Sophie's Smile: A Novel (37 page)

“Huh?” Liam stirred slightly, still curled in a ball on the carpet, still clutching the purple blouse.

“These boxes under the bed.”
Emily turned so Liam could see the boxes she was holding in her hands.

“What?” Liam lifted his limp head to look at the boxes she held and stiffened as he began to recollect all the evenings and nights Sophie would write, smile wistfully, and read the contents of the items that she stored in that worn little shoe box.
Sophie’s treasure box.
That’s the name he secretly gave it, knowing that it held her secrets, the box where she stored her thoughts and memories, the box he was not allowed to open.

The other, larger
box,
perplexed him, though. He never remembered seeing that one.

Silently, he sat up, gingerly touching the boxes with his fingers, trying to feel Sophie’s presence within the grains, edges, and corners of each box. He hesitated before undoing the red ribbon. He held his breath when he opened the lid. And he drew out a longer breath when he pulled the quilt from the big white box. A card fell into his lap.

His eyes welled up in a fresh batch of tears as he examined the quilt that was made with the love and grace of Sophie’s hands and heart. As he unfurled the quilt across the bed, he instantly recognized the quotes he used to whisper or write to her, the pictures that friends and passersby took of them at the lake, at Seaport Village, during their wedding—he remembered all the times she would sit at her desk, documenting their life together.

He opened the card. Uncontrollable tears streamed down his face as he read her words, unaware of Emily sliding down beside him, resting her arm around his trembling shoulders:

Dearest Liam,

I can’t tell you enough how much I love you. The seconds, minutes, hours, days that passed, becoming months and then years. Our one year anniversary is already here and I relish every moment that I’m able to spend with you.

I love watching you think, the way your brow creases and eyes go blank.

I love hearing you speak, confident, warm, loving.
Your words of wisdom and kindness.

I love your heart and the way you shower me with kisses, loving pet names, the way your eye lingers and lights up when you watch me dress and undress.

I love your romantic gestures and simple surprises with flowers, cooking, baking, and
dates
.

I love the fact that you love me so much and I love the fact that I love you just as much.

I know words can’t express what we mean to each other and how we feel, but I hope this quilt can stitch together some of its meaning.

I love you with all my heart and I’ll love you forever and always.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

-Mrs. Sullivan

After rereading the card a few times he turned his attention to the shoebox. He was always curious about the contents of this tattered shoebox, but he knew better than to ask. He loved her enough to allow her some secrets and her privacy.

His heart lifted as he opened the creased notes that he wrote to her while they were dating. The many
I-Love-
Yous
, written across various pieces and sizes of paper, the many notes he’d scrawl for her before leaving early for work, the many cards, poems, and letters he wrote to her during their many joyful years together.

There were movie ticket stubs, receipts, and also drafts of the notes and letters she wrote, all neatly pressed and protected.

But it was one letter that held his glance.
One letter that sent a lump to his throat.
One letter that remained unseen and unreceived until this moment. It was the letter Sophie wrote a few days before she was taken from him, during the few days when he left her side. It was this letter that he ever after kept in his wallet, the letter he never lived without.
The letter that saved him.

He suddenly felt hungry and weak. He suddenly felt both cold and hot. He suddenly smelled the foul air he reeked in. And he suddenly felt alive again.

He laughed, wincing at the coarseness and the unfamiliarity of his voice, and he laughed some more until he noticed his sister’s silent and scared eyes cautiously watching him.

“Sorry.”

“T—that’s okay,” she mumbled, careful not to send him back into a catatonic state.

“I’m starved. Do you want to eat?”

“Sure,” she smiled hesitantly, “let’s go out though…your fridge is kinda scary.”

“Okay.
Sounds good.”

Liam laughed some more.

5

After scarfing down four slices of veggie pizza and chugging three refills of lemonade, Liam’s color returned, and he slowly regained his strength. He grabbed for the last slice on the greasy metal pan and lifted it onto his plate.

Eying her brother carefully and still nibbling on the crust of her first slice of pizza, Emily asked, “So you’re okay with me getting rid of Sophie’s clothes, right?”

Mid-bite, Liam easily replied, “No.”

Frustrated, Emily egged him on. “Liam, it’s the next step. You have to let go. Move on. Get a hold of your life. It’s not like you’re in your nineties, unable to enjoy even a simple game of bingo.”

Liam didn’t have the strength or desire to pick a never-ending fight with his sister; he never won before and he didn’t want to try now, so he paused.

Taking the time to finish chewing, he replied, “
Em
, you weren’t here when she came into my life. Sophie was
my everything
. She showed me the blessings of love and life. I owe her everything and I’ll never let go of her, nor will I ever forget the mark she’s left on my soul. So, I’ll say this only once, never again utter my Sophie’s name with as much of a hint of negativity in your voice.”

Emily stared, mouth agape. She had no retort, nothing. He was right, she hadn’t known Sophie; for that matter, she didn’t even know her brother. She didn’t know what Liam suffered, or all the trials and tribulations he went through after the divorce. She ran away. And because of that, she had no right to judge or even preach guidance. For the first time, Liam won an argument with his sister.

Emily stayed with him a few days longer, helping to clean his unkempt house, watching closely as the death in his eyes diminished and he began to regain control of his life.

When he seemed back to his previous self, and signs of suicide diminished, Emily returned to Lake Tahoe, where she was also building a new life. In the short time since she was saved, she added some meat back onto her bones—courtesy of Grandma’s abundant cooking. Her head was cleared and her body was rejuvenated from the hours of meditation, yoga, and handfuls of “healing” crystals her mother surrounded her with. With her family’s support and talent for ignoring the past, Emily was able to power through the bad days and the worse days. She had miles to go, but the good days were starting to outshine the bad; she promised herself that she wouldn’t ever let some guy ruin her. In retrospect, she hoped this girl—Sophie—would not end up ruining her brother.

As the days passed, Liam spent most of his free time at the lake; sitting quietly on the cold cement bench, tending to the calla lily he planted, staring across the water, speaking softly into the wind. Sometimes he would take out the letter from his wallet (worn from countless unfolding, tears, and refolding) and reread the passage that revived his soul:

I’d want you to live and be happy and stress-free. I wouldn’t want you to be burdened by my death. Instead I would want you to treasure the good times we shared, while forging on to make new beautiful memories with someone else.
Someone willing and good, someone who would love you, and if I have not been able to, bear your children.
I would love to look down and see you strive for happiness. Maybe even open up a bakery and name the cream puff after
me :
D. Yes, that would be nice.

And each time he read those sweet yet sorrowful words, he whispered, “I’m sorry, but that’s something I just can’t do,” and refolded the paper and tucked it back into his wallet.

6

The year passed, much in the same way, but today, on a clear afternoon, the words “bear your children” caused tears to drip softly down his cheeks.

“Oh, my dear, sweet Sophie, how I wish you were here now so I could take you to our bed and try many times to create a beautiful child together. You would have made a wonderful mother and I would have cared for you both—”

After spending another hour, idly tending to the calla lily while whispering bouts of love, remorse, confusion, and anything that ailed him, Liam took out his cell and dialed a number he had committed to memory, his mother’s.

“Liam!” Brenda’s surprised voice hung in the silence.

“Hi Mom.
How are you?”

“I’m good,” she hesitated, “how are
you
doing?”

“Better.”

I heard her exhale as she continued, “So what’s the occasion?”

“Sorry I haven’t called sooner…I’ve been busy.”

“That’s okay. I’m just glad to hear your voice. Did you need something?”

“Yes, well I think so, that is,” trailing off for a moment, “I think you might be able to help,” Liam stammered.

“What is it?”

“Well, I remembered at Grandpa’s funeral that you were introducing some close friends of yours…the ones with the adopted baby?”

“Oh you mean Sandra and Julie?”

“Yes.”

“What about them?” curiosity rose in Brenda’s voice.

“Well I was wondering if they could give me the name of the adoption agency they used.”

“Oh…,” she paused, “Liam,” her voice softening, “what are you thinking about doing?”

“I want to adopt a baby.”

“Now?
Why now? Are you sure? Oh Liam, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Brenda was speechless and worried. She feared for her son who was clearly lost and damaged. He seemed to be holding on by a single thread and now he wanted to raise a child?

“Yes, I’m sure. Will you help me?”

Liam never asked her for anything; knowing this, and the fact that she hadn’t been there for him when he needed her most, she willingly agreed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

7

The next few months flew by in a blink of an eye, filled with meetings, questions, paperwork, and more questions. For the first time in Liam’s life, his mother came through for him, as he was making, inevitably, the biggest decision in his life. He wanted a child to call his own, to love and care for and to nurture. He had always known that he wanted to be a father, just as he had always known he wanted to be a grandfather. This, Sophie knew as well. This was one of the three promises he was willing to keep: a child to call their own.