8 Sandpiper Way. Debbie Macomber
would need this time.
She’d always been close to her mother, and it wouldn’t be easy to fool Barbara Lewis. Emily sat at the kitchen table, taking deep calming breaths, trying to control her emotions. Her unopened Bible rested in front of her. She’d begun reading it every morning, seeking and finding solace in Psalms.
The coffeepot gave one last sizzling refrain. She got up and had just reached inside the cupboard for a mug when her mother strolled into the kitchen.
Barbara tied her long housecoat at the waist and covered a yawn. “I thought I heard you up and about. My goodness, what time is it, anyway?”
“It’s early, Mom.”
Barbara frowned at the oven clock. “It isn’t even five!”
“I know.” As it was, Emily had awakened before three, tossing and turning before giving up any hope of going back to sleep.
Her mother sat down. “The coffee smells great. Is it ready?”
“It is.” Emily poured a second mug, added cream to both, and brought them to the table, joining her mother.
After a few sips, Barbara looked directly at Emily, who tried to meet her eyes but couldn’t.
“Something on your mind, Em?” her mother said, eyebrows raised.
Hoping to distract Barbara, she murmured, “I was reviewing our menu. I was thinking we should make a double batch of stuffing this year. Everyone loves leftovers.”
“We could.”
“I made the cranberry salad yesterday before you arrived.” The salad, which was more of a dessert, was a longtime family favorite and served only at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Cranberries, gelatin and whipped topping were stirred together and placed in the freezer.
Seeing that her mother was about to speak, Emily interjected. “Instead of Brussels sprouts this year, I thought I’d make a broccoli casserole. I found a recipe on the Internet that looks absolutely delicious.”
“Em …”
“By my calculations, we should get the turkey in the oven around eight if we want to have dinner on the table by four this afternoon.” Emily knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or are you going to make me guess?” her mother asked.
Emily closed her eyes, then abandoned the pretense and buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t someone who easily gave way to emotion. If she had been, the tears would’ve flowed nonstop.
Her mother rested her hand on Emily’s forearm. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me. You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course,” she whispered brokenly.
“I knew the minute I walked into the house that things weren’t right. Is it to do with the boys?”
Emily shook her head. “No, they’re fine.” She thanked God for that.
“Dave?” Her mother sounded hesitant, as if she didn’t really believe there could possibly be a problem. Everyone knew Dave Flemming was a good man. He was everything Emily had ever dreamed of finding in a husband—loving, responsible, caring, gentle and so much more. She’d fallen in love with him while they were in college, and her love had grown and matured in the years since. Not once had she even considered looking at another man. She’d been so sure he loved her just as much until recent events gave her cause to wonder.
“He’s working too hard, isn’t he?” Barbara asked.
Emily swallowed. She couldn’t deny that, although not for the reasons her mother assumed. “He’s gone a lot, yes.”
“It’s all those committee meetings, isn’t it?” Barbara pursed her lips. “Church duties can steal away family time if he lets them. He needs to take a stand.”
Emily straightened. “I don’t think that’s it. I …” She could barely utter the words. “I believe … I have reason to think that Dave—” she paused, hardly able to continue “—that he might be involved with another woman.”
Her mother’s eyes widened in shock before she categorically denied the possibility. “Not Dave, Em. He’s simply not the type. I’m sure you’re mistaken.”
“I used to assume that, too,” Emily said flatly. “Do you honestly think this is something I want to believe?”
“Well … no.” Her mother was suddenly speechless, and for Barbara Lewis, that was unusual indeed.
“The evidence had to practically hit me over the head before I recognized it for what it was,” she whispered.
“Who?”
Emily shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know and I don’t want to know.” She’d racked her mind in a futile effort to figure out who it could be. The only person she could remember him spending a lot of time with in the past year was Martha Evans. She was the elderly widow who’d died in September. Dave had gone to visit her every week. Visiting the sick and bedridden was one of his pastoral duties, of course, but he’d told her Martha was a friend, that they’d grown especially close.
Now that she thought about it, perhaps he hadn’t been with Martha all those times. Visiting Martha might’ve been a convenient excuse Dave had given her and others. Maybe he’d spent those afternoons—not to mention all the evenings he’d come home late—with someone else.
“The truth is I have no idea who it might be,” Emily confessed miserably, remembering the woman’s voice on the phone Monday night.
“Wait.” Her mother raised one hand, her expression thoughtful. “I’m getting ahead of myself. In the first place, what makes you think Dave’s involved with anyone?”
“He lied to me,” she whispered, keeping her voice low for fear another early riser might overhear.
“Out and out lied?” her mother asked.
Emily considered this. “I suppose it was more a sin of omission.” She explained about her chance meeting with the Beldons, when she’d learned that Dave was no longer meeting Bob for their regular golf game. “There’s plenty of other evidence, too,” she added sadly.
“Such as?”
“We don’t … we haven’t …” It was more than a little embarrassing to discuss her sex life with her mother. “We—you know … haven’t … in over a month.” Prior to this point, they’d enjoyed a satisfying sexual relationship. Emily missed her husband in every way. On the few nights he was home early, Dave was often asleep by the time she got into bed. The nights she went to bed first, he crept silently into the room and slid between the sheets, doing his best not to wake her. Only Emily wasn’t asleep. It troubled her to realize that if he had reached for her, she didn’t know how she would’ve responded.
“He isn’t as interested in you physically as he once was. Is that what you’re trying to say?”
With her cheeks warming, she nodded.
“Have you checked credit card receipts?” her mother suggested.
“No!” First of all, it hadn’t occurred to Emily, and secondly, she might have ended up with information she didn’t want, information she wasn’t ready to face.
“Em, it seems to me that you’ve blown a few minor details out of proportion,” Barbara continued. “That’s what happens when you keep your doubts buried. Ask him. Dave is your husband. He’ll probably be shocked when he finds out you think he’s got a woman on the side.”
“He’ll say it isn’t true, of course. What good would it do to ask?”
“It’ll clear the air. And his reaction will tell you if you actually have reason to worry.”
Emily