Chapters (62)
- Cover
- Half Title Page
- Books by Katie Powner
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
Mitch fought for breath as laughter overtook him. “She’s got to be a better listener than a cook. Her sloppy-joe casserole is terrible.”
“I know.” Frank pulled up his glasses to wipe the tears from his eyes. “She brings it to every single potluck.”
“But the enchilada casserole’s not half-bad.”
“Muy bueno.”
It took several minutes for their amusement to abate. A sharp pang of grief touched Mitch’s heart when he realized he hadn’t laughed that hard since Caroline had passed. She’d always been able to make him smile. Even lying on her deathbed, she would look out the window and say, “That fat magpie must’ve eaten a gopher,” knowing the only thing Mitch hated more than magpies was gophers.
Darn it all to heck, he missed her.
Once a certain amount of soberness had returned to the table, Frank wiped at his chin with the back of his hand and gave Mitch an unflinching look. “Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
Mitch should’ve seen that coming, of course.
His shoulders drooped. “I didn’t want to hear about how I needed to come back to church. How I was setting a bad example for Bea.”
“That wasn’t—”
“Don’t.” Mitch held up a hand. “Don’t try to tell me that wasn’t what you wanted to talk to me about.”
Frank sat back with a sigh. “That wasn’t the only thing.”
“I needed a friend, Frank. Not a pastor.”
“You needed both.”
Mitch made a fist with one hand and softly hammered the table one, two, three times. Just like he’d promised Frank he wouldn’t let the ministry change things between them, wouldn’t ever see Frank as only a pastor and not a man he’d known his whole life, Frank had promised he’d never preach at Mitch. Never make Mitch’s relationship with him dependent on Mitch’s relationship with God. But after Caroline died . . .
“You weren’t the only one hurting, you know,” Frank said. “We loved her, too.”
Mitch recoiled. “Don’t compare your pain to mine.”
“Like I said.” Frank looked him square in the eye. “This isn’t a competition.”
Mitch held his gaze. “You have no idea what it’s been like.”
“Because you’ve never told me.”
Weariness gripped Mitch suddenly and fiercely. He’d had his reasons for avoiding his best friend. Avoiding the church. Avoiding . . . well, everything. Life. But now all he could think about was Bea having a baby and his mother losing her mind and Marge giving him that look and saying she’d love to come to his birthday party.
“Would you talk to Marge for me?” Mitch asked. “Tell her to back off a little?”
Frank’s laugh was long and hard, coming up from the soles of his feet and bursting into the unseasonably warm air. “Not a chance, buddy. Not a chance.”
SEVENTEEN
