Debbie Macomber Read Free Page A

breathless with anticipation.
    â€œYou did,” he said.
    â€œIf there’s any way I could be of service,” Mercy volunteered, “I’d be more than happy to help.”
    â€œI’m sure you would, but there’s the small matter of—”
    Mercy interrupted him, raising her hand. “If you’re going to bring up that unfortunate incident with the aircraft carrier, I want to point out that I’ve repented.”
    â€œActually,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat. “I was thinking about the time you rerouted that 747.”
    â€œOh.”
    Mercy’s cheeks colored, as well they should. That had been the final straw as far as Gabriel was concerned. “I don’t know if I can trust you back on earth,” he said pensively. But the number of available Prayer Ambassadors was limited….
    â€œPlease, please, please, give me another chance,” Mercy begged, hands folded.
    For all the trouble she caused, Mercy did have a certain knack for getting prayers answered. What humans didn’t always grasp was that prayer requests usually required participation on their end. God liked it when His children trusted Him with their needs, but the Almighty Father welcomed human cooperation, too.
    â€œHarry’s prayer just arrived,” Gabriel said with some hesitation. “He knows his remaining time on earth is brief.”
    â€œDoesn’t he realize he’ll receive a new body once he gets to heaven?” Mercy asked, seeming surprised by the older man’s reluctance to leave earth. “It’s so much better here.”
    â€œHe knows,” Gabriel said. Perhaps it would be best if he allowed her a view of Harry and Rosalie. “Come and meet Harry,” the archangel invited and with one wide sweep of his arm, he whisked away the veil between heaven and earth. A moment later the two of them were able to look down upon the town of Leavenworth.
    Â 
    â€œHarry, is that you?” Rosalie called when he stepped into the house and closed the door against the bitter December wind.
    â€œIt’s me,” Harry replied in a strained voice. He felt short of breath, and his mind was full of what Dr. Snellgrove had told him. He knew Rosalie couldn’t cope without him; he also knew he’d have to trust that God would answer his prayer.
    â€œI have lunch ready,” his wife said as he entered the kitchen.
    He had little appetite, but Harry couldn’t disappoint Rosalie, since she’d made the effort of preparing their meal. At this stage, she only remembered a few of her favorite recipes. Almost always, they had canned soup for dinner. No doubt that was what she’d made for lunch, too.
    Food didn’t interest Harry much anymore. He ate because it was necessary but without any real enjoyment.
    Coming into the kitchen, he saw that he’d guessed correctly. Rosalie had heated up soup. Two steaming bowls filled with bright-red tomato soup sat on the kitchen table. What was left in the small saucepan was boiling madly on the stove. When Rosalie turned her back to bring the silverware to the table, Harry reached over and switched off the burner.
    Soon he joined his wife at the round oak table in the small alcove. They bowed their heads, and Harry murmured grace. When he finished, Rosalie smiled softly, her eyes brimming with love. “How did everything go at the doctor’s, sweetheart?”
    Rather than worry her, Harry simply nodded. “I’m as fit as can be expected for a man of my age.”
    Rosalie looked back at him with concern. She seemed about to ask him more but changed her mind. He’d told her what she wanted to hear.
    â€œIs soup all right?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s perfect.” Not sure how to broach the subject of moving, Harry swallowed three spoonfuls of his lunch, then paused. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d brought it up—far from it. He carefully set his spoon on