day when he’d be ready to settle down.
But that day had never come. One evening during her senior year of college, Marco had come home. He’d taken her out and told her gently that he wouldn’t be coming to see her again, that he was too old for her, that she needed to forget him and get on with her own life.
She’d cried.
He’d comforted her.
And when he left the next day, she knew what it meant to be a woman. He’d been a wonderful lover, and she’d hoped to change his mind with the passion they shared, but in the end he’d gone just as he’d said he would.
And she’d been left behind for good.
Two
She had a horribly busy week at the clinic for indigent mothers in the Latino section of the city where she worked. And as if it needed a proper ending, in the middle of the night on Friday, Sophie received a call from a crisis management center that served the clinic’s area. One of her clients had been beaten up by her boyfriend and was in the hospital. The young woman had no family, so foster care arrangements had to be made for her two-month-old infant.
She was at the hospital until dawn completing paperwork. The infant had been checked out by a doctor and declared unharmed, but all of the usual temporary foster homes were either full to overflowing, or she couldn’t reach them.
Finally, around eight on Saturday morning, she got hold of a foster mother who worked with short-term emergency cases The woman agreed to take the baby, but she wasn’t available until Sunday morning. After a brief telephone consultation with her supervisor, Sophie received permission to keep the child overnight and take her to her foster home in the morning.
Fortunately she was prepared for such an event. This wasn’t the first time she’d kept a foster child with her for a night or two.
She got home near 10:00 a.m. and when the baby slept, so did she. Unfortunately little Ana got hungry a lot sooner than Sophie did, and the nap didn’t last nearly long enough. It was amazing how much time it took to accomplish even simple tasks with a baby around. She had to stop constantly to change a diaper, warm and feed a bottle, entertain when Ana fussed and rock her to sleep again in late afternoon.
Not that it was a hardship. She loved babies, always enjoyed helping with her numerous nieces and nephews. Especially now that there would be no babies of her own.
Then she remembered she’d promised her mother she’d come for dinner, so she called to warn her that a baby would be coming along. Edie Domenico, with thirteen grandchildren already, wasn’t fazed by the prospect. So Sophie grabbed a quick shower while the baby girl still slept and stuffed a diaper bag with all the paraphernalia an infant required. Settling Ana in the car seat she always kept for such emergencies, she made the ten-minute drive to her mother’s.
“Hi, everybody,” she called out as she entered her parents’ home, juggling the diaper bag, the baby and an extra bag of disposable diapers. She stopped to give her father’s cocker spaniel a scratch behind his long, silky ears and when he promptly dropped and rolled over, she rubbed his belly with the sole of her sneaker.
“Hello, Sophia,” her mother called. “I’m in the kitchen. Give that baby to your father and come help me roll out the pasta.”
Sophie grinned. She suspected that her assistance wasn’t as necessary as was her presence for a small gabfest. Her father was settled into his easy chair, and from the way he was fumbling around with the newspaper, she suspected he’d been napping behind it. “Hi, Papa,” she said. “You don’t have to take her.”
But Renaldo Domenico shook his finger at her. “Are you trying to deny me a chance to snuggle that baby? And where’s your kiss for your poor old overworked papa? Hmm?”
She laughed as she crossed the room and bussed her father’s cheek. “How can you be overworked? You’re retired.”
“That’s right,” he replied, “And your mother thinks up more chores for me to do than I had when I did work.” He took Ana from Sophie’s arm with the ease of one who’d handled many infants. “So who’s this pretty one?”
She explained Ana’s situation to him and left them getting acquainted in the living room. When she entered the kitchen, she discovered that her sister Arabella was there already. “Hi,” she said as she hugged first her mother and then Belle. “Where are the girls?”
Arabella and her husband had three daughters now. “Elissa had a softball game,” she explained. “Lionel and her sisters are cheering her on. I begged off on the grounds that I needed a few childless moments at least once a week.”
Sophie chuckled. “Do I detect a hint of exhaustion? Frustration? Mild insanity?”
“D—all of the above.” Belle’s voice was dry. “With the girls squabbling nonstop these days, moments of peace are few and far between.” Belle’s oldest two daughters were only seventeen months apart, and at ten and nine, they no longer played like little angels.
“This will pass,” predicted her mother. “And then they’ll be each other’s dearest friends, just like all my girls.”
Belle stuck a finger down her throat in an exaggerated gagging gesture. “Yes, Mama.”
“Sophie, did you hear Marco’s home?” Her mother pounded on the pasta board and muttered at her pasta in Italian.
“Yes. Vee told me.” She steeled herself for the inevitable discussion.
Belle and Edie both looked up from their work. “And...?” said her mother.
Sophie met their avidly curious eyes with a bland smile. “And what?”
“Oh, come on,” Belle said. “Did your heart go pitty-pat? Just the least little bit?”
“Of course.” If she denied it, they’d know she was lying through her teeth. “He was my First Great Love. But I didn’t swoon, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Humph.” Her sister muffled a skeptical sound behind her glass on the pretext of taking a drink.
“I saw him the other night,” her mother said. “He’s still gorgeous. But oh, so sad, what happened. He’ll never be right again.”
“What happened?” Sophie repeated cautiously. This was probably one of her mother’s little jokes. A ploy to get her to talk about Marco.
Belle looked up. “You know ... the accident, his leg.”
“What accident?” The sincere sympathy in her sister’s voice was alarming and her voice rose slightly.
Belle’s eyes grew round with concern. “Mama, didn’t you tell her?”
Her mother was looking equally distressed. “No. I thought you or Vee told her.”
“No,” said Belle. “I didn’t tell her. I assumed you—”
“Tell me what?” Sophie’s sharp tone of voice cut through their twitter, and silence descended on the kitchen.
“Well,”
