Читать книгу: «Cedar Cove Collection (Books 7-12)»
Cedar Cove Collection (7-12)
74 Seaside Avenue
8 Sandpiper Way
92 Pacific Boulevard
1022 Evergreen
Place
1105 Yakima
Street
1225 Christmas Tree Lane
Debbie Macomber
MILLS & BOON
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74 Seaside Avenue
Debbie Macomber
Some of the Residents of Cedar Cove, Washington
Olivia Lockhart Griffin: Family court judge in cedar cove. Mother of Justine and James. Married to Jack Griffin, editor of the Cedar Cove Chronicle. They live at 16 Lighthouse Road.
Charlotte Jefferson Rhodes: Mother of Olivia and of Will Jefferson. Now married to widower Ben Rhodes, ,who has sons David and Steven, neither of whom lives in Cedar Cove.
Justine (Lockhart) Gunderson: Daughter of Olivia. Mother of Leif. Married to Seth Gunderson. The Gundersons owned The Lighthouse restaurant, recently destroyed by fire. They live at 6 Rainier Drive.
James Lockhart: Olivia’s son and Justine’s younger brother. In the Navy. Lives in San Diego with his wife, Selina, and daughter, Isabella, and son, Adam.
Stanley Lockhart: Olivia’s ex-husband and father of James and Justine. Now lives in Seattle.
Will Jefferson: Olivia’s brother, Charlotte’s son. Formerly of Atlanta. Now divorced, retired and moving back to Cedar Cove.
Grace Sherman Harding: Olivia’s best friend. Librarian. Widow of Dan Sherman. Mother of Maryellen Bowman and Kelly Jordan. Married to Cliff Harding, a retired engineer who is now a horse breeder living in Olalla, near Cedar Cove. Grace’s previous address: 204 Rosewood Lane (now a rental property).
Cal Washburn: Horse trainer, employed by Cliff Harding.
Vicki Newman: Local veterinarian, romantically involved with Cal.
Maryellen Bowman: Oldest daughter of Grace and Dan Sherman. Mother of Katie and Drake. Married to Jon Bowman, photographer.
Joseph and Ellen Bowman: father and stepmother of Jon, grandparents of Katie and Drake. They live in Oregon.
Zachary Cox: Accountant, married to Rosie. Father of Allison and Eddie Cox. The family lives at 311 Pelican Court. Allison is attending university in Seattle, while her boyfriend, Anson Butler, has joined the military.
Cecilia Randall: Navy wife, married to Ian Randall. Parents of Aaron. Lived in Cedar Cove until recently. Now transferred to San Diego.
Rachel Pendergast: Works at the Get Nailed salon. Friends with widower Bruce Peyton and his daughter, Jolene. Romantically involved with sailor Nate Olsen.
Bob and Peggy Beldon: Retired. Own a bed and breakfast at 44 Cranberry Point.
Roy McAfee: Private investigator, retired from Seattle police force. Two adult children, Mack and Linnette. Married to Corrie, who works as his office manager. The McAfees live at 50 Harbor Street.
Linnette McAfee: Daughter of Roy and Corrie. Lived in Cedar Cove and worked as a physician assistant in the new medical clinic. Leaving for North Dakota. Her brother, Mack, a fireman in training, is moving to Cedar Cove.
Gloria Ashton: Sheriff’s deputy in Cedar Cove. Biological daughter of Roy and Corrie McAfee.
Troy Davis: Cedar Cove sheriff. Married to Sandy. Father of Megan.
Faith Beckwith: Troy Davis’s high-school girlfriend, now a widow.
Bobby Polgar and Teri Miller Polgar: He is an international chess champion; she’s a hair stylist at Get Nailed. Their home is at 74 Seaside Avenue.
Pastor Flemming: Local Methodist minister.
Dear Friends,
It’s time for another visit to Cedar Cove. (And if this is your first visit, let me reassure you that it won’t take long to catch up.) Come and spend a few hours with Grace, Olivia and their families, plus Rachel (and Nate and Bruce) and Bobby and Teri Polgar and … a cast of hundreds. Well, maybe not hundreds, although it sometimes feels that way.
I created Cedar Cove because of the popularity of my earlier series, particularly MIDNIGHT SONS and HEART OF TEXAS. Every day I received reader mail that asked what happened to such and such a character. It occurred to me that I should write an ongoing series, one without a predetermined end. Each book would be an update on the characters, with multiple plotlines. The fact that you’ve stuck with me into the seventh book validates what all those early reader letters told me. You wanted to go back, or in this case forward.
Because Cedar Cove is based on the very real town of Port Orchard, Washington, some of you have come to visit us here. Welcome! A number of the businesses and streets are loosely based on those in Port Orchard, and I’ve put together a Cedar Cove map. You can either download it from my website at www.DebbieMacomber.com or stop by our Chamber of Commerce for a free copy. If you aren’t online just send me an SASE at PO Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366, USA and I’ll be happy to mail you one.
By the way, I also love to hear from readers. You can reach me via my website or at the address mentioned above. I hope you enjoy 74 Seaside Avenue.
To
Susan Plunkett, Krysteen Seelen,
Linda Nichols
and
Lois Dyer
All gifted authors
All treasured friends
One
Late Thursday afternoon, Teri Polgar went to the grocery store. Roaming the air-conditioned aisles, she decided to make her specialty—a macaroni-and-cheese casserole—for dinner that night. Some might consider it more of a winter meal, not really suitable for the middle of July, but Teri liked it any time of year. And Bobby—well, Bobby was hardly aware of what season it was, or for that matter, what time of day.
When she got home, she found her husband in front of a chessboard, deep in concentration. That in itself wasn’t unusual. But the board was set up on the kitchen table and her younger brother was sitting across from him. Two out-of-the-ordinary occurrences.
Johnny grinned sheepishly when she walked in with her bag of groceries. “I came by for a quick visit and Bobby insisted on teaching me,” he explained.
Bobby mumbled something, probably an acknowledgment of her presence. He often muttered to himself, lost in his own world of chess moves and strategies. To say her husband was a bit unconventional would be an understatement Bobby Polgar was an international chess sensation, one of the top-ranked players in the world.
“How’s it going?” Teri asked as she set the groceries on the counter.
Johnny answered with a good-natured shrug. “Haven’t got a clue. Ask Bobby.”
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, moving to her husband’s side of the table. Slipping her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek.
Bobby’s hand squeezed hers and he looked across at Johnny. “Always protect your queen,” he advised her brother, who nodded patiently.
“Can you stay for dinner?” she asked Johnny. A visit from him, especially on a weekday, was a pleasant surprise. Teri was proud of Johnny, but she also felt protective of him. That was only natural, she supposed, because she’d practically raised him herself. Her family—like Bobby, was unconventional—but in a completely different way. At last count, her mother had been married six times. Or was it seven? Teri had lost count.
Her sister was more like her mother than Teri had ever been, but at least Christie was smart enough not to marry the losers who walked in and out of her life. Not that Teri was exempt from some of life’s painful lessons herself. Particularly those that fell into the category of men-who-use-and-abuse.
Teri still had a hard time believing Bobby Polgar could love her. She worked in a hair and nail salon and considered herself the farthest thing from an intellectual. Bobby always said she had a real-world intelligence, practical and intuitive rather than cerebral, like his. She loved him for saying that and was even starting to believe it. In fact, she loved everything about him. The happiness she felt was still new to her and it actually frightened her a little.
She had reasons to be concerned, real-world reasons, she thought wryly, although she made light of them. Recently two men had approached her, bodyguard-types who looked like they belonged in an episode of The Sopranos. They had gangster written all over them. They hadn’t really done anything, though, other than scare her for a few minutes.
Teri wasn’t sure what that was all about. Apparently these goons had been sent as a warning to Bobby. The message seemed to be that their boss, whoever he was, could get to her at any time. Fat chance of that! Teri was street-smart and she’d learned how to take care of herself, although she had to admit those two had given her pause.
If Bobby knew who was responsible for the threat against her, he wasn’t saying. But she’d noticed that her husband hadn’t played in a single tournament since she’d been approached by those men.
“I gotta get back,” Johnny said in answer to her question about dinner.
“Just stay for another couple of hours,” she wheedled. “I’m making my special macaroni-and-cheese casserole.” That would entice her brother like nothing else. It was his favorite dish.
“Checkmate,” Bobby said triumphantly, apparently unaware of the conversation around him.
“Is there a way out of this?” Johnny asked, returning his attention to the chessboard.
Bobby shook his head. “Nope. You’re in the Black Hole.”
“The what?” Teri and Johnny said simultaneously.
“The Black Hole,” Bobby told them. “Once a player finds him or herself in this set of circumstances, it’s impossible to win.”
Johnny shrugged. “Then there’s nothing left to do but concede.” He laid down his king and sighed. “Really, there was never any doubt as to the outcome of this game.”
“You play well for a beginner,” Bobby told him.
Teri ruffled her younger brother’s hair, despite knowing how much he hated it. “Consider that a compliment.”
Johnny smiled. “I will.” He pushed back his chair and looked at Teri. “Ter, don’t you think it’s time you introduced Bobby to Mom and Christie?”
Bobby turned from Johnny to Teri and innocently said, “I would like to meet your family.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” She immediately busied herself unpacking the groceries. She set the cottage cheese—an essential ingredient in her macaroni recipe—on the counter, along with a box of Velveeta cheese.
“Mom asked me about you and Bobby,” her brother informed her.
“Is she still with Donald?” This was the latest husband. Teri had purposely avoided any discussion of her family with Bobby. They hadn’t been married long and she hated to disillusion him so soon. Once he met the family, he might well have serious doubts about her, and the truth was, she wouldn’t blame him.
“Things are shaky.” Johnny glanced over at Bobby. “Donald has sort of a drinking problem.”
“Donald!” Teri cried. “What about Mom?”
“She’s cutting back.” Johnny had always been quick to defend their mother.
Donald had showed promise in the beginning. Apparently he and her mother had met at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Unfortunately, they’d quickly gone from supporting each other in sobriety to becoming drinking buddies. Neither of them could hold a job for long. How they survived financially, Teri didn’t know. She had no intention of assisting them the way she did Johnny. It went without saying that any money she gave them would immediately go toward another bottle of booze or another night at their local bar.
Crossing her arms, Teri leaned against the kitchen counter. “Mom’s cutting back? Yeah, right.”
“Even so, you should have Christie over to meet Bobby.” He turned toward him. “Christie’s our sister.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you have a sister?” Bobby asked. He seemed perplexed that Teri had never mentioned Christie. He knew about her, of course, because he’d had Teri’s background checked—a fact he’d revealed in his usual dispassionate way.
She had her reasons for not mentioning her younger sister and Johnny knew it. She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Don’t talk to me about Christie, okay?”
“What is it with you and her?” Johnny grumbled.
“You’re too young to understand all the details,” she said, brushing aside his question. She and Christie were, for all intents and purposes, estranged, although Teri maintained a superficial civility on public occasions.
“Come on, Ter, you and Bobby are married. He should meet the family.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t want me to meet your family?” Bobby gazed up at her with a hurt expression. He didn’t realize that this conversation had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her mother and sister.
“Yes, I do … someday.” She gently patted Bobby’s arm. “I thought we’d get settled in the house before I invited them.”
“We are settled.” Bobby gestured around him at the gleaming appliances and polished oak floors.
“Not that settled. We’ll have them over in a while.” She was thinking four or five years—longer if she could get away with it.
“Mom and Christie would really like to meet Bobby,” Johnny said again.
Now Teri understood why her younger brother had shown up at the house unannounced. He’d been sent as an emissary by their mother and Christie. His mission was to pave the way for an introduction to the rich and famous Bobby Polgar, who’d been foolish enough to marry her.
“They’ll have to meet him sooner or later,” Johnny said with perfect logic. “You can’t avoid it forever, you know.”
“I know.” Teri released a slow sigh.
“Might as well be now.”
Teri could see that she wasn’t going to escape the dreaded family gathering, so she’d simply take Johnny’s advice. “Okay, okay, I’ll have everyone over for dinner.”
“Great.” Johnny gave her a wide grin.
“I’ll regret it afterward,” she muttered under her breath.
“Why?” Bobby asked, obviously still perplexed by her reaction.
She hardly knew how to explain.
“Are your mother and sister like you?”
“No way!” Teri had done everything possible to make choices that didn’t resemble theirs—with only partial success. While it was true that she never drank to excess, she’d made more than one mistake in the relationship department. Until she met Bobby … “I’ll like them, won’t I?” Bobby asked next, smiling at her with childlike faith.
She responded with a noncommital shrug. Her mother and sister were similar to each other in their behavior and their loser attitudes, although Teri didn’t think Christie had a drinking problem so much as a man problem. Put a man in front of her, any man, and she couldn’t resist.
“Is Christie still with …” For the life of her, she couldn’t remember the last man her sister had been living with.
“Charlie,” Johnny supplied.
“I thought it was Toby.”
“He’s the one before Charlie,” her brother said. “And no, Charlie dumped her last month.”
Oh, great. That meant her sister was on the prowl. This scenario couldn’t get much worse.
“Christie will make a play for Bobby,” she said.
Johnny shook his head firmly. “No, she won’t. You two are married.”
“Why would that stop her? It hasn’t before. Trust me, she’ll make a play—”
“Christie likes chess?” Bobby interrupted excitedly.
Clearly he didn’t grasp the exchange going on between Teri and her brother. “No, Bobby. But my sister will think you’re the most brilliant, handsomest man in the world.”
Bobby grinned. “Like you do.”
Despite her agitation, Teri nodded. “Only more so,” she said grimly.
“You’re jealous,” Johnny accused her.
“Not Teri,” Bobby said, getting up from the table. “She knows I love her.”
Teri wrapped her arms around Bobby and hugged him close. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For loving me.”
“That’s easy,” Bobby assured her.
“Listen, you two lovebirds, I wish I could stay but I’ve got to get back. I have a research paper that’s due tomorrow.” With Teri’s encouragement, Johnny was taking a summer course to get a head start on the next school year. He pushed back his chair and stood. “So you’ll get in touch with Mom?”
“I suppose.” Teri sighed, already resigned to the inevitable.
“Christie, too,” her brother insisted. “She is our sister.”
“Mark my words. Bobby won’t be safe with her around.” And neither will my marriage, she thought darkly.
Teri hated to disparage their sister. But experience told her exactly what to expect. Sure as anything, Christie would throw herself at Bobby. The fact that he was married wouldn’t matter. Not to Christie. Every boyfriend Teri’d ever had, her sister had attempted to seduce. Bobby wouldn’t be the exception, and because he was her husband, Christie would probably consider him an especially worthwhile challenge.
Poor Bobby. He had no idea. He’d certainly never encountered a family like hers.
“Next weekend?” Johnny asked hopefully.
“No,” Teri said. She needed time to prepare herself for this. “Give me a week to get organized. Two weeks from Saturday.”
If Johnny was disappointed by the delay, it didn’t show. “See you then,” he said and kissed her cheek on his way out the door.
Bobby slid his arm around her shoulders. Teri reminded herself yet again that she loved her husband and he loved her. Despite that, she couldn’t entirely quell her fears.
While Bobby Polgar was unlike any man she’d ever known, he was still a man. He’d be just as susceptible to Christie’s beauty and her undeniable charm as every other boyfriend she’d had.
“I’m happy to be meeting your family,” Bobby said after Johnny had left.
Smiling proved difficult. Poor Bobby, she thought again. He didn’t know what he was letting himself in for.
Two
Troy Davis had been the duly elected sheriff of Cedar Cove for nearly seventeen years. He’d been raised in this town, graduating from the local high school. Afterward, like many of his friends, he’d enlisted in the army, where he’d served as an MP. He’d trained at the Presidio in San Francisco, and just before shipping out to a base in Germany, he’d spent a three-day leave touring the city. That was where, on a foggy June morning in 1965, he’d met Sandy Wilcox.
After spending the day together, they’d exchanged addresses and corresponded during his tour of duty. When he was discharged, Troy had asked Sandy to marry him. By then she was in college and he’d joined her at SFU in San Francisco. In 1970, they were married and settled in his hometown of Cedar Cove, where Troy had accepted a job in law enforcement. He’d worked as a deputy until he ran for sheriff and won. Life had been good to him, to both of them. And then Sandy had gotten sick….
“Dad?”
Troy looked up from where he was seated in the living room, staring down at the carpeted floor. “Pastor Flemming’s here,” Megan said quietly. She’d come over to help him organize Sandy’s things—figure out what should go where.
Deep in thought, Troy hadn’t even heard the doorbell. He stood as the other man walked into the room.
“I came to see how you’re doing,” the pastor from Cedar Cove Methodist church said. He was a soft-spoken, caring man who’d officiated at Sandy’s funeral services with compassion and sincerity. Many an afternoon, Troy had found Dave Flemming sitting with his wife, reading from the Bible or praying with her or sometimes just chatting. He’d been touched by the sympathy the pastor had extended, first to Sandy and now to Megan and him.
Troy wasn’t sure how to respond to the pastor’s concern. “We’re coping as well as we can,” Troy said.
No death was easy and although Troy had felt he was prepared to lose Sandy, he wasn’t. As sheriff, he’d certainly seen his share of death, and it wasn’t something he’d ever get used to. But this one struck at the very foundations of his life. Nobody was ever truly ready to lose a wife or mother, he supposed, and Sandy’s death had hit both him and Megan hard.
“If you need anything, just say the word.”
“I will.” Troy gestured toward the sofa. “Would you care to sit down?” he asked.
“I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee,” his daughter added. “Will you have some?”
Troy was proud of what a good hostess Megan had become. Ever since Sandy’s multiple sclerosis had become so much worse, his daughter often filled that role for him, something she’d continued to do after her marriage. Troy appreciated the way she’d willingly stepped in for her mother. She’d accompanied him to various functions in Sandy’s place, and occasionally held dinners for family friends. They’d grown especially close since Sandy had gone into the nursing home two years before.
“Thank you, no,” Dave told them. “I can’t stay. But I’d like to help in any way I can. If it’s too painful for you to sort through Sandy’s things, for instance, I’d be happy to ask some of the ladies at church to lend a hand.”
“No, no, we’re fine,” Troy assured him.
“Everything’s under control,” Megan said. She’d already begun packing up her mother’s clothes and personal effects.
“I’ll leave you two, then,” Dave said and after shaking Troy’s hand, the pastor let himself out.
“We’re going to be all right, aren’t we, Dad?” his daughter asked him in a tentative voice that reminded him of how she’d sounded as a child.
Draping his arm around her thin shoulders, Troy nodded. He usually managed to hide his pain. And for Megan’s sake he even tried to smile. She had enough grief of her own to carry.
“Of course we’re going to be fine.” With his daughter at his side he walked into the bedroom he’d shared with his wife for more than thirty years. Boxes crammed with Sandy’s clothes were scattered across the carpet. Half the closet was spread on the queen-size bed—dresses, sweaters, skirts and blouses, most of which had hung there for years without being touched.
Sandy had been in the nursing home for two years. He’d understood, when they settled her into the care facility, that she wouldn’t be coming home again. Still, he’d had difficulty reconciling himself to the knowledge that MS would eventually take her life.
It didn’t. Not exactly. As with most people suffering from this disease, her immune system was so compromised that she died of pneumonia. Although it could’ve been almost any virus or infection.
For her sake, Troy had made the pretense of believing she’d move home one day, but in reality he’d always known. He brought her whatever she asked for. As the months dragged on, Sandy stopped asking. She had everything she needed at the nursing home. Her large-print Bible, a few precious photographs and a lap robe Charlotte Jefferson had knit before she married Ben Rhodes. Sandy’s needs were simple and her demands few. As the weeks and months passed, she needed less and less.
Troy had left everything in the house exactly the way it was the day he’d taken her to the nursing home. In the beginning that seemed important to Sandy. It was to him, too. It helped perpetuate the pretense that she’d recover. She’d needed to believe it, until she no longer could, and he’d wanted to hold on to the slightest shred of hope.
“I’m not sure what to do with all of Mom’s clothes.” Megan stood in the middle of the bedroom, her arms hanging limply at her sides. Sandy’s half of the walk-in closet was bare.
“I had no idea Mom had so many clothes,” Megan said helplessly. “Should we donate them to charity?”
Troy wished now that he’d asked Pastor Flemming about that. Perhaps the church had a program that collected items for the poor.
“We should.” Still, if it was up to him, he wouldn’t change a thing. Or at least not for a while … He didn’t understand why Megan thought it was important to pack up the remnants of her mother’s life so soon. When she’d arrived with the cardboard boxes, Troy hadn’t argued, but frankly, he didn’t see the necessity of rushing into this.
“Most of them are outdated now.” Megan held up a pink sweater, one Sandy had always loved.
“Leave everything here for now,” he suggested.
“No.” The vehemence with which his daughter responded surprised Troy.
“Megan, let’s not do something we might regret later.”
“No,” she said again, shaking her head. “Mom’s gone. She’ll never hold her grandchildren. She’ll never go shopping with me again. She’ll never share a recipe with me. She’ll … she’ll …” Tears rained down her pale cheeks.
Troy felt utterly incapable of easing her grief. He’d never been good at dealing with emotions and was at an even greater loss now. Megan was an only child and she’d been close to her mother. Both Sandy and Troy had wanted more children. For years, they’d tried for a second child, until after the third miscarriage, when Troy had said enough. They should be grateful they had a beautiful daughter, he’d told her, instead of yearning for a larger family.
“It’s only been two months,” he reminded Megan as gently as possible.
“No, Dad,” she said. “It’s been a lot longer than that.”
Troy understood this far better than Megan seemed to realize. In the end, Sandy barely resembled the woman he’d married. Her death, while tragic, was a release from the physical nightmare that had become her reality. Sandy had lived with MS for at least thirty years. Not until after she miscarried the third pregnancy had she been tested. Then, and only then, were the physicians able to put a name to the seemingly random symptoms she’d been experiencing for years. Multiple sclerosis.
“Let’s not donate anything just yet,” Troy said.
“Mom’s gone,” Megan repeated in the same emotionally charged tone. “We both have to accept it.”
Troy didn’t have any choice but to accept the fact that his wife was dead. He wanted to tell Megan that he was well aware Sandy was gone. He was the one who walked into an empty house every night, the one who slept alone in a big bed.
Ninety per cent of his free time had been spent at the nursing home with Sandy. Now he was bereft and at loose ends. He knew he’d never be the same. Like him, Megan was hurting and she needed to vent her grief, so he said nothing.
“I’ll help you pack everything up and I’ll put the boxes in the basement,” he murmured. “When you’re ready … when we both are, I’ll bring them upstairs again. Then, and only then, should we think about donating your mother’s things to charity. If we decide to do it, I’ll ask Pastor Flemming to suggest an agency. There might even be one at the church.” If not, he’d go to St. Vincent de Paul or the Salvation Army, both organizations Sandy had supported.
For a moment it looked as if Megan wanted to argue with him.
“Agreed?” he pressed.
His daughter reluctantly nodded. Glancing at her watch, she gnawed on her lower lip. That told him how close she was to breaking down. “Craig will be home any minute. I should leave.”
“Go.” He gestured toward the door.
His daughter hesitated. “But the bedroom’s a mess.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
She shook her head. “That’s unfair, Dad. I … I didn’t mean for you to have to deal with all this.”
“All I’m going to do is fold everything, put it inside these boxes and haul them downstairs.”
“You’re sure?” she asked uncertainly.
He nodded. The truth was, Troy would rather be alone right now.
She edged her way into the living room and toward the front door. “I hate leaving you with this….”
“Don’t worry about it.” He was more than capable of packing away a few boxes of clothes.
Megan reached slowly for her purse. “You’ve thought about dinner?”
So far he hadn’t. “I’ll open a can of chili.”
“Promise?”
“Of course.” Not that skipping dinner would do him any harm. Troy figured he could easily afford to lose twenty pounds. Most of that extra weight had snuck up on him after he’d moved Sandy to the nursing home. Meals became haphazard after that. He’d fallen victim to the fast-food chains; there weren’t many in Cedar Cove, but the few that had opened in town he knew well. Because of his job and its demands on his time, he often missed breakfast and sometimes even lunch. Then he’d arrive home ravenous late in the evening and he’d eat whatever was quick and easy, which usually meant high-calorie processed food. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually made a green salad or eaten fresh fruit.
With Sandy gone, he’d lost his emotional balance. Troy felt a sense of emptiness, a gap where his love for Sandy used to be. He still loved her, of course, but the duties and responsibilities attached to that love had disappeared. They’d represented a big part of his life in the last few years.
Sandy dead at fifty-seven—it wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He should’ve been the one to die first; he was the one in a dangerous profession. Practically every day someone in law enforcement was killed in the line of duty. He should’ve died before his wife did. That was what all the statistics predicted. Then Sandy would’ve been able to live comfortably on his pension for another ten or twenty years. Instead, his wife was gone and he was floundering.
“I’ll give you a call later,” his daughter said as she walked to the front door.
“Okay.” Troy stood on the porch and watched her pull out of the driveway. He felt so drained, it took an inordinate amount of energy to step back and close the door.
The house had never seemed quieter. Standing by the threshold, he was astonished by the total lack of sound. Silence reverberated around him. Generally he turned on the radio for company, or if he was desperate, the television. But tonight, even that seemed to require more ambition than he could muster.
