Open It With Me

"Why not?" I asked.

Elena's fingers rested against mine.

"Because she said the truth inside belongs to both of you."

Then her eyes closed.

Hannah checked her and guided me into the corridor. I carried that brief touch with me, still feeling it after my hand was empty.

Daniel waited near the windows.

"Sofia's outside," he said. "She's afraid to come in."

I looked toward the elevators.

"Tell her Elena is alive. Tell her she doesn't have to explain anything before she sees her."

"Will you leave her alone?"

"If she asks me to."

He searched my face, then made the call.

I went downstairs before I could decide what to say.

The sliding doors opened onto snow piled against the curb. A blue sedan stood in the emergency lane. Beside it, Sofia held a small box against her chest.

Seventeen years had changed her. There were silver strands near her temples and tired lines around her eyes. Her dark hair was tucked into the collar of a charcoal coat. She looked cold, exhausted, and so familiar that I forgot how to breathe.

She saw me and stopped.

"Luca."

Every accusation I had practiced for years disappeared.

"Elena is alive."

Her mouth trembled. "They told me. But I needed—"

"She asked for you."

Sofia closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was looking at my hand.

I hadn't realized I'd reached for her.

I lowered it.

"Can I see her?"

"Yes."

We walked inside without touching. Daniel followed at a distance. In the elevator, Sofia stood against the opposite wall, hugging the box.

I remembered buying her a coat once. She had made me return it because it cost more than her rent. I'd bought a cheaper one and hidden the receipt. She had found it anyway.

I wondered how many winters she'd spent choosing between a coat for herself and one for our daughter.

"Is she hurting?" Sofia asked.

"They're treating the pain. Hannah will explain everything."

"Was she alone?"

"Rosa's with her."

She nodded, once.

When the doors opened, she walked ahead of me.

Hannah let her into Elena's room. I stayed outside. Through the narrow window, I watched Sofia put down the box and take her daughter's hand. Elena stirred. Her mother bent over her, and the girl reached weakly toward her neck.

I turned away before I could make their reunion about what I had missed.

Rosa sat beside me.

"You waited," she said.

"She needed to see her."

"That wouldn't always have mattered to you."

I had no answer worth offering.

Sofia emerged nearly half an hour later. She had washed her face, but the skin around her eyes was red.

"She's sleeping," she said.

I stood. "Elena told me about the box."

Sofia looked down at it.

"She wasn't supposed to worry about that."

"Can we talk?"

"Not with everyone listening."

Hannah found us a family room. I held the door, then moved away so Sofia could choose where to sit. She took the chair beside the window.

The box went on the table between us.

"I kept thinking I'd throw this away," she said. "Every move. Every new apartment. It always came with me."

She opened the lid.

A ribbon held envelopes together. Beneath them lay photographs, a hospital bracelet, a silver pendant, and a tiny sock that had lost its partner.

Sofia touched the sock with one finger.

"She used to kick them off. I found this one in the car seat three weeks after I gave up looking."

I reached for the first envelope, then stopped.

"May I?"

She nodded.

The letter was dated seventeen years earlier. She had kept a handwritten copy before sending the original.

Luca, I'm pregnant. I know what the doctor told you. I don't know how to explain it except that there hasn't been anyone else. I'm frightened, and I'm trying very hard not to sound frightened because I don't want you to think I'm asking you to fix everything.

But I need you to call me.

There was a phone number at the bottom. An address. A sentence added in smaller writing.

Please don't let your uncle answer this for you.

I read it until the words blurred.

"I would have come."

"I know you believe that."

"Sofia. I would have."

She looked at my hand on the page.

"I believed it too. For a while."

I couldn't argue with the years after that.

The next envelope held a photograph of Elena as a newborn. Her eyes were shut, her mouth open in an indignant cry. Sofia sat behind her, pale and smiling without quite looking happy.

"Your mother took this?"

"Yes."

"Were you all right?"

She gave a tired breath that almost became a laugh.

"Eventually."

"What happened?"

"Nothing unusual. I was sore. I couldn't get her to feed. I cried because someone brought me the wrong sandwich. Then I cried because I was crying about a sandwich."

Her fingers tightened on the ribbon.

"At night, I kept reaching for you before I remembered."

I put down the photograph carefully.

"Why didn't you come back?"

"I did."

The room seemed to lose its sound.

"When?"

"She was nine months old. I took a bus to Chicago. I went to your uncle's office because your old apartment was empty."

"Who saw you?"

"Victor Hale. He showed me a photograph of you with a woman at a fundraiser. He said you were getting married."

"I never got married."

"I know that now."

"You believed him?"

Her eyes lifted. "He knew about Elena. He knew where my mother lived. He said you'd asked him to keep me away."

I stood too quickly, and Sofia flinched.

I sat again.

"I didn't ask that."

"I know. Daniel told me what he found years later. Knowing didn't make the fear go away."

"Why didn't you come directly to me?"

Sofia folded the ribbon and laid it across the photographs.

"Before anyone intercepted those letters," she said, "I had already asked you for help."