Sophie's Last Stand

I led him through the house and into the kitchen, poured his coffee and motioned him to the table, where the milk and sugar sat waiting. He pulled out one of the heavy wooden chairs and gestured me into another.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“Okay.” The air in the kitchen felt heavy. I knew he had something unpleasant to say.

“So, somebody blew up my car and it wasn’t a freak accident.” I thought if I said it first it might make it easier for him, but that didn’t seem to help.

“Sophie,” he said, “earlier today, as part of our investigation, we ran routine checks on all the cars parked in the area. We do this in case one of the cars belongs to the victim. You know, if it gets left behind then we know maybe it was hers, or if it clearly doesn’t belong to someone in the neighborhood we can begin to narrow the field a little.”

I nodded, feeling impatient.

“We identified a white, 1996 Mercedes convertible, registered to Nicolas Komassi, 532 Hartford Street, Philadelphia.” Gray looked at me, his eyes smoky and somber. “Your ex-husband, right?”

I felt my hands begin to tremble, and the sudden urge to cry tightened my throat. I nodded, took a deep breath and said, “Nick’s in prison. He won’t be out for another eight months. And that address you have, it’s not his anymore—it was mine.”

Gray just stared at me. “Sophie, Nick got out of prison a week ago. I talked to his parole officer. He got an early release for good behavior. They tried to notify you, but you didn’t leave them a forwarding address.”

I slapped my hand down on the table. Coffee sloshed out of my cup and stained the napkin beneath it. “I didn’t want him to find me! I thought it would be better if no one knew how to reach me. I didn’t even leave a forwarding address with the post office. I just went in the house with Joey, packed my things and drove away.”

Gray covered my hand with one of his. “Okay, Soph. It’s okay. But somehow I’m thinking he found you.”

“No! He couldn’t. He wouldn’t do that!”

“It’s his car.”

That much was irrefutable. Nick’s car didn’t drive itself down to New Bern. Nick was in town, in my new town, in my safe haven, and now bad things were starting to happen, just like he’d promised.

Gray was watching me and I knew there had to be more. “What else?” I asked.

“His parole officer can’t find him. He’s been missing for three days.”

My stomach clutched into a knot. For a year, since Nick had been sent to prison and the divorce finalized, I’d felt relatively safe, but now this. I looked at Gray briefly and felt my future slip away, contaminated by the past. Even if I were interested, who wants a relationship with the ex-wife of a sicko-pervert convict? He’d look at me and think of Nick. He’d wonder what kind of a woman lets herself get taken in by such a twisted man. And Gray Evans didn’t know the half of it.

Gray hadn’t seen that Web site, hadn’t seen the pictures and videos Nick took of me without my knowledge. Gray didn’t know how I felt, what it was like to feel scummy and dirty every day, no matter how many showers I took or how long Nick spent in prison. Like a fish needs a bicycle, I reminded myself, and squared my shoulders. No one would ever use me that way again. I would never let myself be that vulnerable.

I shivered involuntarily. “Okay, so he followed me down here. I’ll handle it.”

Gray frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

I tossed my head and ran my fingers through my hair like I do when I’m thinking or upset. “I mean I’ll get a restraining order.”

Gray looked over his shoulder, toward the front of the house, still frowning. “If that’s Nick’s work out front, I don’t think a restraining order will cover it.”

“I said I’ll handle it and I will. I can take care of myself.” I stood up, shoving my chair back so hard it screeched on the plywood subflooring. I knew I sounded harsh and defensive.

Gray ignored it. “I know you can handle yourself, Sophie. All I’m saying is you don’t have to do it all alone. I’ll have the officers in this zone make extra patrols. If you want I can check your doors and windows and help you put more secure locks on. You’re not alone, Soph. Let us help you.”

Don’t you see? I don’t want your help! I screamed silently. I wanted a fresh start, clean, without the film of scum that covered my life in Philadelphia. Now it felt hopeless. I had let myself dare to think everything would be fine, and now this.

“I’m tired,” I said. “I think I just want to go back to sleep.”

He pushed his cup aside and stood up. I looked at him and felt numb, almost. He couldn’t possibly understand, and it showed in his kind, concerned eyes and worried expression. He wanted to help and couldn’t understand why I was pushing him away. Gray Evans was never going to be anything to me because I couldn’t take the pain of coming to love someone and then losing him. Nick would ruin it. Nick ruined everything. Ruining my life had become his passion.

“I’ll come back later and help you clean up out there,” he said.

“No, that’s all right. I have good insurance. I’ll call the company and they’ll send people out to take care of it.” I wasn’t half believing this story, but it sounded good. “Thanks for your help. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do or any information I can give you that will help with the investigation.”

Gray was looking at me like I had two heads, like I’d changed and, of course, I had. What he was seeing now was the survivor, the Sophie that got cornered and came out swinging. I could take care of the car, the ex-husband and my life just fine, without anybody’s pity and without any help. I was going to figure out what was going on and why people thought I had something to do with Nick’s dirty business or else I would never, ever be truly free to have my own life. I couldn’t wait for cops to figure it all out. A fairy godmother wasn’t going to appear and set things straight. No, this was my battle and I could handle it.

“Still,” Gray said, not getting it yet, “I’d like to come by later and check on you. I could bring my chainsaw….” He tried to grin and I tried harder to resist him. If he stayed much longer, I’d cry, and that was unacceptable.

“How about I call you?” I lied. “It may be a day or two before I’m ready to tackle the backyard.”

He nodded. He knew I was lying, but what could he do? He wrote his home phone number on his business card and handed it to me.

I walked him through the house to the front door, opened it and stood just inside the hallway while he said goodbye from the other side. The farther away from me he was, the less chance there was of me giving in.

“Sophie,” he said, “I know you’re upset. Try to go back to sleep and see if things don’t look a little brighter later.”

Right. Brighter. Gray Evans was an anomaly, an optimistic cop, or maybe he thought I was as naive as I looked. I forced a smile, thanked him again and closed the door. Goodbye, Gray Evans. I’ve got work to do and a life to live and I will be just fine without you. However, deep down inside where I keep my secrets, I was thinking fish might not need bicycles, but they sure would enjoy a ride every now and then.

Chapter 4

D arlene couldn’t wait to tell on me. It was payback for not letting her ask Gray twenty questions about the dead body. She rushed right back to Neuse Harbor and proceeded to tell my parents every single gory detail. Then, when she rode past my house on her way to work and saw the charred Honda, she hit the speed dial on her cell phone and told my parents I was most probably dead, but not to worry because she was investigating.

While Ma was becoming hysterical and Pa was asking questions, she hung up. Later, when I pinned her down, and I do mean that literally, she tried to say she’d hit a bad cell and the phone had dropped the call. Upon further interrogation and perhaps even a little physical intimidation, Darlene admitted she had “accidentally” hung up on them.

This is why, at 8:19 a.m., I was roused from a deep and dreamless sleep to find Darlene and my parents standing at the foot of my bed. Ma was crying. She stood there, barely coming up to Darlene’s shoulder, clutching her old black purse, her gray hair a wire-brush double of my own. She wore thick, sensible shoes and a black dress with tiny white flowers all over it, her standard, Italian mother uniform. Darlene, dressed in an outlandish, bright purple silk dress and wearing a fake orchid in her hair, stood patting Ma’s shoulder and beaming. This is just how she likes it, a crisis with her in the middle, coordinating the fireworks. Pa shifted from one foot to the other, looking like an embarrassed, older version of my brother.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is somebody dead? Is it Joey?” I sat up, my heart pounding into overdrive, trying to read the expressions on my parents’ faces.

“I’ll make coffee,” Darlene said, vanishing like the night.

“Darlene,” Ma sputtered. “She said you was probably dead! Why you didn’t call? What happened to your car?” Then Ma lapsed into Italian, saying something about how she just knew the evil eye was on me and that my new house was filled with malice.

Pa was still standing there, looking from her to me and waiting for the initial storm to subside. Instead, Ma turned on him. “What?” With lightning quick speed her hand moved, slapping Pa upside the head. “You gonna do something here? You let this happen! What, you no fix it now?” She slapped him again, a rough head shot that Pa was used to because this is how Ma punctuates all her comments.

“You look all right,” Pa said to me.

“I am,” I said, raising myself higher in bed and trying to look calmer than I felt.

Ma shrieked. “How can you say that at a time like this? A dead woman in the garden?” Here Ma crossed herself. “Your car burned to cinders? What? All right, you say? You’re all right? Stunade!”

Darlene appeared in the doorway behind us. “Ma, coffee’s ready. Come have some.”

I shot Darlene a look that promised retribution. Ma, still slapping at Pa, allowed herself to be led into the kitchen, leaving me to hop out of bed and trail along after them.

Darlene, all sweetness and light, made a big fuss, handing us coffee, spooning three teaspoons of sugar into Ma’s cup and stirring it for her, then clucking like a satisfied hen over her brood of chaotic family members. It was disgusting. I sat there for thirty minutes and answered questions, at least half of them about how a daughter could disrespect her family by not coming to them personally and presenting the information firsthand, preferably as the events were actually occurring.