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.”

“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....”