Love Finds You at Home for Christmas (30 page)

Sophie felt the tension leaving her body. She'd never complained to Jon about her feet, but he must have known how they hurt. Even in good shoes, it was hard to stand for so many hours in the kitchen.

“Wow—thank you,” she said when he had finished and replaced her socks.

He smiled at her and stood up to stretch. He walked out a little closer to the bluff and looked out over the water.

Sophie rose from her position on the quilt and moved to join him. When she was close beside him, she reached out and put her arm around his waist, her heart thumping in her chest. Jon turned to her and stared into her eyes. Then he lifted his hands to cup her face and held it there, like a piece of fine china.

She blinked at him and tilted her head a little to one side.

And then he bent and kissed her, slowly, softly, deftly.

Chapter Seventeen

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

Sophie didn't explain what she was doing to anyone but Tom. Shannon and the rest of the crew at Harbor House Café knew only that there was “an emergency with an old friend.” Rather than closing, she had trusted them to manage things without her—and without a daily special—for Friday and Saturday. She was closed Sunday and Monday and would surely be back before Tuesday. With the help of Adelaide, who was going to furnish desserts, and Andy's mom, who would help out in the kitchen, Sophie felt good about the business at least while she was gone.

That was really the only thing she felt good about as she drove southeast on I-90. The rest of her feelings were as convoluted as the network of knots that attached themselves between her shoulder blades. Realizing she was tense, Sophie willed herself to relax. She eased up her grip on the steering wheel. She moved her shoulders up and down and slowly tilted her head to each side to try to break up some of the tight muscle cobwebs that had formed. She tried to think clearly and get prepared for what—and who—she was driving toward.

She replayed the phone conversation from the night before in her head.

“Sophia?” The voice on the phone made Sophie break out in a cold sweat.

“This is Sophie.”

“This is Stephen.”

Silence.

“How are you?” Stephen asked her, obviously nervous.

“Why are you calling?”

“Look, I'm really sorry to bother you. Really. It's just…”

More silence. She wasn't going to give him an inch.

“My dad asked me to call you.”

“Your dad?”

“He's dying.”

Sophie felt like someone had hit her in the stomach.

“He has cancer—it's very advanced—and he's at home. Hospice is there, trying to control the pain. The doctors give him days.”

“I'm so desperately sorry. What can I do?”

“He wants you to come.”

Stephen's parents were divorced. His mother, whom Sophie had only seen a few times, lived in Florida. His father, Frank, lived in the town a hundred miles from River Bend, where she, Stephen, and Jon had gone to college. Stephen had grown up there and, as a teenager, had chosen to stay with his dad when his parents divorced. He was already starting to play music with some of his friends, who later formed the band they became in college. Dr. Frank, as everyone called him, was a chemistry professor at the other college in town. He worked with old lab equipment in cramped classrooms that were bursting at the seams with med-school hopefuls—and he made magic. Even Sophie, who hated math and only tolerated science, liked to hear him talk about chemistry. He made it come alive.

Frank had loved Sophie enough to warn her about Stephen.

“Stephen's my son and I love him, but I don't think he's ready for you, girl,” he had told her one evening. She had brought over groceries to make lasagna for him and Stephen and was enjoying a little time alone with him while Stephen finished a rehearsal. As she unpacked the bags onto the counter, he helped her.

“What do you mean?” Sophie had been shocked.

She remembered his response to this day. “Sophie, I want you for my daughter-in-law, but I don't want you to get hurt. I learned a lesson about marriage too late for me but not too late for you. I know you love him, and I know he loves you—as much as he can. But I did not do a good job of showing him what it means to be a husband. I have begun to see that I made so many mistakes. I was so selfish. I didn't really know how to love my wife.”

“Don't worry, Dr. Frank,” she'd said. “Everything will be okay. You'll see.”

It was a moment of truth, Sophie thought as she drove down the road. A red flag.
And I ignored it.

She hadn't seen Frank since she and Stephen moved to California. They'd e-mailed frequently and talked on the phone some, but after the final disaster occurred and she left Stephen, their contact was abruptly cut off. Severing ties with Stephen, to her, had unfortunately meant severing ties with Frank.

When she thought of Frank, it was as an oasis in the desert that was her marriage. And now he was dying and wanted her to come. How could she ever say no?

As she pulled onto the exit ramp, Sophie breathed a prayer. “Lord, please fill me with Your Spirit to minister Your grace and peace. Make me strong and let this trip be an expression of my faith—and may everything I do be done through Your love.”

Chapter Eighteen

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

Margaret's truck had to go into the shop, so Jon met her there and gave her a ride home.

She searched his eyes as he held open the Jeep door for her. “So, how was your holiday with Sophie?”

“It was nice. Very nice.” He shut the door and smiled to himself as he walked around to his side. “How was yours with Jim?”

“Nice.” Margaret raised her eyebrows as if to say that two could play his game.

Jon chuckled. “Well, that's nice.”

She punched him gently in the ribs.

“What are you going to do today?” he asked her as they pulled into her driveway.

“Nothing much. Jim is supposed to come by.” Jon thought he noticed the hint of a smile at the edges of Margaret's lips.

“Another date?” Jon looked over at her, grinning.

She cleared her throat, ignoring his question. “We're going to clean up the community center and then distribute leftovers. We've also got to talk about the Christmas party he's asked me to help plan. It's a ministry thing.” Margaret got out of the car and out of the conversation. “Do you want any of the leftovers?”

“No thanks, I'm not hungry. I'm going to try to go home and do some writing.”

“Okay. Well, thanks for coming to get me. I'll talk to you later.” Margaret leaned into the car to kiss his cheek and then trotted up to her door.

Jim Matthews,
Jon thought.
Wonders never cease.

Jon surprised himself on his way through town by pulling into the parking lot of Harbor House Café after leaving Margaret's. It was one thirty in the afternoon, and he was hungry.

Liar
, his inner voice said.
You just told Margaret you weren't hungry when she offered leftovers.

Okay,
he admitted to himself with a grin,
so I'm not hungry for food.
He went in and hung around near the counter in case Sophie came out to talk to her guests. By this time, she had told him, she was usually about done in the kitchen. At least enough to walk around and visit.

“Did you have a to-go order?” René asked him

“Uh, no,” he told her. He felt stupid and conspicuous.

“Oh, okay. Well, would you like a table, or do you want to place an order to go?”

Jon fidgeted, trying to decide what to do. If that kitchen door would just swing open and he could see Sophie and she could see him…He felt a hand slide through his arm from behind him. It was Misti Clarkson's.

“He's with us!” she told René, who eyed her warily as she pulled Jon in the direction of the parlor.

“Hi, Misti,” Jon said, subtly uncoiling her from his arm.

“Oh, Jon, won't you join us? We're just having a little book club meeting, and it would be amazing to have a real author there!” Misti was smiling.

Jon looked toward the parlor, where a newly single Jade Thomas was smoothing her hair. A few other women, mostly former members of the infamous “Nails” group, were sitting around their table with notebooks and pens. The Nails was the name he and Sophie, in high school, had surreptitiously given to the group of girls led by Misti and Jade, who were obsessed with the fad of long, fake fingernails. Most of them had their nails done once a week at Patsy's, and they competed within the group for the longest and brightest ones. A nail broken on a locker might signal a wail that would be heard all through the halls of their high school. Sophie had told him stories of dashing into the girls' restroom between classes and finding the group in a nail mending conference. They had enjoyed many a laugh with each other in school at the unknown expense of the Nails group.

“Well,” Jon said, “I was actually here to meet Sophie.” Misti frowned, and he truthfully enjoyed the feeling of taking her down a notch or two.

“I'm sure she'll be out in a minute. Why don't you keep us company in the meantime?”

Misti dragged him to the table, glowing like she'd captured a trophy. “Look who's here, guys! Our class's famous author—and most eligible bachelor!”

The women giggled. Jade batted her eyes at him and made room beside her. Misti practically shoved him into the chair between them.

Jon was mortified. He couldn't wait for Sophie to come out so he could escape.

René came over to the table and asked what he wanted to eat.

“Well, what's easy? I know Sophie must be about finished in the kitchen. I don't want to order anything big.”

You're also not hungry, remember
? the voice reminded him.

“Oh, Sophie's not here,” René explained. “She's out of town for a few days. But Shannon's back there and can make you a sandwich.”

There was silence all around.

“Okay,” Jon's mouth said as his heart sank.

“What kind of sandwich would you like?” René asked gaily.

“Uh, turkey,” he answered. The voice chuckled.
You are what you eat.

“Oh, you know what?” declared Misti, rolling her eyes as if she was just recalling something. “I remember now. Someone said something about Sophie having an emergency. Come to think of it”—she goggled her eyes at Jon—“it was something about an old friend. But all of her old friends are here, aren't they? I can't imagine who it would be!”

The Nail group all looked at each other as if on cue, acknowledging the great mystery of where Sophie was.

Jon felt sick. He didn't comment.

When René returned with his sandwich, he started planning his escape. He would eat it and leave.

Just then one of the nicer Nails spoke up. “Jon, I really liked your book. It's great.”

He looked up from his sandwich and met her eyes. They looked sincere. “Thanks, Jenny,” he said. “It's nice that you've read it.”

“Read it? Of course we've
all
read it!” Misti interjected.

Jon didn't know what to say—or believe.

“I've got my copy right here,” said Jade, and pulled the book out of her enormous purse. “Would you sign it for me, Jon?”

“Uh, well, sure.” Jon sheepishly signed his name.

“Thank you!” she exclaimed, holding the open book to her chest.

“Oh, wait, let me get a picture,” Misti called, digging through her beaded bag. “I just happen to have my camera.”

Jon was half-flattered and half-frightened. Fear took over, however, when Jade reached up and kissed him on the cheek just as Misti snapped the picture.

“I really must be going.” He rose from the table, leaving his sandwich half-eaten on his plate, and left the restaurant.

* * * * *

Misti knew Sophie wasn't there. That's precisely why she had planned the meeting for that day. Jon had seen it all in the look on her face when she'd said significantly, “I can't imagine who it would be!”

And neither could any of the other Nail group members.

But Jon could. In fact, as he sat on his deck with Aslan, his imagination was running away with him as fast as the river.

I knew it was too good to be true. She won't be here long. She's gone back to Stephen. He's charmed her back somehow. The snake! Why is this happening? I'm such a fool! She's played me like a piano. She's always played me. Why did I dare to believe I was anything to her?

But even as he felt angry with Sophie, cursing and questioning her character, the contrast between her and the other women that day held itself up in his mind. She was deep and they were shallow. She was real and they were counterfeits. She was who and what he wanted—and if he couldn't have her, he would rather be alone. No amount of flattery or batting eyelashes would change that. They were repulsive to him. He repulsed himself that he even sat down with the Nails—and worse, allowed himself to be flattered by them. Who cared what they thought of his book, or of him? He only cared what Sophie thought—and apparently it wasn't much. She was the real thing, but he would never be enough for her.

He stood up and walked over to one of his oak trees. He picked some green acorns from a branch and began to chuck them over the railing towards the water. Jon hated himself in that moment for being a romantic. For being idealistic. Even for being an optimist. He felt bitter and cynical and dark. The memory of Sophie in her wedding dress floating down the aisle to Stephen brought bile to his throat.
I can't live through this again,
he thought.
If it happens, I'm not going to be here to watch.

He looked at the river below him, endlessly flowing on, not minding his mood. The bluff in that moment seemed an abyss—like the one he was mentally plunging into. He closed his eyes and prayed.