Love Finds You at Home for Christmas (32 page)

“Hello?”

Her brother's voice was good to hear.

“Hey, it's me. I'm back.”

“Sophie! Welcome home.”

“Thanks for bringing Spot—and for taking care of him, of course.”

“Well, he ate us out of house and home, but other than that he was no trouble.” Tom laughed lightheartedly.

Sophie laughed too. Spot didn't eat much at all—and especially not if she left him with someone else. Such an outrage would usually put him on a hunger strike. She patted his silky ears, smoothing them between her fingers.

“So,” Tom said, “how are you?”

“Oh, okay. I'm really tired, you know.”

“Spending a few days with death will do that,” Tom reflected.

“Yes. But it was good overall. Good to be there, good to know Dr. Frank's not suffering now, even good with Stephen.”

Spot groaned and rolled over.

“Good with Stephen? Really? I can't wait to hear about that.”

“Good in the sense of closure,” Sophie explained. “But I will tell you all the details later.” Sitting up straight, she went on. “Hey, Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you see the paper this week?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He seemed unimpressed.

“Did you see the picture on the Community page?”

“I don't remember anything. Why? What was it? Something interesting?”

“Well, I don't know if I'd call it interesting,” Sophie said sarcastically, “but Jon Anthony's on there surrounded by a bunch of adoring women.”

Tom laughed out loud. “Oh yeah! I remember that. Raised quite a stir around town for a day or two. I ribbed Jon about it today, actually.”

“Today? You saw Jon Anthony today?” Sophie's heart began to beat faster.

“Yeah, remember? He came to speak to my school. Did a good job too. It was a really neat deal.”

Sophie took a moment to digest that. Then she said, “Well, what did he say?”

“Oh, he just talked about becoming a writer, really. Sort of the story of how he got into it, and then he described to the kids what he does. You know, how he works at home and stuff, and how he gets ideas. It was really interesting to a lot of them, I think. Especially Mrs. Ruston's class, since they read his book. They asked a lot of questions.”

“I don't mean what did he talk about!” Sophie was exasperated with Tom's story. “I mean, what did he say to you? About the picture?”

“Sophie Harper? Are you actually jealous of the Nails group?” He sounded incredulous.

“No.” Sophie tried to lighten her tone. “I just wanted to know, that's all. I thought it was a little odd.”

“What's the deal with you and your old buddy Jon anyway?” Tom was enjoying himself now. “You haven't told me much about that lately.”

“Nothing to tell.”

“Well, wasn't there some date—a Thanksgiving picnic, I think, before you left?” He was prying at her shell.

“It was a picnic. I wouldn't call it a date.”

“Hmm…okay.” Tom was smiling, waiting. She knew his brother instinct told him he had her.

Sophie waited for a moment before she finally gave in. “So will you please tell me what he said about that picture?”

“Not much. I think he was embarrassed about it.”

What could he say?
Sophie thought to herself, still steaming at the thought of Jade Thomas's lips anywhere near Jon's general vicinity.

“But he did ask about you.” Tom was tapping at the crack in her shell.

But the clam wasn't budging. At least for a few seconds. “And?”

“Oh, he just asked how you were doing, where you had been.”

“And what did you tell him?” Sophie quizzed her brother for possible errors.

“Just that you had gone to see an old friend who was sick and then ended up staying for the funeral.”

“Did you say who it was?”

“I really wanted to, but I didn't. I knew if I said Stephen I would need to explain, or else it might lead him to conclusions, and I knew you didn't want me explaining. So I left it.”

“That's good.” Sophie approved.

“Funny how your calling to report in with me has changed to my reporting to you,” Tom teased her. “How long has that been going on, I wonder?”

“Since I was born first,” Sophie concluded.

“That's the sad truth,” Tom acknowledged with good humor. “Oh, Soph, before I forget. Are you going to the community Christmas party next week? Jim Matthews asked me to read the Nativity story.”

“Yeah.” Sophie wasn't really looking forward to it though. After the newspaper fiasco, she felt a little bit like last year's fruitcake. “I was planning to go. I'm donating several batches of Granny's cookies.”

“Ooh, yum. Okay then. See you there, if not before.”

Chapter Twenty-One

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

Harbor House Café was bustling the next day. Father Hillary was back, plus Paula and Brandy and the other regulars, and Sophie felt like she was at a family reunion. She was also very glad to see Shannon, Andy, and the rest of her staff and get back into a groove with them. But lunch was so busy she hardly had time to catch up with anyone before it was quitting time.

At two o'clock Misti Clarkson poked her head in Sophie's kitchen. “Sophie! I'm so glad I caught you.”

“Oh, hi, Misti. How are you?”

“I've been better. I wanted to complain to you about our service today. It was very slow.”

Sophie cringed inwardly. “I'm sorry to hear that, Misti. We've been extra busy. Can I offer you a free piece of cheesecake to take home?”

“Well, I guess so.” Misti snorted.

When Sophie handed it to her, she took it and turned on her heel, offering a weak “thanks” as she headed out the door.

René edged up to Sophie surreptitiously. “Her service was not slow!” she whispered. “I just don't have time to stand around and gossip the way she wants to. I know we're supposed to be nice to everyone, but I just can't stand that woman!”

Sophie laughed. “We go way back. She's not that bad, as long as you can take her in small doses.” She looked at the empty doorway with relief.

René squinted at her.

“Okay, really small doses,” Sophie admitted.

“Well, I've had my fill for a lifetime,” René declared, writing her time down on her card. She returned it to its place, a basket Sophie kept on her desk in the back room, and turned again to Sophie. “It seems like every time she comes here, she sits in my station.”

“I haven't seen her here that many times,” Sophie said, “but maybe I'm luckier being in the kitchen.” She got out a fresh white cloth and some spray cleaner.

René sat down at the bar, which divided the kitchen and back room. “She was here every day when you were gone. One day your friend, that Jon Anthony, was here too. He came in by himself, sort of looking around, so I asked him if he wanted to place a to-go order. I think he was looking for you, actually—I noticed he kept looking toward the kitchen. Then that woman just appeared out of nowhere and practically dragged him to her table!”

Sophie tried not to act too interested. She wiped the prep table ferociously.

René went on. “You probably haven't seen it yet, but she took a picture of him and the women at her table—her ‘book club' she said—but I didn't hear them talk about a book one single time while I was serving them. It was just men and clothes and gossip. Anyway, right when she snapped it, one of them reached up and kissed him! Another one works at the
Record
, and can you believe she put it in the paper! It was like they had it all planned. I feel so sorry for that man.”

“Why do you feel sorry for him?” Sophie asked. She stopped wiping. “It sounds to me like he played right into it. And he's really not stupid.”

“Well, I think he was just trying to be nice, and then they embarrassed him. I'm sure he had no idea they were going to put his picture in the paper.”

“No, probably not,” Sophie said.
I'm sure he had no idea he would be caught,
she thought irritably.

Chapter Twenty-Two

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

The afternoon sun pouring through his windows seemed cold. Even though it was now December, Jon didn't feel the least bit festive. He wondered about Sophie as he dressed. She was back now, he knew; had been for more than a week. Would she be at the Christmas party? She had agreed to donate cookies when Margaret asked her, but that was before she left town.

He'd seen her car parked at the rear of the café whenever he'd driven by.
Why hasn't she called?
he thought as he pulled a white V-neck undershirt over his head. His starched white oxford shirt crackled as he buttoned it up, bottom to top, and then tucked it in. The waist of his khakis was loose.

He went for his brown leather belt and took it from a hook in his closet. There on the shelf above the hook was the butterfly quilt his grandma made, and it reminded him of the picnic he'd had with Sophie not two weeks ago. It almost seemed unreal now, that they'd been so close. He ran his hand over the quilt and sighed. Had it been real? Had he really held her in his arms—kissed her?

As Jon slid the belt though his belt loops, he went over the last week in his mind. Each loop was like a rung in the mental hand bridge he was maneuvering. After the perfection of Thanksgiving, he'd gone over to Sophie's place to see her. He slid his belt through the first loop. She wasn't there; the waitress said she had gone to see an old friend. Another loop. The information he'd gotten seemed sketchy even when he asked Tom about it. Why hadn't Tom said who the old friend was? Next loop. Jon had a strong feeling it was her ex-husband. And while he'd tried to figure out what to do, he'd also been dealing with the embarrassment those women had inflicted on him when they'd put his picture in the paper. Another loop. He'd decided to give Sophie space. He knew that in the past her dad had never let her call boys—but he wasn't a boy. And she wasn't a little girl anymore. He'd been trusting that she'd call him by now, but she hadn't. Final loop. As he buckled the belt, he had a sinking feeling. He really didn't feel like going to the party.

He went out to his deck and sat there in the cold, listening to the river and thinking. After a while, his head dropped into his hands.

Lord, I'm sorry. In my jealousy I've made this about me, when Sophie was burying a friend. Whoever it was, and wherever she's been, she deserves better than this from me. Forgive me for being so prideful and stupid.

* * * * *

“You should go see him, talk to him,” Brandy had told Sophie at lunch today.

Sophie thought about Brandy as she put on her makeup. They were fundamentally different people, but Sophie loved Brandy and had learned from her. But Brandy wasn't always right.

I won't do it,
Sophie said to herself as she got ready for the Christmas party Jim Matthews and Margaret had planned. She brushed blush on her cheekbones. Sure, she'd made a mess of things with her first marriage and had come back home with nothing. But she was doing what she could. She bathed her long eyelashes in mascara. She had started a successful business and was contributing to the life of the community. She was also growing and changing as a person. She dabbed on some gloss, popped her lips, and took inventory of herself in the full-length mirror. Hair up but loose, gold earrings dangling. Wine-colored sweater, dark-gray skirt with a big slit, gold cuff bracelet, tall boots.
Acceptable,
she thought.

She kissed Spot good-bye, leaving a lipstick stain on his forehead, and got into her car. Feeling a little weak, she started it.
Unacceptable,
she thought about the weakness.
I've faced a lot worse things than this.
She pulled out onto the Main Street and headed in the direction of the community center.

When she came to the stoplight it was red, and by the time it turned green, Sophie had changed her course. She decided to go to Jon's first. If he was home, she was going to see him and get the picture thing settled once and for all.

* * * * *

The cabin looked lonely sitting in the dusk with no lights. Aslan was on the porch, watching her with big, brown eyes. He bounded down the stairs to greet her when she got out of her car. His fur was thick and soft like a sheep's wool in her hand, and she managed to stay clear of his slobber. Sophie knocked, but Jon wasn't there.

As she guided her car back down his driveway, she tried to keep her heart from racing.
This is so stupid,
she thought.

Since Sophie no longer cared what her hair looked like, she rolled down her window to feel the cold. Smells of cedar and wood smoke wafted through her car, and the sun warmed her face as she left Jon's property and headed toward the river bridge and town. On the bridge, Sophie drove as slowly as she could still safely go and leaned her head out the window to watch the sun play on the water. A Jeep pulled up beside her from the other direction, blocking her view. Her heart stopped, then her car, when she realized it was Jon. Their eyes locked for just a moment and then he was out of the Jeep and kneeling beside her window.

“I just came from your place,” he told her, breathless. “I had to see you.”

“I just came from yours, and I have the dog hairs to prove it.” Sophie smiled just a little, showing him the white Aslan fur on her skirt and sleeves.

“Sophie, I've been thinking about our picnic. About you, and me, us…”

“I've been thinking about you too—our kiss, as well as the kiss you shared with Jade Thomas in front of the whole world.” She narrowed her eyes at him, boring a hole through his heart.

“I am so sorry. That was stupid…” A car was coming up behind Jon's Jeep on the bridge, but he didn't seem to care. “I should have called you….”