Chapter 10 - A Song That Belonged To Sophie
“Of course we can invite them.”
Luca smiled at his daughter.
Sophie looked surprised.
“Really?”
“Everybody you'd like to have there.”
She glanced around the restaurant.
“Even Grandma Rose's friends?”
“If that's what you want.”
“And Emily's mom?”
I looked up sharply.
“My mom?”
Sophie nodded.
“Emily told me her mom always came to her school concerts.”
Luca smiled.
“Then she sounds like somebody worth inviting.”
I felt my cheeks grow warm.
My mother, Linda Carter, had cleaned offices for almost thirty years.
She'd raised three children without much help.
She was the kind of woman who'd spend her last few dollars buying birthday cupcakes for a classroom.
But she'd never attended a private family dinner at a restaurant like this.
I wasn't sure she'd feel comfortable.
Sophie seemed to read my expression.
“Emily, she can sit with us.”
I smiled.
“I'll ask her, honey.”
That evening, Sophie began making a guest list.
She used a notebook with a purple cover.
Grandma Rose.
Uncle Paul.
Mrs. Russo.
Emily.
Emily's mom.
Aunt Frances.
Several relatives who remembered Anna.
Luca watched her write.
“That's quite a list.”
Sophie grinned.
“I know.”
Then she hesitated.
“Daddy, is it supposed to be a concert?”
“What would you like it to be?”
She thought carefully.
“Maybe just Sunday dinner. And I could play after dessert.”
He smiled.
“That sounds perfect.”
They decided on the following Sunday.
Nothing elaborate.
A family meal at the restaurant.
The piano would stay beside the fireplace.
The music box could sit nearby.
And Sophie would choose whatever she wanted to play.
At least, that was the plan.
But three days later, I found her sitting alone at the piano.
She wasn't practicing.
She was looking at a photograph of Anna that Rose had brought.
Anna was about twelve in the picture.
Her hair was tied back with a blue ribbon.
She was sitting at a piano, smiling nervously.
Sophie looked up when I approached.
“Emily?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Do I look like Mommy?”
I smiled.
“A little.”
She studied the photograph.
“Everybody keeps saying that.”
“Does it bother you?”
She hesitated.
“Sometimes.”
I sat beside her.
“Why?”
She picked at the edge of the photograph.
“Because Grandma said Mommy played piano when she was my age. And Mrs. Russo says I have her smile.”
I nodded.
“And?”
Sophie lowered her eyes.
“I don't want everybody to be disappointed if I'm not as good as she was.”
My heart tightened.
I'd been so focused on protecting Anna's memory that I hadn't considered what it might feel like for Sophie to live beside it.
People loved telling her how much she resembled her mother.
But she was becoming old enough to wonder whether they saw her as herself.
“Sweetheart, you don't have to be your mother.”
She looked at me.
“You can love the same things and still be different.”
Sophie thought about that.
Then whispered, “What if I don't want to sing her song on Sunday?”
I gently squeezed her hand.
“Then choose another one.”
“But everybody's coming because of Mommy.”
“No. They're coming because you invited them.”
She looked relieved.
Then uncertain again.
“Do you think Daddy will understand?”
“I think you should ask him.”
Later that afternoon, Luca joined us for rehearsal.
Sophie closed the photograph when he entered.
He noticed.
“Everything okay?”
She nodded.
Then shook her head.
“I don't know what to play.”
Luca sat beside her.
“What's giving you trouble?”
Sophie stared at the keys.
“I think everybody wants to hear Mommy's song.”
He considered that.
“Maybe some people do.”
Her shoulders sank.
Then he added, “But I'm coming to hear you.”
She looked up.
“Even if I play something different?”
“Especially if you choose it yourself.”
Sophie smiled faintly.
Luca continued.
“Your mother loved music because it made her happy. She wouldn't want you turning it into homework.”
Sophie laughed.
“She hated homework?”
“Oh, she was terrible about leaving things until the last minute.”
I smiled.
I'd never heard Luca speak about Anna quite so easily.
Not as someone who'd been lost.
But as a woman with ordinary habits and funny little imperfections.
It seemed to help Sophie too.
That evening, I visited my mother.
She was sitting at her kitchen table in her cleaning uniform.
A bowl of reheated soup stood beside a stack of bills.
“Mom, I have an invitation for you.”
She looked up.
“To what?”
“A family dinner at the Moretti restaurant.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“Emily, honey, why would they invite me?”
“Because Sophie asked.”
I explained what had happened.
The missed concert.
The piano.
The music box.
And the little girl who wanted to sing for people who cared about her.
Mom listened quietly.
Then smiled sadly.
“Poor child.”
I handed her the invitation.
She looked at it.
“I don't have anything fancy to wear.”
“You don't need anything fancy.”
“Emily, that's a beautiful restaurant.”
“Mom, Sophie wants you there.”
She studied the paper.
Then looked at me.
“Do you remember your fifth-grade concert?”
I laughed.
“You fell asleep during the second song.”
She smiled.
“I'd worked a double shift.”
“I know.”
“But I remember waking up when you started singing.”
I looked at her.
She continued.
“You looked so happy when you saw me.”
My eyes filled.
“I was.”
Mom squeezed my hand.
“Then I suppose I understand why Sophie wants a room full of people who'll show up.”
She agreed to come.
I returned to the restaurant the next afternoon and told Sophie.
She was delighted.
Then she looked toward the piano.
“Emily, I've been thinking.”
“About what?”
She touched the keys.
“I still love Mommy's song.”
“I know.”
“But I want to play something different too.”
I smiled.
“Then you should.”
She looked toward the doorway where Luca was approaching.
May you like
And asked him a question that made him stop.
“Daddy, am I allowed to love a song Mommy never got to hear?”
