Saving Sophie: A Novel (7 page)

Suddenly, a woman’s voice startled him. “Jack? Jack Sommers? What the hell?”

He spun around, looked directly into a familiar face and breathed a sigh of relief. “Marcy! What a surprise.”

Marcy greeted Jack with a hug. She was dressed for a day in the sun—khaki shorts, a sleeveless shirt, and leather sandals. Jack had always thought that Providence had a tomboy in mind when she put Marcy Grant together, giving her more straight lines than curves on her small, athletic body. But there was no denying her fair and gentle face, softly framed by rich auburn hair. A blue cotton overshirt was tied around her shoulders. Her thick hair, streaked by the sun, was pulled back in a loose ponytail. A Nikon SLR digital camera hung from a strap around her neck. She placed her camera on the bar and took a seat on the adjoining stool.

“What are you doing out in Hawaii?” she said.

“It’s just a stopover. Only for a day or so. I’m on a business trip.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“To tell you the truth, I totally forgot you were out here.”

She feigned a pout. “Oh, thanks a lot.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy few months.”

She smiled and gave him another spontaneous hug. “I’m so happy to see you. I think about you and Alina all the time. Is your business here on the North Shore?”

“No, it’s in Honolulu. But I’ve been under a lot of stress, so I decided to take the afternoon off and go for a relaxing ride. It didn’t work.”

“Why not? You couldn’t ask for a prettier day, and you came to the best side of the island.”

“So I’ve heard, but I got pulled over by the highway patrol.”

Marcy laughed heartily.

Sommers chuckled as well. “But he let me go.” Sommers laughed a little harder. “He gave me a warning. Tipped his cap. Called it the aloha spirit!”

“That’s never happened to me. They never do that. You’re as lucky as a Menehune.”

It occurred to Sommers that he had just laughed, and he tried to think of the last time he thought anything was funny. “I cannot remember,” he said aloud to himself.

Marcy was puzzled. “Remember what?”

He shook his head. “Never mind. It was really nice to see you, Marcy.”

“That’s it? It was nice to see you? Not even a ‘Do you have time for a drink?’”

“I’m sorry. My mind is somewhere else. Of course, I’d love to have a drink.” He signaled to the bartender.

“Gosh.” She swiveled on her chair. “Jack Sommers. I haven’t seen you since … Jesus, since the funeral. How have you been getting along?”

Sommers tilted his head this way and that. “Not so good, Marcy. It’s been real hard. Listen, can I ask you for a big favor? Can we keep my trip out here just between the two of us? Would you mind not telling anyone that you’ve seen me? You know, don’t text anyone, call anyone. Please don’t put it on Facebook. Okay? What I’m doing here is pretty private. Really, I don’t want anyone to know.”

She bit her bottom lip in a conspiratorial smile. “Are you back with the State Department?”

Sommers smiled and patted her on the leg. “I can’t even tell you that. I shouldn’t even be socializing.”

“Oh, what bullshit. We’ve known each other for ten years. Ever since Alina and I met at the Shakespeare Theater. Stay for dinner, the food’s great here. I’m buying.” She called the bartender over. “Derrick, another round for my Chicago friend and a mug of my usual.”

Jack had another tumbler of vodka, which Derrick poured generously. Marcy had a Tangerine Wheat beer in a frosted mug.

“So, what are
you
doing out on this side of the island with a camera around your neck?” Jack said.

“I live out here, in Hale’iwa. You remember, after Ted and I split, I had to leave Chicago. He wouldn’t let me alone. He was stalking me, for chrissake. Alina must have filled you in.”

Jack acknowledged the memory with a nod.

“So, I came out here to start a photography career.”

“Right, I remember you were into photography. How’s it going?”

She laughed. “Shitty. I can’t get my pictures into the magazines. That’s where the money is. It’s a real homeboy network in Hawaii. I can’t get past the front door. But I’m selling pictures at the hotels and in art shows, and that pays the bills most of the time. It’s a real change in lifestyle.”

“Well, you don’t look any worse for the wear.”

“Thanks. You look pretty good yourself. So, did you come out here with Sophie? How is my little darling?”

Jack smiled with tightly closed lips and nodded. “She’s great. Debbie’s watching her while I’m here on my assignment.”

“Oh, I’m sorry you didn’t bring her. I’d have watched her. I’ve loved that little imp since the day she was born. You tell her that her aunt Marcy misses her a bunch and wants to give her a big hug.”

Sommers’s eyes misted and he turned his head.

“What’s wrong, Jack?”

He shook his head. “Just memories, Marcy.”

She reached over and put her arm around his shoulder. “Let’s get a bite to eat.”

They waited for a table on the lanai and ordered another cocktail. Conversation centered on better days back in Chicago and the escapades of their social group. By the time dinner was served, Jack was starting to lose his equilibrium. He finished his mahimahi, ordered dessert and an after-dinner cordial. Beyond that, he would have no memory of the balance of the evening.

Jack awoke the next morning on a double bed, in white cotton sheets with embroidered edges and feather pillows, clothed only in his boxers. The windows were open to the sea air, and the smell of coffee permeated the bedroom. He sat up, his head thick and heavy, a painful reminder of the night before.

What the hell did I do?

He stood, balanced himself, and located his pants, which were lying in a rumpled heap on the floor next to his shirt and socks. On unsteady legs, he followed the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee to the kitchen. He found cups in a cabinet and began to pour, then spotted a copy of a lawsuit lying on the counter,
Pacific Properties, Inc. v. Marcy Grant.
He picked it up, read through it, shook his head, and placed it back where he found it. Then he refilled his cup and walked out to the porch.

In a T-shirt and running shorts, crossed-legged on a cushioned glider, Marcy sat holding a mug of coffee and reading the morning paper. Bougainvilleas in reds, pinks, and purples splashed their colors on trellises around her patio. Gentle morning breezes, precursors to the afternoon trade winds, carried sweet, floral fragrances. Music played softly on a stereo.

“Very pretty,” he said, smiling. “What smells so nice?”

“Plumeria.” She pointed to a five-petaled flower. “Its fragrance peaks in the morning. It’s the scent most people associate with Hawaii.”

He pulled up a patio chair. “Marcy, I’m really sorry about last night. I didn’t…”

“No, you didn’t. No matter what you were going to say. You didn’t do anything other than have a few too many. I certainly couldn’t let you drive. You passed out as soon as we got in the door.”

As he tried again to stumble through an apology, she held up her hand to cut him off. “Why don’t you finish your coffee and I’ll drive you to your car.”

Jack sensed the change in her demeanor, a sudden chill. He looked quizzically at her. “Did I say something wrong last night? Did I do something wrong? Offend you in some way?”

She shrugged. “You paid the check with Gene Wilson’s credit card. You’re out here masquerading as your brother-in-law? What are you doing with Gene’s identification and credit cards? I’m sure it’s not State Department policy to use a family member’s IDs. And you don’t want me to tell anyone you’re here. This isn’t just some stopover. What’s going on? If I called Debbie, what would she say?”

“Listen, Marcy, you can’t call Debbie. You can’t call anyone. You promised. Please trust me. If you ever loved Alina and me…”

“What do you mean
ever loved
?” Marcy snapped. “What kind of thing is that to say?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just need for you to believe I’m doing the right thing and honor my request. Please.”

Marcy pursed her lips and gave a couple of shakes of her head. “I won’t tell anybody, Jack, but…”

“I need for you to believe in me. Someday you’ll understand. Please?”

She nodded.

“I should leave now. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to hang out.”

“I don’t like this, Jack, whatever you’re up to. For your sake and Sophie’s, and because of my love for Alina, I won’t tell anyone I’ve seen you, but if you need something, if you’re in trouble, you can call me. Maybe I can help.”

Jack hung his head. “I’m sorry, Marcy. Not this time. It’s for your own good.”

She set the paper down and grabbed her car keys. “You know I’d have done anything for Alina. That was the saddest day of my life, Jack. And I’d do anything for you and Sophie. Call me when you need me.”

Jack swallowed hard and walked with her to the car. “I want you to know that before I made a fool of myself last night, I was having a nice time, a really good time. For the first time in many months. Like the old days.”

“Thanks, sweetie. Me too.”

As she pulled into the lot, he started to say something else, then stopped. “Good-bye, Marcy.”

E
LEVEN

Y
ET ANOTHER BASKETBALL GAME
on the road to the NCAA tournament, and the Deacons led Midland State by fourteen at the half. The Saturday-afternoon game was just weeks before Selection Sunday. Kelsen turned to the man beside him and said, “No contest, George. I thought it’d be closer, but I guess those Vegas guys know what they’re talking about, setting a twenty-one-point spread.”

“I stayed away from this game, Vic. Laying twenty-one points against a ranked team is suicide. Did you lay the points?”

Kelsen smiled and shrugged.

George laughed. “As always, the inscrutable Mr. Kelsen never discloses his positions.”

“Right.”

The second half saw the Deacons’s comfortable lead teeter between eighteen and twenty-two points. With the clock running down and the Deacons ahead by twenty, Marcus Fields stole the inbounds pass from Midland State and broke toward the basket all alone. His attempt at a two-handed slam hit hard off the back of the rim and bounded out to midcourt. Midland’s point guard grabbed it and laid it in as the buzzer sounded. Final score: St. Joe’s 87, Midland State 69.

“What the hell?” George said. “That was an easy bucket for Fields. He was unguarded. Woulda won by twenty-two. Totally blew the point spread. How the hell does he slam it off the iron?”

Vic stood and put on his coat. “Overly excited, I guess. What’s the difference, they won big.”

“Big is right, if you took the points.” George gave Kelsen an inquisitive smile. “Didja, Vic?”

“G’night, George.”

*   *   *

S
OPHIE STOOD BY HERSELF
in the corner of the playground, as she did each recess. She watched as the other children played on the equipment. A line was forming to go on the slide, but she did not move. One swing was empty and Sophie liked to swing, but she didn’t stray from her corner. One game looked like tag, but the children were yelling words that Sophie couldn’t understand. So she watched, as she did each day.

“My name is Jamila,” said a voice behind her.

Sophie turned and saw a girl just about her size, smiling at her. Sophie timidly returned the smile.

“My mother is from India, so I can talk in English. Did you just move to Hebron?”

Sophie nodded.

“Do you have friends?”

Sophie shook her head slowly.

“I could be your friend.”

Sophie smiled.

“Teacher said your name is Safiya?”

Sophie giggled. “It’s Sophie. Safiya is my aunt.”

“I love to paint. Do you like to paint?”

Sophie nodded enthusiastically.

“Would you like to come to my house after school someday? I can ask my mother.”

The smile broadened on Sophie’s face. “I would.”

*   *   *

C
ATHERINE FINISHED THE LAST
of her scheduled appointments at 4:00
P.M.
She walked with her client, an elderly man in a tweed sport coat, into her small reception area. In stark contrast to the posh surroundings she used to enjoy at Jenkins & Fairchild, she now ran her solo practice from a small storefront on Clark Street, north of Diversey. Small, but cozy. Much to her satisfaction.

“Remember to bring your estate-planning questionnaire with you when you come next time,” she said to her client, who sat on a chair putting on his rubber boots. “Be sure to list all your assets, name all your heirs, and write out any special bequests.”

The old man smiled as he reached for the doorknob and said, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Catherine smiled, picked up her phone messages, and returned to her office.

Shortly thereafter, a smartly dressed man stepped out of a taxi. His camel cashmere coat covered a blue Armani suit, complemented with a purple Brioni tie and contrasting pocket square. He was careful to keep his Italian shoes away from the curbside slush. After pausing for a moment to look at the door, which read
OFFICES OF CATHERINE LOCKHART, ATTORNEY AT LAW
, he entered and asked the secretary if Catherine was available.

“Do you have an appointment, sir? I don’t have anyone else scheduled to see her this afternoon,” said the young woman.

“No, I don’t. But would you please ask her if she could spare a few minutes for Walter Jenkins?”

The secretary walked back to Catherine’s office. “Cat, you’ll never guess who’s in the waiting room.”

Catherine looked up from her work, brushed her hair from the side of her face, and shrugged. “I give up, Gladys.”

The secretary put her hands on her hips and wiggled in a snooty manner. “Mr. Walter Jenkins, Esquire, that’s who. I do believe he was your old boss? And now he asks, ever so politely, if you could spare him a few minutes.” Gladys raised her eyebrows. “How about them apples? Should I shoo him away or show him in?”

Catherine leaned back in her chair. “Jenkins came down to my office?”

Gladys nodded sharply. “Yep. In the snow. What do you suppose he wants?”