“If they end up diagnosing her with Alzheimer’s or something, what will happen? I don’t know if Dad can take care of her all by himself, and you know there’s no one else up there. Not for a mile on every side. And I work every day. But can you even fathom trying to get Juniper Jensen to move out of her house? I wouldn’t be surprised if she chained herself to the stove. Bea thinks I’m being mean, making Mom go to the doctor. She won’t believe there’s anything wrong with her. And they have a cat. Bea and Jeremy. There is an actual live cat living in my house.”

When Mitch finally ran out of words, he lowered his gaze to the table and began picking at a spot where the black paint was chipping away. It had been easier than he’d expected, unloading on Frank like he used to do. It was almost like no time had passed since the last time they sat at this table.

Almost.

Frank took his time responding, as was his way. Even in high school, years before Frank got the call to ministry, as he put it, he’d been the kind of guy to carefully deliberate before rushing into anything. Even words. Maybe especially words.

“You have a lot on your plate,” he finally said. “Including pie, apparently.”

One corner of Mitch’s mouth lifted. “I guess you could say that.”

“I’m good, by the way.” Frank tapped his fingers on the table. “Hannah’s doing great at the university. Seth graduates this year.” His fingers stilled. “Dorothy and I are very proud.”

Mitch looked up from the table, his face burning. He hadn’t even thought to ask after Frank or his family. Had only been thinking about his own problems. And he was the one who had promised Frank all those years ago when Moose Creek Community Church had chosen to hire a well-intentioned but naïve twenty-five-year-old as their new pastor that he wouldn’t let the ministry—the church—change things between them. He swore Frank would always be his best friend first. Pastor second.

Mitch scowled. “You don’t have to rub it in.”

“Rub what in?”

“My callous self-centeredness.”

“I just thought you’d want to know.”

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

Mitch met Frank’s eyes with a challenge but didn’t rise from the table.

“Then why did you?” Frank asked.

Mitch threw up his hands. “I don’t know. Who else am I going to talk to about all this stuff? Ralph?”

A mischievous smile formed on Frank’s face. “How about Marge?”

Mitch huffed. “That’s not funny.”

Frank fought a grin.

Mitch felt a tickle in his gut. “It’s not.”

Despite his insistence, or maybe because of it, a chuckle escaped.

Frank’s shoulders began to shake. “I bet she’s a good listener.”