Take Me Home for Christmas

25

When Ted ran home to get something he’d forgotten for Thanksgiving dinner and found a box of cold cereal sitting on his dining room table next to a bowl and a spoon, he knew something was up. He hadn’t had cold cereal that morning—or any morning the previous week. And he certainly hadn’t eaten it by candlelight. Yet the candle that Sophia had bought for his romantic dinner with Eve several weeks ago was on the table, as if whoever had eaten that cereal had tried to add a little celebration to it.

He walked over and turned the box toward him. Golden Crisp—recently opened.

The candle smelled as if it had just been extinguished and the wax was still warm. He doubted a burglar would break in to eat Sophia’s favorite cereal over candlelight on Thanksgiving afternoon, which meant she’d probably done it. But why? Why wasn’t she at the DeBussis’?

He heard the murmur of a female voice coming from the direction of the kitchen. Sophia was in the house, all right. She was talking to someone. Alexa? Their plans must’ve fallen through. Or maybe, like him, they’d forgotten something—some ingredient they knew he wouldn’t mind their taking from his pantry—and somehow come back for it. He’d returned for a bottle of wine—a Napa Valley pinot grigio that was his mother’s favorite, which he brought to Thanksgiving every year. He couldn’t believe he’d driven off without it this morning, but he’d been distracted by the repossession of Sophia’s car and trying to make sure he wouldn’t be late when he picked up Eve. Then there was his dilemma over the pumpkin dessert Sophia had given him. He knew his mother wouldn’t even try it, not if she guessed—and she would—that Sophia had baked it, so he couldn’t take it to dinner. He couldn’t leave it in the house where she might find it, either, or share it with Eve’s family. So he’d eaten what he could in his car, dumped the rest in the garbage behind the liquor store and put the pan in his trunk before he reached his girlfriend’s.

At least that dessert had been good—one of the best he’d ever tried. As far as he was concerned, his mother had lost out because of her attitude. Already, he regretted disposing of what he couldn’t eat and wished he’d figured out a way to save it for later.

“Hello?” he called.

There was no answer, but as he headed down the stairs, he recognized Sophia’s voice. She wasn’t talking to Alexa. And she wasn’t in the kitchen. She was sitting on the steps leading down to his wine cellar, talking on her cell phone. If Alexa was around, she didn’t seem to be in his house.

He was pretty sure Sophia hadn’t heard him call out and didn’t know he was there. He was about to make her aware of his presence, to ask where Alexa was and why they both weren’t at Thanksgiving dinner, when he heard the tears in her voice. She was trying to talk to her mother, but whatever was being said on the other end of the line was upsetting her. She kept saying, “Mom, listen to me. The nurses checked your bed.” And then, “It’s Sophia. Your daughter, remember? Sophia?”

Finally, she grew so frustrated she hung up and sat staring at the bottle of wine she had clasped in her other hand. “Hey, what’s going on?”

She was so startled when he spoke that she nearly dropped the wine as she twisted around to face him. Then she scrambled to her feet. “Ted! I’m sorry! I—I didn’t expect you back until late tonight.”

Her face went so red he could tell she was mortified to be caught crying on the steps of his wine cellar. “It’s no problem. But why aren’t you at your in-laws’?”

“Oh...I—I decided not to go at the last minute.”

Was that true? Or had she not been invited? Eve had once told him how badly the DeBussis treated her. He hadn’t thought too much about that earlier—relationships within a family could go back and forth, and some did, quite often—but Eve’s words stood out in his mind now. “And Alexa?”

“Sharon picked her up an hour ago.”

“So you’re here alone.”

“Yeah.” She smiled as if she didn’t have tears in her eyes. “It’s a nice break. I—I’m grateful for the solitude. As a mother, you never get much time to yourself.”

She was trying too hard to sell it. He played along, but Thanksgiving generally wasn’t a time people wanted to be alone. “It’s always nice to have some peace and quiet,” he said.

“Exactly.” She lifted the wine bottle. “I was going to pay you for this. I—I wasn’t just going to take it. I hope you know that.”

He trusted her. Since he’d started having her pay for his groceries with a credit card, he often found the receipts with two or three bucks and some change on his kitchen counter for whatever little thing she’d picked up for herself or Alexa. “Either way, it’s fine. You’re welcome to whatever food I have. I’ve told you that before.”

“I appreciate it, but I don’t want to take advantage. And...just so you know, I don’t usually come into your house when you’re gone. I merely wanted—” she lifted the wine again “—to get this.”

He didn’t mention the Golden Crisp on his dining room table. “It’s no problem, like I said.”

“Thanks.” With a smile that was obviously intended to mask what she was really feeling, she hurried down the stairs to return the wine bottle to the rack.

“I thought you wanted that,” he said when she walked back up.

“Oh, no. Not really. I was just...thinking about it. But I’ve changed my mind.”

“Because I came home?”

“No, because I’d rather save my money.”

“Consider it a Thanksgiving gift—a trade for that great dessert you gave me.”

“You liked it?”

“You bet.”

“Good. I’m putting together a book of your favorite recipes for your next housekeeper. I’ll add that one.”

The idea of her going away left him conflicted. No doubt it would be better for both of them not to spend so much time in the same house. It was a constant battle to keep his thoughts where they needed to be. Not that long ago, he’d wanted her gone, even if it meant foisting her off on someone else. But he didn’t feel that way these days. His life was so much more comfortable now that she’d started taking care of the house and the cooking. Reluctant though he was to admit it, he’d miss her on a personal level, too. “That’d be great.”

There was a slight pause. “Did your mother like it?”

He hated the hope in that question, the desire to please, because she was bound to be disappointed. His mother would never like anything she made. “She hasn’t tried it,” he said. “I got into it early. We haven’t eaten dinner yet.”

She rubbed her palms on her jeans. “So you’re back because...”

He gestured at the racks. He could see row upon row of wine bottles above her head. She stood below him, and he was already quite a bit taller than she was. “I forgot the wine my mother was expecting.”

“Oh. Which one? I’ll grab it for you.”

He told her which pinot grigio he wanted and she brought it to him. He wished he could invite her to dinner. He felt bad taking the wine and abandoning her here, alone, on a major holiday. She didn’t even have her daughter—or a car so she could visit someone. Then there was that heartbreaking conversation with her mother....

“What will you do?” he asked.

“Maybe I’ll take a walk or get in the hot tub.”

That would fill only so many hours. He knew he’d be thinking about her the whole time he was having dinner. “Okay. I hope you...have a nice day.”

“You, too.” She gave him an encouraging wave, one that said he should go and not worry about her. But when he returned that night around eight, he guessed she’d never made it out of the wine cellar. He found her passed out on the stone floor, two empty bottles beside her.

Someone was shaking her, but Sophia didn’t want to embrace consciousness. Then she’d have to face what she’d done—and she knew it wasn’t good.

Shit...

If only she’d made the AA meeting. She’d used the laptop in Ted’s office to find the closest location, but there wasn’t a meeting within fifteen miles of Whiskey Creek. Without a sponsor, she didn’t even have anyone she could call.

She’d thought of joining AA since moving to Ted’s, but she’d talked herself out of it. She was afraid he’d discover where she was going with such regularity; she’d also been reluctant to leave Alexa home alone at night. And, if she was honest, she’d admit that she’d started to believe she could handle the temptation on her own.

She’d obviously been wrong.

Squinting into the light shed by the single bulb dangling overhead, she peered around her, saw the two empty bottles and groaned. “I screwed up, didn’t I?” she said, her voice deadpan.

“You’ve had a hard day. It wasn’t wise to leave you by yourself. I feel bad about that.”

Ted. Great. Just who she wanted to find her. She saw him looming above her and tried to push away, to get up. She didn’t want to humiliate herself, especially in front of him. But who was she kidding? It was too late to pretend she wasn’t drunk. A sober person didn’t fall asleep on the floor of a wine cellar.

“I tried,” she told him. “I really tried. I hope you believe me. But...the AA meeting was too far away. I couldn’t walk there.”

“AA meeting?” He frowned as if he was...what? Angry? Disappointed? Maybe even disgusted?

She couldn’t be sure but assumed the worst. She deserved the worst for succumbing.

“Are you an alcoholic, Sophia?”

She couldn’t trust her own mouth at the moment. She needed to get away from him as soon as possible.

She lunged for the stairs but staggered and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t caught her.

“Whoa, let me help. You’re moving a bit too fast,” he said, but he did more than steady her. He picked her up in his arms and carried her out of the wine cellar.

“Please don’t tell Alexa,” she mumbled as he put her on the couch. “I don’t want her to know that I...that I messed up. She’s relying on me. And now I’ve let her down.”

He checked his watch, looking concerned. “When will she be home?”

“Tomorrow.”

“That makes it easier.” He let his breath go in a whistle. “You’ll be sober by then.”

“I can’t believe I did this. I’m so mad at myself.” She tried to stand so she could go out to the guesthouse. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about what she might say or do, but he held her back.

“I’ll put on some coffee. Stay right there.”

“I haven’t had a drink in three months,” she told him. “Not one. I made it for ninety-four days. Why’d I blow it?”

“I think the answer to that is pretty clear.”

“It is?”

“You didn’t have any support.”

“But I made it this far.”

He knelt down beside her. “Listen, Sophia. You’ve suffered a setback. That doesn’t mean you’re going to give up the battle. Now that I know what you’re up against, I’ll make sure you have a way to get to the meetings. And see your mom.”

She shook her head. “I can’t see my mom.”

“Why not?”

“Like I told you, she doesn’t even remember me. Having her treat me like a stranger is one of my triggers. In rehab, they told me it’s the loss and disappointment that sets me off. But it’s Thanksgiving. What was I supposed to do—not check on my own mother?”

He smoothed her hair off her forehead as if she were a child. “You did the right thing.”

Now that he was close and she had the opportunity to really study him, she admired the laugh lines at the sides of his eyes. Those lines hadn’t been nearly as marked when they were younger, of course, but she liked them. They added character to his face. “Do you think I’m going to turn out like her?” she asked.

“I don’t see any reason why you would.”

“Skip told me I would. He said that someday I’d be in a padded cell.”

Ted’s expression hardened. “Nice of him to ease your fears like that.”

She smiled at his sarcasm. It felt like they were friends, that he was her only friend.

“What else did he tell you?” he asked.

“The truth.”

“And that is...”

“That I’m a no-good, lazy drunk.”

He grimaced. “Don’t say that! You made it three months, didn’t you? You won’t break down again.”

“I hope not.”

Ted took her hand and toyed with her fingers. “Did he hit you, Sophia?”

Part of her knew this was information she didn’t want him to have, but she could no longer remember why. Skip was gone. She could tell the world; there was nothing he could do about it. And after finding her like this...what more did she have to hide from Ted? “Doesn’t matter. He can’t hurt me now.”

“So he did.”

“All the time.” She showed him her front tooth. “See this? It’s not real. He knocked my real one out. I didn’t even know he was mad! We got home, and he accused me of coming on to his cousin. I didn’t like the guy, and I tried telling Skip that. But it didn’t matter because his cousin had pulled out a chair for me, and that somehow signified...something. So, out of nowhere, bam!”

“He punched you.”

“Right in the mouth. It felt like he’d used a brick or...or a pipe, something more than his fist. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground with blood pouring from my mouth. He had to lock Alexa out of our bedroom so she wouldn’t see. But we finally told her I fell and hit my mouth and let her in so she could help us find the tooth. It had flown clear across the room.” She laughed because, when she was drinking, she could. Somehow it all seemed fantastical and not quite real, as if she’d been living in a dream world. “I looked so terrible with that big gap. Skip was horrified. Who’d think he was lucky to have me if I looked like an old hag?”

When Ted didn’t laugh with her, she felt her smile wilt.

“That time you came to coffee with a bruise on your cheek—”

“Oh, that’s when he broke my cheekbone.” She indicated her left eye. “But it was almost healed. I covered it with makeup, didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“It was faint, but we noticed.”

“Anyway, that was nothing. It hurt, but not as much as the tooth.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Why didn’t you get help?”

“I tried to once. But—” she shook her head “—that was a mistake. By the time he was finished with me, I couldn’t come out of the house for three weeks.”

He stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets and began to pace. “I still don’t understand why you didn’t get away from him.”

“It was complicated.”

“How?”

“Because I felt like I deserved it.”

“For marrying him in the first place?”

“For everything I’d ever done wrong.” She struggled to articulate because she knew she was slurring her words. “Causing Scott Harris to get into that—” she winced “—that crash when we were in high school. Acting so spoiled and selfish all the time. Disappointing you by...by getting with Skip.”

“So you were letting him punish you.”

“Not only that, I couldn’t leave. I was afraid that if he ever got...got hold of me, I wouldn’t survive it. He said that if I told anyone or tried to leave him, I could kiss Alexa goodbye.” Just the thought of losing Alexa made her so sad, tears trickled down her cheeks. “So even if I did get away, I’d lose my daughter.”

When Ted swore under his breath, she rested an arm over her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at him. She couldn’t tell if he was angry with her for not getting away, or for turning to alcohol. Or if he was angry with Skip. “At least he was gone most of the time.”

She’d already started to drift off when Ted spoke. “I brought you some turkey and other leftovers from dinner. Any chance I can talk you into eating?”

“Not right now, but thanks. I had cereal.” She lifted her arm to peer up at him. “Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”

He hesitated.

“Did something go wrong?” she asked.

“No, it was fine.”

“And Eve? Did she like it?”

“I think so.”

“She’s a nice person. She knew about my drinking when you asked her that night in the Jacuzzi, but she didn’t tell you. I’ll always be grateful to her for that. She’s someone special. You’re lucky to have her.”

Pivoting, he came back toward her. “Since she’s so much better than you, you mean?”

Squinting, she struggled to bring him into focus. “Well, she does have her life in order while mine’s a complete mess, so...” She giggled, which wasn’t appropriate. On some level she knew that, so she forced herself to stop and when he didn’t respond, she rolled over onto her side. “Are you sorry you hired me?”

“No,” he said. “I’m not sorry.”

“Someone else would’ve been less hassle—and wouldn’t have passed out in your wine cellar.”

“Someone else wouldn’t have been facing your challenges. I know you’re doing the best you can, that you’re trying.”

“I’ll try again tomorrow,” she promised, and this somehow evoked a smile from him.

“I’m sure you will.”

“Did your mom like the pumpkin dessert?”

He cleared his throat. “You asked me that.”

She blinked at him, trying to remember his answer. “Did you tell me?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “In case I didn’t, she loved it. Ate two pieces.”

That made her happy. It was the first thing today that had. “I’m glad,” she said. “That’s nice. I was thinking I’d take a piece to my mom, but...you know what happened to the car.”

“I know.”

“Principal Dixon really ate two pieces?”

“Go to sleep,” he told her and, she couldn’t be sure—maybe she just imagined it—but she thought he bent and kissed her forehead.