PRAISE FOR DELIA PARR AND HER NOVELS

“Parr has a superb sense of narrative pacing…”

—Philadelphia Inquirer on A Place Called Trinity

“Parr’s writing is fresh and original.…”

—Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel on The Minister’s Wife

“Written in the tradition of LaVyrle Spencer, Parr’s books are beautifully written in elegant prose…the characters’ faith is always a big factor in their growth and triumph…”

—Tina Wainscott, author of In Too Deep on The Promise of Flowers

“Always one to break the rules and craft intelligent, thought-provoking romance…”

—Romantic Times BOOKclub on Sunrise

Dedicated to my mother, Evelyn, and her three sisters, Doris, Elaine and Catherine, who taught us all the joys of sisterhood and faith

Abide with Me
Delia Parr

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Contents

Acknowledgments

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Epilogue

Afterword

Mother’s Blueberry Boy Bait

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing a book about the relationships between sisters would not have been possible without the support of my own sisters. Pat and Joanne are my biggest cheerleaders. Carol Beth is my first “editor,” who saves me from making dumb mistakes that wind up on my editor’s desk. Like Joanne, she is also a registered nurse, so I have a medical expert at my fingertips while I’m writing. Pat’s work with senior citizens also gave me insight that I used in creating some of my characters. Kathy and Susan have already gone Home, so they watch over me, too. My friend, Jeanne, is my sister-by-affection. A retired chemistry teacher and licensed real estate agent, she provided insight into the world of real estate that proved very helpful while writing the book. Unlike the Long sisters in the book, however, we have a brother, John, who has somehow survived growing up with six sisters!

I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the great support and love I receive from my children, Matt and his wife, Ileana, Brett and Elizabeth. I am so proud of you all!

Chapter One

S urrounded by animated conversations and mouthwatering aromas, Andrea Long Hooper waited for her sisters in one of The Diner’s corner booths, gazing out the plate-glass window to distract herself from being overwhelmed by memories of Sandra.

Bright July sunshine reflected on the windshields of the cars that eased by on Welles Avenue and circled around the old bronze monument that anchored the community. While some residents drove off to start another workday, still others filled the commuter rail that bisected the town of Welleswood, carrying them across the Delaware River to work in nearby Philadelphia.

Inside The Diner, the regulars, mostly retired folks from the nearby senior-citizens complex, sipped at coffee and enjoyed the daily special: one scrambled egg, one strip of bacon, a small glass of orange juice and coffee or tea with unlimited refills. No substitutions. All for $1.95. Served daily, from six to eight.

Only a few years ago, Welleswood’s business district along the main street had been an odd mix of thrift shops, convenience stores and empty storefronts that kept The Diner sorry company. Concrete sidewalks, dark with age and automobile soot, had invited little foot traffic, other than neighborhood children making their way to school or the community swimming pool, which was a relic from a community-building program during the Great Depression. A lone gas station at the far end of town had closed, along with the lumberyard and movie theater, all victims of suburban flight in the sixties and seventies that had left Welleswood gasping for breath.

Not anymore.

With no small measure of pride, Andrea glanced up and down “the avenue”—only newcomers ever called Welles Avenue by its official name. The Town Restoration Committee, formed twelve years ago by a coalition of local businesspeople, town politicians and concerned citizens, had helped to breathe new life into the town that she and her family had called home for four generations. Armed with federal and state grant money, along with a daring business plan that had incited equal numbers of avowed enthusiasts and raucous critics in the early going, the committee had achieved phenomenal success.

Welleswood’s renaissance was nearly complete. Restored sidewalks, replete with brick walkways, new light posts, benches and gardens filled with potted plants from early spring through late fall, invited strollers and window shoppers, along with buyers. With restored storefronts, trendy shops offering everything from apparel to handcrafted specialties, several jewelers and banks and a handful of small, upscale restaurants drew shoppers weary of chain stores and malls. The movie theater had been lovingly restored as a community theater, and the lumberyard had been converted into Antiques Row. The town itself had purchased the gas-station property and replaced the eyesore with a Community Center, shared by the town’s teens and seniors.

The renewal of the business district had other, well-anticipated effects. Property values soared. Church attendance also increased. Folks started moving back to Welleswood. Others planted deeper roots.

And through it all, The Diner remained a quaint little restaurant that offered generous servings of homemade food along with a comfortable place to rest, either before or after shopping. No one ever suggested it was time to leave to make room for someone else, either. A place just like…home.

For Andrea and her sisters, there was simply no place more fitting than The Diner for holding their Sisters’ Breakfasts, a tradition they had followed for years, commemorating the birthdays of their beloved sibling and parents, instead of the dates on which they had left this world to go Home.

As the town’s only real estate agent, Andrea had done well. Remarkably well, considering she started her agency with little more than courage and a belief that her home-town deserved better. The lean years she had spent as a widow, raising two children on her own, had given way to a comfortable living, especially now that Rachel and David were grown.

But Andrea was in no mood to think about her success.

Not today.

Especially not now.

She patted the worn red vinyl cushion at her side and traced several cracks with her fingertips. She bowed her head and swallowed a lump in her throat as memories from nearly every one of her fifty-seven years tugged at her heartstrings. This was the first time she and her sisters would gather here for a Sisters’ Breakfast without Sandra, and Andrea could not help but wonder if the next breakfast would be for her own birthday. Facing the death of a loved one was hard. Facing her own mortality cut a deeper swath of fear in her heart than she imagined possible.

Before she could take another step down the path of self-pity, she heard the bell over the door tinkle, looked up and saw Jenny coming inside. Andrea smiled and waved her baby sister over to the booth and tried not to let her brows furrow too deeply.

Jenny Long Spencer was forty-two, but looked more like sixty-two today. Every one of the twelve hours Jenny had worked overnight in the emergency room at Mercy General across the river in Philadelphia had etched exhaustion on her face. She walked as if she had the weight of the world on her slumped shoulders, and her scrubs were wrinkled and splotched with a variety of stains. Her makeup had all but disappeared, her lopsided ponytail bounced as she walked, and her eyes were red from weariness as she dropped into the seat opposite Andrea.

Jenny had always claimed that she enjoyed her role as breadwinner while her husband, Michael, stayed home to raise their two young daughters and wait for his muse to inspire him yet again. Today, however, she looked so tired that Andrea could see firsthand how hard Jenny had to work while Michael was at home….

“Gosh, it feels good to sit down!” Jenny admitted.

“Unusually busy last night?”

Jenny scratched the tip of her nose, tipped her head back and slowly rotated her head, stretching taut neck muscles. “Not really. Just your typical summer night in an urban hospital. An emergency appendectomy. Two car crashes. One motorcycle accident. A couple of stabbings and gunshot wounds. No fatalities, though,” she managed.

Andrea shook her head. “I honestly don’t know how you do it, or why you’d want to do it. Not when you could be at home—”

“I work there because I’m a good ER nurse and because it’s what Michael and I decided is best for us,” Jenny said defensively. “Where’s Madge?” she asked, clearly anxious to change the subject.

Before Andrea could answer, the restaurant’s owner, Caroline, arrived with a tray. “Running later than you. As usual. Here’s your decaf and a fresh iced tea for you, Andrea. I’ll keep an eye out for your sister, too,” she teased, then promptly moved to the next table.

Jenny’s frown turned into a grin. “You can’t get away with a thing here, can you? Poor Madge. We’ll have to make sure we put something special on her tombstone…something like, ‘She finally made it on time.’”

Andrea rolled her eyes, relieved that Jenny’s natural good humor had returned. “I don’t even want to think about what you’d put on mine. Or anyone else’s tombstone, for that matter,” she added, if only to divert her thoughts away from the very real possibility that a tombstone was in her own near future. “You know Madge. She had a last minute stop for something. Or a last minute phone call. Or a meandering drive in her new convertible. Or she lost track of time working in her garden.”

Jenny added some cream to her coffee. “Sandra used to get so mad at her. She nearly missed one of her doctor appointments once because Madge was late.”

“Speaking of Madge…” Andrea pointed to the window. “Here she comes.”

By the time Jenny looked out of the window, Madge had pulled into a parallel spot across the street.

Andrea shook her head. “That’s about the…the…”

“The purplest car you ever saw?” Jenny giggled. “Is that even a word? Purplest?”

Andrea nodded and turned her attention back to Jenny. “I suppose it is. She even made Roy, down at the car dealership, write it on the order. The convertible had to be the purplest it could be, despite the fact there was only one possible purple color the factory could use. I guess it just made her feel better to tell them what she wanted.”

“Like the lavender top?”

Andrea chuckled. “No. They wouldn’t even attempt that. The car came with a white top, but Russell made a few calls and found a place to custom order the lavender one before Madge even saw the white one.”

“Well, I like it.”

Andrea shook her head and stirred some artificial sweetener into her fresh tea. Madge had a storybook life: a devoted husband, Russell Stevens, who spoiled her; two successful, grown sons, Drew and Brett, who loved their mother to pieces; a valued place in the community. Madge also had both the time and the money to be as eccentric as she wanted to be, and because she was such a giving soul, most people forgave her most anything.

Andrea wondered what it might be like to have someone in her life to carry the financial burdens, then immediately snipped a tiny ribbon of jealousy that almost wrapped around her thoughts. “The car suits Madge, but honestly, I’m getting a little worried,” Andrea admitted. “She’s a little too obsessed with the color, if you ask me. Did you know when she ordered her annuals for her garden this year, she insisted that every flower had to be purple? She went online, got a list of every flowering plant with purple flowers that would grow in this area and took the list straight to the nursery! And that was after she bought new cushions for her patio furniture, all in purple.”

Jenny took a sip of coffee and let out a sigh. “That’s just her way.”

“Well, it’s harmless enough, I suppose. It’s just odd.”

“Sandra’s favorite color was purple. Remember?”

Startled, Andrea nearly choked on her tea. When she cleared her throat, she looked straight into Jenny’s eyes. “You’re right. I’d…I’d forgotten.”

Jenny offered a warm smile. “I think it makes Madge feel closer to Sandra. They spent an awful lot of time together. It’s been nine months now since Sandra died, and I think it’s Madge’s way of saying, ‘I remember you, Sandra, and I miss you.’ Even if Madge doesn’t realize it herself.”

“What don’t I realize?” Madge asked as she nudged Jenny to move over to make room for her to sit down. She laid a bakery box in the center of the table and slid in beside her younger sister.

“Time. Being on time is important,” Andrea prompted gently, still mothering the sister who was younger by only two years. Old habits die hard.

Jenny stared at the bakery box and squealed. “Spinners! You stopped for Spinners!”

“They were Sandra’s favorite so I thought we should have them today. In her memory,” Madge suggested. Her eyes filled with tears, and she toyed with one of her amethyst earrings, the most recent of the gifts Russell invariably brought home with him from one of his sales trips.

Her words were barely spoken before Caroline appeared with a mug of decaf for Madge and a plate for the Spinners. “Here you go.” She set the mug in front of Madge, opened the bakery box and lined the plate with the Spinners, which were bite-size pieces of sweet dough spun with cinnamon and smothered with either vanilla or chocolate icing or glazed with sugar. “Enjoy. I’ll be back in a minute for your order,” Caroline said, and carried the empty box away with her.

Jenny shook her head. “Caroline’s such a dear. If I take outside food into the hospital cafeteria, they’re ready to call a guard!”

“This is The Diner. She wants her customers to feel at home,” Madge countered.

“Sandra once walked all the way to McAllister’s to get Spinners during a blizzard. Remember?” Andrea took a chocolate Spinner and offered the first “Sandra story,” officially beginning the Sisters’ Breakfast. Tradition called for sharing memories, happy memories—from childhood to adulthood and anything in between.

“But that’s not the whole story,” Madge insisted.

“Walking two miles to anywhere in a blizzard is a story in and of itself,” Andrea insisted.

Madge finished a sugar Spinner and tilted up her chin. “Anyone can walk two miles in a blizzard, but only Sandra would have enough nerve to go around the back of the balcony, climb the stairs to the residence on the second floor, and insist that Mr. McAllister go downstairs and open up the store so she could buy some Spinners.”

Andrea’s eyes widened. With her mouth full, she could not voice a question, but Madge simply patted her arm.

“Sandra was…Sandra. She always knew what she wanted, and she always knew how to get it. Besides, she just didn’t go to the bakery to get some Spinners for herself. The blizzard hit midday, remember?”

Andrea nodded as she tried to swallow the last bite.

“Well, she knew the bakery had been forced to close down without selling out, and she also knew the road crews would be out working all night clearing the streets. So she convinced Mr. McAllister to sell her a few dozen Spinners, along with everything else he had. Then she loaded up her sled, walked down the avenue to the public works garage, dropped off the sweets from the bakery and got herself back home.”

“Just in time for Jeopardy,” Jenny added. Her eyes grew misty.

Andrea took a long sip of iced tea and wrapped her hand around the glass. “You both knew that story. Why didn’t I?”

Jenny shrugged her shoulders.

Madge’s eyes twinkled. “You’re always working. Besides, you don’t know everything, even if you are the old est,” she teased. “That’s why we’re here together, isn’t it? To share our stories?”

Caroline interrupted to take their breakfast orders. Andrea was grateful for the extra time to think of her own Sandra story, and she was ready by the time Caroline left. She glanced at Jenny. “When Sandra left to get married for the first time, how old were you? Three?”

Jenny tilted up her chin. “I was four, thank you. And very mature for my age.”

Andrea grinned. “Then you missed the infamous black slip story.”

Madge’s eyes widened. “You’re telling that story?”

“Of course. I don’t think I can not tell that story.”

“I know all about the black slip,” Jenny insisted. “When she was a teenager, Sandra had a part-time job cleaning for some elderly lady who lived nearby, and she spent every dime on lingerie. Beautiful, expensive lingerie.”

“Mrs. Calloway,” Madge offered, and her eyes lit with a flash of sudden intuition that Andrea did not miss.

“Anyway,” Andrea continued, “Sandra’s black slip just disappeared. She blamed Madge. Madge denied taking it, and from there, a monumental shouting match. Of course, shouting and screaming never resolved anything. Sandra and Madge each held their ground. For weeks after, Sandra would make snide remarks, blaming Madge for the missing black slip, and Madge would play the wounded victim of ‘rash judgment.’” She shook her head. “Then Mother found the black slip when she was housecleaning. The slip was stuck behind Sandra’s bureau, caught between the bureau and the wall. Mother said it looked like the slip had somehow gotten wedged behind the bureau after sliding off the laundry she piled on each of our bureaus on wash day. Sandra was grounded for a month.”

Madge’s cheeks blushed pink. “And she spent even longer apologizing.”

“And well she should have,” Andrea cautioned.

Caroline arrived with plates piled high with steaming hotcakes and browned sausages. After quickly refilling their beverages and removing the now-empty Spinner plate, she left the three sisters to enjoy their breakfasts.

Andrea slathered her stack of hotcakes with butter, cut off a generous piece and savored the bite.

Madge poured low-calorie syrup on top of her stack and watched the syrup ooze over the sides. She cleared her throat. “Actually, I have a confession to make. To both of you. I—I had taken Sandra’s black slip and hid it behind her bureau. I was just playing a joke on her. I didn’t think she’d get so angry…but things just got out of hand, and I didn’t know how to stop it or what to do….”

Andrea sputtered and choked on her tea.

Jenny’s eyes twinkled. “You really had taken the black slip?”

Madge nodded. Her eyes glistened with tears. “I promised Sandra I’d tell you that today. On her birthday. That she had been right about the black slip,” she whispered. “I took it, and the argument was my fault. After all these years, I never really thought it was important to confess to that. Not to Sandra or either of you. I’d already prayed for forgiveness from God, but I never asked Sandra to forgive me. Not until she got sick. I told her right before…right before she left us to go Home.”

Andrea raised her glass of tea. “To forgiveness.”

Madge and Jenny raised their coffee cups, and they gently clicked their cups and glass together.

“Sandra had the biggest heart and most generous spirit of anyone I’ve ever known,” Jenny murmured.

Andrea swallowed hard before she took a sip of her iced tea. “She was a good friend, not just to me, but to a lot of people.”

Madge bowed her head for a moment. “She was more than just my sister. She was my shopping buddy and my gardening buddy, as terrible as she was, and she was my…my best friend.” She let out a deep sigh, paused, and then said, “I don’t know about either of you, but I hope it’s a long, long time before we have to do this again.”

“Do what?” Jenny asked. “Have a Sisters’ Breakfast? Kathleen’s birthday is in October, you know. Mother and Daddy’s aren’t until March.”

“No. I like the breakfasts. I like the tradition. I like sharing memories with each of you.” She reached out and took hold of Andrea’s and Jenny’s hands. “I hope we have years to be together. I hope…I just hope I don’t lose one of my sisters again. Not for a long, long time. That’s all.”

Andrea gulped hard and squeezed her sisters’ hands. “I pray we do, too. According to His will,” she added, certain that now was definitely not the time to share her news. She did not have to start chemotherapy for two weeks yet. Actually, she had a consultation tomorrow with the doctor to discuss the particulars of the process that would take a full year to complete. With all the experience she and her family had had with cancer and the treatments used to cure that hideous disease, she did not expect any surprises tomorrow. She did have questions, though, and decided it might be best to wait until she knew more before telling her sisters and asking for their help and their prayers.

Unless tomorrow held news she would not be anxious to share with anyone, most especially the sisters who were still grieving for Sandra, who had so recently been called Home.

Chapter Two

A ndrea sat in her parked car outside of the urologist’s office under the shade of a swamp maple tree large enough to cast a shadow that covered her entire station wagon. Her purse was at her side on the passenger seat. Her bottle of iced tea was in the cup holder. Her mind was focused on prayer.

Head bowed, she took small, measured breaths and kept her hands loosely steepled as they lay on her lap. Just the word cancer had the power to send shivers down her spine and arouse all the memories of her loved ones and their suffering she had stored in her mind, casting images of pain and suffering that made her heart beat so fast she grew dizzy.

Keeping this ten o’clock appointment to hear the particulars about her cancer recurrence would have kept her paralyzed in her seat if not for the power of prayer and the presence of the angels who had been sent to protect her from her own fears.

“According to Thy will, with the blessing of Your grace,” she murmured. She believed in God, and in His protection. She believed in the power of prayer. She believed. And with that belief came a gentle peace that washed over her, calmed her racing heartbeat and gave her the strength to make it from her car and into the doctor’s office with more dignity that she thought she might be able to muster today.

She entered the office and immediately cast aside the memory of her last visit when she had had a checkup at the other office Dr. Newton shared with several partners closer to the hospital. During the cystoscopic examination that day, more commonly referred to as a cysto, the doctor had discovered and removed several small growths in Andrea’s bladder and sent them for biopsy. The visit itself had become a blur, but the clinical setting Andrea remembered in the examining room did little to assuage her unease today, despite the fact that she would be keeping all of her appointments here, in the doctor’s office, which was closer to Welleswood.

The second blessing of the day came when the receptionist quickly ushered Andrea directly into the doctor’s office. No forms to sign. No referrals to submit. No waiting. Just a gracious welcome and immediate escort to a private office with a comfortable upholstered visitor’s chair facing a window that provided a spectacular view of an outdoor garden.

The doctor’s desk itself looked like no desk that Andrea had ever seen in a medical office. It didn’t hold files or a telephone or a computer screen. Instead, this small antique lady’s desk cradled treasured family pictures and trinkets and a vase of wildflowers. A door next to the desk led outside to the garden, which, Andrea guessed, was the source of the flowers in the doctor’s office.

With assurances that the doctor would be in momentarily, the receptionist left, closing the door. Through the window, Andrea could see the private garden was protected on all sides by a tall fence, bordered by lush hedges and flowerbeds bursting with riotous color. Elegant wrought-iron benches faced the open center of the garden, where Andrea glimpsed some sort of tiled patio. She noticed a number of low garden lamps and imagined how beautiful the garden must look at night. No matter the hour, the doctor would always have a private haven at her fingertips.

Andrea was half tempted to step outside, to enjoy the sweet fragrances of the flowers, when Dr. Newton suddenly appeared in the garden door, cradling an oversize calico cat in her arms. “Why don’t we talk outside? I’m afraid to bring Muffin inside the office. Too many patients are allergic, though I didn’t note that on your records.”

Startled, Andrea followed Dr. Newton outside. They sat together on one of the benches. Dr. Newton settled the cat on her lap and stroked the calico’s head, and another cat, a small, dark tiger cat, wove in and out of Andrea’s legs. The doctor chuckled. “I hope you like cats.”

Andrea leaned down and picked up the tiger cat. Already purring, the cat curled up on Andrea’s lap. “As a matter of fact, I have a few of my own. Three actually,” she murmured, grateful for this added blessing to the day.

“I thought you might be a cat person.”

“Only recently,” Andrea admitted. “I wanted a little companionship. With my schedule, having a dog was out of the question. But cats are easier to manage, especially when you get several from the same litter. My brother-in-law is a sales rep for a pet-food company so I get most of what I need for the cats from him. Cats are more independent, too.”

“Independent? Like you?” the doctor remarked with an raised brow. “Most of my patients prefer to spend the night in the hospital after surgery.”

Thinking of last year’s surgery, Andrea’s blushed. “You said it could be same-day surgery.”

“I also said you might want to consider spending the night,” the doctor reminded her. “The tumor was a little more expansive than I originally thought.”

“My sister Jenny is a nurse. She was able to help,” Andrea countered, hoping the doctor would also remember how well Andrea’s post-op checkup had gone and how well she had continued to be in the months afterward. “She will again. Provided I need help.” She took a deep breath, but she did not stop petting the cat on her lap. “How much help…that is, I’m not quite sure what to expect from the treatments,” she murmured.

Then she corrected herself. “No, that’s not true. I’ve lost four family members to cancer, and I know what to expect from the chemotherapy. The nausea. The fatigue. The loss of appetite, as well as my hair…” She stopped before her voice broke.

“What type of cancer?” the doctor asked gently.

“Breast. Bone. Stomach. Liver. Brain. Take your pick,” Andrea said quietly. “We’re an equal-opportunity host family. Unfortunately, we’re not an equal-opportunity surviving kind of family.”

Dr. Newton shook her head. “Not all cancers are alike. And not all chemotherapy treatment is the same, either, Andrea. In fact, your chemotherapy will be very different from what you’ve experienced with your family before. Based on the biopsy results and the early stage of your cancer, despite the fact that this is a recurrence, the standard chemotherapy treatment involves coming to my office here to have the drugs injected directly into your bladder via a catheter—with minimal preparation on your part, I should add. After two or three hours at home, you simply void the drugs out of your bladder. You won’t get nauseous and you won’t lose much of your appetite, if any. You probably will experience some fatigue as the treatments progress, but you will definitely not lose your hair, although you might be tempted to continue to keep it very short. Many of the patients complain that their hair gets very coarse and somewhat unmanageable. Now probably wouldn’t be a good time to start to color your hair, though.”

Andrea knew that her skepticism was etched in every feature of her face, but she couldn’t help it, any more than she could stop herself from reaching up and touching her salt and pepper hair. “That’s it?”

Dr. Newton chuckled. “Well, let’s not pretend this isn’t serious or life threatening. It can be, Andrea. But in your case, yes, that’s it. Chemotherapy will be once a week for six weeks, then once a month for nine additional months. We’ll monitor your progress very carefully to make sure the chemotherapy is effective and doing its job.”

Andrea blinked several times, anxious to hold on to this good news just a little longer before this blessing disappeared almost as quickly as it had been given. “There’s bad news, too, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Dr. Newton said. “You’ll have to be monitored for the rest of your life. Eventually, that means I’ll only see you once a year. Eventually. But the bad news is that you’re going to be my patient, or someone’s patient, for life. As long as you come for your checkups, the odds are that there’s no reason to believe you’ll have a recurrence or at least one we can’t handle, just like this one.”

Effective chemotherapy. Recurrence. Odds.

Andrea had heard those words before—from Daddy, Kathleen, Mother and then Sandra. All of them had lost their battles. Eventually, each had failed to beat the odds. Each had had chemotherapy that ultimately proved ineffective.

Would Andrea follow this dreadful family tradition, or would she begin a new one called survivor?

If she should survive and beat cancer, why? Why her? Why not Daddy or Kathleen or Mother or Sandra? Why?

She shivered and blinked back tears as she whispered silent prayers for courage. She could beat cancer. She could be a survivor. With His grace. According to His will.

“When…when will we start the chemotherapy?”

“That depends,” the doctor murmured. “Have you had anything to eat or drink today?”

Andrea stiffened. “Today? Just some iced tea earlier. About seven.”

“Then let’s start today. While Nancy gets the chemotherapy ready, I can explain precisely how it’s done. I can also give you a key to the garden. There’s an outer door you can use when you want to come to visit. That’s why the garden is here. For my patients. Feel free to use it anytime.” She checked her watch. “It’s ten-thirty now. By eleven, you can be home. By one-thirty or two o’clock, you can be back at work. Unless you have an appointment between now and then?”

“No. I cleared my schedule until four. I—I wasn’t sure how long I would be here. Today? Are you sure we have to start today?” she gushed as panic sent her heartbeat into double time. The prospect of being able to start chemotherapy today did appeal to her, but she hadn’t talked to her children or her sisters yet, to tell them about her treatments, nor had she prepared herself for beginning her journey toward recovery today. “What about…the referral for the insurance company? I didn’t bring one today. Maybe—”

“We’ll take care of that.”

“Oh. Then…you’re sure? You’re sure we should start today?”

“Why not? Let’s make today your first day toward full and complete recovery.” The doctor stood up and set the calico cat down on the ground. Within a heartbeat, the tiger cat leaped off of Andrea’s lap and scooted away.

The doctor held out her hand. “Shall we?”

By noon, Andrea had been home for half an hour. Her cell phone had been turned off, the machine was answering her home telephone was on, and she’d set the alarm clock, in case she fell asleep. She was lying on her tummy in her bed, watching the clock on her nightstand. “Time to roll, girls,” she murmured to her three cats, who were all in bed with her. Each treatment required that she spend half an hour in four different positions, to ensure the inside of her bladder was coated and treated with the chemo drugs.

It wasn’t a terrible way to spend a few hours, although resting was not something Andrea often made time to do for herself.

Unfortunately, none of the three sister cats made any attempt to move, and Andrea rolled onto her left side as gently as she could. Two of the cats rearranged themselves along the back of her legs, while Redd, the smallest, curled up next to Andrea’s cheek. Normally loving cats, yet independent, the “girls,” as Andrea called them, seemed to have an intuitive sense that something was different. From the moment she’d returned home from her first treatment, the cats had stayed close, as if they knew that she needed them next to her. It was yet another blessing in a very odd day.

Andrea looked around the bedroom, glancing up at the white border covered with ivy that she’d stenciled near the ceiling, after she’d painted the walls a very dark green. Every time she was in the room, she felt as though she had stepped deep into a forest where she felt safe and protected from the outside world. She smiled when her gaze rested on the pictures of her two children. Rachel, her first-born after several miscarriages, was now thirty, and looked so much like her father, she kept his image alive. Unfortunately, she had her mother’s stubborn streak and drive. A successful engineer, Rachel lived in Boston with her husband and their two daughters. Andrea’s son, David, was going to be twenty-eight in a few weeks, but although he was close in age to his older sister, he was completely opposite in temperament. Easygoing and spontaneous, David lived in the woods, in a small cabin in the New Hampshire, eking out a living as a cooper, making wooden barrels with seventeenth-century techniques and loving every minute of his austere lifestyle.

Andrea loved them both with a depth of feeling that never ceased to amaze her.

She was frightened that Dr. Newton might be wrong about effectiveness of the chemotherapy, but she was more afraid of letting her children sense her fear or think that she might not be there for them much longer. Blinking back tears, she snuggled against Redd.

Right now, Andrea needed time to get used to the idea that she was facing a year of chemotherapy. She needed time to get used to the idea she might, indeed, be her family’s first cancer survivor. She needed time to think of all the things she should do, just in case she wasn’t. If she had put one of her notebooks on her nightstand, she might have actually started one of her infamous “to do” lists. She needed time to…

“To pray,” she murmured aloud. Prayer was going to be the only way she would survive the next year. She checked the clock, rolled onto her stomach, waited for the cats to get settled again and spent the next half hour praying for strength and wisdom and gratitude for the blessings of this day. She also prayed that the chemo drugs inside her body would work well and keep in remission the cancer that threatened her life. And she prayed for the courage to face the plan He had designed for her life, even if that meant being called Home sooner than she had thought.

As she prayed, a seed of hope began to grow inside her. If Dr. Newton was right—if the chemotherapy went well, with no noticeable side effects—then Andrea might be able to get the weekly treatments finished before she had to tell her children or her sisters anything at all. She could sidestep their questions about the biopsy. Yesterday, with Sandra’s birthday occupying their thoughts, Jenny and Madge hadn’t even asked about the biopsy results. To be fair, Andrea had already told them that the results weren’t expected for a few more weeks.

If she could finish the six weeks of treatments before she told her family, she would stand a better chance of convincing them that her chemotherapy treatment was different from the treatments Sandra had endured—or Daddy or Kathleen or Mother, for that matter. Andrea would be able to convince them that she was going to be a survivor, because they’d be able to see it for themselves.

And by then, she would have a better sense of just how taxing the next year was going to be.

Now that was a plan!

Whether inspired through prayer or her own sense of independence, Andrea liked it—a lot. Her mind raced ahead to the schedule of doctor’s appointments she had set up for the next five weeks. All were early-morning appointments, so she could continue to work, showing homes or attending settlements in the afternoons. Nothing unusual there. She always talked to her children at night, when they were finished with their work for the day. No problem there, either. Since Jenny worked nights and normally slept most of the day, and Madge was usually busy with her volunteer activities, Andrea was convinced she had hit on the perfect plan.

There were some adjustments she would have to make. Getting extra rest, instead of the usual five or six hours of sleep each night, was a given. She also wanted to make an appointment with a nutritionist. Dr. Newton had been quick to respond to Andrea’s question about diet with honesty. Other than suggesting a low-fat diet, she could only second Andrea’s suggestion to consult a nutritionist. Andrea could search the Web, too. Other cancer survivors often offered tips that doctors may have overlooked or dismissed. Tips of that kind had helped to make Sandra more comfortable, and Andrea made a mental note to spend some time searching the Web tonight. She also decided to hire an additional real-estate agent for the office and scale back on her hours. Her children and her sisters had been asking her to do that for a number of years now, so they wouldn’t be unduly suspicious if she hired someone to help her at the agency, with “help” being the operative word.

Andrea had no intention of letting the reins go slack when it came to her business, or any other part of her life, for that matter. She was in control now and she would be in control of her life for the next year—she was determined to keep her life so normal no one in town would suspect a thing.

Twenty minutes after she had made her final roll to her back, a knock at her front door made her freeze in place. The sound was followed almost immediately by the door opening, which set off the security alarm.

“Yoo-hoo! Andrea? It’s just me. I can’t believe I caught you at home. Wait till I show you what I found for your kitchen! Wait a second until I turn off your alarm. I can’t believe you set that alarm during the day!”

Andrea groaned and closed her eyes, but try as she might, she could not come up with a single plausible reason she could give Madge for not getting out of bed…except the truth.

So much for her plan.

Trouble was, she had less than sixty seconds to come up with another one.

Chapter Three

M adge tapped the code, 1919, into the pad to deactivate the house alarm. She turned and glanced around the living room that crossed the front of Andrea’s five-room bungalow and headed straight for the kitchen, clutching her “find.” Her heels tapped on the gleaming red oak floors. “I didn’t bother to wrap it. I was going to—”

She took two steps into the antiques-filled kitchen, paused and pursed her lips. No Andrea. If she was in her home office, she could have met Madge in the living room. Must be in the bathroom? Madge set her pocketbook down, unwrapped the newspaper from the pitcher she had found at the thrift store, and set it in the center of the black-and-white enamel table. “A perfect match,” she whispered, quickly tucking the newspaper into the old enamel slop pail Andrea used as a trash can. “Filled that right up, didn’t I?” Frowning, she made a mental note to find a decent-sized trash can for Andrea, one that would match the rest of the black-and-white enamelware that served a dual purpose in Andrea’s kitchen.

All of the pieces her sister had collected over the years, from the small antique stove to the washstand and the enamelware hanging on the walls, were both decorative and functional, unlike the appliances in the ultramodern kitchen that Madge claimed was her favorite room in her house. How Andrea could manage without a dishwasher or a refrigerator with an ice dispenser in the door was no mystery. She barely cooked for herself and rarely entertained. She was not home long enough, not with running that real-estate agency of hers.

Madge shrugged. To each her own. Tapping her foot, she checked her watch. She had half an hour before her meeting with the Welleswood Beautification Committee, to plan the fall plantings for the avenue. She had hoped to spend that time with her sister. She grabbed her pocketbook, turned, walked back into the living room and gazed toward the small hallway that led to the bathroom, two small bedrooms and the office. The bathroom door was open.

Maybe Andrea was on the phone. Madge had taken only a few steps toward the hallway on her way to the office when she finally got a response from her sister.

“I’m in here. In my bedroom. Come on in.”

Madge smiled with relief and hurried her steps. “Finally redecorating? I warned you that you’d get tired of that dark green paint.” She stopped just inside the doorway of Andrea’s bedroom. The light in the room itself was far too dim, with the shades pulled tight behind the white lace curtains. Andrea was not checking new paint colors or hanging new curtains or even changing the sheets on the bed. She was lying flat on her back in bed with her cats settled beside her.

All three cats looked up at Madge, stretched or yawned and settled back down with Andrea, who offered a weak smile and patted the bed next to her. “It’s just a headache. I was trying to nap. Here. Come sit and talk to me while I wait for the aspirin to kick in.”

Madge narrowed her eyes. Her heart began to race the moment she remembered that Andrea had been waiting for the results of her biopsy. “You don’t get headaches. You never sleep on your back. And you…you haven’t taken a nap since you were six months old.”

Andrea closed her eyes. “How would you know I stopped napping when I was six months old? You weren’t even born yet,” she teased.

“Mother told me. And don’t try to change the subject. What’s really wrong?”

Andrea let out a sigh. “I told you. I have a headache. Maybe it’s…it’s my first.”

Madge tiptoed to the bed, set her pocketbook down on the mattress and eased herself to sit beside her sister. Gently, she stroked the top of Andrea’s head, and she knew—she just knew—that the results of the biopsy were not good. Tears welled and spilled down her cheeks. Emotion choked her throat. “You’re sick. You’re sick again, aren’t you?”

Andrea moistened her lips, opened her eyes and took hold of Madge’s hand. “I feel fine. I’ll be fine. The nodules they removed…well, I have to have a few treatments and then I’ll be good as new again. I had my first one this morning. That’s why I’m in bed. I have to lie in four different positions for half an hour each to coat the inside of my bladder. I set the alarm—”

The alarm in the bedside clock went off, interrupting Andrea but startling Madge. As Andrea sat up, all three cats scattered. One knocked Madge’s pocketbook to the floor and the contents spilled out. Her keys hit the floor with a clang and something, presumably her lipstick, rolled away, but all Madge could think about was the fear that wrapped around her heart.

Andrea had cancer.

Again.

“Why? Why does this have to happen again?” Madge cried, and dissolved into tears as Andrea’s arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Hush now. It’s not so bad. Really,” Andrea crooned.

When Madge’s tears were spent, she sat back, hiccuped and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m such a baby.”

“Yes, you are,” Andrea teased. “But you’re a lovable baby.”

Madge hiccuped again and swiped at her cheeks. “Jenny’s supposed to be the baby. She’s the youngest. I’m older. I should be…more in control.”

“You’re younger than I am.”

Madge chuckled. When it came to age, she had no desire to be a single day older than she really was.

“And you certainly look a lot younger than me,” Andrea said.

Madge ruffled her sister’s hair. “You could look younger, too,” she whispered, then realized Andrea had done it again. “You’re changing the subject. Just like you always do.”

“You’re not crying anymore, are you?” Andrea countered.

For some unknown reason, fresh tears welled and Madge tugged on her sister’s hand. “It isn’t fair. It just isn’t fair. We just lost Sandra. We can’t lose you, too. We just can’t!”

“God has His plan for each of us, and with His grace, I’ll make a full recovery,” Andrea responded.

Madge listened attentively while Andrea explained what the course of the next year would be like. Doubt tugged at her spirit even as her heart grew hopeful. “Your doctor does sound more positive than Sandra’s did,” she ventured.

“She is. All cancers are not the same. I’m blessed to have a good one.”

Madge leaned back, pulled her hand away and stared at Andrea as a chill raced up and down her spine. “A good one? There’s no good cancer, Andrea. There’s awful cancer. Horrid cancer. Debilitating cancer. Disfiguring cancer…”

“And curable cancer. Mine’s curable. Or it should be. And it will be,” Andrea added. She took a deep breath and her expression grew serious. “I’ll…I’ll need a little help.”

Madge brightened, hiccuped again and shook her head. “I’m sorry. Did I hear you right? Did you say ‘help’? You’ll need a little help?”

Andrea sighed. “Yes, I did. A little. Only a little help.”

“Caretaker duty is all mine,” Madge insisted.

Andrea rolled her eyes. “I don’t need you to drive me back and forth to the doctor’s office for treatments. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. I told you. These treatments are different. I was thinking maybe—”

“Sandra let me take her for her treatments.”

Memories. Bittersweet, but precious memories of the months she had spent with Sandra washed over Madge. “I can’t take the cancer away. If I could, I would give anything to make that happen. But I can be there with you. Keep you company when you have to wait at the doctor’s office. Take care of your referrals and insurance forms. I can take you home, tell you stories to help pass the ‘rolling time.’ Let me do something. Anything,” Madge pleaded.

She watched Andrea carefully. First, she saw her sister’s backbone stiffen as if her spine had been laced to a broomstick. Andrea’s dark brown eyes hardened. Her lips pursed. Her eyes closed for a brief moment, and when they opened, she looked at Madge with soft and misty eyes.

“You win. I hereby appoint you Chief Caretaker, in charge of transportation, but you can never, ever be late. Ever.”

Madge frowned, even as her heart began to fill with hope.

“All right.” Andrea gave in further. “You can handle the doctor’s referrals and the insurance forms, too.”

Half a smile.

Andrea narrowed her gaze, but Madge knew her sister was very close to a line she would not cross. “And my gardens. You can tend to them. Such as they are. But that’s all. That’s my final offer.”

Madge grinned from ear to ear. “I’m a much better gardener than I am a storyteller anyway.” She got off the bed, scoured around the floor to retrieve her keys and the rest of the junk she kept in her pocketbook and straightened her outfit, a lovely purple dress and matching bolero sweater she had bought only last week. “Speaking of gardening, I’m late for a meeting. We’re planning the fall flowers for the avenue.”

When Andrea moved as if to get out of bed, Madge waved her back. “No. Don’t get up. I can see myself out. I’ll meet you for lunch tomorrow at The Diner. Twelve o’clock. No. Better make that at one o’clock. I have a meeting at church at eleven. Eleanor Hadley has an idea for a new women’s ministry she heard about from her cousin in Connecticut. I’ll bring my calendar and we’ll set up our schedule,” she insisted, and got out of the room before Andrea could argue with her.

When Madge got to the front door, she turned and went back to the bedroom. Andrea was restoring the bedclothes back to order. “What about Jenny?”

Andrea glanced down at the bed. “I suppose I’ll have to stop by to see her tonight before she goes to work.”

“And Rachel and David?”

Andrea turned and faced Madge, wearing an expression that invited no discussion. “I’m going to wait a few weeks. That way I’ll have a better sense of just how good I’m going to feel…and I can reassure them….”

Madge nodded. “Okay. Then it’s just us. Just the sisters for now. You and me and Jenny.”

Andrea nodded. “Just us. And all the angels He can spare,” she whispered.

Madge swallowed hard. She managed to get outside to her convertible and drive halfway up the block before she pulled over and parked under the shade of one of the ancient oak trees that lined both sides of the street. She hit the switch and got the top up, turned the air-conditioning to full blast and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. Her sobs came in heavy waves, and she gripped the wheel so hard the bones in each of her hands ached.

Not again.

She could not do this again.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

For eighteen long months, she had stayed by Sandra’s side and watched helplessly as cancer gnawed away and destroyed all the beauty with which Sandra had been blessed since birth. Short gray, unruly spikes of hair had replaced the golden waves that had been Sandra’s glory for all of her life, although she had helped Mother Nature along by lightening her hair, which had darkened with age. Pain had doused the sparkle in her dark blue eyes, and her full figure had grown gaunt, even skeletal, by the time death had offered sweet release and the Lord had come to take Sandra Home, silencing her infectious laughter forever, at least in this world.

Cancer.

Cancer had turned everything Sandra was into something…ugly and grotesque, even inhuman. A scrapbook of memories opened and images flashed through Madge’s mind. She caught her breath and held it for a moment to try to silence the sobs that tore through her throat.

When she finally regained control, when her body was limp with exhaustion, when the well of her tears had gone dry, only then was she able to hear the whisper that cried out only loud enough for her heart to hear. As insidious and evil and destructive as cancer had been for Sandra or Kathleen or Mother or Dad, nothing had been able to destroy the beauty of their spirits. Nothing.

And it was that thought that gave Madge the courage to help her sister Andrea now.

Chapter Four

W hat on earth had possessed Andrea to give in to Madge? What had she been thinking?

In all honesty, she had been unable to think beyond the increasing pressure in her bladder or the relief that Dr. Newton had been right. Andrea had felt no pain from the chemo, although she had been a little frustrated at being forced to lie down for two hours in the middle of the day. But most of all, she had been thinking how she simply could not hurt Madge’s feelings.

Still, by the time she got back to her office, she had kicked herself twice over for agreeing to let her sister take her for treatments, figuratively speaking, of course. Unless Andrea wanted to be late for her appointments or carry the stress that she might be late, she had to think of a way to either change Madge’s habit of losing track of time or tell her sister that she had changed her mind.

Andrea opened the rear door to the agency, slipped inside and bolted the door behind her, even though she routinely left her car unlocked only a few feet from the back door. Located in the heart of the business district, her one-woman office occupied one of the old storefronts that had been carefully restored after she had purchased it over ten years ago. Not remodeled—restored, at least at the street level. She rarely went to the second floor. The upstairs, once the living quarters for the original owners, was a disaster, having been being used as a storage area for a short-lived pharmacy, wallpaper outlet and a news agency over the years. With rents at an all-time high, Andrea wondered if she really should do something about the wasted space overhead.

“Someday,” she mumbled, and made her way along the narrow hallway that ran down the center of the main office. Wide-planked floorboards beneath her feet carried the scars inflicted by years of use, but shone beneath several coats of polyurethane. Bead-board paneling, stripped of half a dozen coats of paint, lined the lower half of the office walls, below pale blue, freshly-plastered walls.

She passed by the restroom and two conference rooms on either side of the hallway and went straight to the front office. Her office—her home away from home—held memories that swelled and washed over her. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Cancer threatened her life, true. But it also threatened the quality of her life, both present and future, and she was not going to see all that she had worked so hard to achieve fall by the wayside because of an…an illness.

She paused and glanced around. The picture window showcased photographs of properties she had listed for sale, both residential and commercial, for pedestrians. Nearly half had a “Sold” banner tacked on top of the photograph, and she needed to update the display as soon as the new photographs were ready.

To her left, five wing chairs, upholstered in a blue-striped fabric, were grouped around an old mahogany coffee table. A stickler for neatness and order, Andrea refused to allow the table to become littered with piles of brochures or pamphlets; instead, she kept a bowl of fresh fruit in the center, along with several milk-glass dishes filled with hard candy. The brochures and pamphlets were neatly stacked on shelves on the wall, below framed photos of the local girls’ T-ball and softball teams, which Andrea’s business had sponsored over the years. The photos reminded her that she still had to inform Carol Watson about whether or not the realty would sponsor the newest sports endeavor in town, a girls’ crew team.

“I’ll save that decision for another day,” she whispered and headed across an Oriental rug to get to her massive L-shaped desk—the command center where she spent most of her time. She slid her briefcase under the desk and sank into her high-backed upholstered chair. There was nothing antique or low-tech about her desk or the tools it held. The computer, fax machine, laser printer, telephone and answering system were all state-of-the-art, although with technology changing so fast, she would probably be updating her equipment within the next year.

She checked her messages first and took notes. Of the six calls she’d received, three were from prospective clients, including the Davises, who canceled their four-o’clock appointment. One was from Carol Watson. Decision made. She would call Carol tonight and agree to sponsor the team. Another message was from Doris Blake, a retiree who had recently relocated to Welleswood after a career in real estate. She was looking for part-time work. Andrea wrote down her number, just in case.

The last message was from Jane Huxbaugh demanding to know the status of the proposed sale of the house she had inherited from her uncle, the late Anthony Clark.

Andrea tapped the eraser of her pencil on her notepad. Jane was not the most disagreeable client Andrea had ever had, but she surely ranked in the top ten. In all fairness, however, Jane had a right to be anxious. She had accepted a proposal to purchase from a prospective buyer, Bill Sanderson, early last week. To Andrea’s complete consternation, Sanderson had not returned a single one of her telephone calls or responded to any of her e-mails asking him to come in and sign the formal contract. She assumed he simply had been delayed in returning from one of the long-distance hauls he made as a truck driver. Not that Jane would care. She wanted the house sold. Yesterday.

Determined to see this resolved, Andrea pulled out the Sanderson folder and sorted through the paperwork. She set the CIS, Consumer Information Statement, aside. Operating a dual-disclosure agency, representing both sellers and buyers, required a strong set of ethics, and the law was very clear about her responsibilities to both parties. Beneath the proposal to purchase, she found the contract, lifted her phone and tapped in Bill Sanderson’s home telephone number.

“We’re sorry. The number you have dialed, 555-2608, has been disconnected.”

“Great,” she muttered, checked the number he had listed for his employer in upstate Pennsylvania, and dialed that number as she tried to keep her heart from racing.

“AAA Hauling. Henry here.”

She cleared her throat. “This is Andrea Hooper, with Hooper Realty. I’m trying to locate Bill Sanderson, one of your drivers.”

A snort. “You and the state police from here to Colorado. Feds got involved, too. Landlord called yesterday. Get in line, lady.”

“S-state police?”

“Sanderson left four days ago with a van loaded with computers and headed for Denver. Ain’t been heard from since.”

Andrea closed her eyes to organize her thoughts. “That’s terrible! He must have had some sort of…accident?”

Another snort. “Ain’t that wishful thinkin’! We got the van. Found that in Ohio. Empty, of course. I wouldn’t go wastin’ any hopes you got on that thievin’, sneaky—”

“Thank you,” she managed, and quickly hung up. Heart pounding, she leaned back and steepled her hands. So much for that deal. Exactly why Sanderson had gone to all the trouble of pretending to be serious enough to purchase a home here did not really matter. She had been in this business long enough to know better than to guess at the motivations of any of her clients, buyers and sellers alike, but she thought she was a fairly decent judge of character.

Apparently, she was not.

As for the check that he had given to her as earnest money, she assumed she would hear from the bank that it was not going to be honored.

She also knew for certain that Miss Huxbaugh was going to be rip-roaring mad.

At seventy-seven, Jane Huxbaugh was a fixture in Welleswood, well-known for her thriftiness and her gift for making snide remarks, which was almost as legendary as her temper. Andrea had no desire to light a match to that woman’s temper. It had burned her once too often. But unless Andrea came up with a buyer fast, she would be well-advised to tell Jane the bad news in person, rather than by telephone.

Andrea swiveled around in her chair, stared out the front window and twirled her pencil while she mulled over her options. She could wait until tonight and visit Jane at home. Or she could leave now and walk the two short blocks to see Jane at the hospital auxiliary’s thrift store, one of the last holdouts from yesteryear, where she volunteered weekday afternoons. Or she could…

She laid down the pencil, sorted through the folders for prospective buyers until she found the one she wanted. Cindy and Paul DiMayo were highly motivated buyers. They had a number of deadlines looming that had intensified their search for a new home. Paul was scheduled to start a new job at the end of September, their apartment lease ran out around the same time and they were expecting a baby, due August twenty-seventh, less than a month from now. Under all these circumstances, they were more than a little anxious to settle into a home before the baby arrived.

The young couple also had been prequalified, a decided benefit, particularly in this case.

Andrea wrinkled her nose. Sanderson had been prequalified, too.

She dialed the DiMayo’s number. When Cindy answered, Andrea let out a sigh of relief and checked her watch. It was only three o’clock. Maybe she had time to turn this day around after all.

On their second walk-through of the house, Paul paced the perimeter of the empty living room and nudged the sheer curtains that had fallen to the floor, along with the rods and brackets that had once held the curtains in place. “How long did you say it’s been vacant?”

“Nine months. The property is part of an estate,” Andrea replied, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead.

Cindy poked her head into the kitchen and wrinkled her nose. “That red indoor-outdoor carpet has to go!”

“Careful! Don’t go in there unless Paul’s got a good hold on you,” Andrea warned as she approached her very pregnant client. “See the ripples in the carpet? It’s not safe.”

Paul escorted his wife into the kitchen and lifted a brow.

“It’s a throwback to the forties or early fifties,” Andrea admitted as she followed behind them.

Paul chuckled. “Early neglect is my guess. Just like the rest of the house. They pulled up the carpet in the bathroom and took half the tiles with it. Guess they decided not to try again in this room.”

“This way you can pick out your own flooring,” Andrea offered. No matter how she had tried, she had not been able to convince Jane to make a few minor repairs, like rehanging the curtain rods and curtains or tacking down the kitchen carpet. Turning on the central air-conditioning would have helped, too, but Jane was too busy watching her pennies to realize her thriftiness was going to cost her lots of dollars in the end.

“Poor little house,” Cindy whispered. “It just needs a little TLC.”

Paul groaned. “And lots of elbow grease.”

Cindy looked up at him and smiled. “You have great elbows.”

“And the price is right,” Andrea added. “In fact, there are a number of options we can explore together to help you get the extra money you’d need to do some cosmetic repairs. The house is sound structurally, and it’s a good starter house. You could settle quickly, too.”

Cindy beamed and rested her hand on her tummy.

Paul cocked his head. “How quickly?”

“Quickly enough to get you into the house before the baby is born. Why don’t we go back to my office where the air-conditioning is running, and go over the details?”

The day certainly had taken an upswing. By four-thirty, Andrea had a deposit and a signed contract in hand, and she had called in almost every favor she was owed, just to make this sale happen, but now she had to see Jane at home. The thrift shop closed promptly at four. She returned calls, sorted through the mail, decided there was nothing that could not wait until tomorrow, grabbed her briefcase and locked up the office.

Determined to finish the day’s rescue, she acted on sudden inspiration and walked a block down the avenue to Blackburn’s. Once inside the jewelry store, she saw the owners, Ray and Georgina, were busy waiting on customers, so she went straight to the display case along the right wall. She studied the watches inside the case and decided the prices were a little too steep for her needs. When she turned to leave, Georgina was approaching.

“Don’t tell me we don’t have something you like,” she teased.

Andrea chuckled. “Actually, I’m just looking for a workday watch. Something with an alarm on it?”

“But not something that’ll cost a week’s salary. Hmm…” Georgina walked around Andrea, leaned over the display case and studied the contents. She shook her head. “I thought I had something…Ray, what happened to those Flick watches? The ones all the kids were buying?”

Ray looked up from the register and nodded. “They’re in the back. What’s left of them, anyway. Haven’t sold one in weeks. We needed the space.” He let out a sigh, pushed his glasses lower on the bridge of his nose and peered over the rims. “We talked about it last night, remember?”

Georgina grinned and shrugged her shoulders. “You talked. While I was trying to sew, remember?” She winked at Andrea. “Wait here. I’ll bring them out. Since they’re in the back, I can knock the price down for you, too.” When she came back, she had a single watch in her hand. “It’s got an alarm in it, just like you wanted, along with all kinds of other nonsense the kids like.”

She held it out to Andrea. “See? You can even program the tune you want to play on the hour.” She pressed one of the tiny buttons on the side, and the instant Andrea heard the tinny melody, she laughed out loud. She had to have this watch.

“Sorry about the color. Pretty garish shade, isn’t it? I was hoping we had one of the white ones left—”

“No. It’s perfect,” Andrea insisted, and this time she did laugh out loud and promptly bought the watch.

Swinging her briefcase, she hummed the catchy melody as she walked around the block to get back to her car. On first glance, she thought someone was inside the car, but immediately dismissed that possibility. The closer she got, however, the clearer the image became. She stopped several feet from the rear of the car and waited, heart pounding, as the familiar figure emerged from the car and approached Andrea with outstretched arms.

She dropped her briefcase and stepped into the waiting embrace, uncertain whether or not she should strangle Madge or return the watch and buy a gag to keep her quiet, instead.

Chapter Five

J enny wrapped her arms around her big sister, briefcase and all. “You should know you can’t use the word ‘good’ and the word ‘cancer’ in the same breath with Madge, so don’t get in a huff or holler at her for telling me. Russell isn’t coming home for another two weeks. She had to sit down and talk to somebody. She just came to me to try to understand what you had told her.”

She gave Andrea a squeeze. “Your office was closed. I figured even if you had an appointment nearby or went shopping, you’d have to come back for your car eventually, and I waited for you.”

Andrea’s body went slack for a moment. She gave Jenny a one-armed squeeze and stepped back. “I only told Madge because she caught me at home in bed. Another ten minutes, and I’d have been heading back to the office.”

“She’s scared.”

“Me, too.” Andrea sighed.

“Me, three,” Jenny whispered. “You know that you’re going to beat this, right?”

Andrea squared her shoulders. “That’s what Dr. Newton tells me.”

“She’s right. I made a few calls earlier this afternoon and talked to two of the oncologists at the hospital. They both said—”

“You look exhausted,” Andrea interrupted, changing the subject. “You’re supposed to sleep during the day, remember? It’s Thursday. You have to go to work tonight. Madge had no right to wake you up. Why didn’t Michael stop her?”

Jenny grinned. “I switched with another nurse and worked a double on Tuesday, so I was off today. I don’t have to go to work again until Sunday night, although I’ve got a zillion errands and appointments between now and then. Michael’s got a great barbecue planned for six o’clock tonight—ribs, Silver Queen corn and a tomato-basil salad. Come for supper? The girls would love to see you.”

Andrea toyed with her briefcase. “I have a stop to make. I can try, but I’m not sure if I can be there by six.”

“We’ll wait for you.”

“I don’t want to be a bother. Maybe another time would be better. I’ll grab something at home.”

Jenny tilted up her chin. “Maybe you should think about being a little less independent. Or maybe, big sister,” she added with a grin, “you should think about the Blueberry Boy Bait that Michael made this afternoon for dessert.”

Andrea groaned and switched her briefcase to her other hand. “Mother’s cobbler recipe, I gather. The one Sandra loved so much?”

Jenny chuckled. “Is there another?” She turned around, closed the passenger door, walked around and opened up the driver-side door. “I’ll tell Michael six-thirty would be better,” she offered. She watched the indecision on Andrea’s face give way to acquiescence.

Andrea leaned into the car, tossed her briefcase to the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. As soon as Jenny closed the door, Andrea lowered the window halfway, cranked the engine and turned the air-conditioning on full blast. A deep frown creased her cheeks. “Does Michael know?”

Jenny shook her head. “I wanted to ask you if I could tell him, first.”

Andrea chewed on her bottom lip and nodded. “It’s okay. He’s your husband. You shouldn’t keep secrets from one another. Just…just tell him not to say anything to anyone else. At least not for now, okay?”

Jenny swallowed the lump in her throat, but her smile went straight from her heart to her lips. “Okay. Thanks.”

Andrea reached through the open window and tugged on Jenny’s ponytail. “You’re not always going to get your way, you know. I…I have to do this my way, and sometimes that’s going to mean I’ll need to be alone.”

Jenny lifted a brow. “Like when you’re cranky?”

Andrea pulled back and put both hands on the wheel. “I don’t get cranky.” She turned to face Jenny, and her lips curled into a smile. “But I do get even. Wait till you see what I bought for Madge. I’ll show you after supper.”

“Actually, I think Madge is coming for supper, too. With Russell away…”

“Even better.” Andrea’s eyes twinkled. “You’ll get to see the look on Madge’s face when she opens the package.” She eased the car back out of the driveway before Jenny could ask for an explanation.

As soon as Andrea’s car disappeared from view, Jenny crossed the street and headed home, taking a shortcut through Welles Park. Like other longtime residents, she could find her way through the maze of walking paths that sliced through the grounds of the former homestead, creating a cross patch of playgrounds, playing fields and woods that drew all the local children. The mansion near the entrance of the park had been built by Mary Welles Johnson, the founder of Welleswood, and now housed the Welleswood Historical Society, which frequently rented the beautifully restored old home out for wedding receptions, banquet events and the annual high school prom.

Jenny took the left fork in the path, passed the old carriage house, now home for Randy Baker, the park’s caretaker. When she reached the gazebo on the shore of the small lake in the center of the park, she sat down on one of the wooden benches.

The air was scented with wild mint. A multitude of pale pink mountain laurel blossoms peaked over the sides of the gazebo. Several Canada geese slept along the banks of the lake. Scarcely a ripple touched the water.

A peaceful scene—one that soothed her heavy heart.

Cancer had come back to haunt her family.

One more time.

She moistened her lips, bowed her head and laced her hands together. She was too heartsick to even ask God why this was happening or to be angry that her family had to confront this dreadful disease again. Sandra’s passing was too recent, and the loss of her parents and her sister Kathleen was still too profound.

Every night when Jenny worked in the emergency room, she saw such a great range of human suffering, some of it organic, but much of it caused by human hands. She should be immune by now. She was not.

Despite the brave front she presented to her sisters, she had been a nurse for too long to be able to accept the doctors’ optimistic diagnosis for Andrea at face value. Sometimes doctors were wrong. Cancer was a disease far too unpredictable to label as curable.

She tightened her fingers as doubts shook her soul. What if Andrea’s cancer proved resistant to treatment or had already spread? What if she, Jenny, was next? What would happen to her daughters, Katy and Hannah, if cancer claimed their mother, too? What would Michael do? How could he keep his dream of becoming a writer alive if he had to raise their children alone?

When tears welled, she brushed them away and battled her doubts with her strongest weapon: her faith. She did not know where her family’s battle with cancer fit into the grand scheme of His plans for them, but she would not let doubt or fear destroy a lifetime of faith, even now. “But for Thy glory,” she whispered as her heart poured out a litany of prayers. For strength. For courage. For hope. And in gratitude for all the blessings He had showered upon them all.

She touched her tummy and smiled. Before Andrea was halfway through her treatments, Jenny and Michael would welcome their third child into this world and into this family. Sharing their news now did not seem fair, not when Andrea was facing such a challenge. Andrea’s health should come first and foremost, not Jenny’s pregnancy.

She looked out at the lake and prayed for guidance. He would know the right time to share the joy that a new baby could bring to the family. And He would help her contain her joy…for just a little longer.

Jane Huxbaugh lived alone in the last house on the dead end of East Mulberry Street, next to the elevated transit line, affectionately dubbed E.T. by local residents. After nearly thirty years, a thick stand of mulberry trees, wild vines and evergreens created a private border between Jane’s property and the right-of-way claimed by the D.V.R.T.A., the Delaware Valley Regional Transit Authority. At rush hour, trains sped by in both directions at seven-minute intervals, carrying residents back and forth from southern New Jersey to Philadelphia. The noise was so deafening, any attempts to have a conversation outside were useless, which certainly limited the use of Jane’s summer porch at suppertime, even if the drooping screens had been tacked back into place.

It was now five o’clock. Andrea had no other choice but to park her car on the street under several messy, fruit-laden mulberry trees. She sidestepped her way to the front door and wiped her feet on the mat to remove any remnants of the blackish fruit. Staining Jane’s carpet, even though it was threadbare, was definitely not a good way to open this meeting. Reaching for the tarnished brass knocker, she noticed it was hanging by a single screw and opted to knock with her knuckles instead.

A train whizzed by. Andrea waited several moments for the train to pass in the other direction and knocked again. She was wiping paint chips from her knuckles when Jane opened the door.

Scarcely five feet tall, Jane had to tilt her head back a little to meet Andrea’s gaze, but then, she had to do the same with most folks, which did little to refute the impression that Jane’s snooty attitude was deliberate. “You don’t call first?”

Andrea winced. “Usually I do. I apologize. If this is a bad time, we could meet tomorrow. Either here or at my office, whichever suits you.”

“What would suit me is a little courtesy and respect,” Jane snapped. “I left a message for you first thing this morning, before you even opened. I expected to hear from you the moment you got to the office.”

“I’m sorry. I had an appointment early this morning, and I had to tie up a few loose ends first.”

Jane sniffed. “If you’ve got the contract, then I suppose you can come in now, inconvenient as it is.”

Andrea drew in a long breath. “I have a contract in my briefcase for you to sign.” Not a lie. Not the whole truth, either, but Andrea was not going to give Jane a chance to slam the door in her face before explaining why the contract she had in hand was not the one Jane anticipated.

The older woman stepped back and motioned for Andrea to come inside, where the light was dim and the air was stifling, as well as heavy with the odor of cooked cabbage.

“Kitchen table’s set for supper. We’ll have to sit in here,” Jane grumbled. She removed several piles of clothing from the sofa and stacked them on the floor next to the coffee table, which was also piled high with newsprint, magazines and junk mail circulars. Jane plopped into her rocker, surrounded on both sides by bags and bags of yarn, and pointed to the sofa. “Sit.”

Andrea offered a quick prayer for patience and courage, sat down and quickly explained what had happened to the original buyer. Before Jane could pontificate on her displeasure, Andrea handed her the contract that the DiMayos had signed a few hours earlier. “Their check is certified. They’ve already prequalified for a mortgage, and we can go to settlement in ten days,” she said quickly. “That would be August third at ten o’clock in my office.”

With skepticism on her face, Jane studied the contract and snorted. “Selling price is lower. Knew there had to be a fly in that sweet-smelling ointment of yours.”

“But only by a few thousand,” Andrea countered. “With the earlier settlement date, you won’t be responsible for six weeks of taxes, and you won’t have to pay for the repairs to the sidewalk and driveway, either.” She held her breath and waited for Jane’s response. Andrea had called in every favor she was owed to guarantee such a fast settlement. Absorbing the cost of the concrete repair work was unusual, but she had done it once or twice before. It seemed a small price to pay for the peace and goodwill she might get in return.

“Stupid law. Thanks to our illustrious mayor and his band of kowtowing commissioners. If the borough wants new sidewalks, let them pay for it. Nobody thinks about seniors trying to live on a fixed income,” she replied, apparently none too happy about the new requirement that all concrete sidewalks and driveways in need of repair had to be fixed, normally by the seller, prior to any sale. She paused. “August third, you said?”

“At ten. Unless you’d like to make it later?”

Jane reached into her apron pocket, pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the perspiration beading on her forehead and above her lip. “If you intend to stay in business, you’d be well-advised to check out the folks you’re bringing to Welleswood. This is a family place. We’ve got no room for somebody like that Sanderson fellow. As a matter of fact…”

Andrea only half listened while Jane offered her usual blend of snide comments and unsolicited advice. She was Jane’s real estate agent. They had a business relationship, not a personal one, thank heavens. Andrea yearned for escape from the uncomfortable heat in the house and from Jane’s company, but she refused to let this woman’s diatribe drain her spirit. As the elderly woman whined on and on, Andrea pictured herself at Jenny’s with her two nieces. Katy and Hannah were still so innocent. So precious. So untouched by the world.

“A pen! Have you got a pen?”

Startled, Andrea blinked. “I’m sorry. Did you say—”

“I said I need a pen.” Jane lifted a craggy brow. “Not one of those common plastic throwaways, either. A fountain pen, if you please.”

Chapter Six

A ndrea could smell the ribs cooking the moment she turned the corner, a block away from the old Victorian house that Jenny and Michael called home. After pulling into the driveway and getting out of her car, she patted her skirt pocket. Madge’s gift was still there.

Still overheated after an hour in Jane’s sweltering house, she ran her fingers through her damp, short-cropped hair and followed the sound of shrieks and giggles along the winding flagstone walkway that ran along one side of the house. She stood under the arbor beneath a crown of glorious honeysuckle and surveyed the scene in the backyard. While Katy and Hannah frolicked under an umbrella sprinkler, Michael stood on the upper deck, tending the ribs sizzling on a gas grill. The picnic table on the lower deck had been set for dinner. Jenny and Madge were sitting on lawn chairs in he yard, shucking corn, with a brown shopping bag between them for the husks.

Andrea watched Michael baste the ribs. He was forty-five, but he looked ten years younger than other men his age. The scrawny adolescent he had once been had matured into a middle-aged adult with scarcely an ounce of fat on his frame. Laugh lines creased his eyes and forehead. His neatly trimmed beard held flecks of gray, finally, but just enough to make him look distinguished. But it was the gentleness in his eyes that marked him as a treasured addition to their family.

Andrea closed her eyes for a moment, slipped back in time and remembered herself standing in her backyard on West Beechwood Avenue. Her husband, Peter, bless his soul, was putting together a water slide. Rachel and David, about the same ages as Katy and Hannah were now, were running under the lawn sprinkler waiting for Daddy to finish. Andrea strained to keep the scene clear, but it vanished as fast as it had appeared.

Swallowing hard, she wiped her forehead. She could scarcely remember Peter’s face anymore or the feel of his arms around her when they’d stood at the foot of their children’s beds to check on them late at night. His goodness and his patience and his love for her and the children: those qualities she remembered clearly; those she treasured…then and now.

“Aunt Andrea! Come and play!” Katy had spotted her and came running, squealing, toward the arbor with little Hannah toddling in pursuit. “Wanna see? I can run around the sprinkler with my eyes closed! Wanna see me? Wanna try?”

“Katy! Leave Aunt Andrea alone. She’s still dressed from work,” Michael called as he waved a welcome.

Andrea laughed out loud. At six-thirty, the temperature was probably still in the low nineties. Definitely a day to sit by the shores of the river with your feet in the water! Or to run under a sprinkler? She was half tempted to accept Katy’s offer, and the moment Hannah tripped forward and wrapped her pudgy little arms around Andrea’s bare legs to break her fall, Andrea made her decision. She grabbed her youngest niece, swung her up to her hip, stepped out of her sandals and grinned at Katy. “We’ll race you to the sprinkler. Ready? Set? Go!”

Andrea took small steps to keep pace with Katy, and the three of them reached the spraying water together. Oh, but the water was cold!

“Tie! Tie!” Katy cried, and started running. “Catch me if you can!”

“Andrea! Have you lost your mind?” Jenny called.

“Oh, no! Andrea! What on earth are you doing?” Madge asked loudly.

Laughing, Andrea ignored both of her sisters, set Hannah down and lifted her face to the spraying water. It felt delicious. Then she quickly stepped out from beneath the water and shook the droplets from her face.

Katy grinned. “I guess Aunt Andrea is too old to play like me.”

“She’s certainly old enough to know better than to run under the sprinkler in her work clothes,” Jenny teased. She handed Katy a towel and wrapped one around Hannah. “I have more towels inside. I’ll send Michael—”

“No. I think I’d rather drip-dry,” Andrea said. “It shouldn’t take long in this heat. Besides, we’re eating outside. It shouldn’t hurt if I drip a little water on the deck.” While she used her hands to ruffle her hair back in place, she spied Madge sitting in her chair, apparently too shocked to do more than stare at her.

Jenny nodded toward the house. “I’m going to take these young ladies inside to change into dry clothes before dinner while Michael finishes up the salad. Why don’t you talk to Madge and see if you can convince her you haven’t taken the final leap into senility?”

Andrea shook the water from her skirt, remembered the present she had tucked into her pocket and grinned. Hopefully, the watch was waterproof. “Hurry back.”

“Start without me. I won’t be long, just in case you need me to perform CPR. Madge is as white as Mother’s azaleas used to be.”

While Jenny and Michael ushered the girls inside, Andrea took a deep breath and sat down next to Madge, who was shucking the last ear of corn without looking at Andrea. “You’re going to get sick, running around under the sprinkler like that,” Madge said.

“I am sick. I had chemo this morning, remember?”

Madge’s hands stilled, and she looked up at Andrea with tear-filled eyes. “Of course, I remember. The question is whether or not you remember that you have to take care of yourself. Did it ever occur to you that you might catch a chill?”

Andrea laughed, stretched out her legs and wriggled her toes. “It’s at least ninety degrees. The humidity is close to one-hundred percent. I seriously doubt I have to worry about getting a chill.”

“Your resistance is down.”

“Not after a single treatment. Later, yes. But not now. As a matter of fact, I feel utterly refreshed. You might want to try it sometime.”

Madge sighed and carefully removed every strand of corn silk from her manicured fingernails. “I prefer air-conditioning, which you have in your home, in your office and in your car, I might add.”

“True. But Jane Huxbaugh doesn’t. Try sitting in her living room for an hour like I just did, and you’d run under a sprinkler, too.” She paused. “Although, maybe, you’d change into your bathing suit, and you’d have your matching cover-up and beach sandals with you, too.”

Madge lowered her eyes. “Go ahead, make fun of me. But even if you’re not going to worry about yourself, that doesn’t mean other people will stop worrying. Or caring,” she whispered.

Andrea’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry. I’m just teasing. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” She let out a long sigh. “I sounded a little like Jane Huxbaugh, didn’t I? I guess I was with her a little too long today.”

Madge chuckled and leaned back in her chair. “That’s okay. Anyone who spends an hour alone with Jane Huxbaugh deserves a medal. I sure wish I knew what made that woman so miserable. Brenna told me just the other day that none of the other volunteers at the thrift store want to work with Jane in the afternoons. Some of the customers have complained about her, too.”

Andrea steepled her hands on her lap. “Disappointment can eat away at a person until there’s nothing left but bitterness that taints everything beautiful in this world. Without faith, there’s nothing. No friends. No hope. Not even any joy.”

“That sums up the Spinster Huxbaugh pretty well,” Madge admitted. “But her fiancé left her at the altar…what? Fifty years ago? I can’t imagine the shame and embarrassment she must have felt at the time. Still, fifty years is a long time to be bitter.”

“Unfortunately, it hasn’t been long enough. Some people still want to know what happened that day, but she’s never told anyone. I can’t recall her fiancé’s name at the moment, but he left town and no one ever heard from him again.” Andrea did a little mental arithmetic. “I do remember Mother saying Jane was supposed to get married right after her fiancé returned from the war in forty-five. Miss Huxbaugh was nineteen. She’s seventy-seven now. That would be almost sixty years ago.”

“That’s a lifetime.”

“Not in our family,” Andrea murmured. She opened her eyes again. She was only a year away from turning fifty-eight herself. “Neither Mother nor Daddy celebrated their fifty-eighth birthdays, not to mention Kathleen or Sandra.” Kathleen had died a week shy of her thirty-fifth birthday. Sandra had been fifty-one.

Andrea cleared her throat. “As short as each of their lives were, I think they all understood something that has eluded Miss Huxbaugh all these years.”

Madge cocked her head. “Such as?”

“They knew how to forgive others, as well as themselves.” Andrea recalled the sermon their pastor had given a few weeks back. “Reverend Staggart said forgiveness stems from faith and the blessings we get from forgiving others is like a warm shawl. It wraps around our hearts to heal the hurts, ease the pain of disappointment and douse the flames of anger.”

A silence rested between them. Then Madge finally spoke. “Speaking of shawls, that reminds me of something I need to talk to you about, but…that can wait.” Her bottom lip trembled. “Can you forgive me for telling Jenny about your cancer? I didn’t mean to interfere or break your confidence, but I just…I just needed to see someone and talk. Russell is still away.…”

Andrea reached over and gave one of Madge’s earrings a gentle tug. “You’re already forgiven. And I have a present for you to prove it.”

Sniffling, Madge looked up, her eyes shining with anticipation. “You do? You have a present for me?”

Andrea leaned to one side and retrieved the soggy package from her skirt pocket. She handed Madge the gift, but did not let go. “Before you open it, you have to make me two promises.”

Madge hesitated. “What kind of promises?”

“First, don’t get offended. Second, you have to promise you’ll wear it every time you’re supposed to take me for my treatments.”

Madge rolled her eyes. “I have a watch, Andrea. I have several, as a matter of fact. Just because I was late one time, one time, taking Sandra for her chemo doesn’t mean I’ll be late again.” She rotated her wrist, and the sunlight danced on the amethysts and diamonds surrounding her gold watch. “This has a brand-new battery and it works perfectly fine.”

Andrea let go of the present. “Not like this one. Go ahead. Open it.”

Madge peeled back the water-soaked wrapping and opened the box. Her eyes widened. “It’s wild! Wherever did you find one the exact color of my convertible?”

“It was easier than you might think.” Chuckling, Andrea pointed to one of the silver buttons on the side of the watch. “Push that one. It’s an alarm. On the days I have to go for chemo, you have to promise me you’ll set it. When it goes off, you’re not allowed to turn it off until you get to my house to pick me up. That way you’ll be on time.”

“I promise.” Madge pushed the button, and the tune began to play.

Andrea held her breath, hoping Madge would appreciate the melody. If not, well, forgiveness was not a one-way street.

Madge’s eyes widened. Her lips curled into a smile that stretched to a grin. When Jenny and the girls returned, Madge gave them a demonstration and they all joined in to sing along as they marched to the picnic table for dinner. “I’m late. I’m late. For a very important date. No time to say hello. Goodbye! I’m late, I’m late, I’m late.”

Forgiveness reigned. Joy abounded.

Alleluia!

Chapter Seven

T he following day, running late after a settlement that nearly did not happen, Andrea waited for the light, crossed the avenue and hurried to meet Madge for lunch. If someday she were to write a book about the ups and downs of real estate, today’s settlement would have to be in the first chapter.

Both buyer and seller had arrived on time at the title company where Andrea and the other principals were waiting in the conference room, ready to proceed, but only the buyer’s wife had come inside. In near panic, she told them her husband was still in their car, suffering from a full-blown panic attack. It had taken Andrea and the couple’s attorney over an hour to calm the man and convince him that buying a home, even for the first time, was eventful, but not threatening. Though the settlement had proceeded smoothly from that point on, Andrea was way behind schedule. If her luck held, Madge would be running late, too.

The moment she entered The Diner and saw Madge in the corner booth, Andrea knew that luck had abandoned her. Madge had already ordered; lunch was on the table. Andrea braced herself for a well-deserved reprimand and slid into the seat across from her sister. “I’m sorry. You wouldn’t believe why I got delayed. I tried to call you. How come your cell phone wasn’t on?”

Grinning, Madge held up her arm, rotated her wrist and flashed her new purple wristwatch. “I had my alarm set so I wouldn’t be late for our lunch date, and I turned off my cell phone so I wouldn’t get distracted. Maybe I should get a watch for you.”

Andrea grimaced.

“I ordered the grilled chicken and walnut salad with low-fat raspberry vinaigrette dressing on the side for you, too,” Madge went on.

Andrea glanced down at her lunch. So much for the BLT, fries and coleslaw she had intended to order, despite the doctor’s advice about the advantages of a low-fat diet. She managed a smile before she squeezed three slices of lemon into her tea and added half an envelope of sweetener. She took one sip, paused and glared over the rim of her glass at her sister.

“It’s caffeine-free. You’ll get a taste for it. It’s better for you, so don’t argue,” Madge said righteously.

Andrea sighed, set down the tea and flagged the closest waitress, who happened to be Caroline, and handed over the glass of tea. “Would you mind terribly…?”

“One regular iced tea it is,” Caroline said, and winked at Madge. “I warned you she’d taste the difference.” She glanced at Andrea. “I’ll bring you a double. Since you’re such a great fan of salads, I’ll bring you a take-home container, too. You should box up half the salad before you add any dressing. Stays fresher, and it won’t get soggy,” she instructed before she left.

“You should eat the whole thing now,” Madge suggested as she cut the chicken strips in her salad into bite-size pieces. “You probably didn’t bother to fix anything for breakfast, and I doubt you’ll take the time to make anything substantial for dinner. The least you can do is eat healthy and well at lunch. Honestly—”

“Since when did you get appointed my personal dietician?” Andrea interrupted, shaking her head and drizzling dressing on a corner of her salad. “You can drive me to the doctor’s office. You can handle my insurance and tend my gardens. But my diet is off-limits.”

Madge laid down her fork. “Somebody has to watch out for you. Eating right is…well, it’s part of recovery. Sandra let me—”

Andrea cut off her words by laying her hand on top of Madge’s. “I know she did. I know you did everything to help Sandra. In fact, you probably helped her more than the rest of us combined.”

Nodding, Madge lowered her gaze. “She said I was the best friend she ever had in the whole wide world, but it didn’t make any difference. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I…I couldn’t save her. I was her best friend! I should have done more. If I’d done more, maybe…”

Andrea sighed. “You couldn’t save Sandra. You can’t save me, either. That’s not your job. That’s God’s job. It’s His plan, not yours, and certainly not mine. You can’t blame yourself for Sandra’s death.”

Madge laced her fingers together and rested them on the tabletop. She looked into Andrea’s eyes. “About a week before Sandra slipped into a final coma, she…she told me something. I haven’t been able to tell anyone what she said before now. Not even Russell.”

Andrea drew a deep breath. “Do you want to tell me now?”

Madge nodded. “We were alone in her living room. Sandra was stretched out on her couch, and I was sitting on the floor rubbing her feet. She liked that a lot.”

“I remember,” Andrea whispered.

“She was in a lot of pain,” Madge went on. “She spoke so softly, I had to strain just to hear her. She talked about Dan and Frank a lot and told me stories.” Madge shook her head. “I’ll never understand why she married either one of those men, not if I live to be a hundred.”

“She had a one-track mind,” Andrea murmured. “Unfortunately, when it came to men, she always got on the wrong track.”

“She knew that, even before she came back to church,” Madge countered. “Just like she knew she was going to die. She told me she was ready to go Home, but she felt guilty for wanting to leave her children behind and all of us, too. You know why?” She leaned toward Andrea. “She said she wanted to go Home because no one here on earth ever really loved her…and she knew He would.”

Chills coursed through Andrea’s body. Sassy, spirited Sandra. She hadn’t lived life; she’d torn through life on her own terms, practically from the day she had learned how to walk. She had dated young, abandoned the faith her family embraced, married twice and divorced both husbands. A gifted artist, Sandra had been Teacher of the Year at South Jersey Regional High School, and a few years later, she was named Adjunct Faculty of the Year at the nearby community college. She had raised and educated two children, one from each of her marriages. Sandra’s elder daughter, Lindsay, had also become a teacher. She was now serving with the Peace Corps in Africa, and her sister, Samantha, was an Army nurse stationed in Germany.

Surrounded by love and success, but with no faith to guide or sustain her, Sandra had felt alone and unloved. Only months before her illness had been diagnosed, she had rediscovered and reclaimed her faith—an answer to prayer for all of her family. Andrea and Madge and Jenny had stood by Sandra’s side when she was welcomed back into their community of Believers. Little did they all know how soon He would call his prodigal daughter all the way Home.

Madge’s words echoed in Andrea’s mind. She was not sure, but she felt that the experience of facing her own mortality, ever since her first dance with cancer over a year ago, gave her the insight to understand Sandra’s meaning and to help Madge to understand, too. “I think all Sandra wanted to know was love,” she whispered.

Madge leaned back and looked down at her lap. The burden she had carried for nearly a year was etched in her expression. “I thought our love would be enough to make her want to stay—and to fight harder. It wasn’t. It should have been.”

Andrea shook her head. “Our love sustained her to the end of her life. In your heart, you know that. But it was her soul that craved to be reunited with Him for eternity. If you believe He plants the seeds of desire in our hearts, then you also have to believe He called her Home. His voice whispered to her heart so she could go to Him willingly, even eagerly. That doesn’t mean she didn’t love us or want to stay with us. She just loved Him more.”

Madge toyed with one of her earrings. “I never thought of it that way.”

Andrea held silent and watched faith and relief ease the troubles from her sister’s expression. When Madge finally looked up at Andrea, her eyes were clear. “How come you’re so smart and I’m so…not smart?”

Andrea grinned and picked up her fork. If it made Madge happy to see her sister eating a salad, then she might as well do so with a smile on her face. “’Cause I’m the oldest.”

Madge grinned back. “Yes, you are. By twenty-one months. And don’t think for a moment I’ll ever let you forget it.” She glanced down at their salads and back up at Andrea. Her expression was solemn. “You’re not ready to leave us yet, are you?”

Andrea dropped her fork, which bounced on the table and fell to the floor. “No, I’m not ready. Of course not.”

Caroline arrived, set two glasses of iced tea on the table and retrieved the fork. “I’ll be right back with a new one. Oh, I forgot your box. I’ll bring that, too.”

“Hmm. Make it two boxes,” Madge suggested with a sudden twinkle in her eye. “We’re going to take the salads home. Bring us a couple of double bacon cheeseburgers, well-done, fries and a side order of onion rings. That okay with you, Andrea?”

Laughing, Andrea nodded her approval.

“Good. Now, while we’re waiting, I have to tell you about the meeting I had with the pastor and Eleanor Hadley about the Shawl Ministry. We organized the ministry several months ago, but it just hasn’t caught on as quickly as we thought it would.”

Andrea fixed her caffeinated iced tea and drank a full glass while Madge recounted her meeting, in more detail, no doubt, than what was in the official minutes. By the time she stopped talking, the meal was nearly finished.

“I have to admit that I’d never heard of anything like the Shawl Ministry before,” Andrea said, genuinely intrigued by the idea of women gathering together to pray and knit a shawl for someone suffering from anything, whether a devastating illness or simply old age, sudden tragedy or merely loneliness.

“It is taking a little longer to get it started then we imagined,” Madge reported, “but we all think it’s something we have to do. We have the community center. We have the need, and Eleanor has been doing her best as the coordinator. Unfortunately, we just haven’t been able to get enough women to join, so we came up with some good ideas about publicizing the ministry more.”

Andrea nodded and checked her watch. She did not bother to remind Madge, yet again, that some women, Andrea, in particular, did not have the luxury of spending their days doing volunteer work. Not when they had to earn a living. “It’s after two. I’m showing the Campbell house at three. Call me later, and we’ll work out the calendar for my appointments,” she suggested.

Madge’s eyes widened. “I forgot! We were supposed to go over your chemo schedule so I could put it on my calendar.”

“I’ve got to run,” Andrea said, taking some bills from her wallet to pick up the lunch tab.

Madge snatched the check away. “This is my treat. Go ahead.”

“Love you. Thanks!” Andrea was in a rush to get back to her office for a file she needed. If she was lucky, Madge would be so involved with her latest volunteer activity, she’d forget to call, and Andrea could drive herself to her chemotherapy appointments but that was probably too much to hope for. Standing at the curb, waiting for the light to change, Andrea mulled over the idea of the Shawl Ministry, and an image flashed through her mind of the bags and bags of yarn and knitting needles she’d seen yesterday piled next to Jane Huxbaugh’s rocker. Andrea was far too busy and too preoccupied with her health to even think about getting involved with the Shawl Ministry, but getting Jane involved was another matter…although perhaps a little like thinking you could lead a horse to water and make it drink. Getting other people to welcome Jane Huxbaugh into a ministry presented another problem, and inspired such a clear image of horses stampeding in the other direction that Andrea dismissed the idea completely.

Green light. She stepped off the curb. For one moment, she was fully upright. In the next, she felt a thud and was airborne. Then she hit the street. Hard.

Chapter Eight

T he ambulance ride was a blur. The stay in the emergency room at Tipton Medical Center lasted until nearly eleven o’clock that night. The final diagnosis of Andrea’s injuries was a relief: no broken bones. Still, a bruised left shoulder and a badly sprained left ankle were proof enough that the left side of her body had borne the brunt of her fall.

Exhausted but comfortable, thanks to pain medication, Andrea was propped in bed with a pillow behind her as yet another emergency-room physician arrived to review her chart and her test results one last time before releasing her. He was young enough to be her son, too, just like all the other professionals she had encountered at the hospital during her visit. Didn’t anyone over the age of fifty work in hospitals anymore?

The young doctor stopped reading her chart for a moment, lifted a brow and shook his head. “A skateboard accident? Next time you’d be better off wearing protective gear,” he admonished.

She sighed. “I was hit by a skateboarder. I was simply trying to cross the avenue on foot. I wasn’t skateboarding.”

He had the decency to blush. “Sorry. That makes more sense.”

She tightened her jaw. She was annoyed that the skater had actually struck her, but she was more annoyed she had not seen or heard him approaching. “I’m just grateful I didn’t break any bones,” she admitted.

“You might not be,” he warned. “Your ankle is severely strained. You’re lucky you didn’t tear a ligament. It’s going to be a good six to eight weeks before you’ll be able to put any pressure on that ankle and try walking again. If you’d broken it, you’d have been able to get a walking cast and had an easier time of it.”

He wrote out a prescription, handed it to her with a set of preprinted instructions and signed her release. “Make sure you take the pain medication with food and follow those directions. Have you got any questions before I turn you over to your family?”

She swallowed hard. “How long before I can drive? I have to work, and I’m a real estate agent. I need to be able to drive. My car is an automatic,” she offered as an afterthought.

He paused. “Rest up for a week. By then your shoulder won’t give you any trouble, and you’ll be able to maneuver about on crutches. You can try driving then, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

She clenched her jaw. “Crutches. For six or eight weeks?”

He shrugged. “That’s the best I can do. Don’t forget to keep that ankle elevated. It’s important. I’ll send your sisters back again now. They’ve got a pair of crutches for you to take home, but it won’t be easy going for a few days.” He shook her hand. “Good luck. And watch out for skateboarders,” he cautioned before he left.

Andrea tapped her fingers on the mattress. A week at home. Six to eight weeks on crutches. Five weekly chemo treatments. And no driving. How in glory could she manage all that and still run a business?

She closed her eyes and tilted back her head. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Lord, and I truly am thankful that my injuries aren’t very serious, but wasn’t having my cancer come back again enough of a cross? Aren’t I worried enough, wondering if I’ll be able to keep working as usual throughout my treatments? Did I really need this, too?” she whispered.

All the fears and frustrations of the past few weeks rose up within her. And today’s harrowing accident added enough pressure to overwhelm her. Suddenly, tears streamed down Andrea’s cheeks. She brushed them away quickly, only moments before Madge and Jenny entered the cubicle.

Madge was carrying a pair of old wooden crutches, with some sort of stuffed gray critter on top of each armrest. Fortunately, the critters were not purple. “I had my neighbor bring these down for you. She broke her foot a few years back. Look!” Madge tugged on one of the critters. “They’re squirrels. Aren’t they cute? They’ll help pad the crutches so your underarms don’t get sore.”

Andrea managed a smile while Jenny steered a wheel-chair next to Andrea’s bed and helped her from the bed to the chair. “Michael’s waiting outside with your car to take you home. Madge and I will follow behind in her car. Ready to get out of here?”

Andrea gripped the arms of the chair. Despite being well bandaged, her ankle throbbed unmercifully, until Jenny raised the footrest and elevated Andrea’s leg. She let out a sigh. “More than ready.”

It did not take very long to reach the car, get strapped in and situated, but Andrea did not relish the prospect of reversing the process when she got home.

Michael eased her car forward. “I’ll take it slow,” he promised. “How are you doing so far?”

She grimaced. “Great. I’m sorry to be such a bother. Who’s minding the girls?”

He hesitated. “Cindy Martin.”

“But she’s only eleven or twelve.”

“She’s twelve. Katy and Hannah have been asleep for hours, and Cindy’s mom is right next door, in case there’s a problem. They both wanted to do something to help. They’re pretty shook up.”

As they rounded a corner, Andrea braced herself by holding on to the dashboard with her right hand. “I suppose I made for quite a lot of gossip today, but I don’t really know the Martins all that well. At least not well enough to think they would be that upset,” she said.

Michael glanced at her quickly, then turned his attention back to the road. “You don’t remember?”

“Remember what?”

“The skateboarder who hit you.”

“I can’t remember him because I never even saw him. If I had—”

“It was Jamie Martin.”

“Oh.” Suddenly it all made sense, and Andrea sighed. At fifteen, Jamie Martin was the daredevil of all daredevils, the reigning king of the skateboard world in Welleswood. The fact that he ranked first in his class, served as a junior advisor in his church youth group and was on a fast track toward becoming an Eagle scout rankled most adults more than a little. “Is he…was he hurt?”

“A few minor scrapes,” Michael reported. “Jamie’s always careful to make sure he’s wearing protective gear.”

Andrea snorted. “I wish he was as careful to avoid pedestrians.”

“He’s pretty upset about what happened,” Michael said softly.

“So am I,” she snapped. Her churlish words echoed in the car, and she shook her head. “The kids need a place to skate, a safe place,” she murmured. “I thought the commissioners had been looking into that. What happened?” She shifted her aching ankle and saw her house down the block. She was almost home.

Michael chuckled. “They’ve been looking even harder since this afternoon. The mayor called an emergency meeting for seven o’clock tonight. Your accident apparently inspired renewed interest in that matter.”

“Great,” she muttered. As visible as she was in the community, she deliberately avoided politics and local controversies of any kind, although her role in Welleswood’s renaissance had required that she participate in both for a while. Her name, no doubt, had been invoked more than once tonight, and her accident put her square in the center of the never-ending battle between the critics of skateboarding and the advocates.

As Michael turned into her driveway, she checked the clock on the dashboard. Eleven forty-five. Good. This horrendous day was almost over. She leaned back in her seat and relaxed. Nothing could happen in the next fifteen minutes to make the day any worse.

Ten minutes later, with her three “girls” nestled alongside her on the couch and Madge in the kitchen, Andrea learned how very wrong she could be. No wonder Jenny left with Michael without even coming inside. Anyone who had known Andrea for more than twenty-four hours would have known better than to do what Madge had done.

Andrea clenched both hands into fists and counted backward from ten to zero before she allowed herself to call out to Madge, who was in the kitchen tagging the casseroles that friends had dropped off for Andrea’s freezer. “Let me get this straight. This afternoon, while I was being treated at the emergency room, you left and showed the Campbell house for me at three o’clock, even though you don’t have a real estate license, which means, of course, that if anyone finds out, I could lose my license!”

Madge poked her head into the living room. “I know that, silly. I didn’t go alone. Doris Blake went with me, but it was more like four o’clock by then. Doris has kept her license current, and she was happy to help. She promised to stop by to see you tomorrow and tell you all about it.” Madge grinned maddeningly and popped back into the kitchen.

Andrea’s heart took a quick leap and began to pound. Doris Blake was the woman who had called and left a message on Andrea’s answering machine about wanting part-time work. “I don’t believe this. You took Doris with you?”

Madge returned to the living room with a tray and set it on top of the coffee table. “You missed supper, so I fixed you some iced tea and a light snack. I bet they didn’t feed you at the hospital, did they?”

Andrea’s stomach growled. “As a matter of fact, they didn’t.” She nibbled on a cracker topped with cheese spread. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Why not? It always works for you.”

Andrea tightened her jaw and stared at her sister. “This is important. This isn’t a game. This is about my business. My livelihood.”

“Exactly,” Madge countered. “Which is why I asked Doris to be there today. I also know you can’t shut down your office for six to eight weeks, but unless you have someone undeniably reliable and qualified, you won’t give yourself the time you need to rest and recuperate from your spill today, either. Need I mention the fact that you have weekly chemo scheduled, too? That’s why I spoke to Doris, and she’s agreed to come work for you starting tomorrow. Well, actually, I guess, she really started today since she showed the house.”

Andrea gasped. “You’ve hired her to come work for me?”

Madge beamed. “I knew you’d be surprised. Pleased, too, aren’t you? And just a little amazed at how fast I can work? I might not have been in the business world like you’ve been all these years, but I’ve learned a lot, volunteering as much as I have. Besides,” she added as her eyes filled with pride. “I remembered what you said when I told you I wanted to help you, even before you had your little mishap today. I’ve got caretaker duty chauffeuring you to your doctor’s appointments. I’m handling your insurance paperwork and I’m going to weed your gardens. That’s all.”

She really could mimic Andrea’s tone of voice well. She knew it, too, judging by the glint in her eyes.

“So, since you won’t let me help you do anything else,” Madge continued pertly, “I know Doris can. And she’s qualified, too. Amazing how things all work out, isn’t it?”

Andrea shut her eyes. Amazing indeed. In a matter of weeks, her entire life, both personally and professionally, had come unraveled. Try as she might, she was utterly and completely helpless to stop it or to make any successful attempts to knit her life back together. Instinctively, she grabbed the only lifeline that had any chance of saving her from total destruction.

Prayer.

Lots and lots of prayer.

She even said one for Madge, hoping her sister might be sent a blessing that would turn her attention to something or someone other Andrea.

Chapter Nine

T he answer to one of Andrea’s prayers arrived at her home promptly at ten o’clock the following morning.

Doris Blake was a unique women who defied easy classification. Nothing about her was average, yet not a single feature was extraordinary. But she made quite a memorable impression. At sixty-something, she wore her years with quiet dignity, helped by subtle, artfully applied makeup only another woman would appreciate. Her green shirtwaist dress and matching crocheted sweater were simple, yet professional. She wore her pale gray hair pulled back into a chignon at the nape of her neck. On her, the style was elegant rather than old-fashioned. Her presence was both friendly and businesslike, just like her voice had sounded yesterday on Andrea’s answering machine.

Andrea liked and trusted her immediately. She knew her clients would, too.

With her foot elevated and resting on an ottoman in her living room, Andrea skimmed the portfolio that contained Doris’s résumé, a copy of her real-estate license and references from former employers and clients, both sellers and buyers. Andrea closed the portfolio and handed it back to Doris, who was sitting in an upholstered chair next to her. “You’ve had quite an impressive career.”

Doris smiled. “Thank you. I’ve been blessed. Not everyone gets to make a living helping other people find a special place to call home. But you must know what I mean. My sister, Betty, has told me what a wonderful difference you’ve made here in Welleswood.”

Andrea swallowed hard, remembering how close she came to introducing that scoundrel Bill Sanderson to the community. “Your sister still works at the county library, doesn’t she? Or has she retired?”

“She’s still there, and she’s as involved with the Welleswood Historical Society as ever.” Doris paused. “After my husband, Francis, died, I wanted a change. We’d lived in Barnegat for over forty years, and everywhere I went, I ran into memories. When I finally decided to sell our home last spring, I accepted Betty’s offer to live with her. I was looking forward to having her company and living somewhere new. Frankly, she’s gone from home so much, I’ve gotten a little lonely and a whole lot bored.”

She smiled. “Helping you at the agency is a real answer to my prayers, but I don’t want you to feel obligated in any way. Madge can be rather persuasive, but she’s also a bit impulsive. If you’d rather advertise for an agent to help you run your office while you recuperate, I understand, though I’m going to be completely honest and tell you I want the position very much.”

Andrea smiled. “You’re hired, but I have to be completely honest with you, too. The position is very short-term.” She paused, debated with herself whether or not to tell Doris about her upcoming chemo treatments, then decided to keep that news in the family for now. “Once I’m on my feet again—”

“I understand completely. I’m not even sure I want something long-term. Not at this stage of my life.”

“I don’t blame you. As a matter of fact, I’ve always worked alone. I’ve never had an employee before,” Andrea admitted.

“I’ll stay and work for as long or as short as you need me.”

Chuckling, Andrea shook her head. “It can’t be this easy.”

Doris smiled and shook her head. “I was thinking the same thing. I only left my message yesterday. I was hoping you’d call back, but to actually be hired within a day…”

Andrea cocked her head. “Have you got any other plans for today?”

“No, I kept the day open.”

“Good. Let’s go into the office together. I’m sure there are messages waiting. You can get familiar with the setup, though we’ll have to rearrange things a bit now that the two of us will be sharing the workspace. We’ll need to stop by Jenny’s on the way. Somehow she wound up with my briefcase, and I need to check my calendar to see about the appointments I had for today. We should be able to catch the clients before they leave. They have a wedding today.”

She pointed at the portfolio in Doris’s hands. “Bring that along, too.”

Doris stored the portfolio in her briefcase before she stood up. “Unless you have something here we can take so you can keep that foot elevated, we’ll need to stop at Betty’s, too. She’s got an old needlepoint footrest you can use.”

No argument from Doris about Andrea going to the office instead of resting at home.

No debate from Doris over the terms or length of her employment.

Only support and concern.

When He answered prayer, He could be…amazing.

Andrea could not wait to see what He had planned for the rest of the day.

By half-past noon, Andrea had a signed employment contract stored in the new folder with Doris’s name on it, along with a full copy of the portfolio and notes of conversations she had had with two of the references Doris had provided. Andrea had her foot elevated on an antique needlepoint footrest that was very old and exquisite, and she was actually quite comfortable sitting in one of the wing chairs in her office. Doris had just finished a virtual online tour of the agency’s listings after familiarizing herself with the office equipment.

“You can use my password online until you join the Tilton County Board of Realtors,” Andrea told her, “and you should see Tim Fallon on Monday to order business cards. He can take your photo, too, and use the template he made for my business cards. I’ll call him first thing to let him know you’re coming and tell him to charge it to my account as well.”

“You’re not obligated to do that,” Doris protested.

Andrea hesitated. “That may be, but it’s how we’re going to do it. Normally agents aren’t hired for a few weeks, either. Have you got a cell phone?”

Doris rolled her eyes. “A necessary evil in this business. I hate cell phones, and I love them. Yes, I’ve got one.”

“Good. You can pay for that.” Andrea glanced around the front office and sighed. “What we really need is a pair of strong arms to help rearrange the furniture. If we add one of the tables from one of the conference rooms, we can set up the work area to accommodate both of us.”

Literally, before her words could fade to an echo, her front door opened and Jamie Martin stepped inside. Through the picture window, she could see his father, Shawn, watching from across the street, but she directed her attention to the young man who approached her.

He walked with stiff determination and stopped a few feet away from her. All arms and legs, he topped six feet already. He had his mother’s dark hair and his father’s pale blue eyes—eyes that shimmered with remorse. “I came to apologize, Mrs. Hooper. I’m really, really sorry about running into you yesterday.” He glanced down at her foot and his cheeks flamed. “Is it broken?”

She drew in a deep breath. Here she was, feeling as bruised and battered as if she had been hit by a truck, and he apparently did not have more than a little scrape on his chin. But he wasn’t a truck. He wasn’t even an adult. He was just a kid. A good kid.

As much as she wanted to lash out at him and hurl every well-deserved criticism she could fathom, she did not have the heart. He looked scared. He looked penitent. He looked genuinely concerned about her well-being. “It’s a bad sprain, but the doctor said I might be better off if I had broken it. Apparently, it’s going to take a while to heal.”

Jamie swallowed so hard, Andrea could see his Adam’s apple move up and down. “I sprained my ankle once. Hurt like anything.”

Andrea caught a glimpse of Doris, quietly slipping behind Jamie and out the front door. “Skateboarding?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I mean, yes.” He stared at the floor for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes were clear. He straightened his shoulders. “I won’t be skateboarding for a while.”

She cocked one brow. “You’ve been grounded,” she murmured, and wondered if he would notice the pun.

His eyes twinkled. “Yes, ma’am. For the rest of the summer, at least. Mom and Dad said they’d decide then when I could get my skateboard back. It all depends…”

“Depends on what?”

“How I spend my summer. They left it up to me. I thought about it all night and talked it over with them at breakfast. They agreed with my idea. Dad wanted to come with me.” He nodded toward the window. “I asked him to wait for me across the street.”

Curious and impressed that he had apparently not been forced to come to apologize in person, Andrea nevertheless remained silent.

“Anyway, here’s my idea,” Jamie went on. “Instead of working at the school like I’ve been doing, painting and cleaning gum off the desks and stuff, I’d like to work for you. As a volunteer,” he added quickly. “I feel real bad that you won’t be able to get around because of what I did, so I figured you could use my help. I can be here to help you get inside when you get to work. I can go to the post office and mail stuff for you. Pick up lunch and bring it back for you. Take out the trash…whatever you can’t do because you’re on crutches, I can do. If you’ll let me.”

Stunned, Andrea sat up a little straighter. “You’d work here all summer?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“For free.”

He never even blinked. “Yes, ma’am.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What about your responsibility to your job at the school?”

“I called my friend, Matt. He’s been looking for a job. Then I called my boss, Mr. Potter. He said it was all right if Matt took my place. I just have to call back this afternoon and let them both know if—”

“If I’ll let you do your penance here?”

He nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

Moved, Andrea glanced at the ridiculous crutches Madge had given her and steepled her hands. The conversation she had had with Madge about forgiveness and the greater blessings received when able to forgive someone else replayed in her mind. Instinctively, her heart reached out and claimed those blessings—for herself and for Jamie. “I’d need you here at quarter to nine. Sharp. You can help me get from the car to the office Monday through Saturday. You can leave at three. We’ll try it for a week, see how it goes, and go from there.”

Relief washed over his features. “When do I start?”

She smiled. “How do you feel about moving some furniture right now?”

That night, Andrea crawled into bed early and switched out her light. Well, crawled wasn’t exactly how to describe the way that she had scooted and scrunched into a sleeping position, but it was the best she could manage. Her shoulder was still sore. Pain throbbed in her ankle. But her spirit was hopeful as she waited for the pain medication to start working so she could fall asleep, and she had the “girls” to keep her company until she did.

“I’m sleeping late tomorrow. It’s Sunday. Jenny and Michael won’t be picking me up until eleven for late services,” she murmured to the cats, as Redd found her usual spot and settled down against Andrea’s cheek. Redd’s sisters, Sandy and Missy, curled up on either side of Andrea’s bandaged ankle.

Andrea sighed and closed her eyes. Normally, she could not sleep on her back, but tonight, she could have slept lying upside down. “What a different day this has been from yesterday. Thank you,” she whispered. She had scarcely begun her evening prayers when the doorbell rang, startling her.

She groaned, reached over and turned on the light.

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