out for you, but you have to promise me that you’ll rest. Your heart can’t take much more. At least, not tonight.”

  Sophie patted his hand with the same gentle, caring touch she gave all her patients as she listened to his heartbeat once again.

  Dr. Caldwell entered the bay and stood at the end of the gurney watching Sophie. “I couldn’t get back any sooner. Sorry. But apparently you didn’t need me, after all. He’s doing well?”

  “Yes.” She flipped her stethoscope around the back of her neck as she turned to him. “And...Jeremy?” Sophie didn’t have to ask. She sensed from Dr. Caldwell’s drooping shoulders and the shadows in his eyes that the news wasn’t good.

  “No response. He didn’t make it.” He put his hands on his hips, never taking his eyes off the elderly man. “I’ll never understand it. These kids have everything to live for and they throw it all away.” He snapped his fingers. “Poof. Gone. Outta here. Like life was nothing to them.”

  Sophie was numb. “So, you think it was a suicide, not just an OD?”

  “I believe so.”

  Sophie was numb. She stepped past Dr. Caldwell, but he kept talking. “You want to tell me about your, er, relationship with Jeremy?”

  The truth could get her fired, but she didn’t see any way around it. Dr. Caldwell was her superior. He’d warned her about working too hard. He knew about her missteps in surgery with Dr. Barzonni. He would report what he knew to Emory Wills.

  “I was his sponsor. He’d call me from time to time. I saw him on my time off to counsel him. The usual things.” Sophie’s voice cracked, but she didn’t feel the tears she expected. She was in shock. Empty. Devoid of emotion.

  She gazed at the old man resting peacefully. She knew in the marrow of her bones, no matter what, she wouldn’t have left her patient.

  Sophie flashed back to the night with Aleah. Both then and now, she had made a choice. It didn’t matter who was an addict or not, who had a family, whether the patient was a stranger or someone she knew intimately. She’d made her decision based on who she thought she could save. But had she done the right thing? Had she chosen correctly?

  Was she even fit to be nursing these critical patients?

  Self-doubt swung a mighty blow.

  “I’m sorry, Sophie,” Dr. Caldwell said again, his tone sincere. “You did great here. Really great.” He jerked his head toward the doorway, signaling that she should follow him.

  “Take some advice, Sophie. For your own good and that of your career, drop this sponsorship thing you’re doing. You belong here in this hospital with me and Dr. Barzonni, saving lives like you did tonight.” He ducked his head so that she could see his piercing, stern expression. “I’m serious, Sophie.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. He was absolutely right.

  * * *

  THE TECHS HAD covered Jeremy up with a sheet and were about to wheel him downstairs to the basement morgue. She was the closest person he had to a friend in Indian Lake and she didn’t even know his parents’ names or how to phone them. The Alliance might have some information. Either way, she would find a way to contact them. It was the least she could do.

  As per protocol, the hospital had undoubtedly already notified the police. Eventually someone would question her. Probably Detective Trent Davis, the cop she’d met the night Aleah died. She’d have to tell him about Jeremy’s “friend” Buddy. There might or might not be some arrests. That wasn’t her purview.

  She stopped the young male orderly with the shock of red hair and an enormous rhinestone stud in his ear who was pushing the gurney out into the hall. “Can I have a minute?”

  “He a friend of yours?”

  She nodded. She believed she’d been a friend to him, even if he hadn’t always wanted her friendship.

  Sophie pulled back the sheet just enough to see him one last time. Shockingly, he looked absolutely normal, though at peace, with a slight curve to his lips that told her his last minutes were good ones. For all the pain he’d gone through in his life, in the end, he’d found some kind of solace. She stroked his forehead and felt tears in her eyes. The emotion in her throat carved a path as deep as a mountain gorge. She couldn’t speak. All she could do was talk to him with her heart. She told him she was sorry she had failed him. She told him she was sorry she hadn’t forced him to reconcile with his parents.

  “Ma’am, I have to take him now,” the orderly whispered.

  “I know. I...know,” Sophie answered, feeling a finality like she’d never experienced before.

  There probably wouldn’t be a memorial in Indian Lake for Jeremy. Other than herself, Eleanor, Jack and Mrs. Beabots, she wasn’t sure who Jeremy had bonded with. His roommate, Buddy? But did he care about Jeremy the way she did? Did anyone?

  Once again, guilt clanged inside her head. If only. I
f only. If only she’d answered her phone thirty minutes sooner and taken Jeremy’s last call. If only she’d thought to reach out to his parents days ago. Weeks ago. Maybe his suicide could have been avoided.

  She made her way to the nurses’ station, her heart heavy.

  Maybe.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  SOPHIE CONSIDERED THE cold microwave dinner in front of her, stuck her fork in the tasteless diet ravioli and left it there. She pushed away from her kitchen table and went to the refrigerator. She stared at the array of condiments and ingredients that, when properly sautéed and blended with garden vegetables and choice cheeses, would become superb Italian dishes.

  She slammed the door closed. She’d never felt less like cooking or eating in her life. She didn’t feel like running, either. She didn’t feel like working, talking to friends or joking with coworkers. Not even thoughts of Jack brought a smile to her face.

  Was this how Jeremy had felt? This massive, yawning tunnel to a frightening future?

  Sophie went back to her laptop to continue her search for Jeremy’s parents. Eleanor had no record of Jeremy’s Phoenix address, so Sophie had run searches on the internet and found six Hawthornes in the Greater Phoenix area. She called them all; four were dead ends, and she left voice mails with her contact information with two others. The next day she received an email that read, I’m Jeremy’s mother. Call me.

  Sophie instantly picked up the phone. “Hello. Is this Elizabeth Hawthorne?”

  “Yes. Yes! You’re the one who helped Jeremy?”

  “I am,” Sophie replied, and before she could say another word, Elizabeth cut her off.

  “The police called us and told us he was dead.” Elizabeth’s voice was ragged.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “They warned us at rehab that it might end this way, whether he stayed with us or not.” Elizabeth blew her nose and paused for a long moment. “We hadn’t heard from him in over two years. Frankly, I assumed he was already dead. He was so angry when he left. We’d found an enormous stash of heroin and plastic bags of used needles, and he’d managed to steal over five thousand dollars from what we thought was a secret bank account. He’d found the password... It doesn’t matter. He just couldn’t stop. Jeremy told me he never wanted to get straight. He liked his world out of this world.”

  “Mrs. Hawthorne, I have to ask. Was Jeremy ever diagnosed as manic-depressive?”

  “Oh, yes. One doctor told us he was bipolar. He was prescribed several medications throughout middle school and high school. He was bullied by the older kids. I moved him to a private school and that was just as bad.” She sighed. “He was my only child. And I thank you, Miss Mattuchi, for giving him kindness and attention in his last weeks on earth. If I’d known where he was, I would have come to get him.” Elizabeth’s voice caught, and she paused as she wrestled with her emotions. “My husband and I will take care of having Jeremy’s remains brought home.”

  Sophie gave Elizabeth the number at the hospital to make those arrangements. “I’ll never forget Jeremy, Mrs. Hawthorne. Though his life was tragic in the end, he was a good person.”

  “Thank you for seeing that in him, Miss Mattuchi.”

  Sophie had hung up the phone knowing she’d done her duty, done the right thing. But still, she felt as if her own spirit had fled her.

  All of her training commanded that she remain as neutral in these situations as possible. As empathetic as she was, she was usually able to put up emotional barriers when patients died. Death was part of her job, especially in cardiac care.

  Yet with Jeremy, she couldn’t hold back her grief. Maybe that’s what had tripped her up. Maybe she was guilty of letting her guard down, taking off her psychological armor when she walked out of the hospital and joined the ranks as a volunteer at the Recovery Alliance.

  She should have realized what she was doing.

  Sophie hadn’t known Jeremy all that well or all that long. Yet his death hit her like a bullet. If she didn’t snap out of it, her emotions could crush her.

  She plopped down on her sofa and turned on the television. She’d scrolled through over three hundred channels before she realized she hadn’t read the title of a single show. She turned it off.

  She’d just risen to see if there was any ice cream in the freezer when she heard a knock on the door.

  Only one person ever came to visit Sophie. Her landlady.

  Sure enough, Mrs. Beabots stood on the other side of the door, holding up two articles of clothing, both encased in clear, zippered garment bags. “Which one?”

  Sophie peered at the long swirls of bright colors that resembled a shawl in one bag, and then at the black lace top in the other. “What are they?”

  “Beach cover-ups. For this afternoon’s picnic.”

  “You’ll look stylish in either one,” Sophie said diplomatically.

  “Goodness, you don’t think these are for me, do you?” Mrs. Beabots laughed, then grew serious. “I think you need the splash of color, frankly, even though your mood suits the mourning black.”

  Sophie stared at her landlady. “Who told you?”

  “Who do you think? Maddie, of course. Dr. Caldwell told Nate. Why on earth would you think you could keep the truth from me for more than a day?”

  Sophie shook her head. “Dumb, I guess.” She stepped back to allow Mrs. Beabots to enter. “I suppose you know everything.”

  “I know the most important thing. Your heart is breaking and you’re not allowing your friends to help you,” she replied with just enough accusation to stiffen Sophie’s spine.

  Then she softened. Mrs. Beabots must have endured plenty of deaths and heartbreaks, including the loss of her husband, over the years. She’d lived through love, loss and pain, yet she’d found a way to make life bright for others and keep on going. She knew something that Sophie apparently needed at this moment. Sophie decided to listen.

  “Maddie tells me she’s called you half a dozen times and you haven’t answered once.”

  “True.”

  Mrs. Beabots’s finely penciled eyebrow arched. “Katia called me from Venice and said she was concerned she hadn’t heard from you in a few days.” She cleared her voice. “Jack Carter told her he hasn’t been in touch with you, either...” Her eyes narrowed into discerning slits.

  Sophie whisked her hand through the air dismissively. “Not important.”

  “I see.” Mrs. Beabots turned back to the cover-ups. “Maybe the black one, after all. It’s chic. I wore it on the Italian Rivieria.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Mrs. Beabots grinned mischievously. “You don’t think I was old all my life, do you? Now, you do have a bathing suit, right? All I have are old bikinis that, sadly, have virtually disintegrated.”

  Sophie nearly smiled. Nearly. “I have a suit. It’s black, actually.”

  “Hmm. Why did I know that?” Mrs. Beabots shoved the cover-up at Sophie. “We’ll leave at one. Can you help me take the lemonade and sandwiches?”

  “Uh. Yes. You want me to drive?”

  “Of course! I thought that was obvious. Sarah’s car is full with the kids and Beau. And I have all this food, beach towels, my tote...” Mrs. Beabots placed her hand on Sophie’s cheek. “You need this, my dear. Laughter is the best medicine.”

  She started to walk away and then turned back. “However, it’s best to look good when you’re mending a broken heart. Wear those gold hoop earrings you’ve got. Very smashing. Very Sophia Loren.”

  She left, closing the door softly behind her.

  Sophie chuckled and realized she actually did feel slightly uplifted. Was that possible?

  She peered at the label through the heavy clear plastic. “Yves Saint Laurent.” Her eyes flew to the closed door. “Hey, this isn’t real couture, is it?”


  * * *

  JACK CARRIED FRENCHIE out to his deck and put her down next to the railing, where he’d finally installed a fine screen so that Frenchie couldn’t fall through.

  It was a crystal clear day—no humidity and a gentle breeze. The lake was filled with end-of-summer water-skiers, speedboats, fishing boats and swimmers. The picnic tables down at Cove Beach were filled with families grilling hot dogs and hamburgers while kids raced around with plastic shovels, pails and beach balls. Motorboats dragged people clinging to blow-up toys in the shape of dragons, Disney characters, fish and porpoises.

  “They’re all having fun, Frenchie,” Jack mused as he popped the top on a power drink.

  Frenchie looked up at him. She didn’t bark or blink. Just stared accusingly.

  Jack took out his cell phone and checked his texts. Not a word from Sophie for two days. He knew from Katia that Jeremy had overdosed. He wondered if any of them would ever know if it was an accident or suicide. Like his uncle Marty. He couldn’t imagine the pain Sophie was going through, but he wanted to be there for her. Jack scooped up Frenchie and remembered the day he’d met Jeremy. Frenchie had loved him and he’d cared about Frenchie. Jack felt a tug on his heart in the same place where grief over Aleah had come to live. Now there was a place for Jeremy, too.

  Jack had tried contacting Sophie in just about every way he could, but she was MIA. He wanted to console her, but deep down, he had to admit it hurt that she was shutting him out.

  “She acts like I’m nothing to her!” he shouted.

  Frenchie barked.

  “Sorry, girl,” Jack apologized. “But she’s not giving me a chance to help her.” He stared out at the people at Cove Beach.

  Jack leaned over the rail. “Wait a minute.”

  He dashed into the living room, retrieved his Bushnell binoculars, scrambled back to the deck and focused on the stretch of sand.

  “Holy cow!” he said, half to Frenchie and half to himself. “Everyone’s there! Nate and Maddie. Sara. Luke. Your favorite, Beau. The kids. Oh, and there’s Rafe. He’s holding Olivia’s hand. Hmm. What’s up with that? Mica. Gina. Sam. Even Gabe and Liz.”