by Brenda Novak
When headlights crested the hill behind her, Sophia ducked into the weeds at the side of the road, so whoever was driving wouldn’t see her. It was cold out—windy and dark, too—but she needed to get off by herself so she could think. And since she hadn’t been able to buy a car earlier, she had no choice except to walk.
Ted’s mother passed her once. Ted passed her twice. She recognized the Lexus. He’d tried phoning her several times, too.
When his calls and texts came in, she’d stare down at her cell phone, think about what they’d shared in his living room tonight and wish her life was less complicated. But she wasn’t ready to talk to him. His last text said he was worried about her, so she texted him back that she was fine. Then she shoved the phone in her pocket and kept trudging toward town.
When she spotted the Gas-N-Go, with its Christmas lights and plastic sleigh on the roof, complete with waving Santa, she thought of the liquor store only a block away, but she didn’t turn in that direction. She circled wide to avoid even getting close and trudged up the hill to her old house.
It’d taken over an hour to walk this far, but the solitude helped her focus. She had to come to grips with all the sudden reversals in her life. During the past few weeks, she’d felt like a phoenix, rising out of the ashes. She’d begun to feel stronger, to feel some pride in her accomplishments and some hope for the future, which was why she was so afraid of what she’d done tonight. Getting involved with Ted might just destroy her again.
Once she reached the top, she kicked a pebble as she walked. Even from a distance, the house looked empty, soulless. She’d never particularly appreciated Skip’s taste in architecture or furnishings. He’d insisted on overdoing everything, making it too big or lavish or ornate. She preferred design that was classic, understated. But seeing the state of the house made her sad all the same. Since she’d moved out, the yard had become overrun by weeds, several more windows had been broken and graffiti covered the porch.
“Look what you caused,” she muttered to Skip. She was still angry with him, didn’t know how long it would take to get over that. Maybe she never would. He’d stolen so much from her—fourteen years of her life, her sense of security, her self-esteem, even her front tooth.
But he was gone now. Their daughter was hers alone. And the future could be anything she had the courage to create.
So what did she want it to be? What risks was she willing to take?
Was Ted one of them?
She wanted him to be. Just looking at him made her happy. She couldn’t imagine loving any man more than she loved him. But that meant putting her heart on the line and risking her daughter’s heart, too. It also meant facing down the people of Whiskey Creek and his mother, easily the sternest school administrator she’d ever encountered. Could she do all of that while she was trying so hard just to survive?
Wouldn’t she be crazy to make the attempt?
Restless, she wandered around the property. She didn’t want to go inside. The utilities had been turned off, so she wouldn’t be able to see anything, and she didn’t know what she might find. The bank hadn’t taken it back yet. That process took several months, leaving the house vulnerable while it sat empty. Some homeless person might’ve moved in. At least if she stayed outside, she could run if she needed to.
She meandered down the drive, kicking that pebble again, and opened the mailbox as she had so many times over the years. She hadn’t really expected to find anything inside, but there was a stack of mail. The dates indicated that these letters had arrived after Skip’s business had been “frozen” by the government and before she’d moved to Ted’s. When they packed up, she hadn’t even thought to check the box. All she got were bills anyway and she didn’t have the money to pay them.
Sure enough. These were bills, too. And turn-off notices. There was a letter from the IRS that looked ominous. No telling what Skip had done with his income taxes. She didn’t dare open it. Making a mental note to bring it to her bankruptcy attorney, she continued to sort through the envelopes. She was about to stuff all of it in her purse when she came across a letter that seemed different. According to the return address, it came from S. Hoover Fine Jewelry in Sacramento.
“What’s this?”
She opened it and as she read, she felt her jaw sag.
Dear Mr. DeBussi,
Enclosed, please find the appraisal of your ring. The diamond is nearly flawless, one of the most perfect I’ve ever examined, especially for a stone its size.
As you requested, I have been in touch with several of my contacts and have found someone who is interested in purchasing it. They are coming in with an offer $30,000 below appraisal, but you mentioned you were in a hurry and they have cash.
Please let me know if you would like to pick up the ring or proceed with the sale.
Sincerely,
Sam Hoover
Numb with shock, Sophia stumbled back to the porch and sank down on the step. Her wedding ring. Skip hadn’t absconded with the money. She had no doubt he would have, given the opportunity, but this letter suggested he hadn’t been able to liquidate it fast enough.
Had Sam Hoover, the man who’d signed this letter, seen the news and recognized Skip’s name? Did he know about the probe? Had he contacted the FBI?
Or did he still have the ring—and the buyer?
31
Ted was relieved when he found Sophia. She looked like a lost little girl sitting on the front steps of her old home. The jagged edges of the broken windows winked in the moonlight, the yard was filled with weeds and frost-covered grass, and the word Bitch was spray-painted behind her. The picture she made spoke volumes about the destruction Skip had wrought.
It was tragic—but as far as Ted was concerned, Skip had done him a favor. If things had gone any differently, if Skip and Sophia had merely divorced, maybe he and Sophia wouldn’t have discovered each other again. Sophia’s desperate circumstances were what had brought her back into his life, stripped away her pretenses and erased his resentment. Now he liked her even more than when they’d dated in the past. There was a humility born of struggle about her. The excitement she showed over her improved typing speed, for instance, made him smile every time he thought of it—especially when he remembered how badly she’d bombed on her first test. She’d used her improvement on a keyboard to prove her value to his mother, which showed that she was taking real pride in it. He was proud of her for trying and for planning to continue her progress.
Simply put, he loved her. Probably too much. He was willing to dive back into the relationship despite what lay ahead. He just hoped he wasn’t making his move too soon. Things were happening fast, but he didn’t know how to slow them down. It didn’t feel as if they were starting over; it felt as if they were picking up where they’d left off.
As he drove down the street, he saw her drop something in her purse. Then she got up and walked out to the car, as though she’d been waiting for him to pick her up.
“What was that?” he asked.
“What was what?” she replied.
“That paper you stuck in your purse. A notice posted by the bank?”
“No, just some mail that was left in the box. More bills, of course.”
“Don’t tell me you walked all the way over here to get the mail.”
“No, I needed time to myself, needed to meditate on some things.”
He slung his arm over the steering wheel and bent lower, so that it was easier to see her. “Before you meditate too much, I’m sorry about what happened at the house.”
“It was your mother, not you.”
“Still, I feel like I set you up.”
“You did sort of set me up,” she agreed, but she was smiling when she said it. He knew she was teasing.
“But I didn’t mean to! That’s the part you have to remember. Anyway, she’s going to apologize.”
“What’d you threaten her with?”
“Just the fact that I’ll never speak to her again if she doesn’t.”
<
br /> “You pulled out the big guns, huh?”
He shrugged. “I was willing to use whatever I had to. I wasn’t going to lose that fight. Shall we drive over to her place now—drag her out of bed? Would that be sufficient revenge?”
“No way,” she said. “We’re not even going over there during the day. She doesn’t need to apologize. That would be as agonizing for me as it would be for her.”
“Then what else can she do to get back in your good graces? Because I’m insisting she do something.”
“We can forget it ever happened.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“She’ll be grateful for that option. By the way, it was nice of you to text and let me know you’re okay. Most people who are really upset don’t bother to do that.”
“I didn’t want to be rude.”
There was more of that humility. He chuckled at her response. Even when she had the right to be angry, she was trying to be nice.
“What?” She’d been sincere in her response, hadn’t expected him to laugh.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just glad to find you here and not at the bar.”
“I considered going to the liquor store.”
“What made you decide not to do it?”
“I don’t ever want to feel the way I felt about myself on Thanksgiving. Never again.”
That strengthened his confidence in her ability to avoid alcohol in the future. “Good answer. I’m sure Madge and your AA group would be proud. I know I am. But I’m also tired. And I’m dying to curl up in bed with you. Please tell me you’re ready to come home.”
“My bed or yours?”
“I’m not picky. You choose.”
“Okay. Count me in.”
After she got her seat belt buckled, he reached over to examine her hands. She’d been digging at her cuticles again.
“Are you ever going to stop this?” he asked.
She held them out as if she hadn’t even looked at them in a while. “I didn’t drink tonight. How much more do you want?”
“I plan to tell you as soon as we get back.” The second he slipped his fingers through hers, the knot of tension in his stomach eased. He could buy some more Band-Aids to protect her cuticles; she was going to be okay.
* * *
This time Sophia was different when they made love. Ted couldn’t explain exactly what was missing, but she seemed a bit...disengaged. Or maybe she was just tired. It had been a long night.
“You’re not still upset about my mother, are you?” he asked in the quiet aftermath.
“What?”
He pressed his lips to her neck. “That run-in with my mother. You’re not letting it bother you....”
“I’m embarrassed that she walked in on us, but I’m not dwelling on it. I knew she didn’t like me.”
He kissed her neck. “Do you have to be so frank?”
She laughed. “The truth is the truth.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not the type to hold a grudge.”
She rolled over to face him. “That’s your department. And you can hold one for a really long time.”
She was referring to what he’d felt about her before she’d started to work for him.
“What did you want me to do, carry you off in the middle of the night? You were another man’s wife.” He had to admit it had been hard to forgive her for marrying Skip. He’d wanted her every day for so many years.
“That would’ve been nice,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “We could’ve run away together. Except...you’d never want to leave Whiskey Creek.”
He was drifting off to sleep, so he didn’t answer until she prodded him.
“Am I right?”
“About what?”
“Would you ever be willing to leave this town?”
“It’s home. And I just got my house the way I like it. So...I wouldn’t be thrilled about leaving. I want you to stay here with me.”
She didn’t respond. She was probably falling asleep, too, so he was content to leave that discussion for another night. It would take her quite a while to save the money she needed, he told himself, so he had nothing to worry about.
* * *
Sophia borrowed Ted’s car under the guise of going Christmas shopping while he finished his book. She promised she’d only be gone for the morning and would work late to make up for it, but he didn’t seem to care one way or the other. He said she’d already worked plenty of extra hours, that it was Christmastime and she could take the whole day if she wanted.
She was grateful for his generosity, because if she’d had to wait until quitting time to drive clear over to Sacramento, S. Hoover Fine Jewelry would likely be closed. And if she waited until tomorrow, Alexa would be home.
Just in case Mr. Hoover still had possession of her ring and could conceivably give it back—or finish the sale and provide her with the money—she took Skip’s death certificate, as well as a copy of his will and her ID. Then she dressed up in a Versace dress with matching coat, Jimmy Choo pumps and a Gucci handbag. She wasn’t the one who’d dropped off the ring, so she needed to look like a woman who might own such an expensive piece of jewelry. No doubt Mr. Hoover had to be extra careful about handing over something so valuable.
She put a picture of herself wearing the ring, taken the night Skip had given it to her, in her purse for good measure. Then she walked through the side yard instead of going through the house so Ted wouldn’t see her and wonder why she’d gotten dressed up for a visit to the mall.
Her nerves were getting the best of her an hour and a half later when she pulled into the parking lot at the jeweler’s. Two hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money. It would release her from the terrible panic she felt when she went over her finances. It would also enable her to get a car, cover the security deposit plus first and last month’s rent on a nice condo somewhere. She and Alexa could move just about anywhere they wanted to go. She’d finally have the means to escape Whiskey Creek and would no longer have to face the people Skip had cheated, including Chief Stacy.
But it meant she’d have to leave Ted. That thought made her sick—and yet how could she miss this opportunity? Nothing like it would ever come again.
And what if Ted’s interest in her lasted only a few weeks, like it had with Eve? He could decide that she wasn’t what he wanted, after all, especially with his mother trying so hard to pry them apart. So she’d be foolish to depend on him. This was her chance to leave the past behind and start over.
The bell jingled over the door as she walked in. The store was small and carried only high-end jewelry. She could tell that from a glance at the cases as she approached the saleswoman who’d looked up when she walked in and now asked if she needed any help.
“I’m Sophia DeBussi,” she said. “I’m here to pick up my wedding ring.”
The woman threaded her fingers together, showing off her lacquered nails and a gorgeous tennis bracelet and opal ring. “Do you have the claim check?”
“I’m afraid not. My husband dropped it off for an appraisal at least four months ago—” she lowered her voice as if this was painful to get out “—and then he passed away.”
“I’m so sorry.” If she recognized Sophia’s name, she was too polite to let on.
Sophia managed a grateful smile. Anxiety tempted her to speak too fast, to push too hard, but she had to ease into this, act the part. “Thank you. Anyway, I didn’t know where he’d sent my ring, so I thought I’d lost that, too. Imagine my surprise and excitement when I came across this letter in a pile of discarded mail.” She showed the young woman what Mr. Hoover had sent her.
“Oh,” she murmured after reading it. “We’ve been wondering about this piece.” So she hadn’t recognized Sophia’s name, but the letter had reminded her. “Just a moment.”
Taking the letter with her, she went into the far corner where a man who seemed to be about sixty was working with a loupe. After she murmured i
n his ear, he lifted the loupe and looked over. Then he got out of his chair to come and speak with her.
“I’m Sam Hoover,” he said. “And you are...”
“Sophia DeBussi.”
“I’m sorry about your husband, Mrs. DeBussi. I remember hearing about what happened on the news. I’m sure it was tragic for you and your daughter, and it probably hasn’t gotten any easier since.”
“Truer words were never spoken.”
“To be honest, I thought I might be hearing from the FBI. But...they haven’t called. Maybe it’s because this is your wedding ring.”
Sophia was willing to bet they just hadn’t known where to find it. How would they if she didn’t?
“I’ll admit I have no knowledge of how a probe works,” he added.
“Neither do I, really,” she said. “Except they froze all my credit cards and bank accounts and took every other asset my husband and I owned. It’s been difficult to get by.”
“I bet.”
“Is my ring here?” she asked.
“Indeed.”
She let her breath seep out. “Then I’d like to claim it.”
“Of course. But...your husband wanted to sell it. I don’t suppose you have any interest in that.”
She cleared her throat. No doubt Mr. Hoover would receive a handsome commission for brokering the deal, which was probably why he hadn’t called the FBI. If he’d seen the news, it was odd that he’d sent a letter addressed to Skip. The one she’d received was dated two weeks after his death. But she didn’t mention that. Perhaps he’d been hoping to reach her—as, in fact, he had.
“Actually, I would be interested,” she said. “Like I told you, I’m in a very precarious situation.”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures. I understand. I’ll contact my buyer, let him know the deal’s back on.”
“Can you tell me how long that might take?”
“A day, two at the most, provided I can reach him during the holidays.”
“So I might hear from you before Friday—Christmas Day?”
“It’s possible.”