Love Finds You at Home for Christmas

by Annalisa Daughety

  Sophie didn’t know how long she stood there with tears sliding down her cheeks before she said, “Dr. Frank.”

  “Dr. Sophie,” he whispered.

  She was afraid for a moment that he was confused—that he had lost her just that quickly.

  But then he continued. “Now—this is—some good medicine.” He smiled at her.

  Sophie laughed and choked a little through her tears.

  “How you been?” he asked in that frail, raspy voice.

  “Okay. Good.” She nodded.

  He looked interested.

  “I moved home recently to be with my family. I’ve started a business…a café. It’s going pretty well.”

  “It’s good you’re home…,” he said. “But that sounds like hard work.”

  It sounded like it was hard work for him to talk. “You’re right. It is. Thanks for giving me the day off.” She smiled.

  He smiled back. “Thanks—for coming.” As Frank said this, he dozed back off to sleep.

  The nurse came in with a chair for Sophie, so she sank back into it and kept holding onto Frank’s hand.

  * * * * *

  “Miss…” Someone was gently shaking her awake.

  Dusk had fallen, Sophie noted, as her eyes opened to slowly focus on the hospice nurse.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to get him ready for the night.”

  Sophie gently pried her hand away from Frank’s as he was waking up. She told him she’d be back when they were finished and slipped out of the room. As Sophie headed through the foyer, thinking of what to do next, she ran right into Stephen. He had come in so quietly that she hadn’t heard the front door open. She jumped back, shocked, a little horrified, a little afraid, when she realized it was him.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” She felt like she might crumble to pieces with the exhaustion of the day, and now this encounter.

  “It’s okay, Sophia. I didn’t know you were here. Thank you for coming.” Stephen’s voice was soft.

  “I was just, uh, going to my car. I came straight here when I got into town. I need to get a hotel room.”

  “You don’t have to do that. You can stay here.” Stephen sounded sincere.

  “No,” Sophie said emphatically, then backed up a little, reminding herself this wasn’t about them. “I couldn’t do that. But I don’t really know what to do. I didn’t know what I would find when I came. I don’t want to be in the way, but I don’t want to leave him either—if he wants me to stay.” She was thinking aloud.

  “There’s no one else he wants here. The nurse leaves at six and comes back in the morning, early. I’ve been sleeping on the couch. You can have the guest room or my room—you can have any room if you want to stay here.”

  “Well, I guess,” Sophie conceded. What if Frank cried out…or passed away in the middle of the night? She wanted to be there. “I’ll go get my stuff.”

  Stephen followed her to her car and reached benignly for her bag. She fought an impulse to argue with him about it. Had they met on any other terms, it would have been totally unacceptable for her to stay there and a violation for him to carry her bag. But they would not be meeting except for these terms, she reminded herself. And the magnitude of Frank’s situation superseded anything there was between her and Stephen. It was as if suddenly the other people they were and the lives they’d lived did not exist. They were reduced to simply the two human beings connected with Frank. And that connection—that mutual love—was all that could possibly matter in this moment. It was actually freeing.

  Following her up the stairs, Stephen set her bag down in the guest room, which she had chosen. He stood in the doorway as she looked around. It was just as she remembered. The antique cherry bed with a peach coverlet and light green accent pillows were the same, and so were the dressing table and mirror and the photo of Frank’s parents.

  When her eyes fell on Stephen, standing there in the doorway, he was not as she remembered. His shoulders, narrower than before, slumped, and he had dark circles under his green eyes, which were dull with grief. His hair was cut short, which looked so odd to her, and he had a funny bit of fuzz under his bottom lip—undoubtedly a type of fashion statement. It was starting to blend, however, with the rest of the beard he had not shaved in days. His eggshell-colored linen shirt was wrinkled and untucked from faded jeans. The only thing she recognized were his boots—clunky army boots she’d bought for him in Capitola by the Sea. The memory didn’t faze her.

  “Would you like some coffee?” Stephen asked her.

  “Yeah,” Sophie answered. “I’ll be down there in just a minute.”

  When she got to the kitchen, Stephen was pouring cups of coffee for the two of them. Sophie sat down at the table and rubbed her temples, trying to clear her head. She noticed that he put the right amount of cream and sugar in hers without asking. Then, handing her the coffee, Stephen sat down at the table and stared at his cup.

  They sipped their coffee and talked quietly for a few minutes about Frank. Stephen briefed her on the condition, how it had developed, and how the doctor was surprised he had lasted this long. “I think he was waiting for you,” Stephen said thoughtfully.

  Sophie shrugged. “It’s an honor that he wanted to see me. Thank you for calling.”

  Stephen seemed to come alive for a moment and looked into Sophie’s eyes. His gaze was so intense it almost frightened her; the atmosphere till now had been so subdued.

  “I am so sorry, Sophie.” He spoke the words deliberately.

  She was the first to look away. As Sophie stared into space, her thoughts went swimming in a deep river, but she was not drowning. She felt buoyed up—surrounded by peace. She closed her eyes, floating, and could see moonlight quivering on the water. She was out on that bluff with Jon, watching the water carry away the past and all of the pain with Stephen. It was like casting bread on the waters. As she let it all go, the river moved her into new life, new vistas, new courage. Even new feelings toward Jon. Refreshing little breezes blew, creating tiny waves that undulated over the surface of the water with no beginning, no end.

  It was all grace. Grace upon grace upon grace, Sophie thought; and then she whispered to Stephen, “I forgive you.”

  * * * * *

  When the hospice nurse came in to say she was leaving for the night, Stephen and Sophie walked together into the front room.

  “What’s this?” Frank asked them, searching their eyes. “You mean you two are both here at the same time? I must be really sick.” He attempted a smile.

  Stephen bent over one side of the bed and looked his dad in the eyes. “I apologized, and Sophie has forgiven me, Dad. There is peace between us.”

  Peace—his dying gift to them, and theirs to him.

  “Thank You, Lord,” Frank breathed as a tear slid down his cheek.

  Sophie came up close beside him then on the other side of the bed and took hold of his hand. She started to sing, and Stephen joined her.

  Amazing grace! How sweet the sound

  That saved a wretch like me!

  I once was lost, but now am found;

  Was blind, but now I see.

  Frank mouthed the words and sang softly, looking past Stephen and Sophie, as though to someplace—Someone—beyond them, and yet there with them.

  Through many dangers, toils, and snares,

  I have already come;

  ’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,

  And grace will lead me home.

  They were silent as the song ended, and Sophie held the moment in her heart.

  Then she bent over and kissed Frank’s face, lingering awhile with her warm cheek against his, and whispering, “Thank you for loving me. I will always love you.”

  She drew her face away, and their eyes locked for just a moment more. Then squeezing his hand, she said, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He nodded, blinking slowly.

  She smiled at Stephen and walked
up to her room. As she lay in bed that night, she could hear Stephen softly talking with his dad, perhaps reading, and then singing. There was faint guitar music—he was playing—and then silence. She fell into a light sleep.

  Late in the night, she heard a knock on her door and flew out of bed to open it. “He’s gone,” Stephen said, in tears.

  She hugged him for a moment then stepped away, leading them back down the stairs and into the great room. There was dim light, but she could see Frank’s body, motionless and gray, in the hospital bed.

  That body looks as cold and empty as the tomb on Easter morning, thought Sophie. And even though she felt sad and strange, her heart rejoiced for Frank. He wasn’t in that body anymore—he was free.

  * * * * *

  Sophie had stayed till after the funeral Monday afternoon. She was able to help Stephen with the details of receiving people and food and tending to the loose ends of the service. Thankfully, Frank had planned it well in advance. It was short, simple, and classy—very fitting for such a man’s life.

  As she pulled out of the driveway, she left Stephen standing on the porch looking after her. He seemed so alone that Sophie felt sorry for him. But she also felt tremendous peace and a sense of closure between them. She was glad she had been there and honored to have shared the experience with Frank—but now that he was gone, nothing in her wanted to stay with Stephen. Her life was somewhere else. With someone else.

  As she exited onto the highway toward River Bend, Sophie mentally began tossing out all other thoughts like one tosses old clothes out of a closet. The only thought she kept was of Jon, and their kiss. Sophie luxuriated in that thought, trying it on again and again, and speeding up her car toward home. She was finally and completely free to love him.

  Chapter Twenty

  .................................

  The Harbor House was empty when Sophie arrived that evening; it was a Monday. Spot greeted her at the door as she opened it, jumping up and down, his nub of a tail wagging wildly. She’d gotten a text from Tom, explaining that he’d brought Spot over in case she was too tired to come out and get him, and to call them. Shannon, God bless her, had come in and made the cheesecakes for tomorrow so that Sophie didn’t really have to do anything to get prepared.

  Checking her phone for the umpteenth time, Sophie saw that she had several texts and a couple voice messages, but as she ran through them quickly, she found nothing from Jon. Disappointing. Sophie picked up the mail from the table and, with Spot in tow, went to her room and spread herself across the bed to sort through it.

  After reading a postcard from her mother from the Ring of Kerry in Ireland, she whisked through several bills and some junk and decided to read the paper. Like everyone else in town, she subscribed to Harvey’s paper, The River Bend Record, which was delivered while she was gone. Sophie gasped when she saw the headline on the Community page: LOCAL WRITER JON ANTHONY SPEAKS AT BOOK CLUB MEETING.

  Underneath that caption was a picture of Jon surrounded by a group of women. The Nails group! They were in the parlor of Sophie’s café. Jon was sitting close beside Jade Thomas, who was holding a copy of Life Without Father to her bosom—her long nails curling around it like a buzzard’s talons—and kissing Jon on the cheek!

  Sophie groaned as she stared at it. She could hardly believe her eyes. Jon and the Nails? Jon and Jade? In her restaurant? On the front page of the newspaper? Sophie was dumbfounded. It was too much. No! She threw the paper across the room, scaring Spot to death. He hid himself under one of her throw pillows, peering out at her guardedly. She cozied up to him and apologized, petting his ears. Then she got off the bed and picked up the paper, smoothing it out, and studied the picture some more.

  Feeling emotionally exhausted and disgusted with the picture, the people of River Bend, and the drama that seemed to never end in her life, Sophie decided to call Tom. She could talk to him no matter what state she was in, and she knew he was waiting to hear she was home. She sank back into the pillows beside Spot at the head of her bed and hit Tom’s contact name on her phone.

  “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 s
ick 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.