8 Sandpiper Way. Debbie Macomber
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you,” Justine said.
“Would you like me to pray with you now?”
“Please.” It was Charlotte who answered. She set aside her knitting needles and bowed her head.
Justine sat beside Grace and closed her eyes. Seeing how shaken she was, Grace took the younger woman’s hand in her own. Justine held on tightly.
Pastor Flemming’s prayer was brief, but it brought Grace a sense of peace. She didn’t know what the outcome would be, but for the first time she was ready to leave that with God.
When Pastor Flemming finished, the small group whispered, “Amen.”
The prayer affected them all. Jack looked more composed and so did Justine. Charlotte picked up her knitting needles. Grace found herself breathing normally again.
They chatted amicably with Pastor Flemming for a few minutes until he said, “I’ve got a meeting, so I’d better leave now.” He got to his feet.
Jack stood, too. “I can’t thank you enough for stopping by.”
The pastor nodded and patted Jack’s shoulder affectionately. “We can’t always know what the future holds, but we know Who holds the future.”
“That we do,” Charlotte concurred, her fingers busy.
“Remember,” Pastor Flemming said, “if there’s anything you need, day or night, call me.”
“Thank you again,” Grace told him, grasping his hand as they exchanged goodbyes. “Please pray for her.”
“Of course,” he promised. “Olivia is in my prayers, as she is in yours.”
He left soon afterward and the small gathering continued their visit, newly energized or so it seemed to Grace. As they talked, Jack reached sheepishly inside his pocket for a hand-held gadget.
“What’s that?” Justine asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Video poker,” Jack mumbled. “Bob Beldon bought it for me. He said it’d help distract me while Olivia’s in surgery.”
Justine planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You mean to say my mother’s fighting for her life in there and you’re going to sit here playing video games?”
“Uh …” Jack hesitated, then nodded decisively. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“Oh.” Justine paused. “Do you think they have those in the hospital gift shop?” she asked, breaking the tension.
Grace burst into laugher, and so did Justine and Jack. Charlotte looked up, but didn’t seem to understand the joke. They were still chiding one another when the surgeon entered the waiting room.
Simultaneously they all stood, their laughter instantly cut short. Every eye was on Dr. McBride.
The silence seemed to pulse through the room.
“We were fortunate to have detected the tumor when we did,” he began.
“Do you mean it hasn’t metastasized?” Grace asked in a hushed voice.
“No, it doesn’t look like it. The margins seem to be clear. We’ll have to wait for the final diagnosis to be sure, but we sent tissue down to the lab during surgery, and according to the pathologist, there appears to be no lymph node involvement.”
“Thank God,” Jack whispered. And then, as if his knees had given out on him, he sank back into his chair.
Tears formed in Grace’s eyes and she hugged Justine. Sniffling, Justine hugged her back.
“I knew it all along,” Charlotte said righteously. She, too, sat down and once again her knitting needles started clicking. “I told you, didn’t I?”
“Olivia’s oncologist has scheduled a regimen of chemotherapy and radiation treatments for her,” the surgeon said.
Grace hardly heard a word after that.
Her friend had always been a survivor. Cancer was just one more obstacle Olivia would surmount with her unyielding grit and determination.
Eight
Dave Flemming left the Bremerton Hospital and drove directly back to Cedar Cove for his meeting with Allan Harris. The attorney had asked to see him before Thanksgiving, but with his busy schedule and the holidays pressing in on him, this was the first opportunity Dave had found.
Harris’s office was off Harbor Street. Dave parked as close as he could, which happened to be two blocks away. At some point over the weekend, Christmas decorations had begun to appear. Evergreen boughs stretched across Harbor from one lamppost to another, strung with twinkling white lights. Every year the holiday season seemed to sneak up on him. He didn’t have time to consider what this added expense would do to the family’s already tight budget. Frankly, he preferred not to think about it.
The wind off the cove was cold and Dave hunched his shoulders against it as he walked up the steep hill to the office. When he stepped inside, Geoff Duncan, Allan’s legal assistant, glanced up.
“Hello, Geoff,” Dave said, holding out his hand. He knew the young man casually. They’d talked once or twice after Martha Evans’s death. Allan Harris had been in charge of Martha’s legal affairs; he was a man the older woman had trusted.
“Pastor.” Geoff got up, his own hand outstretched. A moment later, Dave turned to a row of pegs and hung up his coat.
Geoff was a likeable young man with a firm handshake. He dressed professionally in a suit and tie, and his demeanor was low-key, unthreatening. A good attribute for someone in a small-town legal practice, Dave thought.
“Unfortunately, Mr. Harris phoned a few minutes ago and is tied up in a meeting,” Geoff said. “He didn’t think he’d be more than fifteen minutes. Would it be possible for you to wait?”
“Sure, no problem.”
“Wonderful.” Geoff rubbed his palms together. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, water?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Thanks, anyway.” Dave strode over to the small waiting area and sat down. No one else was in the office. He rested his ankle on the opposite knee and reached for a three-month-old issue of Sports Illustrated.
“Actually,” Geoff said, following him. “I was hoping for a chance to talk to you.”
“Sure.” Dave closed the magazine. “How can I help you?”
“I don’t know if Allan mentioned it or not, but I’ve recently become engaged.” The young man’s lips tilted in a pleased smile.
“Congratulations!”
“Thank you.” Geoff’s smile grew wider. “I feel like the luckiest man alive because Lori Bellamy’s agreed to marry me.”
The Bellamys were major landowners on Bainbridge Island. Dave had heard the name any number of times through the years because of the family’s many philanthropic projects. If he remembered correctly, the Bellamys owned a theater and various prime pieces of waterfront in the downtown area of Winslow.
“When’s the wedding?”
“June,” Geoff said.
“Perfect month for a wedding.”
“Yes.” Geoff lowered himself into the chair next to Dave. “Lori said something about premarital classes. What’s your feeling about those?”
“I highly recommend them.”
“I don’t know.” Geoff didn’t sound convinced. “She seems to think they’re important, but …”
Dave tried to reassure the young man. “They help alleviate problems later on, Geoff,” he went on to explain. “It’s crucial for a young