Sophie

I fiddle with the locket around my neck; my fingers dragging it back at forth on its chain, slowly and habitually. I sigh, let the pendant fall back against my skin, and lean my cheek on my forehead. The towering stacks of paperwork and files on my desk seem never-ending and don’t call to me anymore. Not that I ever enjoyed doing them, but the sense of purpose, the importance of them, even the time alone doing them earned me; none of it seems to matter anymore. I simply don’t care to do it. Of course it brings back memories too, everything does now. I remember the days when I’d be hunched over this desk, wearing out the ink in my pen as I filled out and signed document after document, and made phone call after phone call. The days when the silence would become deafening and I’d be ready to quit. Then, despite the do not disturb sign I hung to keep other employees away while I worked, Michael would come striding through the door as if he owned the place. Practically hanging from his arm would be a three or four, eventually five or six, year old Katie. She’d break free of his grip and clamber up to sit on the corner of my desk, her legs swinging. Then she’d lean over me, her breath tickling my cheek and neck. “Whatcha doing?” She’d ask in that happy little voice of hers.

“Work,” I’d reply, my attention mostly focused on whatever paper was in front of me. Katie’s nose would wrinkle and she’d shake her head, her ponytail or twin braids flying side to side. She’d grab my arm and tug my attention to her.

“Come on, Auntie Sophie, come play with me instead. We could play hide and seek, or feed the seals,” she’d beg, giving me different suggestions all the time. Those hazel orbs would widen, pupils large and shiny, as she’d plead me with that puppy-dog look. And I’d go. I’d stand, leave my work, and spend the rest of the day with them. I’d chase her around, show her the animals, get her an ice cream, coconut pineapple was what she liked, and I’d smile and laugh all day. She was the perfect de-stressor.

Of course, all too soon, Michael’s phone would ring. It would be Roxanne on the line, huffing and complaining about how he was going to be late for dinner and that he was never home, always taking their daughter but leaving her behind. Of course it was never like that, she was the one who was never home; always working or going out with friends and leaving Michael with the daughter she didn’t want.

And then they’d have to go. Michael would call for Katie, Kat was his little nickname for her, and he’d tell her that her mommy was waiting. Katie adored her mother, even if Roxanne did her best to ignore her daughter. So, Katie would skip over and wrap her arms around my leg or waist when she was tall enough, and hug me as tight as her tiny arms could manage. She’d make me kneel down so she could kiss my nose, something she found hilarious, and then would scurry over to her father, talking about how she couldn’t wait to tell mommy about her day.

Then I’d be alone, left to my work until the next week when they came back for the day. When she came to live here, she never lost the habit though. Coming and sitting on the corner of my desk, draping her arm purposely over the document I’d be working on, laughing at my glare, and sighing in exasperation as she tugged me away. Come for a swim, come see the pictures of turtles I got, come watch a movie, I need help with my homework. Any excuse she could think of, she’d use to get me away from my work and make me smile…

I sigh, a smile forming at the thought of it, and spin my pen on the desk. I wish she would come through that door right now with one of her excuses. I could use a reason to smile.

I still remember in perfect clarity what happened to bring her into my care. Her father’s death. Michael had always been dangerously allergic to garlic and was very careful to avoid it. He checked the ingredients of processes foods, inquired thoroughly at restaurants. That was how it happened. The three of them were out to dinner and Roxanne had stepped out to make a phone call. There had been a mix-up in orders, so he ended up with minced garlic in his rice. They simply hadn’t gotten to him in time.

Katie had been devastated, she was only seven, and her birthday was in a few days. It broke her heart even more when her mother wasn’t there for her. Never once held her, cried with her, or told her it would be okay. It only took a few weeks for Roxanne to get tired of Katie’s tears and nightmares, to become angry when her daughter tried to climb into bed at night or wanted to sit in her lap, or go to work with her. Katie just didn’t want to be alone and Roxanne didn’t want the child’s company.

Then that night. It was nearly midnight when my phone rang. I vaguely remember stumbling out of bed and answering. It was the guard, Jerry, calling to say they needed me to come down to the front gate quickly.

I’d gone of course, in nothing but my pajama shorts and shirt. What I found broke my heart. Katie, bleary eyed and confused, was sitting in the guard chair, crying softly. She was probably over-tired and frightened. Probably didn’t know what had happened and why. But sure enough, her suitcase had been left beside her, and Roxanne had given Katie a little purse. Inside was all of her documents. Her birth certificate and health information. Everything. Including the already signed closed adoption form. And a note. A note explaining that she was moving to America to start over, that she wasn’t coming back, and didn’t care what I did. I could take her in or stick her in the system, Roxanne had actually wrote out both options and said she didn’t care which I chose. Said she had never wanted a child, and wasn’t putting up with one now. I’d picked Katie up and taken her upstairs to the apartment. Jerry brought her suitcase up. I sat her down at the table and she looked up at me and asked me where her mom was.

I couldn’t tell her the truth; it would have crushed her. So, I simply said, “She has to go away for a while and you’re going to stay with me while she’s gone, okay?”

She had nodded. “Okay.” Then, “she didn’t say goodbye.”

I remember hugging her, squeezing her tightly against me, smoothing back her hair that always smelled of the citrus shampoo her father bought her. “I know, sweetheart, I know… How about we get you settled though, okay, are you hungry?”

Of course she had nodded and told me she was. I’m not sure what it is with young children always wanting food, but it worked to calm her down a little. Toast with jam was what she wanted. So, I made her two pieces and a hot chocolate.

When she finished I told her it was time for bed.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” She’d begged, her fingers lacing themselves into the hem of my shirt, her eyes wide and tear-stained. It took me less than a heartbeat to pick her up and hug her against me. She’d draped her arms over my shoulders, went back to griping the fabric of my shirt and she buried her nose in the crook of my neck. “Please Auntie Sophie… I don’t want to be alone.”

Rubbing her back, I had carried her down the hall. “Of course,” was my reply. I stood her up on the bed, wiped her tears, and kissed nose, stealing a small giggle from her. “Now lay down, it’s late.” We’d climbed under the covers and she’d snuggled against me. The cutest angel in the world fell asleep against me in seconds, despite her fear and sadness.

I’ve never felt more loved than when I was with her.

The next day, we went down and got the adoption straightened out. A few hours and I was able to take Katie back home for ice cream as mother and daughter.

A smile touches my lips, even as tears begin to flow once more. I trace her face in the picture on my desk with a finger, linger over her wide grin. In it, her hair is pulled back in a very sloppy bun, her white shirt littered with purple splotches. It was the day we painted her room. She was twelve, just getting into photography, and wanted to personalize the spare room that had become hers, wanted to change it from the soft yellow I put up when she first came home with me. A rich violet was the color she chose, that, when combined with the sunlight from the massive window, was bright and homey, looked more of an electric purple, but darkened her room at night. We hung up the blue painted bulletin board for her to start hanging photos, the shelves for her shells and camera pieces, the occasional book. She’d ruined her shirt, and mine, by starting a little paint war, drawing a streak up my arm after I’d dotted her nose with it; a reaction to a sassy comment she’d made. Before long, we had paint on our clothes, arms, and faces, and there were a few splotches that dried to the floor, a fact that thrilled her because it made things unique.

“Perfect paint jobs are boring anyways,” she’d laughed and turned the two dots to a lopsided smiley face by drawing a curved line underneath them with her brush. “We should do the same in your room, by the bed, and I’ll put my bed here, so it’s the last thing we see before we go to sleep.

There’s a purple happy face by the backboard of my bed, on the wall instead of the floor, against the forest green paint that Katie bought when she couldn’t stand the peeling wallpaper anymore.

Sometimes I think she took care of me more than I took care of her, though I know she would argue that I’ve been the perfect mother.

“If I was the perfect mother, she would still be here,” I mutter to myself.

“You know that’s not true,” Lewis startles me and I nearly jump out of my skin.

“How long have you been standing there?” I demand.

“Long enough,” he replies. I take a tissue and wipe at my eyes with it. “I came for the medical reports for the tiger shark that’s coming in. You said you would have them ready for this afternoon, but…” He trails off to gaze over my desk. “By the looks of things, you haven’t started have you?”

“No,” I mutter. “I haven’t. I’m sorry; I’ll get right on it.” I begin to sift through the piles on my desk, shoving papers aside.

“Sophie. Sophie. No, Sophie, stop,” Lewis grabs my arms, pulls them back from the desk. “Just stop.”

A sob leaves me and I shake my head. “No, Lewis, I can’t. I can’t stop. I can’t stop any of it, just like I couldn’t stop it from happening. I can’t stop think about her, I can’t stop whispering her name to myself, and I can’t stop knocking on her door, hoping she’ll open it. I can't stop staring at the spot,” I jab a finger at the empty corner on my desk, the only place not overrun by documents, “waiting for her to come sit there. I can’t stop crying myself to sleep, and I can’t stop feeling useless and broken. I just want my daughter back; I’d give anything to have her back.”

“I know,” Lewis whispers. “And I know it’s hard, but Sophie, you’ve got to pull yourself together a little bit. You know that I wish she’d come in and rearrange my equipment, or sop water through my office as she shortcuts through to strip off a wetsuit and put away her stuff. I wish she’d come and steal my coffee in the morning, telling me it was bad for me, and I wish I could see her leaning against a rail, staring off in the distance or sitting on a bench reading or doing some homework. I wish I could hear her laughing, you laughing with her, and I wish I could see her smile. I wish she would come through that door right now and sit in her spot on the desk, but Soph,” he pauses. “You and I both know that she isn't going to. She isn’t coming into any of these rooms, she isn't out by the tanks or out on a dive, she’s not going to answer her bedroom door or come out for dinner. We aren’t going to hear her laughing, the telltale way to find her like a cat with a bell around its neck. She isn't coming back Sophie, and she’s never going to. We have to accept that and you have to find a way to live with it.”

I sniff, unable to stop my tears as his words twist like a barb into my heart. He squeezes my shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I think you need to hear it and everyone is too afraid to approach you and say it. I know you loved her, but you need to let her go and move on with your life. Take a step towards actually recovering, Sophie.”

“How would you like me to do that,” I snap, my voice rising with my pain. “Would you like me to just forget about her? She’s de-dead so she deserves to be forgotten? I’ve lost my daughter, Lewis, so don’t you dare lecture me.”

“I'm not asking you to forget. I’m asking you to stop mopping and move on with your life. Maybe it’s time to go into Katie’s room and start taking thing out.” I tense at his words. “You don’t have to get rid of anything, just pack stuff away, and clear out the room. Maybe think about offering the room to a tenant or turn it into a second office to give you more privacy from other employees, convert it so you can take up a hobby, anything. Maybe get a pet, a cat preferably so you don’t have to walk it, though if you want a dog-”

“I don’t want a dog, or a tenant, or a new office, Lewis, please, I know you’re trying to be helpful, but I'm not ready for that sort of change yet. I just want to wallow for at least a few weeks without everyone pushing me to move on. You’re one of my closest friends, but I just lost the only family member that I had left. The only daughter I'll ever get the chance to have. Just… let me mourn in peace,” I finish, caught between angry and defeated. “I’ll come around and move on when I’m ready, and nothing you say or do can make that happen any faster.”

Lewis nods, his expression solemn. “I'm sorry. You’re right and I shouldn’t have pushed you, I'm just concerned that you're not okay and I want to help. Maybe… maybe you should take some vacation time. Take a few weeks, leave the country maybe, get away and give yourself time to think.”

I nod. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea. I'll have to think about it.”

“Okay, well, I’ll leave you alone. If you can get me those papers today at some point, I’d appreciate it,” he states, and then turns to leave.

“Lewis? Thanks,” I reply. “For trying. I appreciate it.”

He grins and nods. “Just feel better okay?” Then he’s gone, leaving the door to swing slowly behind him. I shake my head, tuck a loose strand behind my ear, and then actually begin to work…