Love Finds You at Home for Christmas (25 page)

“It was actually a beautiful evening—till the cops showed up.” Sophie reminisced. “They couldn't believe we were really drinking plain cokes and just talking. That Buford Bailey had the nerve to make me walk a straight line!”

“I know…and your dad the preacher. That was the worst part. Telling your parents and Margaret that we got a police warning and were kicked off St. Catherine's Mountain. It's hilarious now.”

“It was pretty funny then, actually, and so typical of the police around here. Bothering with us when they probably could have busted the rest of the class at that party! I hear they're a little more sophisticated now that Buford is gone.” Sophie shook her head, and Jon noticed that the setting sun highlighted it for a moment.

“We've had some good times, haven't we?” he asked her, not really looking for an answer.

But she answered anyway. “Yes, we have. Many of my best times have been spent with you.”

Jon looked out at the view, soaking in her words. “Want some soup?” he asked finally, unpacking the sack. “I got extra cheese.”

“Oh, that sounds so good.” Sophie took her Styrofoam bowl from him and opened the lid. Steam rose as she stirred it, and the Swiss cheese at the bottom strung out endlessly, wrapping itself around her plastic soup spoon.

Jon broke a piece of the baguette off and gave it to her to dip. “Do you still like the heel?” he asked, remembering one of her many quirks.

She smiled. “You bet—it's the best part.” She dipped the end of her bread down into the soup, twirling it round and round in the gooey cheese before taking a bite. “Thank you so much for bringing me here—and for dinner.”

He looked up at her with a string of cheesy soup on its way to his mouth. “Thanks for coming. It's a treat for me too. I don't get out that much unless it's with Margaret or my preacher friends.” Jon smiled sheepishly as he took a bite. It tasted wonderful—the caramelized onions and tangy cheese forming a perfect union.

“Well, at least you're getting out at all! I've seen hardly anything but my bed and the inside of my kitchen!”

They both laughed at the challenge of trying to have a conversation while sipping and stringing the delicious brown goo.

“So you should be leaving for your trip tomorrow.” Sophie blushed at admitting she remembered. “Are you excited?”

“It should be fun,” Jon said. “Do you like New York City?”

He noticed her stiffen and wondered if she'd been there with Stephen. But she simply replied, “In moderation.”

“Me too. I always say it's a good place to visit, but I'd go crazy trying to live in a big city. Even with all of its culture and energy. Whenever I'm there for very long I start to crave the quiet. There's just no place like home.”

“Dorothy herself never said it better,” Sophie teased him, then she added, “but I think I agree.”

“I have a great song I want to play for you.” Jon took out his iPhone. Scanning through his playlist, he found Ray Lamontagne's “New York City's Killing Me” and turned it up. He and Sophie sat in the waning sunlight, listening. Jon fancied that they were both also silently agreeing with the singer about the need to leave the city for the country.

When the song was over, Sophie sighed. Jon worried for a moment that he might have triggered some memory that made her sad. But then she put down her soup bowl and looked squarely at him. “Jon, I'm so proud of you. It's amazing what you've accomplished…how you've grown…the dreams that are coming true for you. Congratulations.” She reached over and squeezed his hand for just a moment.

He relished the feeling before she picked up her soup bowl again.

“Thanks. But you know I'm the same person I've always been,” he told her, serious.

“And I think that's the best part of it all.”

At that moment Jon's heart was full. He tried to contain it, telling himself not to assume anything, not to rush. But Sophie's sweetness, her innocence, her beauty, and her nearness were nearly overwhelming. He wanted the evening to last forever.

They looked out into the fading landscape again. The hills were turning to blues and grays under the fading light, and the river looked a shiny black, like patent leather. The sky above the fields had a soft lavender glow, which melted into pink and then a burnished amber.

“Look at the bridge!” Sophie said with wonder.

The bridge over the river in town had lit up. Way down below them, it looked like a tiny jewel glittering on the darkening horizon. Labeled “the most beautiful bridge in the South” by a magazine—Jon couldn't remember which one—it was lovely with its grand silver arch stretching the width of the river. Under it, the Arkansas River flowed into its biggest curve, making the bridge the official symbol for the town of River Bend.

Sophie drew her jacket around her and settled back in her seat. She looked peaceful. As they shared the strawberry pie in the dusk, she told Jon about her week at the café and the gift from Father Hillary. “No strings attached! That's my new mantra.”

Jon breathed his own silent prayer of thanksgiving to God for the healing he could see taking place in her. It was an answer to his own prayers for her—and, dare he admit it?—for them.

“Sophie, can I get your cell phone number?” He planned to at least text her while he was away.

She picked up his phone and entered her number into his contacts, as familiar as she'd always been. Jon relished the old, easy feeling of her company.

“I hate to go, but I think we should,” he said finally as the lights in the parking lot came on, their sensors indicating it was dark. He turned on the Jeep so he could see to put its cover back on.

“This was really fun—a great way to end the day,” Sophie told him when he got in the driver's seat. “Thank you.”

* * * * *

When they got back to the Harbor House, Sophie remembered to wait while he opened her door, and then she slid down beside him. He shut it behind her, and they walked closely together to the door. Neither one hurried. Here and there they brushed against one another—his denim shirt against her jacket, boot against boot. She was conscious of every touch and wondered if Jon felt it so keenly.

The moon was high in the sky, and it gave little light. It was just a tiny, silver detail on a vast black canvas—as if it were drawn with a single, narrow stroke of an artist's brush. But its presence made all of the difference.

They stood looking at each other under the porch light as though waiting for something, not really wanting to say good-bye. She wondered if Jon considered kissing her, and she wondered how she'd respond if he did.

He reached out and squeezed her hand. She loved the feel of it, even for just that moment.

“I'm so glad you're here,” he told her, eyes shining.

“Me too.”

They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment before she went in and closed the door.

Sophie was inside before she realized Spot hadn't been at the door to greet them. That was most unusual, and she felt a little fear creep into her heart. Quietly making her way to her room, she switched on the light, and there he was, curled in a crescent on her pillow. Sophie sighed with relief. He lifted his sleepy head and seemed to smile at her. She didn't make him get up to go out.

As Sophie got undressed for bed, she took off her ring and cross, looping them together and laying both in the plate on her dresser. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and the soft light was kind to her face, she thought. But even without it, there was new life there—new color. Her eyes seemed, even to her, not so hollow and sad. She thought of Jon, their friendship, his kindness, and something else—the thrill of holding his hand—and a smile broke out across her face. The smile erupted and she found herself laughing as she looked at herself in the mirror. Crazy as it seemed, it felt good, and she didn't try to suppress it.

Spot lifted his head again, ears up, and turned it back and forth, as though trying to figure out what on earth was happening. She walked over to him and rubbed his ears, and he licked her face.

Climbing into bed and under the covers with Spot, Sophie did something she hadn't done in a long time. She opened her Bible, and not knowing really where to look, she turned to a random place. As she read the words she allowed herself to be loved by her childhood Savior, her old friend, Jesus. And she could almost hear His voice as He whispered to her from Song of Solomon:

Chapter Twelve

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

“Hey, Andy!” Sophie yelled as he entered the back door. She was so glad that things were working out with him after their rocky start, when he'd had his wreck.

Andy put his keys in the bin, wrote down the time on his card, and placed it back into the basket. “Hey, Miss Sophie. How's it going?”

“I told you to quit calling me ‘Miss.' Do you want to make me feel old? For the hundredth time—it's ‘Sophie.' And that's an order!” She raised the butcher knife she was using and waved it at him.

“Okay, okay, Sophie. Easy with the knife.” He grabbed the red apron from its hook and started putting it on. “What's cookin' today?”

“We've got shrimp skewers on the grill for a special, baked sweet potato, and sautéed fall veggies. Everything else is the usual.”

“Dessert?” Andy, as Adelaide's grandson, had a certified sweet tooth.

“The normal stuff…. Oh yeah, I made some of my grandma's chewy molasses cookies today.”

“Try not to sell out of those.” He smiled and plunged his hands into the hot, soapy water.

Sophie had to admit, Andy was a hard worker. There wasn't any need for Jon to come back to the kitchen and rescue her…which was probably a good thing since he was in New York. He'd texted her once, but that was all. She wondered how he was doing and when he'd come back to the café again.

They worked steadily through lunch. Sophie was filling her last order before she could go check on Paula and Brandy, when Debbie came in with a new order and a funny look on her face.

“What is it?” Sophie asked her.

“Well, it's a retired major in the army, that's what it is—and here's his order.”

Sophie looked at Debbie's careful handwriting describing an intricate Build-Your-Own sandwich.

“Okay, well, this shouldn't be a problem. Thanks, Debbie.”

“Be sure you get it right,” Debbie warned, which was odd for her. “I've been at his table for ten minutes explaining where we get our meats, and that yes, the Swiss is big-eye, and the onions red, and that you won't toast the bread too crisply.” She rolled her eyes.

Sophie laughed. “Yes, sir!” She saluted.

Debbie returned her salute, then turned on her heel and headed back out the kitchen door.

* * * * *

After the doors were closed, Sophie invited whoever could to join her at the big round table in the front room for leftovers. As it turned out, everyone was busy—which never happened when she offered free food—except for Andy.

He got the last shrimp skewer and a big bowl of banana ice cream and sat down across from Sophie, who was eating a plate of sautéed veggies and a baked potato.

“Man, it was pretty busy today,” he commented.

“Yep—a good one,” she said. “Busy days pay the bills.”

“This is a pretty cool place to eat, especially when it's free.” Andy grinned at her, pulling a shrimp off the skewer and popping it into his mouth.

“Watch it.” Sophie grinned back.

They were both hungry and tired, so they ate a few bites in comfortable silence. It felt good to slow down after being in constant motion.

After a few moments he asked her, “Was that guy really in the army?”

“What guy?” Sophie couldn't remember.

“Whoever Debbie was talking about—the one who was so fussy about his sandwich.”

“Oh, him. Debbie did say he was retired from the army, didn't she? I went out to meet him, and he introduced himself as Major Louis.”

Andy stared out the window for a moment. “I don't like army people,” he said, changing the mood.

“Oh, why not?” Sophie asked, surprised by his comment.

Andy squirmed in his seat. “My brother was in the army, and he died. I hate the war.”

She prodded gently. “What happened?”

“Matt was killed by some crazy suicide bomber. He was a medic—he didn't even carry a gun.” Andy suddenly sounded far away.

“I'm so sorry, Andy. That's so awful.” Sophie reached across the table to touch his hand.

“It ruined my whole family…my whole life.” Andy shoved his bowl away from him.

Sophie put down her fork and moved closer to him. “Can I help?” she asked.

“Thanks, but there's nothing you can do…nothing anyone can do. He's dead.”

“I know, but you're alive.” She wanted to hug him—he seemed like such a child—but she held back.

Andy looked up at her. “Sometimes I don't know
why
I am. Like that car wreck—why did I survive when Matt died?”

Sophie understood. She measured her words.

“Those are questions that have no answers. My own dad died in a car wreck when I was halfway around the world. I never got to tell him good-bye, or how much I loved him…. Believe me, Andy, I know all about those questions. But at some point we have to let them rest. We have to accept what has happened before there can ever be any peace.”