I had stopped painting, turning away from the wall to listen. Sophie’s head was low between her shoulders. “You were just a kid,” I offered. “Kids get aggravated by stuff like that.”
“Yeah, but I smacked her.” Sophie said. “Hard.” Her voice shook. “Right across the face. Right against her little cheek.” Her lips trembled, and she bit the bottom one with her teeth. “I’ll never forget the look on her face. It was just a split second, right before she started screaming, but it was like everything inside of her sort of crumpled. Like I’d stepped on her or something. Crushed her.” Sophie looked down at the floor. “It was the first time I realized that she really loved me. I mean, to make her crumble like that.”
I didn’t like what Sophie was saying. I listened with one ear as she described Dad charging out of his office, demanding to know what the fighting was all about, and then sequestering both girls on opposite sides of the room. For the first time, I wondered if I really wanted to know what had happened to Maggie all those years ago.
“Were you ever mean to her like that again?” I asked.
“I never hit her again,” Sophie said slowly. “But I could’ve been a lot nicer to her too. There were other times…” She stopped, her voice drifting off. “More times, I mean, when I just acted like a jerk. You know, not playing with her, ignoring her when she tried to get my attention.” She winced, remembering. “God, she was always trying to get my attention. Sophie! Sophie! Sophie!” She turned around suddenly, ashamed, and dipped her brush back into the can of paint.
I watched her arm move up and down the wall with a new kind of force, the muscles in her shoulders straining as she applied another coat of paint to an already finished section.
I turned around then, and did the same thing.
chapter
30
I was in seventh grade when the call came about Goober’s birth. Sophie had been out of the house for almost five years by then, and her visits home—which were already occurring less and less—had dissolved into long, drawn-out screaming matches, mostly with Dad. I remember how long it took to get to the hospital. And how silent it was in the car.
Sophie seemed startlingly skinny when we saw her, especially since she’d just had a baby. Her bare arms looked bony sticking out of the blue hospital gown, and when she got up at one point to shuffle to the bathroom, I could not make out even the smallest curve of a belly. Her face was unnaturally pale too, as if the blood had drained out of it, and her lips were dry and cracked. She was happy to see us, though, and cried a little when Mom hugged her.
The nurse brought the baby out of the nursery, wheeling her into the room in a big plastic bassinet that had been set atop a metal cart. I remember thinking she was not very cute. In fact, she was kind of squished looking. Still, I cooed along with Mom and Dad as they bent over her, trying to wiggle their index fingers into her tightly closed fists. Sophie leaned her head against the pillow and watched them tiredly.
After an hour or so, Mom and Dad left to get some lunch. I stayed with Sophie, not ready to leave her just yet. She patted the side of her bed and I scooted up next to her. “I’m glad you’re here, Julia.”
“Me too.”
“How’s school?”
“Pretty good.”
“What about your classes? How’re they going?”
I had all As, but I didn’t say that. “They’re all right. I like my math teacher. He’s cute.”
Sophie grinned. “I had a cute math teacher once. In tenth grade.” She leaned her head back against her pillow. I could see the veins beneath the skin of her neck. “God, that seems like so long ago.”
“It was a long time ago.”
She lifted her head. “Yeah, I guess it was.” There was a pause as she looked over at Goober sleeping soundly in her bassinet. “Can you believe I’m a mother?”
I shrugged. “I guess I’ll get used to it.” I started to ask about Goober’s father, but something inside told me not to.
“Do you think I’ll be a good one?” Sophie asked.
“A good what?”
“Mother,” she said. “A good mother.”
“Well, yeah. Sure. You’ll be great.” I reached out and pulled the bassinet a little closer to the bed. “Besides,” I lied, “she’s so cute.” I looked back over at Sophie, and was startled to see her eyes pooled with tears. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “I don’t feel anything,” she whispered. A single tear rolled down her face as she spoke. “Nothing.” I was too afraid to ask her what she meant. Sophie kept talking, her eyes wide and unblinking, as the tears leaked out. “You know that rush of love you’re supposed to feel when you look at your baby for the first time?” I nodded dumbly, although I had no idea what she was talking about. “I haven’t felt it, Julia. Not once. Not when they gave her to me to hold after she first came out, and not after they cleaned her all up and gave her back to me.” She stared vacantly into the basket. “What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.