“I really don’t have many people to talk to—not here anyway. The thing is”—Sophia hesitated—“before we left California, I received a call from my birth mother.”
Marie stared and slowly asked, “You received a call from the woman who recently died?”
Sophia shook her head, the absurdity of Marie’s statement made her grin. “No, the people who raised me were wonderful. I loved them and will love them forever; however, I was adopted. My parents were honest about it. I never felt deprived or less loved because my mother didn’t give birth to me. Honestly, I never really gave a damn about the woman who gave birth to me, or my biological father, until I got that call.”
Marie’s hands were again experiencing the sensory input of her slacks. “What happened after you got the call?”
“I started wondering about her and about him.”
Marie’s head tilted as her brow rose. “Him? You started wondering about your father?”
Sophia’s breathe expelled. “Well, yes! I mean, the woman who gave birth to me called, but what about my biological father? Are they still together? Did they love one another or do they still? Do they regret giving me up?”
“Oh, I see. Did you ask any of those questions?”
“No, I have a telephone number, but sometimes I think not knowing is better. I mean, I can make up my own answers.”
Marie smiled. “So, what’s your question, dear?”
Sophia readjusted her legs, curling one under herself as she leaned back into the plushness of the large chair. “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded far away. “I guess I just need to talk about it. Derek listens, but he’s protective. He doesn’t want me to get hurt.”
“Do you think you will?”
Sophia’s lips pressed together and she feigned a smile. “I’ve thought about the possibilities from all directions. If I learn I have this great set of biological parents who have a great life, then I’ll wonder why they didn’t want me to be a part of it. If I learn they didn’t stay together or they’re not good people, then I’ll wonder if dealing with me was part of the cause.”
Marie leaned forward and put her hand on Sophia’s knee. “That’s quite a decision. I’ve known many people who have done things they regret. Perhaps that’s why the woman called, or perhaps she regrets what she did thirty-three years ago; however, I don’t believe you should feel responsible for anything other than who you’ve become.” Marie’s gray eyes shimmered in the firelight. “Sophia, you’re an accomplished, lovely woman. The woman you spoke to should be proud.”
The scene melted as Sophia fought stoically not to cry. “I miss my mom and pop.” With the back of her hand, she brushed a renegade tear away. “Thank you Marie. I suppose the holidays left me feeling lonely.” She reached out and held Marie’s hand. “Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime.”
“You know, we don’t seem that different in age, yet look, Cindy came to you when she had a problem, and now, so did I.” Sophia chuckled. “You’re probably sick of listening to everyone else’s troubles.”
“Not at all. I’m honored you feel comfortable enough to talk.”
“I do, and I think you’re right before—no good comes from digging up the past. I don’t want to know that woman. I’ve been blessed with great parents, a fantastic husband, and good friends. Why push my luck?”
After a delightful afternoon, Marie walked Sophia to the door. Once Marie watched Sophia’s car pull away and the barrier to the outside was closed, Catherine murmured, “Eighteen years; that’s our age difference, and you do not want to learn about the man who donated his DNA to make you—I refuse to consider him any kind of father. He doesn’t deserve any credit for the beautiful woman you are today! The way things are now is much better than bringing memories of that monster into the equation.”
As she walked toward her office, Catherine smiled, her words not audible to anyone, “In time, my dear, I promise, that it’ll be even better.”