Sophia

 

 

"She was pregnant?" I try not to sound as shocked as I feel. Nicholas might have been a father right now if the mother of his child and his baby weren't taken from him. "I'm sorry."

"We had just found out that afternoon." He sits back in the chair. "We were two kids who didn't have two pennies to rub together, but we were excited."

"You didn't plan the baby?"

His mouth curves. "I was in college. Briella had just graduated high school the summer before. She was working to save for tuition. It was an accident."

I was an accident. My parents joked about it to some of their friends one night when they'd had too much wine. I heard the confession and the resulting laughs when I left my bedroom to get a snack. I wasn't more than ten-years-old at the time. I asked them about it the next day and as they both stuttered their way through an explanation about God's master plan for them, I knew from the expression on their faces that they were ashamed that I'd overheard.

"I asked her to marry me once we found out she was pregnant."

The confession stings even though it shouldn't. He loved her. He told me that weeks ago, and now that I know that there was a baby involved, it makes perfect sense why her picture is on display in his apartment. He lost what would have been his family that night.

"We didn't know how we'd make it happen," he continues, his voice cracking. "I was going to quit school and get a job. She thought she'd be able to take on more hours at the café she worked at. We were determined to make it all work."

"You would have made it work," I say with no hesitation. He's built an incredible life for himself. I don’t doubt that his talent for writing would have emerged back then too and his family would have been well provided for.

"I wanted to." He swallows what's left of the whiskey in his glass. "I said goodbye to Briella right after dinner that night and told her I'd have a surprise for her the next day."

The conversation feels intimate in a way that makes me long to hold him. He's in pain. It's a kind of pain I've never known. "What was the surprise?"

"I never played sports in high school, so my grandfather gave me his varsity ring before he died. He was the quarterback. Tough as nails on the outside, but the most loving guy you'd ever meet on the inside."

"He sounds amazing."

"He died a year after Briella did." His face softens. "But that night when I told him she was pregnant, he fished that ring out of a trunk in a closet. He gave it to me to give to her."

It's something my own grandfather would have done too. "That's a special ring."

"I have it in my pocket almost every day." He shifts in his seat as his hand dives into the front pocket of his pants. "It's a reminder of both of them."

I look down at the tarnished ring in his palm. Most people wouldn't see the beauty in it, but I do. It represents both love and loss to Nicholas. "You treasure it."

"With my life." His hand closes around it. "I couldn't wait to give it to her, so I went to her house."

I swallow. "What happened?"

He exhales heavily. "The front door was unlocked. I called out but no one answered, so I went in."

I want to stop him because I can't conceive the horror of what he must have witnessed in that house. "Were you there when he…"

"No." His head shakes faintly. "I heard footsteps on the upper floor so I took the stairs two at a time. I saw her sister collapse with a phone in her hand."

"What about Briella?"

He looks over my shoulder toward where Shirley must be. "I went into her room. She was already gone."

"I'm so sorry." Tears well in my eyes.

"I saw the note in her hand."

God. Oh, God.

"I took it, Sophia." He leans his elbows on the table. "I took it from her hand and when I heard the sirens approaching, I left. I fucking left her and our baby there on that bed all alone."

 

***

 

"I need you to understand something." His hand brushes my neck as he helps me with my coat. "I wasn't planning on telling you any of that tonight. It just came out."

I never doubted that. It was raw and unrehearsed. The fact that his hands are still shaking now is proof of that. "I know, Nicholas."

"No one but you knows that I was in the house."

"You didn't tell your parents or the police?" I glance at Shirley. The bar is closed and she's waiting on the two of us to leave before she shuts down. I see the impatience in her expression.

"No one." He buttons his suit jacket. "I was in shock back then. By the time I could form a coherent thought, I didn't want to reopen the wound."

"So you carried that with you all this time?" I can't help but feel sympathy for that. It's one thing to lose someone you love. It's another to bear witness to their lifeless body and the aftermath of a murder of that magnitude.

"I went to therapy after college. I worked through some of it there. My writing has helped."

He writes about death. It makes more sense to me now. "I can't imagine going through something like that."

"It changes a person at their core." He picks up my clutch from the table and hands it to me. "You have to fight to find yourself again."

He's fought. He's here now, baring himself to me.

"You gave me more than thirty minutes." He reaches for my hand and slides his fingers up my wrist to the edge of my watch. "Thank you for that."

I shiver. I can't tell if that's from the cheap wine or his touch. "You're welcome."

"Can I get another thirty minutes with you sometime this year?"

I try to force back a smile, but it's useless. "I think I can fit you in on Monday evening."

"Monday as in three days from now?" His brows lift. "Are you serious?"

"Meet me back here at seven on Monday evening."

"I'll be here at six."

I laugh. "You're eager."

"You're damn right I am." He raises my hand to his lips, kissing my palm gently. "I get to see the most incredible woman in the world on Monday at seven. Life doesn't get much better than that."