Love Finds You at Home for Christmas (19 page)

“If there ever was anyone who could make something nice out of an old pile of boards, it's you, James. I just hope you know what you're doing.”

Her father had smiled at him. “We won't hold you responsible for the outcome of this transaction, Ralph.”

On the corner was Milton's barbershop, where the only black man in town had been cutting hair for as long as Sophie could remember. As she pedaled toward it, she thought she saw Tom's white truck parked at the curb, right in front of the candy cane barber pole mounted on the side of the building. She pulled over just as Tom was coming out the door with Milton close behind him.

“Sophia? Sophia Grace Harper? The homecoming queen and the smartest girl in school is back in town?” The sound of Milton's voice was as comfortable and warm as an old quilt. “Gonna start yourself a business, I hear. You come over here and give ol' Milton a hug. Girl, you're a sight for sore eyes.”

Sophie felt the same way about Milton as he hugged her underneath the barber pole. “Hey, Milton. If you and Clara can get away from the shop, come see me on Thursday. I'd love to treat you to lunch.”

“We might just do that. I haven't been in the Harbor House since your daddy finished working on that place.”

Sophie returned his kind smile.

“Thanks for the haircut, Milton.” Tom rubbed the back of his head, where the hair was now an inch long. “Where are you headed, sis?”

“Just up to the Dairy Freeze for a coke, then home.”

“Wanna ride?”

Tom slung her bike into the back of his truck, and they drove through town toward the Dairy Freeze.

“I'll pick up a milkshake for Madeline, and that will win me some good husband points,” he joked.

“How is Madeline feeling?”

“Good, overall. Sometimes she's a little more emotional than usual”—he grinned mischievously—“and she gets pretty tired. But heck, who wouldn't? It's a pretty big deal making a baby.”

“And you?”

“I'm good. A little scared, but mostly pumped. I figure by the time the baby gets here, I'll be ready—well, as ready as you can ever be for a huge life change. What about you?”

“Oh, I'm excited about being an aunt. I can't wait.”

Tom narrowed his eyes at her. “I don't mean what about you and the baby, I mean how are
you
?”

They pulled up to the window and ordered their drinks and Madeline's milkshake. When they pulled away, Sophie sipped her Dr Pepper and tried to answer.

“I don't know, Tom. I want to be fine, and I should be. I am so thankful to be home, near you and Madeline and Mom and Granny. In the puzzle of my life, this is the first piece that has fit in a long time, and it feels really, really good.”

Following the strand of crape myrtles, they passed the flower shop, the bank, the bookstore, and then the square again, with the old courthouse and veterans' memorials flanking each side of the lawn. In a few minutes they pulled up to the Harbor House, and Tom stopped the truck at the back door.

“But…?” Tom prodded. He had always done this. He had always cared.

“Oh, I don't know. I still feel a lot of guilt about leaving in the first place…and Daddy dying. It's like I traded everything that really mattered for something—some crazy dream I had about life—and someone who was so wrong. And now I can never get it back. I have to live with that forever.” There was a long pause while Sophie looked down. “And this is really stupid, and not near as important, but on another level I'm also really embarrassed. I feel like a fool. I think people here expected me to really be somebody when I grew up, and I let them all down—the ones who like me, that is. And the ones who don't, well, they're probably all gloating. The preacher's daughter—divorced. I just feel like my life doesn't have any credibility in this town anymore. And yet, I don't want to be anywhere else, because you guys are here.”

She could barely look at him. She knew the last part sounded self-absorbed and stupid, and she knew he'd probably tell her that.

Tom sighed. Then he looked at her. “Well, we could all move somewhere else.”

“Huh?”

“I said, we could all just move somewhere else. It sounds like that would make things a lot easier for you.”

“Are you mocking me, Tom?”

“Not at all. Just think about it—would it really be easier if we were all somewhere else?”

Sophie looked out the window toward the square and tried to imagine it. “I wouldn't have to face all these people. And I wouldn't have to face all the memories I have here…of Dad, and growing up…”

“Do you think that would be easier or better?”

“I don't know…” Sophie was feeling something begin to unravel. When had her brother become so wise? “Actually, no. I think it might be easier at first, but not better in the long run. Because I would still have to deal with these issues within myself. Otherwise there would never be any peace.”

Tom smiled at her. “You know, sometimes it's hard being the brother of someone so special.” He looked into her eyes and let his words sink in before he continued. “Especially if I compare myself or worry about what others think. But one thing I've learned through the years is to look inside and see what God has for me…what He wants to make out of my life. All we have to offer is ourselves—our strengths and also our failures. In His hands, even those can become something beautiful.” He gestured to the building outside the window. “Kind of like this house.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder and hugged him for a long moment before she slipped out of the truck. She felt his protective brother eyes on her as she walked up the steps, and only when she was safely through the door did she hear him drive away.

* * * * *

Sophie stood with her hands on her hips and stared at the box like it was full of copperheads. Spot sauntered into the room and sat down beside it as if he knew she could use the moral support. It was the box she dreaded most, the one she'd saved to unpack for when she finally had some privacy.

Even if she'd had the energy to face it before now—which she hadn't—it wouldn't have mattered, because she hadn't really been alone since she returned to River Bend. Her mother, grandmother, and sister-in-law had seen to it that she had plenty of help cleaning and getting set up…and plenty of company.

And even though she still didn't really have the energy to face this, she knew in her heart it was time. A part of her was ready. So she sat down on the floor next to Spot and opened the box.

It was closed very securely, and breaking the tape unleashed a floodgate of emotions. The first thing she pulled out was her wedding album. It was embossed with the words W
EDDING
M
EMORIES OF
M
R. AND
M
RS
. S
TEPHEN
H
UNTER.
Her smiling face next to Stephen's, behind hard plastic and framed in gold on the cover of the leather volume, seemed to mock her, daring her to look inside. She took the dare and felt a sort of queasiness creeping over her as she opened the book. She hesitated. Maybe now wasn't the time to deal with this. But if not now, when? She needed to put it behind her.

Sophie looked down, skimming through the pictures. In this one, she was getting ready in the dressing room with her bridesmaids, all of them looking radiant, laughing, and having fun. In another she saw her family—her mom and dad, Granny, Aunt Stella, and Tom. They all looked festive in the picture. Everyone but Tom.

“He knew even then,” she mused aloud, causing Spot to raise his pointed ears. He gave her a quizzical look and then settled back down, curling his sleek black-and-white body into a little crescent beside her.

She thumbed through the album, finding an individual shot of the groom in his black tuxedo, standing in front of a stained glass window. The vibrant colors behind him matched the look in his eyes, which sparkled with the thrill of their adventure. For a moment Sophie felt a flicker of the old tenderness she'd once had for Stephen. At a glance it was easy to see how he'd swept her off her feet, with his intelligent green eyes and the dark raven hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. That ponytail had scandalized her mother, but Sophie had thought it so attractive, like everything else she knew about him at the time.

He was really two people, she'd come to discover, but the one who stared at her from the page in the album was the one she'd loved. They'd had what seemed to be such a deep connection, it was hard even now to believe it hadn't been real. Sophie still didn't understand. Maybe she never would. She turned a few pages to move on.

The next picture her eyes rested on was a view of the whole sanctuary. Regardless of how the marriage had turned out, it
had
been her dream wedding. From the balcony of the church, the photographer had managed to capture the whole scene in one neat frame. There were the candles—scores of them—and the cedar and the ferns. The wedding party formed a
V
fanning outward toward the crowd, and at the center stood her father. He was tall and strong with his Bible open in front of her and Stephen, and they were holding hands and looking into one another's eyes through her gossamer veil.

“Repeat after me,” her father's booming voice had commanded. “I, Stephen…”

“I, Stephen…”

“…take you, Sophie….”

“…take you, Sophie….”

They made so many promises that day. At least he'd kept that one, Sophie thought bitterly. He'd been a taker all right. She slammed the book shut, having her fill of the pictures. Spot jumped a little, startled out of his sleep, and she patted him, noticing that a bundle of letters had fallen out of the album. She untied the string.

Dear Sophie,
one letter read.
Of all the stars in my universe, you shine the brightest. Light my way forever, my forever love. Stephen.
And another:
My darling Sophie, my dream, my passion, I feel so alive since you said you love me. Have I been dead without knowing it all these years? The songs we will sing, the places we will go, the adventures we will have. I am invincible with you by my side! Stephen.
And finally,
Sophie Girl, I love you madly. This waiting is killing me. Let's go away together and do something crazy like get married. Your Stephen.

Her Stephen. Forever love. My universe. Something crazy like getting married. She'd been over these letters, like the pictures and the whole experience of their relationship, so many times before. There were times when the words had cut like knives through her stomach and she'd cried so hard she got sick. There were times when she had actually laughed at their stupidity—his sheer audacity and hers—for what those words had once meant to her. And then there were times she'd actually pitied him and felt an almost motherly compassion, as though he was a prodigal son. But now she just felt numb. And felt a deep sense of regret for all she had wasted of herself on the wrong person.

Setting the letters aside, she picked up a picture in a small frame. As she took it out to examine it, she felt a nick and noticed blood dribbling from her finger and onto the picture, blotting out the image. The glass had been broken in the move, and there, exposed, were she and her old friend Jon. The picture had been taken at their high school graduation ten years ago. His mother had snapped it as he stood with his arm around her, both of them in purple robes with gold cords. Sophie stared at it a moment, remembering, and tried to smooth away the blood from their exuberant faces. But the picture was ruined. She tossed it into the trash, broken glass and all, and went to get a Band-Aid.

Chapter Two

.................................

Jon Anthony stepped out of the French doors onto his cedar deck, holding a cup of coffee, and peered at the Arkansas River five hundred feet below him. His dog, a Great White Pyrenees named Aslan, was sitting with his head erect on the edge of a rock that jutted out over the bluff, like a king surveying his kingdom.

And what a glorious kingdom it is
, thought Jon. The leaves on the trees were just starting to turn, hinting at the change that would come to the landscape later in the fall. The sky was cloudless and blue, the perfect backdrop for the birds that soared at his eye level. The river was a dull gray-green color today—loden, he thought—as he watched it twisting and bending through the mountains he called home. Jon sighed.
This is why I can never leave here
, he thought to himself.
This river flows through my veins
. So no matter where his work took him, he always landed back where he felt most comfortable—in a cabin he had built himself, with the help of a friend, on a bluff that overlooked the river.

Jon had bought a hundred acres of land with the proceeds from his first book. With an unused cattle farm on the front and mountains butting up to the river on the back, the whole place was wild. Aside from cutting a road up to the bluff and pushing out just enough brush to build his cabin and have a small yard, he'd made no effort to tame it.

He gave a few lectures a year, went to the required meetings with his editor, publisher, and agent, and attended occasional conferences and book signings. Occasionally he'd have to spend a chunk of time somewhere else doing research. But the bulk of his life was spent right here on this bluff—drinking coffee on his deck, reading by the fire with Aslan at his feet, or writing at his computer desk by the window. He went into town as little as possible. On Tuesdays he had breakfast with his mom at her house, and on Thursday mornings he drank coffee at the bakery with three pastor friends. He would usually try to sneak into the grocery store on one of those days to buy his supplies. If he had other errands at the hardware store, library, or post office, he did them then as quickly as possible. He also went to church some Sundays, visiting different congregations as he felt led and occasionally treating his mom to lunch afterward. He wasn't a member anywhere.