Sophie to pay the fee. Her back seemed to be pinned against the leather chair like the large Post-it note tacked to Beth’s bulletin board with “I love you mommy” written in blue marker and stamped with a greasy fingerprint. Sophie had never written notes like that to her parents. Notes like that refused to stick to vodka and gin bottles. As for fingerprints—well, generations of Callahan fingerprints were well documented at police stations across the nation.
Perhaps Sophie should’ve written notes like that to her father. Perhaps if she’d been a better daughter, George Callahan might’ve been a better father. A better father would not have drained the savings account without telling anyone. A better daughter would’ve been more diligent in anticipating such a disaster.
Beth stopped typing and looked across the desk at Sophie. “Would you like me to deduct the fee from your checking account?”
Sophie nodded, her head going up and down like one of those bobblehead dogs stuck to a vinyl dashboard. Because ready agreement was expected from people in stunned stupors. Shock scratched at her throat, stealing her voice and sucking every molecule of fresh air in the cubicle.
Beth’s smile was more of a flat grin, a quick twitch of acknowledgment that neither upset her glasses nor loosened her hair-sprayed updo.
Sophie’s account could not be empty. Not after all the sleepless nights, tears and hard work. That money had ensured Ella a home. That money had ensured that Ella would be safe.
Sophie slipped her fingers under her legs to keep herself still. To keep herself from wringing her hands or running her palms over her jeans in some falsely soothing gesture. She peeled her shoulders off the chair, leaned forward, then lied through a grin that revealed all of her teeth. “My father is always looking for the best return on our money.”
Beth offered another quick twitch of a grin. The twitch of a person who recognized a lie.
Sophie continued, “It was certainly thoughtful of him to move the money to a higher-yield bond.”
The only bond Sophie’s father knew was a jail bond. Had he taken the money to avoid prison? He’d never mentioned jail when he’d called for his weekly catch-up with Ella two nights ago. He’d mentioned a plan to Sophie.
But her father always had a plan. Always some new scheme in the works. That was nothing new. He’d told Sophie not to worry. But she always worried. And he’d told Sophie not to panic. Too late for that.
If only Sophie hadn’t been distracted by an eighty-pound poodle petrified by bathwater, she might’ve asked more questions about her father’s latest scheme. Then she might’ve been able to squelch the fear curdling up through her now. Sophie squeezed her leg. “Who doesn’t want more money these days, right?”
Beth kept up her rapid typing. The hard strike of each finger against the key seemed to punctuate every lie Sophie uttered. “We offer some of the best rates in the city.” Beth pushed a receipt across the desk. “It’s unfortunate your father didn’t meet with me. I could’ve helped him.”
It was unfortunate her father hadn’t spoken to anyone, mainly Sophie. It was unfortunate that Sophie had believed her money had been secure. It was unfortunate her father excelled at finding loopholes and using them to his advantage. He’d just never used Sophie as his advantage before.
Until now.
Beth removed her glasses and considered Sophie. “I certainly hope your father didn’t lock up the funds for a certain period of time given your balloon payment is due in less than four weeks.”
Sophie stretched her dry lips. “There’s one thing my father knows and that’s money.”
Her father knew how to invest in business ventures that stretched the legal limits, use small loans to place bets at racetracks and make timely deposits into slot machines in Reno.
But Sophie would not lose their home or her business. She’d been homeless at Ella’s age. No child should experience that depth of fear, especially her niece, who faced every day with courage and a smile. Without Ella’s smile, Sophie just might forget to smile herself. And if that happened, Sophie feared she might lose more than their home. She just might lose herself.
Sophie pushed out of the chair. She had to get outside. She needed to find more air. She needed to find something to stop the buzzing in her head. She needed to find her father. “I’ll have the money for the loan payment by the end of the month.”
“I’ll be here when you’re ready to make that payment.” Beth smiled and swiveled her chair toward her computer. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Ms. Callahan.”
Outside, Sophie leaned against the stone wall of Pacific Bank and Trust. Damp, cold air stuck to her cheeks like blistering hand slaps. Stoplights flashed in the thick fog, dull yellow flares of criticism and condemnation and failure. Even the pigeons nesting up inside the Pacific Bank and Trust sign never cooed, as if already aware she couldn’t afford to waste even one crumb.
Sophie searched the silver mist that had spilled into the city after yesterday’s winter storm, seeking the silent romance of the fog she usually loved. But only a dull grayness blanketed the streets. In front of her, a bus hissed to a stop. Its electric lines sparked and its brakes wheezed an acrid, bitter scent as its occupants spewed onto the sidewalk and scattered like bees from a harassed hive.
Cell phones chimed, coffee splattered the cement, paper bags with morning breakfast muffins crumbled as late workers rushed to their high-rise cubicles and corner offices. Inside the fog, the city pulsed, reminding Sophie that she was an adult and no longer ten years old, shivering and hungry in a one-room apartment with only her sister, who was just a year older than she was. Two little girls confused and scared and all because of George and Cindy Callahan.
How dare her father try to thrust her back into her past. She’d overcome her childhood with persistence and will and guts. He’d not put her back there.
She pushed away from the wall and strode along the sidewalk, stretching her legs into a run. Each smack of her running shoe on the concrete dislodged her panic and organized her thoughts, enough to quiet the frantic little girl that screamed inside her.
Her father had to be in some kind of trouble to take that much money. He knew what the funds were for. If he’d only told Sophie, she’d have helped him. He was her father. That’s what good daughters did, even when their fathers weren’t always good.
At the fourth block, she pulled out her cell phone and left her father a lengthy voice mail, pleading with him to call her. By the sixth block, she’d slowed to a fast walk and sent him four texts: two pleas, one appeal and one demand.
Eleven blocks later, standing outside the Pampered Pooch, Sophie wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and checked her phone. No response.
Silence was nothing new from George Callahan. Her father had always drifted in and out of Sophie’s life. The length of his stays had increased the last few years and he always surfaced eventually. Yet this time, Sophie couldn’t wait. She had to find him and her money and soon.
For now though she had a business to run and a niece to get to school.
The bells chimed on the door. Sophie stepped inside, leaving that frightened little girl from years past outside on the sidewalk. Inside these walls, Sophie Callahan was a confident small-business owner and capable caretaker. There was simply no room for anything else, like doubt or nerves.
Sophie
