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“You’ll learn many interesting things, and going to school will allow you to do the job you want when you grow up.”
My chest squeezes as I think about my own shattered dreams of a career. I never want that for Sophie.
“Can Johan and Étienne and Guillaume go too?” she asks.
“Your brothers?”
She nods.
“I’m sure Mr. Russo will see to it that they go.”
That seems to satisfy her. She puts the dolls aside and reaches for a bread roll.
When my siblings and I were little, my mom never allowed toys at the table. My instinct tells me that Sophie needs them to cope with her new reality. I’ll have to wean her off them slowly until she’s secure enough to brave this different world on her own.
“Let’s put Beatrice and Alison aside until we’ve eaten,” I say. “You can take them up for a bath after dinner.”
“Why?” She blows on her soup. “Is it not good table manners?”
“That’s right, sweet girl.” I reach over and caress her cheek. “You’re a fast learner.”
At the compliment, her face glows. She puts the dolls on the chair next to her before dunking her bread in the soup.
During the rest of the dinner, she’s her old chatterbox self, telling me about the food fight at Angelo’s house and how angry he was. She relays her brothers’ punishment with big eyes. Grounding seems to be a huge deal to the kids who’re used to wandering outdoors at will.
Later, after I helped Sophie with her bath and read her a story, I crawl into bed. The emotionally charged day left me exhausted. I should work on my shark notes for Mrs. Powell, but I’m physically and mentally drained.
Not long after switching off the light, the bedroom door squeaks open. Soft footsteps fall on the floor. The bed dips as Sophie climbs in next to me.
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” I ask, switching on the bed lamp.
“I want to sleep with you.”
“What about Beatrice and Alison? Won’t they be lonely if you sleep here?”
She thinks for a moment before her eyes light up. “They can sleep here too.”
“The bed is too small for the four of us.” I want to wrap her up in my arms, but I also don’t want to encourage bed hopping. I know from experience with my nephew, Brad, that the habit is difficult to break. “It’s best you stay in your bed next to theirs.” I take her hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”
I give her a comforting cuddle before tucking her in again. Back in my own bed, I lie awake, thinking about the children and Angelo and the uncertainty of their future. For most of the night, I toss and turn.
At dawn, I give up on sleeping and get out of bed. The house is warm, but I feel cold. I pull on a robe and warm socks before going downstairs to make coffee.
I fortify myself with the strong brew, sipping it in front of the kitchen window while appreciating the view. The sun paints everything in gold as it rises above the mountain.
When the caffeine kicks in and I feel more awake, I check on Sophie, who’s sleeping soundly with her palms pressed together under her cheek. The sight melts my heart. I lean in the doorframe, enjoying the beautiful display of childish innocence.
Has Angelo inquired at the school yet? I make a mental note to ask him about it as I back away quietly and go to the bathroom to do my grooming.
Brushing my teeth is my mental reminder to take my birth control pill, a sort of conditioning I developed so that I don’t forget. I open the drawer and feel underneath, but my palm brushes over nothing but smooth surface. I frown and bend down. The packet isn’t in its hiding place secured by the elastic band.
My heart jolts in my chest.
Did it fall into the cupboard below?
Frantic, I go onto my knees and yank the door open. I push tubes of cream and bottles of lotion aside, knocking items over in my clumsy fumbling.
It’s gone.
