Take Me Home for Christmas

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.”