Let Me: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family Book 2) (26 page)

Sofia’s skin tone is a little darker than Sol’s, and her eyes are light green instead of gray blue. They’re first cousins, but they don’t look anything alike. Sofia is taller, thin, where Sol’s curves fall in all the right places. And where Sofia glides into a room quietly hoping not to call attention to herself, Sol bounces in and waves, hugging anyone who’ll let her. They’re different in so many ways, but right then, Sofia reminds me so much of my girl―not because what she looks like, like I said they’re both really different, but because she’s listening. 

“It wasn’t just the counseling that helped me,” I mutter.

She nods like she understands. “I see.”

Yeah. She does.

Her attention wanders to her lap, where she’s playing with her hands. It’s something she does when she’s nervous or unsure what to say. She hasn’t mentioned Sol these past few weeks, so I have no way of knowing if Sol’s mentioned me. I didn’t text or call after she left―partly pissed, partly stubborn, but mostly reeling because what she said is true. The incident with her mother did screw me up. That doesn’t mean I don’t want her with me.

“How is she?” I ask before I can stop myself.

At first, I don’t think Sofe’s going to tell me. I’m ready to march out and jump back on the treadmill, but the sadness trickling into her features holds me in place. “She’s not good, Finn,” she answers quietly.

My gut churns. “At all?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Sol, um, quit her internship.”

“What?” That counseling gig meant so much to her, and was credit toward her masters. But then I huff, realizing why she did it. “All right. I get it.”

“It wasn’t because of you,” she adds.

I cock a brow because I don’t believe her. One of the reasons I stopped going to counseling was because I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing her and not being able to touch her, or be with her like I want to.

“I’m serious,” she insists.

“Then where has she been?” I don’t mean to sound like I’m challenging her, but that’s how it comes out. Like I said, I’ve been a miserable prick.

“With her mother,” she answers, totally shutting me up.

I lean back against the wall and cross my arms. “I thought she was in an institution.”

“She was, but now she’s in a private facility that allows Sol to visit more frequently. She uses the time to work closely with her mom.”

I frown. “Work closely with her how?”

Sofia considers me, like she thinks she’s said too much, and for her, I guess she has. “She’s trying to get her mother back to a healthier state, a better place of mind.”

“Is that even possible?” I hold out a hand because I’m not trying to be negative. But after how I saw her mother―laughing at shit that wasn’t there, smiling at the words she wrote with her own damn blood, I don’t see someone like that getting better, period.

“I’m going to tell you something you probably don’t know,” Sofia says, her soft voice lowering as if she’s afraid of being heard. “When Flor first tried to kill herself following Sol’s fifteenth birthday, everyone credited Sol for helping her recover from her breakdown.” She glances down as if embarrassed. “Even me. She’d visit her after school, show her pictures from her childhood, and redirect her the way the therapists and nurses would. I think it kindled that drive in her to be a psychologist.”

“Sol’s the one who brought Flor back from the edge?” Although I’m asking, I can totally see that, given how she did the same thing for me. 

“That’s the thing,” she says. “I’m no longer sure she did. I think it was more a combination of Sol’s vigilant care, the medication my aunt was placed on, and the intense treatment she received. Whatever it was appeared to work, but it was only temporary.” She pushes off my desk. “The problem is, Sol really believed she impacted her mother’s care and improved her mental health. We believed it, too, encouraging her when maybe we shouldn’t have.”

“So you don’t think she helped her?” I question.

“With how bad Flor is now? No. If she did, it was only temporary. But Sol still thinks she can help her and make her better.” She swallows hard, trying to keep her emotions from getting the best of her. “But she’s not getting better, Finn. On her best days, she’s so doped up she simply sits there.”

“And on her worst?” I ask, my voice lowering.

“She calls Sol by her dead sister’s name, and at times turns on her.” Her eyes well. “Sol needs her mother back. But she’s gone, Finn.”

“I know,” I tell her. I knew that the moment we found her. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t destroy me to know what my girl is going through.

I don’t realize how hard I’m glaring at the floor until Sofia speaks again. “Evie thought you could help each other.” She smiles a little when I look at her. “She said you and Sol reminded her of her and Teo. Two broken souls who needed each other to be whole.”

My frown deepens. “She said that?” At her nod I ask. “But she barely knows me.”

“I know, but I think she recognized your pain. Just like she’s recognized Sol’s.”

“Evie wanted us together?” I repeat.

“That’s right,” she says, knitting her brow when catches my smirk.

“But you didn’t,” I remind her.

She half-laughs. “It’s not that. You know you’ve always been my favorite. I just . . . I don’t know. I never expected you to get so serious about her, especially so quickly.”

“Because of how much I’ve whored around?” I offer.

I grin at the sight of her blush. Evie may not know me very well, but Sofia has known me well enough. My humor fades. “I didn’t whore around with Sol if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Oh, good―”

“I mean we had lots of sex. Shit,” I add, thinking about it. “
A lot
of sex. Couldn’t keep our hands off each other, you know what I mean―Kind of like you and Kill. Hey, has that changed for you guys now that you’re married? Cause damn, girl, you and he went at it like bears during mating season―

She holds out a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there,” she says.

I can’t help but chuckle. For someone with olive skin, her face can turn as red as mine. I cross my arms, going back to eyeing the floor. “It wasn’t just sex,” I tell her.

“I know,” she says, quietly moving forward. “You were making love.”

I lift my head. “Don’t pussy it up for me, Sofe.”

She laughs, still blushing. But I mean what I say and tell her as much. “She made everything better,” I confess. “I talked, she listened. She was . . . She was always there for me. Despite everything I did, and what I’ve been through, she liked me.”

“No, Finn. She loves you.”

She means well, but her words are like a kick to the chest. “I don’t know if that’s true,” I mutter. “If she did, she wouldn’t have left.”

“It’s because she loves you that she did leave, and the reason she’s keeping her distance―”

I lift my palm up, stopping her. “Don’t. I heard the same thing from her and it doesn’t make sense.”

“Finn, it may not make sense to you because you want her with you, but you can’t blame her for how she feels. Her mother’s actions triggered your depression, anxiety, and accelerated your trauma.”

“But that’s not on Sol.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” I snap. “She didn’t cause it.”

I don’t typically talk about my assault. I bury it deep where I think it belongs. Acid burns its way up my gut, warning me I need to shove that shit back down, except Sofia isn’t done talking.

“She wasn’t the cause of your pain. But her mother was the cause of the trauma that triggered yours.” She moves forward to stand in front of me. “Sol has liked you for a while. I’d always catch her eyeing you from afar, at my wedding, at Teo’s. She’s
always
been attracted to you, Finn.”

Yeah. Same here. I just never knew what it would lead to, or that I’d end up loving her like I do. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I ask.

“Because unlike Evie, I didn’t want to encourage you to be together,” she admits.

“Because I’m so fucked up?”

“No. It’s more like I wasn’t sure you were ready for each other.”

A few beats pass when there’s only silence between us. “I guess you were right,” I finally agree.

“I don’t know if I was,” she confesses, closing the distance between us and wrapping her arms around my waist.

I hug her, too, more for her than me, tucking her head beneath my chin. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Finn,” she says. “I only know that you’re in very dark place, and that it scares me.”

I keep her against me, reassuring her with my body even though my mind is telling me she’s right. I am in a dark place, and right now, there’s no light in sight.

CHAPTER 27

Sol

“Hi, Mami,” I say. Like always, she’s sitting in the sunroom, looking in the direction of the small lake, though it doesn’t appear she can really see it.

“Hello, Sol,” the nurse says, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders. “It was a little cold out here so I wanted to keep her warm.

“Thank you,” I say, trying to smile. She’s an older nurse, from the South, and while it appears she’s worked here a while, she’s only recently been assigned to my mother’s care. I’m embarrassed to say I forgot her name.

“It’s Violet,” she says, holding onto her smile.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “Thank you, Violet.”

She nods and steps out to give me time with my mother. But like Violet says, it’s cold here in the Pocono Mountains. I unbutton my light coat, but leave it on. As I sit beside Mami, I lower my heavy cloth bag to the floor. I found an old album, one stuffed with pictures of me and my cousins when we were children―memories from a time she once cherished.

I’m hoping the pictures will trigger a thought, or at least focus her back into reality . . . if only for a little while.

“Did you just finish lunch?” I ask her in Spanish, working not to lose my smile when she doesn’t answer. “I had some leftover paella Tía made. It was good, almost as good as you used to make.” I laugh a little. “Remember how you and her used to sit in the kitchen, arguing which country made the best
adobo
? You insisted it was Colombia, but Tía said the best blend came from El Salvador.”

“I like
adobo
,” she says.

My heart lifts, like it always does when she seems to be listening. Maybe that song I played for her the other day, the one Papi said they played at their wedding, helped her somehow.

“Yes, you do,” I answer quietly, worried that if I speak too loudly, I’ll somehow spook her back into that place in her head where I don’t belong. “It’s your favorite seasoning to cook with.”

“I like to cook,” she says, turning my way.

That flicker of hope surges. “I know. You used to fret over every meal, wanting it to be perfect and hot for Papi when he came home.”

She nods, like she’s listening. I say a silent prayer of thanks. It’s working . . . after all this time I’m finally reaching her!

I lift my hand, covering the one she’s resting against the white wicker chair. The wrinkles and veins are so pronounced, yet so familiar. I relish the feel of her warmth.

She looks at the way I hold her, analyzing the gesture as if it’s something of significance, and perhaps realizing that I’m more than just the young woman who visits her every day.

But then she returns her attention toward the water. Again, I’m not sure if she’s really looking at it, yet I speak as if she does. “The grounds are really pretty here with all these trees,” I say, motioning to the blooming pink and lavender dogwoods lining the path to the lake. 

She keeps quiet yet that doesn’t stop me from saying more. “Do you remember that day you took me and Sofia to that park near Doylestown? It looked a little like this, don’t you think?” I edge closer. “But if you don’t remember, that’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

“Javier says Laurita is dead, but I don’t believe him.”

I grow alarmingly still. “What?”

It’s not like I didn’t hear her, it’s more like I don’t want to believe what came out of her mouth. Because if I do, it means that this new medicine, the one that’s supposed to keep her from turning into a drooling vegetable and give her more clarity, isn’t working.

She looks at me, smiling. “He’s just saying that because he’s mad and wants to fuck her. Boys like doing that, taking girls into the woods and daring them to show them their titties.”

I take a few slow breaths, trying to keep the acid roiling my stomach from building. My mother doesn’t swear. Ever. She’s the person who washed my mouth out with soap when I said, “damn” back when I was thirteen and she still remembered me.

She lifts my hand, swinging it. “Laurita, Laurita,” she sings. “Won’t you help me pick the pretty flowers to lay on your grave?”

Her hold on me tightens, shooting pain into my wrist. “Mami, let go of my hand.”

“Laurita, let’s bury you deep in the earth.”

She keeps her smile, tapering her grip hard enough to tremble our hands. It hurts, holy shit it really hurts. “Mami, let go.”

She starts speaking fast, random words that don’t mean anything. I jerk my head, hoping no one notices. Violet looks over from where she’s helping another resident. Without meaning to, I give away that I’m in trouble. She motions to another staff member and hurries to the glass doors leading out to the sunroom.

“Mami, the nurse is coming. Mami, you need to calm down.” I pry my hand free as the doors swing open. “Mami,
please
.”

“You all right, sugar?” Violet asks.

“Fine.”

Of course Violet doesn’t believe me, and of course she looks to my mother. “Laurita is dead,” she says in English. “We need to take her to the cemetery where she belongs.”

This whole time she spoke Spanish. But now, it’s as if it’s imperative Violet understands her, and that she helps her bury “Laurita.”

“This is Sol, your daughter,” Violet says, her voice firm.

Mami turns her head, back to the lake, and back to her world.

“I don’t think the antipsychotics are working as well as they could,” Violet offers.