Sophie is in her bedroom, Skyping with Delaney, who’s helping her with an assignment. She hasn’t mentioned Jared, but her cell has been chirping with texts constantly and she raced back to her room to Skype after dinner last night.
“Come in,” she calls out when I knock softly on her door. She’s sitting on the window seat, staring out. I sit near her feet and follow her gaze. In the distance there’s a glimpse of ocean lit by moonlight. The sky is clear this evening and full of stars. I remember how Andrew used to point all their shapes out to Sophie and my breath hitches in my throat.
“What are you doing?” I say. She has a sketchpad in her lap, but the page is blank. On the bed her notebooks and binder are spread out. Her laptop is open, the screen dark.
“Just thinking.” She straightens her legs so they run alongside mine. When she was little we often sat on the couch like this, our heads at the pillows at either end, our legs tangled. We’d read our books or watch movies, just happy to be with each other. “I miss our house,” she says.
“I want to talk to you about something.”
She narrows her eyes. “I hate when you start a conversation like that.”
“It’s nothing bad. I just have to go home for a day. I need to pay the girls.”
Her whole face lifts. “You’re going to Dogwood? I want to come.”
“You should stay here.”
“No way. I want to see Jared and Delaney and get some clothes from the house.” She tugs at her purple sweater. “I’m sick of wearing the same things.”
“You can make me a list. I just don’t think it’s safe.”
She leans closer. “Mom, if you don’t take me, I’m going to get a city bus and go back myself.” She looks determined, and I’m shot with a memory of her as a little girl. How I caught her packing one day because she wanted to meet Emily Carr, the beloved Canadian artist. It was horrible to have to tell her that the artist had died many years ago. She insisted on visiting her grave on Vancouver Island and bringing her flowers, because, “Even dead people like pretty things.”
She reaches out and holds my hand. “Mom. I’m scared for you. I want to be with you.”
I think it over, imagine her pacing Jenny’s house, alone and worried about me. “Okay. But we’re just going back for the day, all right?”
She’s already picking up her laptop. “I’m going to tell Jared now.” Her Skype is ringing. He’ll be online soon. I stand up. “We’ll take the early ferry.”
“Sure.” She’s smiling, excited about going back. I stand at the door for a moment, watching her face brighten when Jared answers her call.
“Hi, babe,” he says. “Did you get my texts? You didn’t answer.”
“Sorry, I was talking to my mom.” She looks up at me, clearly wanting me to leave. I close her door, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like the way he asked about his text messages, and how much it reminds me of my life with Andrew. It’s not the same, I remind myself. Sophie isn’t me, and Jared isn’t Andrew.
We take the first ferry over, both of us groggy and clutching at our coffees. Sophie’s cell vibrates with a new text every five minutes, and I pretend to read a book while remembering how simple things used to be when she was young and told me all her secrets, when I was her greatest confidante. Now she’s a mystery to me, and this relationship with Jared is uncharted territory.
Marcus is waiting on the front steps when we pull into the driveway, our car tires crunching on the snow. Most of it has been shoveled away. Piles of snow line either side, and he’s even scraped off the front steps. He waves and walks toward the car, opens my door.
I climb out. “Thanks for clearing the driveway.”
“I got here a little early.”
“You must have been a lot early.”
He shrugs. “I like the exercise.”
Sophie comes around to the front, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. “Hi, Marcus.”
“Sophie.” He gives her a quick hug and I can see her relax, her hands coming out of her pockets. I’m grateful he’s here today.
Angus jumps out of the car, runs to greet Marcus, then starts doing zoomies all over the yard, burying his nose in the snow and leaping into the air. Sophie laughs.
While she’s distracted by Angus, I glance around the yard, looking for boot tracks, but it’s snowed overnight and the ground is covered with a fresh layer.
As we move up the front steps, Marcus says, “I checked your outside tap and made sure it’s turned off. It’s been cold this week.”
I’d left the heat on low in the house, but I’m still hit with an icy draft when we walk inside, and a scent I can’t identify, something rotten. Marcus looks at me.
“You smell that?” he says
“I must have left garbage under the sink.” I flip open the panel for the alarm. Angus bounds into the foyer, finds one of his balls that has rolled into the corner, and wiggles around our legs, squeaking it madly. Sophie brushes past me and heads into the house.