Take Me Home for Christmas

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

When Alexa nodded, Sophia slid an arm around her. She wished she could’ve kept her from learning the ugly truth, but there’d been no way to preserve her innocence, not with the whole town talking about how Skip had used and tricked and cheated everyone. It was in the papers. It was on the news. It was on the internet, where strangers with various screen names like “chubbydate” and “village-itch” had posted nasty comments about how “vain” and “arrogant” she and Skip were to think they could “get away with it.” “The wife has to be involved,” some claimed. “It takes money to keep a woman as beautiful as that. He probably figured he’d lose her if he didn’t give her the world.”

Their lives had been torn apart in the most public manner possible, the wreckage strewn for all to see. Some kids, or maybe adults, had even thrown eggs at their house two nights ago.

“We could move,” she whispered in Alexa’s ear. The idea of a fresh start gave Sophia hope, but this suggestion just elicited more tears from her daughter.

“No, Mom. Please!” she begged. “I—I don’t want to go. I can’t leave my friends, and Grandma and Grandpa, and Uncle Colby and my cousins.”

Sophia could understand why. Whiskey Creek was all Alexa had ever known. It was all Sophia had known, too. But that made it harder to face the many people Skip had wronged, especially when the presence of Agent Freeman seemed to signify that she might be as guilty as Skip. The longer he remained in town, asking his insidious questions, the more convinced everyone became that she’d been living the high life at their expense. Someone online had even accused her of having a “bundle” tucked away.

She wished she did have some money in a safe place. Then she really could move, providing she could persuade Alexa. As it was, Sophia wasn’t sure how she’d be able to scrape together the funds that relocating would require. She could sell her household furnishings and her wardrobe. They’d been expensive to begin with, but used items of that kind didn’t retain their value. In any case, as soon as she sold her belongings, there’d be people lining up to get the money.

“Okay,” she murmured, reassuring Alexa with a quick squeeze. “I just... I thought I’d make the offer.”

“So we’ll stay?” Alexa confirmed. “You promise?”

“We’ll stay.” At least as long as she could hang on to the house. The cars would go first. She had no way of making the payments. She’d learned this past week that every single one had a loan against it. So did the yacht. Sophia had tried to track down her wedding ring, but there was no record of where Skip might’ve taken it, and it was nowhere to be found in the house or the cars.

Alexa smiled her gratitude and Sophia managed to smile in return, but when she glanced around, she realized that more people were watching her than the preacher. Would the funeral never end?

Fortunately, Reverend Flores seemed to sense the unrest. He finally finished the service. Then the organ music swelled, and Sophia stood, eager to get out of the church and away from the expensive floral sprays his parents had insisted on ordering—since no one else was likely to send flowers. There was the graveside service still to go, but even fewer people would join her at the cemetery, and her time there would be limited to a short prayer. Soon she’d be able to go home, where she could find refuge from the prying eyes....

“I’m so sorry, Sophia. I’m sure that what you’re going through is just...awful.” Gail DeMarco-O’Neal approached her first, with her movie-star husband, and gave Sophia a tight hug. It was a testament to how glum everyone was feeling that they weren’t making a big deal of Simon’s being in attendance. But, of course, they’d seen him around town on a number of occasions.

“Thank you.” She swallowed hard, hoping to stave off the tears that burned behind her eyes now that someone had shown her some kindness. “It’s nice of you to come. Truly.” In recent years, she’d tried to join Gail’s circle of friends, had loved having coffee with them. She would’ve kept going if not for Ted. Although she longed for his forgiveness, he’d made it clear that he couldn’t or wouldn’t forget the past.

“Is there anything we can do to make things easier?” Gail murmured.

Sophia had a feeling she’d need a good attorney and she had no idea how she’d pay for one. Even filing bankruptcy, which was inevitable, cost a couple thousand dollars. But that was none of Gail’s concern. Although Gail and Simon were rich, Sophia had no right to ask for a loan or anything else. She and Gail had connected briefly one night before Gail got married. It wasn’t as if they’d been friends for life. They hadn’t been friends at all—until then. “No, but thank you.”

“You’ll call if something comes up?” Gail prompted.

What else could go wrong? She’d already lost everything. “Of course,” she lied.

“Good. I’m afraid we can’t stay for the graveside service. Simon has commitments in L.A. And we left the children at home. But I wanted to see you in person, if only for a few minutes.”

“I appreciate it. I really do. I know you don’t like to leave your babies.”

“Ty is hardly a baby. He’s almost eight! But he had school and the other two are more of a handful— definitely hard to manage on quick trips. Anyway, you’re worth it.” Gail handed her a sympathy card before moving on so that Simon and Levi, Callie’s husband, could offer their condolences. Eve Harmon was with them, too, which was nice of her, given that Sophia was fairly certain her sympathies leaned more toward Ted than her.

They each spoke to her, but it was Callie who turned back. “I’m here for you, you know. I don’t have the millions you need but...if you’d ever like to talk, you’ve got my number, right?”

“I do. Thanks so much.” After accepting another hug, Sophia held her head high and let them go. Since they’d been the friendliest people at the funeral, she wanted to cling to them, to beg them to save her from the despair that threatened to consume her. Maybe she would have, if she felt she deserved their help, but she knew they had almost as many complaints against her as Ted did.

Although Agent Freeman didn’t speak to her, he stood close enough to make her aware of him. When she’d been in Brazil and heard his deep, resonant voice over the phone, she’d assumed he would be young and maybe even attractive—not that it mattered—but that didn’t turn out to be the case. Close to fifty, he had gray hair and sharp features, which contributed to a rather severe look. And his attitude reminded her of Javier, the police inspector from Les Miserables.

But that might just be her fear talking. Arms folded and lips pursed, he eyed the procession with obvious skepticism. The way he glared at the casket left little doubt as to how he felt about Skip. He’d spent two years pursuing the evidence he needed to punish a criminal, only to be denied the pleasure of seeing justice done. She figured that was why he wanted to believe she had some culpability in the fraud. Then he’d be able to prosecute at least one of the “bad guys.”

In addition to Gail, Simon, Callie, Levi, Eve, Gail’s brother, Joe, and the FBI, some of Skip’s former schoolteachers had come to pay their respects. Apparently, he hadn’t hit them up to invest. Or they hadn’t had the money. Or maybe they just remembered him from a far more innocent time. His assistant, Kelly Petruzzi, had driven over from San Francisco, along with a handful of coworkers. Besides those with a connection to the business, there was the gardener who’d cared for their yard the past five years, Marta, who came in once a month to do the deep housecleaning (Skip prized his privacy too much to have anyone come more often), and the man who washed their cars. Sophia thought it was a sad state of affairs that a large proportion of the people in attendance were employees probably hoping to save their jobs by showing some support.

The rest of the funeral party comprised Skip’s immediate and extended family, and they seemed eager to pretend she wasn’t there. They looked past her, focused strictly on Alexa as if Sophia wasn’t standing by her daughter’s side. Or they spoke quietly among themselves, trying to console Dale and Sharon, acting as though Sophia wasn’t entitled to their sympathy.

“I’m not willing to believe Skip did what they say. He wasn’t the type.”

This came from the cousin who’d pulled out a chair for her once, spurring Skip to hit her so hard she’d had to have emergency dental surgery.

“The FBI’s got to be wrong,” an uncle agreed. “They’re after his money or...something. We got a damn liberal for president. Maybe it’s a new way of stealing from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Then why did he go on the run?” his aunt asked.

“Because he knew they were setting him up,” his brother said. “He knew they were after him.”

“But if he was innocent, why wouldn’t he have come to us for help?” This was the aunt again. “Or hired a good attorney? Instead, he put $100,000 in a waterproof pack and tried to swim to Brazil.”

Finally, someone less blinded by love and loyalty.