“Sorry, Sir Charles. Not this morning.” She chose rust linen pants, an off-white silk blouse, and some of her funky jewelry, refilled Sir Charles’s water dish, gave him a treat, and made sure she had all the appropriate paperwork in her briefcase before heading to the car. The ringing of her phone made her pause. The furniture store.

“Mrs. Gilburn, this is Nate from The Fond Furniture. I just wanted to tell you that your rug is here and ready for you to pick up.”

“Marvelous. I’ll see if we can come in this evening.”

“I could deliver it.”

“Ah, okay, would after six work?” Loren would be home by then, maybe…

“I will make it work. See you then.”

She clicked off and turned on to the street of the house she was viewing, thinking about the phone call. For some reason, she felt really good about Nate’s delivering the rug. Surely he could stay for coffee.

After punching the address into her GPS, she headed out of town. All the while she drove north, her mind kept running ahead to Ginny, then going backward to when Greg died. She had been devastated, even though she’d known it was coming. Known on one hand and kept praying for healing on the other. Those months she’d cared for him, driven him to doctors, then specialists, then radiation. He’d done his best to fight it, but the tumor in his brain had metastasized from a spot on his lungs that had been growing undetected.

Yes, she knew how Ginny was feeling. But at least for Roxie, Loren was still living at home. She had been finishing high school then and going into the University of Wisconsin. Having another body in the house to provide for, talk with, even cook for helped. That was when she decided to go into the real estate business and got her license a year later. Studying for the certification had helped her too, the demands of assignments, and the tests. So many times she had wished she’d never started, but she finished.

* * *

An hour later, she and the owner had signed the agreement for her to list the house, after he did what she suggested—repaint the front door and the shutters, spruce up the yard for curb appeal, pack away much of the clutter of living in one home for twenty years, and get an inspection. She was fairly certain the house would sell quickly, in today’s market.

She reset the GPS for Ginny’s, although once she was back on the main road, she knew where to turn off. The corn in the fields along the road was leafing out bright green and the alfalfa was on the way to a first cutting. The lovely day buoyed her spirits, until she turned into the driveway.

She blew out a breath and blinked back tears. The lawn needed mowing. The flower beds, which were normally immaculate, really needed attention. This early summer was always weed season. How would Ginny ever keep up this place without Fred?