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.