Anytime Soon (27 page)

“What happened to Family Day? I tried calling you.”

“I didn't make it.”

“How could you not make it? Don't you live there?”

She stopped in mid-puff and blew smoke my way. I almost slapped her.

“Please don't do that. Don't blow smoke in my face.”

I moved away from her a little and looked out at the water.

“My bad, geez. What's wrong with you?” she said accusingly.

What's wrong with me?

I looked at her as if she had a third eye. I'd learned how to pick my battles a long time ago. I ignored her comment.

“Have you talked to Carmen and Terry?” I asked again.

She threw her cigarette down and stepped on it. I looked at her hands, with the tattered fingernails and two-finger skull ring.

I took her cold hands in mine and rubbed them. They were still soft. Sophie always had the softest hands I'd ever felt. When she trembled, I decided against asking another question. Instead, I just sat with my hands covering hers and tried desperately to sense her thoughts and feelings. Sophie was staring straight ahead at the geese that flocked near the water.

At this point, the only thing I'll be able to do is love her. I hope
that's enough.

“Wanna come home with me?” I asked lightly.

She blinked her eyes.

“Why?” she asked, still staring at nothing.

“I don't know. We can hang out. Talk. Eat some of my mom's leftovers.”

I think I saw a slight smile on her face.

“So?” I asked again.

“Nah, not today. I got stuff to do.”

What kind of things can you possibly have to do?

“Like what?” I pried.

“How's Catie?” she asked, ignoring my question.

“She's okay. I haven't really been talking to her much. I think she has a new boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend?” Sophie asked.

“Yeah, some guy. I'm sure she'll tell you about him.”

“Wow. Doesn't that girl get enough dick in her life?”

“Sophie!” I exclaimed. “What is wrong with you?”

“I'm sorry, my bad,” she shrugged.

I didn't reply. I was still shocked at what she had said.

I looked away, wondering what was wrong with her. When had she become so insensitive? I had already asked Mom and Roscoe if Sophie could stay a few days. They were both fine with it, but I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into. At that moment, though, I didn't care. Sophie needed help. Despite the differences with her parents, my parents loved her, and they would do anything they could to help her. After thirty minutes of sitting around and barely talking, Sophie agreed to come home with me.

“I need to get some clothes and stuff,” she said. “I'll meet you at your house.”

“I'll follow you,” I said, not wanting her to disappear.

She paused, opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it.

“Okay,” she agreed, and we walked to our cars.

Following Sophie was like following Catie. But I can't remember Sophie ever driving that terribly before. Eventually, we pulled up in front of a duplex on a neat street with pretty landscaping, and we walked through the yard.

“This is your place?”

“Anastasia's.”

“Who's Anastasia?”

By now I was walking behind her, up the freshly painted steps of one of the duplexes.

“She's a girl from Summer Bridge who talked me into leaving,” said Sophie.

“Is she nice?” I asked, not sure of what else to say. I was happy to hear her acknowledge leaving the program. I had been afraid to bring it up.

“Hell, no. She's a rude prude. And she's married to some eighty-year-old billionaire. His family's trying to get her cut off, though.”

I decided to engage the conversation later.

Sophie zoomed around the apartment, which was spacious but nearly empty. In the living room, there was a sofa and a large TV set. In Sophie's room, there was a mattress on the floor. The closet was maxed out with dresses, shoes, and purses. There were two ashtrays in the bedroom, both of them overflowing with cigarette butts.

I didn't sit down. I stood with my arms folded while Sophie packed her things. She was quiet for the most part, but every once in a while she would say a little something about how much she hated living there. I walked into the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat. The refrigerator was completely empty.

“Did you guys just get a new refrigerator?” I called to Sophie.

“No, we eat out a lot.”

I started to get a bad feeling about this. Suddenly the front door opened, and I turned around to see a tall, sickly thin girl with jet-black hair and pale skin. She was at least six feet tall and had Cleopatra bangs. The rest of her hair hung down to her waist.

“Oh, hello,” she said with a clipped British accent.

“Hello,” I said. “I'm Anaya, a friend of Sophie's.”

“You are . . . who?” she asked, looking confused. She was stylishly dressed, all in black—a black YSL t-shirt, leather skinny jeans, and some to-die-for patent-leather, black stiletto Louboutin booties. She wore bright-red lipstick and minimal makeup.

“Oh,
this
is Ny?” she called out to Sophie, who had walked back into the bedroom without having yet uttered a word.

“I'm Anastasia. I have heard so much about you,” she said, leaning toward me a little. “Sophie speaks of you all the time. Gonna be a grand psychiatrist one day, eh?”

She smiled. Her teeth were perfectly straight but horribly yellow.

“I was, maybe. But I recently realized that I like teaching—”

“Good for you!” she said, cutting me off.

“Sophie dear, where
are
you going?” she asked, walking into the bedroom where Sophie was packing.

When she came back into the living room, she pulled a cigarette from a huge leather Coach bag, lit it, and puffed hard. Then she pulled her black wig off and stood there looking at me, with her cropped red hair.

“Sophie can be such a bitch!” she hissed as she tossed the wig onto the sofa. “Such a bloody little bitch!”

I didn't say anything.

Sophie screamed from the bedroom, “I heard that. What kind of idiot are you?” She charged into the living room, stopping directly in front of Anastasia. I had never heard her scream with such venom before, but Anastasia was totally unaffected. She remained cool, puffed her cigarette, and stared Sophie down.

“Did you steal my green scarf?” Sophie screeched.

“You're all over the gaff,” Anastasia said. “Find it yourself, you ungrateful biddy.”

“Ungrateful? What is there to be grateful for? Because you convinced me to leave Summer Bridge? Or because you brought me here and helped me snort more dope than I've ever had in my life?”

Sophie was hysterical, which frightened me. I didn't move and dared not say anything, not knowing if Sophie was ready to leave or ready to cut the girl.

She got right into Anastasia's face. “Maybe I'm supposed to be grateful for you using my credit card to buy those damn boots you have on your big-ass feet?”

Anastasia didn't break her stare or move a muscle. She looked at Sophie as if she were a little kid. She had a smirk on her face that made me uncomfortable.

“Sophie, let's go,” I said, finding my voice. “Let's go!” I walked over to her and put my hand on her arm, but she only continued to stand and stare at Anastasia.

Anastasia snapped, “You're a wannabe, Sophie. You have no self-esteem whatsoever. You snort cocaine because you want attention. And you act out because, frankly, your parents just don't give a damn.” She reached into her bag and pulled out some bills. “Here's your bloody nine hundred dollars. I told you I'd pay you for the boots as soon as I could get Franklin to send me some cash. Now, get all of your trash and get your ass out of my home before I drag you out of here by that horrid hair.” She threw the wad of cash at Sophie.

“Don't you have nerve!” Sophie spit out. “You've spent most of your life hustling people so you could get away from your stepfather, who cared too much about you. You're a phony!”

I pulled Sophie's arm a bit.

Anastasia turned toward me. “I don't know why a girl of your caliber would even bother with a girl like her,” she said to me. “Get out!” she yelled to both of us, pointing to the door.

“Keep the money,” Sophie said before heading out the door. “You'll need it.”

We drove to my house in separate cars, with me following behind, just to make sure Sophie didn't veer off somewhere. Along the way, I called my mom to tell her that Sophie was staying over.

“Oh, thank God!” she said.

Sophie would stay in my room. She always did. I had a huge queen-size bed that she loved to sleep in.

Before we walked into the house, I said to her, “This is not a rehab facility, so there are no meetings and no restraints. You said you wanted to be here, so I'm letting you come. I can't babysit you, Sophie, and Mom's not feeling well.”

“What's wrong with her?” she asked, looking concerned.

“We don't know. The doctor said something about her being critically anemic, and that the anemia is affecting her energy. She's changed her diet and started taking iron pills and some kind of steroid, so it's just a matter of time before she starts to recover.”

“Thank you guys for letting me stay. I mean, with your mom being sick and all.”

“Girl,” I said, “you're family. We all love you. But try to go easy on her. She worries about you, and it's not a good time for her to be worried. You understand?”

“I got it,” she nodded.

“That means you have to be on your best behavior. It also means we may have to cook for ourselves.”

“Cook?”

When we got to my house, Sophie went into Mom's room and watched TV with her. I did a few chores around the house that Mom hadn't done. When I went in to check on them, they had both fallen asleep.

The next morning, Mom went in for a checkup and was admitted to the hospital for further testing. I had never known anybody to be admitted to the hospital for being anemic. I went every day to sit with her. One night, walking through the hospital lobby, I heard someone call my name.

I kept walking. I was tired and wasn't in the mood for socializing with anyone.

“Anaya?” the voice said again.

I finally turned around.

“Carl!” I exclaimed. He sure was a welcome sight.

He came up and gave me a hug.

“What are you doing up here?” I asked.

“Dropped off my neighbor. What are you doing here?”

“Visiting my Mom,” I said.

“Oh? What's going on? Is she okay?”

I couldn't hold it together. I started crying. Carl held me tightly in his arms.

“Take your time. Just take your time. I'm here,” he said.

I managed to get small portions out. I told him how Mom had lost her stamina and had been going back and forth to the doctor.

“They'll figure it out,” he whispered in my ear.

We sat in the lobby and talked.

“It's good to see you,” he said.

“I certainly needed the company.”

“It's all gonna work out. I believe that.”

“Thank you, Carl. I believe it, too.”

He had gotten a job as a counselor at a youth development center in San Francisco.

“It's a heck of a commute,” he said. “But it's worth it.”

“So, you like working with kids?”

“Yeah. It's where my heart is.”

He talked with such passion about his job. I knew I was starting to feel that way about teaching, if only I could get Jeff out of my thoughts.

“Do you still live with your mom?” I asked.

“Nah, I got my own place. I'm a man. I need my own space. You feel me?”

“Need some privacy, huh?” I smiled.

“Yeah, something like that,” he nodded.

After two hours of the kind of emotional connection I really needed, we finally walked to our cars and said goodnight.

After three days, Mom was to be released. The hospital said she had a liver infection. “Her immune system may have been compromised,” the doctor told us. “It's very important that her surroundings be thoroughly disinfected.”

We made sure of that. We cleaned the house from top to bottom before she came home. That was hard for Ava, because cleaning just wasn't in that girl's blood, so I assigned her the more straightforward and simple cleaning tasks. Sophie did the linen closet and all the blinds. Roscoe did the yard and the garage, and Catie did the floors.

“I don't even do my own floors,” she said.

“That's what makes it so special,” I smiled.

Aunt Marie offered to bring Mom home, and that plan gave us more time to get the house together. When she walked through the front door, I saw her look at the table in the entryway for the mail, but I had already moved it to my room in order to pay the bills.

Aunt Marie walked in behind her with a look of exasperation. She set Mom's bag down near the stairs, and Roscoe took it up. Aunt Marie put a hand on her hip and sighed. Mom must have driven her crazy in the car.

We welcomed her home with a cooked meal. When we followed Mom into the kitchen, she looked around for a minute and then sat down at the table. For once, there was nothing for her to complain about.

Aunt Marie put Mom's pills on the table, one by one.

“Don't forget to take one blue one before bed,” she advised, “and two of these in the morning.”

“I don't need instructions, Merle. I can take my own medicine.”

“I know. I just thought Roscoe and the kids should know what you take, how much, and when.”

“Well, I don't need anybody monitoring me and telling me what to do,” Mom hissed. She was in a critical mood.

Ava looked at her with compassion, seeming to understand that Mom was tired. It was nice to see Ava maturing, although I'm not sure who else noticed. She was no longer so judgmental.