She put on a pair of soft, faded jeans with a worn Florida Gators sweatshirt and a pair of thick socks. She hadn’t realized how tired she was and, for a moment, wished she hadn’t invited Brent to dinner. But reminding herself how this would make her father’s evening, all traces of “poor me” were wiped away with the thought. Dad spent most of his days in the house, and given his limited mobility, having a visitor was a big deal to him.

Downstairs, Lauren joined her mother in the kitchen. “Yum, I’m starved,” she said as she peered through the oven’s glass door.

“I am too,” said her father as he made his way to the table in the center of the large farmhouse kitchen.

“Hey, Dad, how are you feeling?” Lauren asked as she gathered plates and flatware for the table.

“I’m pretty good today, despite this chilly spell we’re having.” He sat down, and Lauren knew he was in pain from the look on his face.

Once a towering man at six feet, he’d appeared to have lost a bit of height a few months after he’d been diagnosed. His features were still that of a handsome, middle-aged man. Despite his illness, he remained hopeful, and never, at least that she knew of, allowed himself to go into a dark, depressive place. His dark-blond hair still smelled of Prell shampoo, and she knew he still used Mennen After Shave. Smiling to herself, as she thought of these features of her father, her dread of the evening ahead vanished.

“What are we drinking tonight?” Lauren asked her father.

“I’m sticking to the hard stuff,” he said, and pointed to the pitcher of water her mother was bringing to the table.

“Don’t say I can’t read your mind,” her mom told him, then winked at Lauren.

“I know better than to get involved in this conversation,” Lauren said, filling a glass with ice and placing it on the table in front of her father.

They went through a similar routine almost nightly, and Lauren knew this was their way of trying to keep their lives as normal as possible under the circumstances. It broke her heart, yet she was amazed by the strength of character they exhibited by refusing to wallow in self-pity. Her parents were good people. Hardworking and tough. She wished she could just convince her father to step into the future. Another time, she would touch on the subject, but not now. She would stick to her father’s method, place as many ads in newspapers as she could, and hope that they would reach a few new customers before the season was over.

“Lauren, can you get that?”

“What?” Lauren asked, then she heard the doorbell. “Oh, sure.” She’d allowed her mind to drift into the what-ifs again and hadn’t even heard the doorbell.

She took a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face, and opened the door. “You’re right on time,” she said, glancing at the clock in the foyer.