Love Finds You at Home for Christmas (28 page)

“I'd love to go with you.” Sophie pepped up. “What time is it?”

“Well, the play's at seven, but if you want to do dinner beforehand, we'd need to leave about four thirty or five o'clock to get there. Could you do that?”

“How about we skip dinner and maybe do something afterward, like dessert? I don't think I can be ready till a little before six.” Sophie looked toward the kitchen nervously.

“That's fine. I'll be here to pick you up then.”

* * * * *

The café was a disaster when lunch was over that day. Sophie and the others had to fold up the banquet tables and carry them out to the storage building, then set the parlor to rights. There was a mountain of linens to be washed, Andy was working overtime on the dishes, and all of the usual Saturday deep cleaning still had to be done. It was nearly four o'clock when the last worker cleared out, and Sophie lay across her bed to rest her aching back.

She didn't linger there long, however; the claw-footed tub that sat in the corner of her suite beckoned her. She filled it up with bubbles and water as hot as she could stand, got in and soaked for a full hour, in and out of sleep.

When she glanced up at the clock and saw that it was five, she jumped out and dried off with a towel before drenching her skin in lavender-scented lotion. In her terry-cloth robe, she dried her hair, curled it into soft waves, and put on her makeup. This time, since she was going to a play, she went a little heavier than her usual mascara-and-lip-gloss-only routine. Then she slid on her dress, which was plum-colored with three-quarter sleeves and simple lines, and tall boots. Her hair went up, with a few curls cascading down, and she wore no jewelry.

She was slipping lip gloss and some money into her hand bag when she heard a knock and then Spot barking.

Spot was jumping up and down at the door, and when she opened it, he ran out on the porch, sniffing Jon's legs for signs of Aslan. Jon bent down to pet him, then scooped him up.

Jon came in holding a bemused Spot and smiled when he looked at her. He seemed suddenly shy. “You look pretty,” he said.

“So do you—handsome that is.” Jon was wearing dark blue jeans, a white shirt, and a black sport coat. He had on black boots that Sophie had never seen. “Although, I'm afraid you're getting Spot hairs on your jacket.”

“Oh well, no outfit is complete without a little dog hair, isn't that right?” He grinned.

Sophie grinned back. “That's right.”

They let Spot out for a spin around the backyard, deposited him inside the door, and walked around the sidewalk to the front where the Jeep was parked. Sophie submitted to taking Jon's arm as they walked; the sidewalk was uneven and a little precarious to maneuver in her heeled boots.

She was a little surprised to find that Jon's arm underneath the sport coat was as hard as a rock. The feel of it—of his strength—in her hand gave Sophie a new kind of thrill. It was not only the joy of physical attraction, though that was certainly there. There was also something deeper. Like the help and comfort that came from walking next to Jon along the sidewalk, Sophie had the sense that walking through life with him—or someone like him—was what the Bible meant by having a helper.

She was disappointed to see the sidewalk end.

As Jon helped Sophie up into the Jeep, someone honked obnoxiously from the road in front of the Harbor House. They both turned to see Misti Clarkson driving slowly past with her old high school friend Jade Thomas beside her, both of them gawking from the height of Misti's imposing SUV.

A girls' night out,
Sophie assumed. The overdone clothes and hair and abundance of makeup were obvious even from a distance. She smiled and waved politely.

Jon lifted his hand in a token salute as he shut Sophie's door and then walked to his side. He glanced over at Sophie, rolling his eyes.

* * * * *

The drive went by quickly for Jon. They talked about their favorite Dickens characters—hers was Miss Havisham—as well as their plans for Thanksgiving. Sophie had lots of baking to do for others, but then he found out that she would be alone over the holiday, as Tom and Madeline were going to Madeline's parents' house. Jon made a mental note to do something about that.

The fact was that Jon would like to spend every holiday with Sophie. And every day in between. Her presence made his Jeep smell faintly of lavender, which he found intoxicating. His skin prickled every time he glanced at her in her plum-colored dress. He longed to touch the tendril of hair that dangled beside her ear, to bury his face in the softness of her neck…. Jon shook his head as if to focus his muddled brain as he pulled into a parking spot.

The campus of the university was quaint. The main part of it was situated on a hillside in the old section of Oliver, a town about forty miles to the east of River Bend. It was a Presbyterian school and had a gorgeous stone chapel as its centerpiece. Large oaks marked the lawn and gave the setting a timeless feel. The performing arts center, which was relatively new, was down the hill.

When they entered the lobby of the performing arts center, Jon paid for their tickets while Sophie went off to find a bathroom. She came back out to find him talking to a distinguished-looking man.

“This is Dr. Sikes, head of the English department,” Jon introduced her. “And this is Sophia Harper.”

“It's nice to meet you.” Dr. Sikes shook her hand warmly. He smiled at Jon as if impressed.

“You too,” Sophie said, returning his firm grip.

They exchanged a bit of friendly small talk before Dr. Sikes said he had to go find his seat. “I hope you enjoy the show,” he said as he moved on.

Sophie and Jon walked to their seats in the theater, and several people turned to look at them as they passed.

“I forget that you are a celebrity,” she ribbed him when they were seated.

“I imagine they're all looking at you.”

* * * * *

After the play—which was excellent—Jon and Sophie sat over peppermint mochas and a shared piece of chocolate pie at a nearby coffee shop. The place was warm and festive, with holly garland strung around every possible surface, and a Christmas tree already up in the corner. It had big Charlie Brown lights blinking in all colors. The windows were frosted with spray snow, and there were candles on every table. But in spite of the atmosphere, Sophie felt pensive, and she could tell she shocked Jon by comparing herself to Scrooge.

“That's crazy!” Jon laughed but stopped when he saw she was serious.

“Not really.” Sophie's gaze was unwavering.

“How?”

She twirled the little straw around in the whipped cream on top of her mocha and then licked it off.

“Well, I've been very selfish, chasing after my own happiness, missing out on what's truly important. And while I was doing this, my dad died. I didn't get the chance to make it right, as Scrooge finally did.”

“There are obvious disparities,” Jon observed.

“Okay, so I wasn't a heartless workaholic hoarding my fortune at the expense of everyone in my life, but I still abandoned the people I love to live some pipe dream life.” She shook her head.

“What if you'd chosen to be a missionary? Or your husband had been wonderful, but his job took you to a different state? What then? You had no control over your dad's death, Sophie.” His eyes were kind.

“I know, Jon—and I'm starting to come to terms with that—but I will always regret that I married Stephen and that I was far away ‘searching for myself' when the accident happened. I'd feel different if it had been like you said—if I had been following a noble calling. But too much of my life has been about me. So selfish. Why didn't I see through Stephen in the first place? And why didn't I just come home as soon as I got divorced?” Sophie bit her lip. “I had to do things my way,” she spoke from a deep place of regret. “I was such a prideful person—and I kept clinging to my pride until my dad died. Then I hit rock bottom.”

Jon reached across the table and took her hand.

A tear slid down her cheek as she felt the tenderness in his gesture and heard the compassion in his voice.

“It's not selfish to have dreams,” he said.

“But mine took me so far away from everything that really mattered. I see that now.” Sophie pulled her hand away and wiped her face with a napkin.

“Your best dreams—of home, family, love—have brought you back. You're here now, and the Lord is doing a new thing.” Jon's eyes were full of promise.

Sophie's heart caught in her chest. Did he mean between the two of them? She looked long into his eyes, absorbing the hope she saw there. They stared at each other as though sealing a silent agreement, and then she smiled.

The grace of God,
came the thought again. Sophie put down her napkin, and they left the table.

* * * * *

Their ride home was very subdued and quiet compared to their usual banter. Jon was lost in his thoughts as he drove, praying and considering where his relationship with Sophie was going. He had the sense that something had changed tonight in one magic moment, like the initial crack in a baby robin's egg or the first hint of butterfly emerging from a cocoon. It frightened even as it exhilarated him.

He went back over everything they had said, laying it bare before himself and God. Had he spoken amiss? Assumed anything? Set up expectations? Rushed? He had prayed not to take one step outside of the divine will—but his emotions were getting harder and harder to control.

Sophie, in the seat next to him, seemed strangely at peace. In an odd way, he thought, the play itself did her good as it helped her confront some ugly truths. Leave it to Dickens. Their conversation—the working out of her conflicting feelings, and his bold suggestion—seemed to move her along toward resolution. He knew she couldn't yet, but maybe someday she might actually be able to let go of the guilt and pain she held so tightly. Jon sensed that Sophie was loosening up—and perhaps the pain itself, and all of the regret, were loosening their grip on her.

There was no sound but the hum of the motor. As Jon looked over at Sophie beside him in the Jeep, he realized she was asleep. Her head was bent at an uncomfortable-looking angle, so he reached over with one hand still on the wheel and leaned her seat back just a notch. Then he gently touched her face, turning it slightly, setting the position of her neck at ease.

He exhaled and looked back at the road.

I love her, Lord.

And then the word came, silent, lucid: “I know. I do too. Trust Me.”

Chapter Fifteen

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

“Hey S and S!” Andy greeted Sophie and Shannon as he hurried in the back door of the Harbor House.

“Hey, kiddo,” Shannon replied.

“Hey A—although maybe I should call you B-minus today, since you're late!” Sophie chided him, looking up from the dish of lasagna she'd just taken out of the oven for the special.

“I'm really sorry, Sophie,” he said as he threw on his apron and got right to work on the dishes. “I was trying to get away from Mrs. Ruston. We read this excerpt from that book
Life Without Father
today in her AP English class, and she was bragging about how the author had been her student. Then after class she pulled me aside to say how she thought I had potential like that guy, and she wanted me to make her proud.”

Sophie grinned while she listened to him. “Good old Mrs. Ruston. I didn't know she was still teaching.”

“I mean she's nice and all, but good grief.” Andy scrubbed at a mortar and pestle. “What did you make in here?”

“Pesto,” Sophie answered.

“What's pesto?'

“It's a green sauce you make with basil. It's in the lasagna.” She pointed to the pasta, sticking a knife into the middle of it to discern whether it was done.

“I hope I get some of that,” Andy said, smelling the aroma.

“I'll get you out a little bite, at least, when it's done.”

When Sophie had finished all of her preparation, and before the orders started pouring in, she asked Andy to come to the back with her for a second. “I have something for you,” she told him, pulling a brown package out of her desk drawer.

Andy looked relieved—did the poor kid think he'd be in trouble?—and happily surprised. “Is this an early Christmas gift or something?”

“Go ahead and open it now.”

He untied the string around the package and found a dark brown leather book inside. It was a journal, and the ivory pages had gilded edges. Andy opened it and found the inscription on the inside cover:

“That's the
Life Without Father
guy! Cool!” Andy exclaimed, and then he looked perplexed. “But why'd he give this to me?”

Sophie smiled at him. “Well, he's a friend of mine, and I told him about that awesome essay you wrote. The one you showed me, that Mrs. Ruston wants to put in the paper—”

“She did put it in the paper,” Andy interrupted her. “I got bonus points for letting her put it in there this week.”

“Great! That's great. I wanted Jon to read it, so I'll show it to him.” Sophie made a mental note to mention it. “Well, anyway, he just wanted to encourage you—you know, writer to writer. He thinks journaling is really important.”

“That is so awesome. Tell him I said thanks.”

“I will,” Sophie promised. “Now get back to work!”

* * * * *

Father Hillary was at his table by the window when Sophie took his omelet—a pesto creation—out to him.

“That looks delicious. And how are you this fine morning?” he asked, when she set his plate down.

“I am very well,” Sophie said, meaning it.

“You seem to have an extra spring in your step,” he observed. “Anything I should know?” His blue eyes sparkled like brand-new buttons on his wizened face.