Sophia's Daughter
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. I claim nothing but the plot.
She had asked him to come. His Dunshenka, who had not contacted him in the eight years since she had left. He in his pride had not contacted her. He remembered his illness, believing himself to be at death's door. She was his next of kin, like her, he had no one else left. She had cared a little, enough to contact him. It was her face he had woken to when he lapsed out of the coma. He could have cried to see his little girl a grown woman, her adolescent anger gone, her face filled with womanly forgiveness and caring. They had spoken and she had asked him to come. That was a month ago, he had since then recovered significantly and had come home. He sat in the study of his large home, alone. It was meant to house a family. He shot down another vodka, and rose, walking around the familiar room, his eyes falling to precious belongings. Photos from his wedding day, childhood pictures of Ganya, of Suzotchka. There were pictures Zotchka had drawn. He smiled remembering how as a child she had wished to be an artist, a musician and a dancer all in one. She had talent for all three. The last picture dated a few weeks before Sophia's death was of their home. Exactly the same now as it was then. Except in the picture they were all there, on the large porch.
He rose and went upstairs. There were six bedrooms. He had built this home for Sophia, before they married. He had come from an affluent family, a business family. He had started his own company at eighteen, funded by a trust. By the time he left college, it was successful enough for him to be independent. He completed his masters also in business, before taking architectural classes, a hobby of his. He had had to wait until he was thirty to marry. Sophia was five years younger than he and she wanted to finish medical school before they married. He had agreed to wait. In the mean time he had built this house. There was a nice entry foyer which was a wide hall in the middle of the of the first floor. It served as a party hall. Doors on the right side opened to reveal a formal drawing room, a connected dining room and the study. To the right side was a family room and dining room, a game/workout room and an art/ music/ dance area. The kitchen was at the end of the hall. He walked these rooms, remembering better times. He remembered the children's birthday parties that had been in the main hall, teaching the children to fight in the work out room. Suzotchka drawing and dancing and playing in the art room. He went upstairs. There were eight bedrooms. Three in the front, three in the back, one on each side. The middle in the front was his, the room he had once shared with Sophia, where he had brought his virgin bride on their wedding night. To the left was Ganya's room. It had stayed the same. The way Ganya had left it when he went to die, filled with Narn artifacts, and done in a greenish shade, Ganya had been fascinated with the Narn culture. He walked to the right, into Suzotchka's room. Out of respect for his daughter, he had never entered it when she had been there, after Sophia died. It too was unaltered. The room was light blue. The bed was a four-poster, surrounded by blue curtains, there was a dressing table, neat and filled with perfumes, and makeup and of course, what jewelry she had not taken with her. There was a door to the terrace, to the dressing room and bathroom, a writing desk, and a sofa type seat. Her room was filled with art work, both hers and of other artists, there was an alter cloth that she herself had embroidered and it lay folded on the bed. He picked it up, running his hands over the silk. He moved to the door and looked out into the stars. He was not too old, and he was much better now. He longed to see his Dushenka. It had been too long. He knew he had not done right by her. Sophia would have been disappointed. She had left him their daughter to his care. He would go, he decided, he could not make it any worse than it was. He had nothing to lose, and everything to gain.
He had said yes. She could not believe it. He had been dying. It had filled her with regrets over leaving, regrets over their relationship after Mama had died and regrets over their lack of relationship since she had left. Her quarters were gently lighted by candles and soft jazz played in the back round. Half her closet was on her bed as she stood in front of it, frowning, what to wear? The door bell rang. She muttered to allow entry and Jeff and Michael entered. Damn, she had forgotten, they were supposed to go to some bar Michael had found. " Hot date tonight?" Michael could not resist as the two of them leaned in the doorway of the open door to her bedroom. She fidgeted her hands, " In a way..." She held up two hangers, " Which one?" One was a grey silk skirt of ankle lenght, and a matching jacket and shoes, with a light blue silk shirt, the other was a peach suit with a golden print and golden blouse. Michael stared at her but Jeff pointed to the grey and she pulled out a sapphire pendant on a silver chain. Michael started, " So are we on for tonight?"
" I can't Michael, I am sorry."
" Hey, what do you mean you can't?" he began angrily. This was the first time in a while the three had been able to get together off duty. Jeff stopped him.
" Listen, I have something to take care of, but how about dinner, tomorrow night, here. I have a guest to introduce to you."
"Sure." Jeff replied for them both.
" Great, now get out so I can change" Both nodded and left.
Andre disembarked from the liner. He carried his two bags and walked out. He had his identicard checked and glared at the security officer whose eyes held questions at his name. He stepped into the meeting area, where people waited for their loved ones. Holding his two bags, he walked through the crowd, witnessing several reunions. At the end he stopped. There she stood. Her hair was pulled in a half twist. She wore a grey silk suit and light blue blouse with a sapphire necklace. He remembered it as the one he had given her on her sixteenth birthday. She had left within the week. She was beautiful, slim and beautiful, filled with young strength was all he could think. She held a small bunch of white roses. He stopped with in a few steps of her. They stood there staring. He took the first step and she countered it hesitantly. Closer and closer, one step at a time. She held out the flowers and an awkward hand to shake. He waited but a moment, taking the flowers and pulling her into his arms.
