Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 2 Read Free

just say the word.”
    â€œI will.” Troy gestured toward the sofa. “Would you care to sit down?” he asked.
    â€œI’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.
    â€œThank 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.”
    â€œNo, no, we’re fine,” Troy assured him.
    â€œEverything’s under control,” Megan said. She’d already begun packing up her mother’s clothes and personal effects.
    â€œI’ll leave you two, then,” Dave said and after shaking Troy’s hand, the pastor let himself out.
    â€œWe’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.
    â€œOf 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.
    â€œI’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.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œWe should.” Still, if it was up to him, he wouldn’t change a thing. Or at least not for a