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Katrina snorted just loud enough to draw Sophie’s attention. In a rare moment of connection, Katrina shook her head ever so slightly in Sophie’s direction. Sophie understood. Her grandpa Calvin had only ever shown hatred toward Norm’s acting career. However, whatever fiction Agatha told about Calvin’s so-called fatherly pride had to be upheld for the good of Agatha’s health. They had to start the new year off right.
A strange discomfort passed over Katrina’s chest. Again, she had to fight the urge to drag Sophie out of the hospital room and demand to know if she was using again.
Before she could, the doctor arrived. Agatha greeted him like a blushing bride, as though she had a crush on him. Katrina backed away from the hospital bed and leaned against thewall as Sophie excused herself to get a cup of coffee. Katrina’s hands formed fists. She watched Sophie duck into the hallway, probably off somewhere to put something in her nose. Tears sprung to her eyes.
When Sophie had been a toddler, she’d been extremely sensitive, more so than Ida had been. Katrina had fallen asleep in her bed hundreds of nights, cooing at her to fall asleep. Nightmares had destroyed Sophie’s sleep until the age of thirteen or fourteen, probably not long before she’d begun using. Had the drugs helped her evade the night terrors? Had the drinking helped to calm her mind?
After the doctor checked Agatha thoroughly, he asked Katrina to come to his office. As they headed there, they breezed past Sophie, who looked bright and happy, the skin on her face like peaches and cream.
The doctor explained that the induced coma had been a success. Agatha’s body was healing far nicer than her eighty-five years should have allowed. And it was more than likely that she could move into a nursing home by February or March.
“Let’s celebrate the new year and all it will bring,” the doctor said as they stepped out of his office. “Agatha has a whole lot more living to do. And she’ll probably be a whole lot happier at the nursing home. Most of our patients are.”
Chapter Seven
Sophie sat beside her grandmother, her stomach settled gently against the mattress, her hands animated, circling about her as she told another story. This one was about her and Patrick’s recent hike along Martha’s Vineyard’s Aquinnah Cliffside on a gorgeous autumn day. “I thought the wind was going to whip us off the cliff and into the ocean,” she said, her eyes widening. “It’s hard to believe people ever used to get on those massive ships and go whaling for years and years. The ocean looked terrifying. Like it wanted to gobble us up.”
Grandma Agatha had begun to lose her voice. It was scratchy and tired from more than an hour of conversing lightly with Sophie. “Oh, honey,” she whispered. “Your grandfather and I used to hike that path together before we had children. I remember we’d sail from Nantucket, and he’d tie up the boat to a tree along the shore, then we’d clamber up together. He was so careful about making sure I didn’t fall.”
“Was that when you were teenagers, Grandma?”
Grandma Agatha nodded and coughed. Her eyes were hardly open. They were merely slits reflecting pockets of light from the fluorescent bulbs. Something out of the corner of Sophie’s eye caught her attention, and she turned to find Katrina peeringat them through the window, her expression surly. Katrina had been coarse since she’d arrived, looking at Sophie as though she were a bomb about to explode. Sophie was accustomed to her mother’s accusatory glances, but that didn’t mean they didn’t still break her heart.
“Do you want to sleep, Grandma?”
“I just want to close my eyes for a minute,” Agatha said.
“Of course. I’ll be right here.”
Sophie walked into the hall, met her mother’s gaze, and raised her chin. “What did the doctor say?”
“It looks like the coma was a success,” Katrina offered.
“Wonderful news.” Sophie adjusted her purse on her shoulder. Inside was the small velvet box Patrick had retrieved from his apartment that morning. Apparently, he’d been planning to propose for several weeks but hadn’t found the right time. The news about the baby had opened the door.
Sophie’s heart pumped loudly in her ears. The silence in the hallway was eerie. Only a few nurses scampered from room to room, their shoes squeaking on the linoleum.
Sophie tried to imagine herself telling her mother about the engagement right here, right now. She imagined removing the diamond ring from the velvet box, sliding it over her finger, and displaying her hand the way people did in commercials for engagement rings, fingers dangling forward. She imagined her mother gasping about how beautiful the ring was, telling her that Patrick had “done a great job.” That he was a “keeper.”
But just as soon as she imagined the scene, it dissolved in her mind’s eye. Her mother wouldn’t act the way she wanted her to. She wouldn’t give her a blissful smile and tell her how happy she was. Instead, she would find a way to poke holes in Sophie’s happiness. She would ask her if she was really healthy enough. If Patrick was really the kind of guy she wanted to spend the “restof her life with.” “Not that marriage means anything to you,” she might say. “Now that you’ve divorced.”
It was best to keep this news to herself, at least until the party.
“You’re still going to Oriana’s later?” Katrina crossed her arms over her chest.
“We’re going to take the five fifteen ferry.”
“That’s our plan, too.” Katrina looked stiff. “Did you make anything?”
“Just a batch of cookies,” Sophie said. “As though we need any more of those after Christmas.”
The joke landed flat. Katrina sniffed and returned her gaze to the window, where Agatha was displayed beautifully, her thin skin glowing with the light that shimmered in through the wide window. Sophie swallowed the lump in her throat. Just two floors up was the labor and delivery ward. Perhaps in nine months’ time, she and Patrick would take a room there. Perhaps Patrick would hold her hand as she screamed and writhed through labor. Perhaps they would leave the hospital with their own bundle of joy.
“Sophie?” Katrina was saying her name, calling her back from her reverie. “Goodness, girl. Where is your head today?”
Katrina said it accusatorially. Sophie was reminded of coming home high as a teenager and trying to manipulate her mother into believing she was sober.
“Sorry,” Sophie said. “I’m just excited about the new year.” She wrapped her hair into a ponytail and smiled. “I’m going to grab some water. You want anything?”
