Chapter 14 - Sophie And Mia Asked For Something Smaller Than We Expected
Leah and I agreed on a public library.
One hour.
Both mothers present.
No Daniel.
No Walter.
No Peter.
Sophie complained that this sounded “like a hostage trade.”
I told her not to say that in the library.
She whispered it instead.
Mia laughed.
That helped.
The girls sat at a table near the children’s section drawing floor plans of houses they would never live in.
Sophie kept adding secret passages.
Mia kept removing them.
“No secret rooms.”
Sophie frowned.
“Then how do you escape?”
“Front door.”
Leah looked at me.
Neither of us said anything.
The girls did not need their dialogue interpreted.
After twenty minutes, Mia came over.
“Can Sophie come to my birthday?”
Leah looked at me.
Old reflex.
I almost looked back.
Then stopped.
“Mia, when is it?”
“Next month.”
“Where?”
“Bowling.”
Sophie said:
“I’m terrible at bowling.”
“Me too.”
I looked at Leah.
She was waiting.
Not demanding.
“I don't know yet.”
Both girls groaned.
Leah almost smiled.
“What?”
I asked.
“Nothing.”
“Say it.”
“You sounded like Walter.”
I stared.
She laughed.
I did too, reluctantly.
Then she said:
“I don't know either.”
The girls groaned louder.
That was better.
Adults could be uncertain without turning uncertainty into a secret.
Afterward, while the girls looked for a book, Leah said:
“Daniel asked if he could call Mia.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked her.”
“And?”
“She said not yet.”
“How did Daniel take it?”
“He said okay.”
I waited.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I felt something complicated.
Relief.
Suspicion.
Grief for how small the correct behavior looked after so much damage.
Leah continued:
“Walter wrote me.”
“Did you answer?”
“No.”
“What did he want?”
“To apologize.”
“Again?”
“He said this one doesn't need a reply.”
I almost asked what it said.
Didn't.
Leah noticed.
“Growth.”
“Don't.”
She smiled.
Then became serious.
“Peter mailed something.”
My stomach tightened.
“To you?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A storage receipt.”
I stared.
“For?”
“Box my father left with him.”
“Are you getting it?”
“I don't know.”
I nearly laughed.
“We're all infected.”
Leah looked toward Mia.
“My first thought was yes.”
“Then?”
“My second was: what if it's another person deciding what my father’s life should mean.”
I understood.
“Will you open it?”
“Probably.”
“When?”
“When Mia isn't watching my face.”
That sentence belonged to all of us now.
At the end of the hour, Sophie hugged Mia.
Mia hugged her back.
No adults arranged it.
On the way home, Sophie asked:
“Is Dad coming back?”
I kept my eyes on the road.
“He's coming for dinner tomorrow.”
“To stay?”
“I don't know.”
She sighed.
Then:
“Are you mad at me for keeping Mia secret?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad asked you to carry something adults should have carried.”
She thought.
Then:
“You still threw the sandwich.”
“Yes.”
“You gonna do that again?”
“No.”
“That was fast.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Some answers are easy after you get them wrong in public.”
She accepted that.
My phone buzzed at a red light.
Daniel.
One message.
Peter sent Leah a storage receipt. Walter says he knows the facility. I have not called either of them.
I read it twice.
He had information.
He had not turned it into action.
I typed:
Thank you.
Deleted it.
Then wrote:
Okay.
May you like
Sent.
That felt more accurate.
