Chapter 7: What Sofia Drew
Elena called me at seven the next morning.
I was already awake.
I'd been awake since four.
"The men outside," she said.
"They were there all night."
"I know.
I asked them to stay."
A pause.
"Why?"
"Caruso knew you'd talked.
I wasn't going to leave you unprotected."
Another pause.
Longer.
"Is it finished?" she asked.
"Not entirely.
But the important parts are." I sat up.
"His records are secured.
His lawyer has been notified.
My father's attorney is handling the formal process." I paused.
"He won't come near you."
I heard her exhale slowly.
"The treatment," she said.
"Your father's office called last night.
They said it was arranged."
"It is."
"Luca, I can't accept—"
"Elena." I kept my voice even.
"Sofia saved my life.
She sat on a Manhattan sidewalk next to a man she didn't know and called for help while dozens of adults walked past.
She did that because you raised her to be that kind of person." I paused.
"Let me do this."
A long silence.
"Monday," Elena said finally.
"Monday."
I heard something in the background.
Small footsteps.
Then Sofia's voice, still rough with sleep.
"Mommy, who are you talking to?"
"A friend."
"The man from yesterday?
Luca?"
A pause.
"Yes," Elena said.
A brief silence.
Then Sofia, apparently addressing the phone directly: "Are you coming back today?"
I looked at the window.
Early light on the Manhattan skyline.
"Would that be alright?" I asked.
"We have eggs," Sofia said seriously.
"Mommy makes them good too."
I arrived in Queens at nine.
Sofia opened the door before I knocked.
She'd been watching from the window.
She informed me of this without embarrassment, then stepped back to let me in.
Elena was at the small stove.
She looked better than the day before — or perhaps I was simply looking at her differently now.
The shadows under her eyes were still there.
But she was standing steadily.
"Coffee?" she asked.
"Please."
Sofia climbed onto one of the folding chairs and pushed a piece of paper across the table toward me.
"I drew something," she said.
I sat down and looked at it.
Three figures.
Crayon.
A woman in a yellow dress, a small girl with blonde curls, and a tall man in a dark jacket.
All three were holding hands.
Above them, a large yellow sun.
My throat tightened.
"That's you," Sofia said, pointing to the tall figure.
"I didn't know what color your jacket was so I used black.
Is black okay?"
"Black is exactly right," I said.
She nodded, satisfied.
"I'm going to put it on the wall."
"Can I have a copy?"
She looked at me with the particular gravity of a six-year-old being asked something important.
"I only made one."
"Then that one should stay with you," I said.
"It's yours."
She considered this.
"I could make another one for you."
"I'd like that very much."
She slid off the chair and went to find more paper.
Elena set a cup of coffee in front of me and sat down across the table.
We were quiet for a moment.
"She's been drawing families all week," Elena said softly.
"She doesn't always put three people.
Sometimes it's just the two of us.
But this morning she added a third." She looked at the drawing.
"Before she knew you were coming."
I looked at the paper.
The three figures.
The yellow sun.
The careful, deliberate hands.
"I want to tell her," I said.
"When you think the time is right.
I don't want to push.
But I don't want to pretend either."
Elena wrapped both hands around her own cup.
"She's going to ask questions."
"I know."
"Hard ones."
"I know that too."
"She'll want to know why you weren't there."
I looked at her directly.
"Then I'll tell her the truth.
That someone kept us apart.
And that the moment I found out, I came."
Elena's eyes were very steady.
"That is the truth," she said.
"Yes."
Sofia came back with a fresh sheet of paper and settled herself at the table with the focused intention of someone beginning important work.
She selected a black crayon first.
Drew a tall figure.
Looked up at me to check the details.
"Do you have a coat?" she asked.
"Yes."
"What color?"
"Dark gray, usually."
She swapped the black crayon for gray.
Continued drawing.
Elena watched her daughter.
I watched Elena watch her daughter.
Outside, a bus went past.
Someone on the street was laughing.
The morning was ordinary in every way except the one that mattered.
"There's something I need to tell you," Elena said quietly.
She was still looking at Sofia.
"About the months before I left."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." She looked at me.
"When Fenn came to my apartment, he didn't just deliver a message.
He told me that if I tried to contact you, or if I told anyone what he'd said, there would be consequences." She paused.
"He was specific about what those consequences would look like."
My jaw tightened.
"I was frightened," she said.
"I believed him.
And then I found out I was pregnant, and I was even more frightened, and I thought — the safest thing I could do for the baby was to disappear completely." She looked down at her coffee.
"I've spent seven years wondering if I made the right choice."
"You kept her safe," I said.
"I kept her poor," Elena said.
Not bitterly.
Just exactly.
"You kept her safe," I repeated.
"And you raised her to be the kind of person who kneels on a sidewalk next to a stranger and calls for help." I held her gaze.
"That's not nothing, Elena.
That's everything."
Her eyes filled.
She looked away quickly.
Sofia looked up from her drawing.
"Mommy?"
"I'm fine, baby."
"You look like you might cry."
"I'm fine."
Sofia looked at me with the directness of a child who has learned to read her mother's face carefully.
"Did you make her sad?"
"No," I said.
"I think she's just a little relieved."
Sofia considered this.
"Relieved is okay," she said.
"Relieved isn't the same as sad."
"You're right," I said.
"It isn't."
She went back to her drawing.
Elena pressed the back of her hand briefly to her eyes.
Then she straightened.
Picked up her coffee.
"Monday," she said again.
Like an anchor.
"Monday," I said.
Sofia finished the drawing and held it up.
Three figures again.
The tall one in gray.
The woman in yellow.
The small girl with the yellow sun overhead.
But this time she'd added something.
In the corner of the page, very small, carefully drawn — a building.
Tall.
With many windows.
"That's where you live," Sofia said.
"I don't know what it looks like.
But I thought it should be in the picture."
May you like
I took the drawing carefully.
"It looks exactly right," I said.
