8 Sandpiper Way
His wife’s face was flushed from the kitchen’s warmth and her hair was disheveled from running floury hands through it. Corrie had put on a few pound over the years—but then who hadn’t? To him, she was more beautiful at fifty-six than she’d ever been.
“Roy McAfee, why are you looking at me like that?” Corrie demanded.
“I was just thinking I’m married to a gorgeous woman.”
“Oh, honestly!” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you want to hear about Linnette?”
“Anything new with her?” He couldn’t imagine there would be. They’d talked a couple of days before Thanksgiving, as well as on Thanksgiving itself. Linnette had spent the day with Pete Somebody, a farmer she’d met. From the sound of it, he was a decent, hardworking young man. It was a bit soon for anything serious between them, but he trusted Linnette’s judgment and wanted her to be happy. He just wished she’d found that happiness a little closer to home.
“She’s been working with Hassie Knight.”
“The old woman who owns the pharmacy in Buffalo Valley?” he asked. It was hard to keep them straight, all the people Linnette mentioned in her phone calls. Generally, she spoke to Corrie and then his wife relayed the information to him.
“That’s the one.”
“Working on what?”
“Getting a medical clinic up and running,” Corrie said excitedly.
This was news, and Roy couldn’t believe she was just telling him now. He’d been home for a couple of hours. “Hey! That’s great.”
“Buffalo Valley is growing and they need a clinic. Hassie claims it’s divine providence that brought Linnette to their town.”
He nodded, pleased that Linnette would be using her education. She’d worked hard to become a physician assistant and it’d be a shame to see all that effort go to waste. Roy had said she’d eventually go back to medicine, and he’d called it right.
“She’s thrilled about this opportunity. You might give her a call later.”
“I might,” he agreed, although it was always Corrie who did the phoning.
Roy had never been comfortable expressing emotion or, for that matter, being on the receiving end. Nevertheless, he loved his wife and his children, all three of them. They made him proud. Even Mack…
There was a knock at the door, but before Corrie could open it, their son stepped into the house. A blast of cold air came in with him.
“Whatever you’re cooking smells great,” he said appreciatively, rubbing his bare hands.
Corrie cradled his face and kissed him loudly on the cheek.
Mack guffawed. “Good save, Dad.”
Roy lifted his hand in acknowledgment but didn’t get up. He’d injured his back years before and as a result had taken early retirement from his job with the Seattle police. His back still caused him pain, which he did his best to ignore. Some days he succeeded at that better than others. This was one of his less successful days.
Mack pulled out the ottoman and sat down near his father. “I stopped by the Cedar Cove fire station this afternoon.”
Roy straightened. This was what he’d been waiting to hear. He wanted to ask if Mack had been chosen for the position, but was patient enough to let him make his own announcement.
“Good grief, Mack,” Corrie cried. “Don’t keep us in suspense!”
“The captain said there’s a letter waiting for me in Seattle.”
“Oh.”
Corrie’s obvious disappointment echoed Roy’s. He’d hoped a job in Cedar Cove would bring him and Mack closer. They’d come a long way in the last two years but, as Roy was the first to admit, they still had a long way to go.
“Why the sad looks?” Mack asked. “My application’s been accepted! Effective December fifteenth, I’ll be working for the Cedar Cove Fire Department.”
Corrie covered her mouth with both hands and shrieked with delight.
“Congratulations, son,” Roy said. Leaning forward, he slapped Mack on the shoulder. Despite his more temperate response, he was no less elated than his wife.
Corrie’s eyes gleamed. “Of course you’ll stay with us until you find a place to rent.”
“Actually, no.”
“No?” Corrie frowned. “But…we’re your family. Where else would you live?”
“The thing is, I’ve found a place.”
“So soon?”
“Yes, and it works out great. Would you believe I’ll be living in Linnette’s old apartment? Will Jefferson’s subleting it, and I’m assuming his lease.”
“You?”
“He purchased the Harbor Street Art Gallery.”
That was old news. Big news when it happened, because it had looked as if the gallery was about to close its doors for good. No one wanted that. The entire community had breathed a collective sigh of relief when Will Jefferson decided to buy it.
“Yes, we know about Will taking over the gallery,” Corrie said. “He’s not leaving town, is he? After all this, it would be a shame if he turned over the management to someone else.”
“Nothing like that,” Mack explained. “Apparently the gallery has a small apartment that’s been used for storage during the past few years. Will couldn’t see any reason to pay rent when he already has a place he could live.”
“I didn’t know the gallery had an apartment.”
“Me, neither,” Roy said. “It’s got a second story, though, so it doesn’t really surprise me.”
“Up until now it’s been crammed full of junk. Will’s been working all weekend to get it cleared out. At last count he’d made three trips to the garbage dump. He’s having painters come in on Monday.”
“The place could probably use updating, don’t you think?” Corrie asked.
“I’ll help him whenever I can,” Mack said.
From habit Roy nearly spoiled everything by making some disparaging comment about Mack’s carpentry skills. Thankfully, he stopped himself in time. His son was a capable carpenter; not only that, he’d worked as a painter and part-time post-office employee. He’d done a dozen other jobs since he’d dropped out of school.
“Will said he’ll eventually buy his own place, but at this point, he’s content to fix up the apartment.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Roy murmured. “Makes sense to stay on the premises.”
“That’s the cop in you talking, Dad,” Mack said with a laugh.
Corrie laughed, too. “So when are you moving into Linnette’s old apartment?” she asked.
“As soon as I can make the arrangements. The lease is up in a few months and that’ll give me time to decide what I want to do—buy or continue renting.”
“Good idea, son.”
Mack met his eyes and they exchanged a smile. This was progress, real progress, for both of them.
The oven timer went off, and Corrie returned to the kitchen.
Roy reached for the paper but he didn’t see the words in front of him. Instead he pondered the state of his children’s lives. Gloria was doing well. Linnette was going to start a medical clinic in Buffalo Valley, North Dakota. And now Mack was taking on a responsible job with the Cedar Cove Fire Department.
Roy didn’t think life could get much sweeter than this.
Seven
“She’s going to be fine,” Cliff Harding said, standing behind Grace as she prepared their morning pot of coffee. He placed his big hands on her shoulders in a comforting gesture of love and concern.
Grace pressed her hands over his and wished she felt as confident as he seemed to be. Olivia, her best friend, her life friend, had cancer. The word struck terror in her heart. This wasn’t the first time a friend, someone she cared about, had been diagnosed with breast cancer. But this was Olivia, who was as close to Grace as a sister. They’d been best friends from the moment they’d met in first grade.
They’d seen each other through every life crisis—from Grace’s teenage pregnancy to her first husband’s suicide. From the death of Olivia’s son Jordan to her divorce. They’d been through so much together, nearly every loss a woman could experience. Olivia knew Grace better than anyone. And Grace knew Olivia.
But cancer…Grace wanted to scream, to howl, to weep. She felt helpless, impotent, with no idea what to say or how to support her friend. Her fears for Olivia overwhelmed her.
Cancer was so unfair. It didn’t make sense. This shouldn’t be happening to a woman as conscientious and positive and kindhearted as Olivia. She was the one who watched her diet religiously. She took her vitamins every morning without fail. She exercised and looked after herself emotionally and spiritually. What more could she possibly have done?
“You going to the hospital?” Cliff asked, although he already knew the answer.
“I told Jack I’d sit with him while…while they do the surgery.” She turned around and slid her arms around Cliff’s waist and hid her face in his chest. A shiver went through her.
“Hey, hey, relax,” Cliff whispered soothingly, stroking her hair. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
“I won’t be able to relax until we know for sure the cancer hasn’t metastasized.” So far, the tests were encouraging, but until the surgery was done, they wouldn’t know whether the cancer was localized and her lymph nodes were clear. Grace wanted reassurance and she wouldn’t rest until she heard the physician say the words.
Even when things were at their worst, Olivia had always seemed to be in control. From the time they were in grade school, Grace had admired her. Young as she was, Olivia had been so well put-together, so smart and organized. She wore crisp dresses with Mary Jane shoes and perfect pigtails. In high school she’d been elected a class officer every year. She was popular, intelligent, capable and her peers recognized it and sought her out.
But that lifelong sense of control had abandoned Olivia now.
When the coffee finished brewing, it was Cliff who got two mugs and filled them both. He handed the first one to Grace. “Would you like me to go with you?”
Grace’s immediate reaction was that she would’ve liked nothing better. Then she remembered that Cliff had a meeting with a horse breeder he’d been looking forward to seeing for weeks. His willingness to reschedule the appointment touched her deeply.
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine—and so will Olivia.” She forced a smile, sipped some more of her coffee and then walked back to their bedroom to change out of her nightclothes. As she sorted through her wardrobe, she wondered what one wore to an event like this. Her normal attire at the library was a cotton turtleneck pullover with a jumper. She had quite a few jumpers, some of which she’d sewn herself. In the end, she opted for tan khaki slacks and a rust-colored V-neck sweater over a white polo shirt.