Page 64 of The Wedding Run
She sets out a sugar bowl and a cream pitcher. “How did dinner with Luke go?”
“I didn’t burn it,” I say, sitting at the table. “So, I guess it went okay.”
She smiles with understanding in her gentle gaze. “Luke would have eaten it anyway. He’s always been polite that way. And with a hollow leg. He could eat more than a horse.”
“He did have two helpings,” I say. “Plus, he cleaned up the kitchen. You must’ve raised him right.”
“Oh, I tried. We had our struggles as all families do.” Stacy fetches a basket with teabags and sets it before me. “Pick whatever you like.”
I sift through the peppermint, chai, and Lady Jane Grey. “Staying here has felt like being at home. Thank you for that. For making me feel welcome. I’m sure it wasn’t always comfortable for you, since you know Derek so well.” I finally decide on butter mint. “Your home is charming. I hope your daughter doesn’t mind me staying in her room.”
Stacy selects lemon and ginger.
“Are these Sophie’s paintings throughout the house? Or are they yours?”
“Sophie’s the artist. Always was. Even when she was little. Those paintings make my heart smile.”
“They’re vibrant with all the colors and movement. They remind me of Van Gogh.”
Stacy unwraps her teabag and sets it in her cup. "Don’t they?"
“Maybe she gets her artistic talent from you. Cindy said you’re a quilter.”
Stacy’s forehead pinches. “I haven’t done much sewing in a while.”
“Does Sophie get home much?” I ask.
She takes a slow breath and then gently says, “Sophie passed a few years ago.”
There’s a quiet, heart-wrenching moment as reality pushes disbelief aside. Having lived in her room and worn her clothes, I feel I know her and experience the loss like a sharp cut.
“Oh, Stacy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I-I…” I don’t know what to say.
“No reason you should have. We talk about Sophie, but none of us likes to discuss her absence."
My mind flips through conversations with Luke, who spoke about losing someone he loved, but he never mentioned it was his sister. I assumed he was referring to his ex-fiancée. And Derek. If this was his second family, why hadn’t he ever mentioned Sophie?
The tea kettle whistles, breaking the awkward moment, and Stacy heads to the stove. When she comes back, she pours hot water over the teabags.
“Now,” she says, “we’ll let them steep a minute.” Sitting down again, she tugs the string, moving the teabag about the cup. “Sophie married almost four years ago. Cindy made her dress. That woman can create magic with a needle and a spool of thread. Anyway, Sophie and Hayden made such a lovely couple, picture-perfect, like they were models. He’s from Alabama, and they moved to Birmingham after the wedding. We saw them quite a bit, though.
“Sophie was eager to start a family, and she got pregnant soon after the wedding. It was an ectopic pregnancy.” At her questioning look, I nod, letting her know I understand what that means. “By the time the doctors figured it out, it was too late for my girl.”
“I’m so sorry,” I repeat, unsure of what else to say.
Stacy’s features reveal no hint of angst, anguish, or grief. “We all feel that way, of course. Nothing much to do but go on as best we can.”
Even though it’s been years since I lost my mother, I still struggle with the immense loss. “How do you manage?”
“I’m still learning, I expect. A work in progress. Some days are easier than others. When I’m feeling strong, I look at it in the light of eternity. One day, I’ll see my daughter in heaven, and we’ll be together forever. So, this sorrow, this heartache I’m feeling now, doesn’t have the last word. It’s not the end.”
“But there are days…”
“Is that why you don’t quilt anymore?”
“Sewing always provided me a moment’s peace. But, now, it gives me too much time to think.”
I nod with understanding. “Maybe you’ll quilt again one day.”
