Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
“But?”
“She’s not integrating. It’s preventing her from progressing on a personal and on an academic level.”
My anger surges. “If the other kids are judging her—”
Mrs. Aravena smiles. “The other kids are making an effort.”
“Then what?” I bite out, my impatience getting the better of me.
“Sophie isolates herself. She seems to be living in her own world. Who’s Beatrice?”
Heaving a sigh, I scrub a hand over my face. “It’s her doll. She projects her feelings on it.”
“Hmm. Is this the first time she’s separated from it?”
“I didn’t think it was a good idea to let her come to school with a doll. I was worried her classmates would tease her.”
“So you forced the decision? She didn’t agree?”
“It’s a crude doll made with a wine cork and sticks,” I snap.
“What you have to understand is that in Sophie’s mind, it’s a real person.”
“That’s not how other kids will see it.”
“Maybe not, but the only opinion that matters here is Sophie’s, right? This seems like a question of values.”
“What the fu—” I catch myself. “What are you implying?”
“Teaching a child not to base her actions on others’ opinions is an important pillar in cultivating a healthy self-esteem.”
“So what?” I ask, flicking back my jacket and propping a hand on my hip. “I just let her come to school at the age of six with a doll?”
“We can always explain to the other kids why Sophie needs a doll. You’ll be surprised at how accommodating and compassionate these kids are if you handle matters correctly. Or if you truly don’t want that, you should guide Sophie in making the decision. Either way, if you enforce it without winning her buy-in, you’re creating long-term problems for both of you. It will only aggravate matters instead of helping.”
“Are you a psychiatrist?” I ask with more animosity than necessary.
Her smile remains patient. “No, but I taught a lot of kids in my life, and I raised six of my own. You’re welcome to consult a professional. I’m just trying to help. It pains me to see a child as bright as Sophie not realizing her potential.”
I drop my head between my shoulders. Maybe it’s time to admit I’m not equipped for the role of instant father. “What do you suggest?”
She takes a stack of drawings from her desk and hands them to me. I flip through them. They’re child drawings of stick people standing on spiky green points I assume to be grass. Red flowers pop up from the green. Blue clouds and black M’s portraying birds fill the sky. A yellow square with a door and a triangle on the top forms a house in the background. A small stick person stands to the side while a bigger one is posed a distance away. The triangular skirts suggest they’re females.
Sophie and Sabella.
“All her drawings are the same,” the teacher says. “With that large distance between her and this woman. If I may ask, who’s Sabella?”
I look at her quickly. “What did Sophie say?”
“She talks about her a lot.” She waves a hand. “Sabella this and Sabella that. They seem close.”
My voice is clipped. “She’s my wife.”
“Ah,” she says with understanding. “Well, a child’s environment plays a big role in her development.” She straightens. “That’s all I wanted to share with you.”
I put the drawings on the corner of her desk. “Thank you.”
I’m halfway to the door when she says, “You’re sending the kids to school with a driver.”
I turn. “Yes?”
“Maybe you want to drive them yourself, like the other parents?”
“I’m busy. I work.”
The curve of her lips is patronizing. “So are the other parents.”
Yeah, well, they don’t run multi-billion-euro crime syndicates. I give her a cool smile in return and get the fuck out of there with the sinking notion of failure burning like a comet on my tail.
Chapter
Seven
Sabella
* * *
The tidbits of reassurance from Heidi aren’t nearly enough to diminish my worry about Sophie. Early one morning, when I can’t stand it any longer, I walk to the village and hide behind the plane trees that line the street in front of the school in the hope of catching a glimpse of the children.
It’s a risk.
If Angelo spots me, he’ll no doubt lock me up in the house, but after how Sophie left, I need to see with my own eyes that she’s all right.
Most parents walk their kids to school. The village is small. A few do drop-offs in the small parking lot at the side of the building. I scan every car that comes up the road, but there’s no sign of Angelo or the children.
Five minutes before the bell rings, an SUV with tinted windows pulls up. A driver hops out and opens the back door. The three boys—Johan, Étienne, and Guillaume—peel out one after the other. Finally, Sophie’s delicate face appears. She takes the hand the driver offers and climbs to the ground. She’s wearing skinny jeans, Pocahontas style boots, and a puffy jacket. A backpack is slung over her shoulder.