As Long as You're Mine: A Novel, page 22
“No,” I say. “I already have a plan. This isn’t just Tommy’s baby; it’s mine too. And I—”
“You think a baby wants a pill-addicted whore as a mother?” Sophie asks casually. “Don’t you want to give your baby, my husband’s baby, the best start in life possible? We’d give you money every year to stay away. This would be our child.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out papers. Nothing official, but it’s a list of rules, all neatly typed out. I can imagine her sitting at a typewriter, building the world she wants.
I open my mouth, then close it. “No.” I stand firm. I almost let her walk all over me once, and I’m not going to let her do it again. She doesn’t get everything she wants. She doesn’t get anything. I sit up straight, and it takes some effort. I hold a hand over my stomach. I can feel the baby kicking, insisting that I make the best decision.
“Here’s how this is going to go,” I say. “I’m going to have the baby. I’m going to raise him with my family. This may be your husband’s baby, but I’m his mother.”
I see something in Sophie’s eyes akin to deep sadness. She doesn’t look at me; her eyes are fully on my tummy. My breasts and face are fuller. My hair is longer, glossier, shinier. I’ve continued the upkeep to be Lorelei Davies, and I’ve never felt healthier than I do right now at eight months’ pregnant. Sophie’s blue eyes rise from my body to my eyes. Then she looks away. “Four miscarriages. He just looks at you, and you get pregnant. We’ll give you one million dollars.”
“What does Tommy say?” The sum of money is almost enough to sway me. But I will never let Sophie near my baby, even if it means denying him his father.
“He doesn’t know I’m here.”
I realize this is the closest Sophie Ross will ever come to begging. We are such different women. We live such different lives. But I have something she wants.
A crueler version of me would wring her dry. I feel bad for her. She’s a desperate woman. I’m standing my ground, and I’m not moving. “I think you should go now,” I say. “This was a waste of both of our time.”
Sophie rises and brushes invisible dust from the skirt of her dress. She picks up her wrap. “Thank you for hearing me out.”
I close the door behind her. Then I go to my bedroom and write.
Chapter 53
1954
In the morning, Thea found Sophie where she always did: at the kitchen table, wearing a black button-down shirt tucked into a slim black skirt. In front of Sophie was an ashtray and a cup of coffee.
Thea sat down across from her mother. She was still in her leotard and tights from her morning warm-up.
“What, Thea?”
Thea leaned forward on the table, then straightened up before Sophie could chastise her for her posture. “I want to talk to you about something,” Thea said. She had tossed and turned until her alarm went off; then her warm-up had been dotted with thoughts of Tommy and Lorelei.
Sophie looked up at her, her eyes cold and direct. “Say it, then.”
“We should do something for Dad,” Thea said. She cleared her throat. “I want to use some of the money he left me to make a donation or something somewhere.” She hadn’t worked out the finer details yet. She knew she had to do it. Had to repair his name. It was her name too. Thea was gutted she hadn’t thought of it earlier.
Sophie’s eyes narrowed. She was never as expressive as Tommy was. She hid everything she was thinking. “No.”
“What?”
“No.” Sophie repeated herself, cool and casual, as if they were discussing the weather.
“Why not?” Thea asked.
“Did you read what they’re saying about him?” Sophie asked, as if Thea hadn’t spoken. “I told you not to.”
“I did it anyway.” Thea raised her chin defiantly. Sophie’s lips tugged into a frown. “I’m an adult, and you can’t tell me what to do anymore.”
This was the same track their conversations took every time. Sophie infantilizing her, Thea wanting to bite back. “I am trying to keep you safe,” Sophie said with a sigh. Thea narrowed her eyes. A détente while Thea poured some coffee and Sophie lit another cigarette. “Your father wouldn’t care about any of that. He would care that you and I are safe.” Thea thought she heard Sophie’s voice catch, the hint of a tsunami of tears yet to come.
“No,” Thea said. “That’s not what he would want.”
“Who knew him better, Thea?” Sophie’s voice was sharp.
“You did. Which is why I don’t get why you wouldn’t want to help clear his name,” Thea said. “You were married for twenty-four years, and you don’t care about him anymore.”
“That’s not true!” Sophie slammed the table with a flat hand, making Thea jump. She took a second, swallowed her anger, and continued. “I did everything for your father. I was the woman behind him. He’s a murderer, Thea. You can’t change something if it’s true.” Thea bit her tongue. Sophie continued. “You are still a child. I know we sheltered you, and maybe that was a mistake. There is so much of this world you don’t understand.”
“Then tell me,” Thea said. Sophie didn’t look at her. It was still early in the morning, and Thea was exhausted.
“No,” Sophie said. She looked at Thea now, her gaze always discerning, always evaluating. “You need to grow up, Theodosia.”
Was she telling Thea to grow up over mourning her father?
“I don’t get how you’re not feeling the same thing I am,” Thea said.
Sophie sipped from her coffee cup, then put it back on the table before she responded. “I am.” Her voice was soft. “You don’t see it.”
“Of course I don’t,” Thea said. Along with grief, she was living with rage. The fire threatened to consume her every moment of every day. And she was mad that her mother didn’t see that.
Thea exhaled. The last thing she wanted to do was get into another long argument with her mother. She knew she couldn’t make Sophie see her point of view. Sophie lit another cigarette. She leaned her head back, closing her eyes. “I have a headache,” Sophie said. She pulled away from the table, standing up. “I’m going to bed. Don’t disturb me.”
“There is no chance of that,” Thea said.
“Theodosia!” Sophie snapped, despite her apparent headache. “Can you please just go find something to do?”
“I’ll be in my dance studio,” Thea said, copying Sophie’s tone exactly. “Don’t disturb me.”
It was more and more apparent that she and Sophie would clash over everything. Without Tommy there to moderate, all she and Sophie did was fight.
Nothing Sophie did made sense. Thea couldn’t be bothered to try to understand where Sophie was coming from.
Thea decided to do what she wanted. Sophie couldn’t stop her anymore.
Chapter 54
1934
When I was fourteen, I assisted my mother in one of my aunts’ births. I was scared, tasked with staying by her side, holding her hand, and dabbing at her forehead with a damp towel.
What I really remember was Momma taking charge completely. She came in, gave orders to her sisters, and sat me right next to my aunt. I remember my aunt in the calm moments, sitting against the headboard of her bed, her legs spread apart, still making jokes with me.
But I also remember how being in that room felt. Simultaneously hours and seconds, then, by the morning, I was holding my baby cousin in my arms. My aunt was happy and exhausted.
I don’t know how I’m going to be a mother. I’ll be a part-time mother, I guess. My baby will be surrounded by love, surrounded by family.
I’m working on packing for Europe. I want to go. I’m at the end of my pregnancy, and Julian is okay with it. I haven’t talked to my family yet, but I will, and Phyllis will come with me.
But the baby has other plans.
The pains start early. When I’m standing in my closet, I wet myself. It’s not pee. My waters broke.
It starts easy. Mild cramping that builds to a wave cresting. I don’t have a plan. I could call Julian or Jesse, but it doesn’t feel desperate enough yet.
I can’t stay still. I pace through my house, feeling pains surge through me, gradually getting closer together. They start vaguely uncomfortable and build to outright painful. Every so often, I have to stop, brace myself against the wall.
My one thought is that I want Tommy with me. I want him to hold my hand, dab at my forehead. I want us to experience this together.
I eventually settle on a mass of towels on my living room floor. I have a dish towel in my mouth to bite down on every time I have another pain. I’m scared, and I don’t have anyone.
When the pains become unmanageable, I call Julian. I tell him to call his brother. Julian tells me to stay calm, that they’ll be there as soon as they can.
I wait until I feel the urge to push. Each contraction rips me in half, and I’m in so much pain that I can’t see straight. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever gone through. I’m sweating, or crying, or both. Every time I think I can’t bear the pain, it recedes, letting me catch my breath. I want to give up, I want to let myself go, but there will be a baby that needs me.
When Julian opens my door, I’m wrapped in my dressing gown, on my little nest of towels. I don’t know how long it’s been. It could’ve been hours of sitting, pushing, hoping. I’m just grateful to see Julian.
He has Jesse and Walter with him. Julian rushes to my side, holds my hand, tells me I can do this. He uses the dish towel I’m biting down on to wipe at my forehead.
Jesse kneels down and inspects me with direct intensity. “You’re close. You should have called earlier.”
“I’m fine,” I say. Another contraction catches me, and I yowl, an animal in heat. Julian lets me squeeze his hand as much as I want.
Walt drifts for a moment, then picks up the phone to call our family.
Jesse looks up at me. “One more big push, okay?” he asks. I nod, and with the next pain, I give it everything I have. Jesse catches the baby, then clips the cord before giving me my child. “You have a girl,” he says.
I blink at him, as if in a dream. “A girl.” When she opens her eyes, I see she has Tommy’s exact liquid warm-brown eyes. A rush of relief washes over me. I never thought it was Kenneth’s baby.
I’m relieved to see it, all the same.
Jesse examines her, pronouncing her small but otherwise healthy. Walter kneels next to me. “You didn’t tell us.”
“I was going to. Momma knows,” I say. He’s looking at the baby, and I know he’s thinking about Joanna. The baby is quiet; her eyes are closed. “Joanna May,” I tell him.
“Can I?” Walter asks. He waits for me to nod before taking the baby from my arms. She is small. Walter looks at her with such bewilderment. He’s already in love with her.
Julian waits for Walt to surrender baby Joanna; then he takes a turn. He coos to her, talks to her.
I’m in pain. I’m exhausted. She’s been in the world for a few minutes, and she’s already changed my life. I watch as Julian paces with her in his arms, staring down as he talks to her softly. He’s twisting her name into a little song. I close my eyes. Walter sits down next to me. “She’s wonderful,” Walt says. I’m glad he’s with me. “Phyllis is going to be so excited.”
“If anything happens to me,” I say, “you’ll take care of her, right?”
“Of course. Nothing’s going to happen.” His voice is so soft. None of us are talking above a whisper, lest we wake Joanna May from her sleep.
I take my time, collecting things she’ll need at my parents’ house. When I get the chance, I call Tommy. I think he’ll want to know.
And that is my final mistake.
Chapter 55
1954
When Thea got home from classes and teaching, she found Sophie sitting at the kitchen table.
“Mom,” Thea said. Thea had stayed late at the studio, trying to put off this conversation. She almost wished she had Amy with her. Amy had offered to sit with her, give her some support.
But Thea was a big girl now, and she could do it alone.
“You missed dinner.” Sophie sat, smoking, at the empty table. She had a notepad, and Thea realized it was almost Thanksgiving. The past couple of weeks had been long and short, and Thea didn’t have anything to celebrate. Thea sat down across from Sophie. The house was big and hollow around them.
“I didn’t miss anything,” Thea said. Sophie’s eyes flashed, and she looked toward her daughter. “I was working late.”
“Right,” Sophie said. “Ilsa left a plate in the oven for you.” She seemed tired, older than Thea had ever seen her. She had dark circles under her eyes; her hair was flat and dull.
“I’m not hungry,” Thea said. She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled the ring out. She placed it on the table in front of Sophie. At the sight of the ring, Sophie turned green, but she kept her composure. “I want to know the truth. I know you’re lying to me,” Thea said. “First you said that Lorelei Davies was a—”
“That name again.” Sophie’s voice was full of venom. “You’re just like him. He talked about her all the time and thought I wouldn’t notice. He thought I wouldn’t care.”
“Mom,” Thea said.
“You were supposed to be mine. She was never supposed to have you. I was willing to overlook everything else. Except for you.” Sophie closed her eyes, exhaling softly. “You were supposed to be mine.”
Her mother was dead.
Thea was sitting across from her kidnapper.
“What did you do?” Thea asked. She wanted to know exactly what had happened. Sophie took her time, lighting a cigarette.
She looked up and met Thea’s eyes again. “What do you want me to say, Thea? That I killed Lorelei Davies? That I took you? That when your father wanted to tell you who your mother was, I killed him and framed him for the murder?” She raised her voice, and it echoed around them. Thea leaned back. She wanted Sophie to confess. She wanted the truth, but it didn’t make her feel better, knowing it. She shouldn’t have pushed. She should have left her life alone. “Of course I did.”
Sophie killed two people. For her.
How was she supposed to feel about that?
“Did Dad know?” Thea asked.
“That I killed Lorelei? Of course not. But when he saw that necklace, he started to put it together.”
“Why did you give it to me?” Thea’s heart was in her chest. She couldn’t breathe, her rib cage tight and heavy.
“Before your birthday, he said he was going to tell you. I needed to remind him I was in control,” Sophie said. That was it. The drive Sophie had had Thea’s whole life. Her competitive spirit, the need Sophie had to be singular, drove her to murder.
“Why make him confess?” Thea asked. The last piece of the puzzle. The one thing Thea couldn’t figure out.
Sophie lit another cigarette, focused on her lighter. Seconds seemed to stretch into hours before Sophie answered. “He had no respect for me. He deserved it. Tommy and Lorelei would be out of our lives, and we could be happy together forever.” It didn’t make sense to Thea, but it did to Sophie.
It was always Sophie’s world. Thea was just living in it.
“Mom,” Thea said softly. “I . . .” She didn’t know what to say. Her gut instinct was to apologize, even though she wasn’t guilty of anything. “Why?”
“When you’re in love, Thea, you’ll understand.” Sophie stabbed out her cigarette.
Fear and anger pulsed through Thea.
“I loved your father so much. I thought that we would be happy together forever,” Sophie said. “But at the end of the day, the only thing that really mattered was you, Thea.” Sophie leaned over, pressing her hand to Thea’s cheek. They were quiet, orderly. They had yelled so much there was no point in more. This was what she’d wanted, in the worst way possible. “I meant what I said at Sal’s. I wouldn’t have done anything differently.” Sophie rose from the table and leaned down, kissing Thea’s forehead. “I won’t apologize for any of it. I love you so much.”
Thea didn’t know what to make of any of it. She had the truth, and it wasn’t what she wanted. She was Sophie’s trophy. Sophie’s prize for being Tommy’s wife.
She had to call the police, but all she wanted to do was sleep forever.
She had to call someone with the truth. The police, then Julian, then Amy.
But she could call tomorrow. And figure everything else out later.
Chapter 56
1954
It was Thea who, upon waking the next morning, found Sophie in bed. It was Thea who called Julian and Walter, unsure of what to do.
The Ross house was surrounded by policemen. Walter and Julian waited while Thea explained the story again and again.
Her mother had confessed to two murders. Then she had gone up to her bedroom and poisoned herself, just like she had Lorelei and Tommy.
Harry was taken in, too, for assisting Sophie in the cover-up.
It was, frankly, unbelievable.
Thea called Grandmother Osbourne and the rest of her extended family. She watched as Sophie’s body was taken away. Willa reached out. Thea didn’t know, exactly, what to say to her. So she accepted Willa’s condolences and hung up the phone as quickly as possible.
As the story of the double murder and suicide hit the papers, it was accompanied by a story by Amy Evans.
Lorelei Davies: A Life Unlived
The two-page story featured photographs Thea had never seen before, and Amy told the story of a woman given little choice in who she was.
Then she was murdered.
After Thanksgiving, a holiday Thea swore she’d never celebrate again, she donned a black dress and drove to the cemetery. On the passenger seat of the Corvette was a bundle of bright-red roses.
She parked, then slipped on a pair of silver cat-eye sunglasses. She clutched the roses to her chest. Lorelei’s headstone was easy to find. The center of her row, the grave was now overflowing with an array of flowers.
