Diane Burke - Double Identity

Was it so wrong to need someone to talk to? Someone to help her make sense out of the chaos? She lowered her head and wished she was still on speaking terms with God.

When she looked up again, her eyes locked with Cain’s across the room. Within seconds, he excused himself from his conversation with one of the officers and headed her way. Her heart skipped a beat and a rush of heat filled her cheeks. Was she that transparent? Could a mere glance communicate her confusion, her fear…her need for comfort?

Cain had seen a flash of panic in Sophie’s eyes. But that’s all it had been. A flash. A split second of letting down her guard before she returned to wearing her protective mask of self-reliance and strength. His heart filled with empathy.

He stepped gingerly over the broken items strewn on the floor and made his way across the living room. So much had happened to her in such a short period of time. She was holding up a lot better than most folks would in her situation. Probably better than he would if he had to face the loss of his dad and the fallout from a lifetime of deception. But she was hanging in there. He had to admit he admired her.

Then he reminded himself that he shouldn’t be feeling admiration or empathy, or anything else for that matter. This was a job. Sophie was nothing more than a client in trouble and needing his professional help. Professional help, buddy. Keep your emotions out of it. No matter how cute she is. No matter how vulnerable beneath that tough persona. That’s your Achilles’ heel, remember? Your fatal flaw, to always want to run to the rescue. Not this time. Professionalism all the way.

Cain sat beside her. “It’s going to be okay.” Sophie lifted her eyes to his. He smiled to offer reassurance and perhaps a little comfort. “Have you had a chance to look around? Is anything missing?”

Sophie sighed and forced herself to take another look around the room. Drawers hung open, their contents scattered across the gray carpeting. Pictures hung askew on the walls or had been pulled down and the frames shattered. Clutter and chaos flowed in one unbroken rhythm from the living room to the kitchen, and she imagined it continued into the bedrooms. She hadn’t had the heart to walk back there yet and see.

“It’s hard to tell,” she replied. “Everything’s been moved…and broken…and…” Her voice choked on a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Cain said. “You’re doing fine. You’ve been through a lot today.”

Sophie squinted at something she saw in the distance. She jumped up, hurried across the room and carefully lifted a wooden box lying open on the floor.

Cain came up behind her. “Is it broken?”

She turned the small chest around, examining it for damage, and then clasped it against her chest.

“No.” A look of relief flooded her face.

“It’s special?”

Sophie lowered the small box and ran her fingers slowly, almost tenderly, across the hand-carved design on the lid. “My dad made this for me when I was just a kid.” Tears shimmered in her eyes but she blinked them back and forced a smile. “My father is a craftsman, loves woodworking.” She swept her hand in a slow arc around the room. “Almost everything in here…the furniture, cabinets…even the picture frames were all hand-carved by my dad.” Her smile was bittersweet. “He loves working with his hands. He has a true gift for carving.”

“Is that how he made his living? The Charlottesville police report couldn’t find any tax returns or bank accounts in his name.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could call them back. She stiffened and the smile faded from her lips. The questions had to be asked. But did he have to ask them right now?

He felt her eyes on him, studying him, choosing her words before answering. “My dad’s an artist. He hand carves furniture, animal lawn ornaments, unique wooden birdhouses, all sorts of things. He’d travel across the country from one craft fair to another selling his wares.”

“You traveled with him?”

She blinked with surprise and then grinned. “Of course. I literally grew up on the craft circuit. We’d frequent many of the larger annual fairs. After a couple of years, it was like a family reunion meeting up again with the friends we knew from the years before.”

Cain took the box from her hands and studied the intricate design carved into the lid. “This is beautiful.”

Sophie beamed with pride. “Thank you.”

He handed it back. “What about school?”

“I was homeschooled. Dad used to say I’d get more of an education touring the United States than I would ever get in an overcrowded classroom.”

Cain digested the information and wondered if he should take a chance and push for more. Treading as carefully as he could, he asked, “Have you always traveled with your dad? I understand you had to when you were a kid. But you’re not a kid anymore, Sophie. Did you ever want to do something else? Something on your own, maybe?”

Sophie shrugged. “Sure. Doesn’t every teenager long for the day they can leave home and set out on their own? I wasn’t any different.”

Cain gave her a questioning look but remained silent.

“Around my eighteenth birthday, my dad got sick. We thought he’d had a heart attack but it was just a really bad respiratory infection causing muscle spasms in his chest. But it scared me silly. Dad had never been sick before. I realized not only was he the only family I had, I was the only family he had, too. It had been the two of us for so many years and if I left—”

She stared off into space, lost in thoughts of long ago.

“I couldn’t leave. He needed me. Besides, I did do something on my own.” Her smile widened and it lit up her face. “I became an artist myself.”

“Wood carving?” Cain couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

Sophie shook her head. “No. When I was little, I used to try and make things out of mud pies. Dad sensed I had a drop of creativity of my own. He surprised me with clay and a small kiln.”

“You sculpt?”

Sophie nodded. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“I’m not…I mean, I am but…”

“Remind me to show you some of my work. Maybe I’ll even let you try it sometime. There’s something awesome about feeling a slab of clay ooze through your fingers. Kneading it. Molding it into something unique and beautiful.”

Unique and beautiful.

His thoughts exactly as he stared into her upturned face.

“Sometimes I think God gifts the sculptor with just a tiny bit of insight into what it must have been like for Him when He created us out of dust,” Sophie said.

“I thought you didn’t believe in God.” Cain grinned at her.

“I believe in God. I’m just not on speaking terms with Him right now.”

“Really? Do you think that’s wise? Who shut the door? You or Him?”

Sophie chewed on her lower lip and lowered her head.

Not wanting her to slip back into a morose mood, Cain gripped her elbow and steered her toward the kitchen. “C’mon, let me help you clean up this mess. Find me a broom and I’ll sweep up. But don’t you dare tell Holly I had anything to do with housework. She’s been after me for years to clean up after myself at the house, and I’ll never hear the end of it if she learns I actually know how to use a broom.”

Cain followed Sophie from room to room as she surveyed the damage to her home and belongings. Her shoulders sagged and each step seemed difficult for her. But she didn’t cry anymore.

Thank you, Lord, for small favors. You know how a woman’s tears make me feel so helpless. And that leads to bad decisions. Fatal decisions.

They had just come down the short hall when the sheriff stepped into their path.