Cedar Cove Collection. Debbie Macomber

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 had given the subject a great deal of thought. She wouldn’t, couldn’t, confront Dave. If she was right, he’d only deny it—and if she was wrong, her husband would be deeply hurt that she’d accused him of such a fundamental betrayal. As far as she was concerned, it was a lose-lose proposition.

      “My guess is that you’ve allowed your suspicions to build up,” Barbara said. “A few unrelated events don’t necessarily equal an affair.”

      “But, Mom—”

      “I know Dave. It just isn’t in him to do this.”

      Emily so badly wanted to believe that, and yet …

      “Dave is a terrible liar,” her mother went on. “If something’s going on, I’m sure I’ll pick up on it.”

      Emily grinned. True enough, her mother had a nose for anything suspicious. Emily and her brother had gotten away with very little while living under their mother’s watchful eye. “I certainly never managed to hide anything from you.”

      “Darn right.” Barbara smiled back. “Now put this out of your mind—at least for today.”

      “I’ll try,” Emily promised.

      “You have a lot for which to be grateful,” her mother said. “This is your first Thanksgiving in your beautiful new home, and you have every reason to feel loved and cherished by your family. Don’t allow your suspicions to ruin Thanksgiving.”

      Emily had to agree. Still … “You’ll tell me if you think something’s wrong with Dave?” she pressed.

      “Of course, but I’m positive you’re imagining it. A week from now, you’ll be phoning me, embarrassed you’d ever suspected Dave of anything so out-of-character.”

      For the rest of the day, Emily did as her mother had suggested and tried to put the doubts and fears completely out of her mind.

      Just after two, Barbara helped her set the table. The formal dining room was one of Emily’s favorite things about this new house. She’d always wanted one. For the first time since she’d been cooking the family’s Thanksgiving dinner, they’d be able to eat someplace besides the kitchen.

      She’d worked hard to make the dining room as festive as she could. The mahogany table, chairs and matching hutch came from a second-hand store and had been a real bargain. Emily had loved the dining set the moment she saw it. She’d shown it to Dave, although even secondhand, the price was well out of their range. Later—to her surprise and delight—it had been delivered to the house. Dave told her he’d talked to the dealer, who’d agreed to sell it to them at almost half the asking price.

      Looking at it now, she still felt thrilled. She’d used a dark green linen tablecloth and spread an array of colorful maple leaves all around it. Then she’d created a cornucopia for a centerpiece, filling it with yellow, green and orange gourds, as well as miniature pumpkins. Lighted pale green candles provided the final touch.

      The table hit exactly the right festive note, she thought. It could’ve appeared in one of those glossy home magazines—and she should know because they were one of the few extravagances she allowed herself. The china had been a wedding gift and was only used once or twice a year, so arranging it on a real dining room table was a special treat.

      As she stood back to examine her handiwork, Dave stepped up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You did a beautiful job,” he said, kissing her affectionately.

      Her mother smiled at her and then, as Dave turned away, she mouthed, “I told you so.”

      Emily rolled her eyes.

      Once all the serving dishes were on the table and Dave had carved the turkey, it was nearly four. Everyone was hungry, since lunch had consisted of crackers and cheese.

      “I get the wishbone this year,” Matthew called out.

      “No, I do,” Mark insisted. Scowling, he protested, “Matthew got it last year.”

      “Boys, don’t squabble.” Dave looked sternly in their direction. They both instantly went quiet.

      “Shall we say grace?” Dave said.

      They all joined hands around the table and bowed their heads as Dave offered up a simple, yet heartfelt prayer of gratitude. When he’d finished, everyone at the table murmured, “Amen.”

      “Pass the stuffing,” Matthew said before Emily had even opened her eyes.

      “Matthew, the dish will come to you soon enough,” Emily reminded her oldest son. “And it’s please pass the stuffing.”

      “The stuffing’s my favorite,” he muttered.

      “Mine, too,” Mark said. “I like it with lots of gravy.”

      Soon the platter and bowls circled the table and everyone’s plate was heaped with turkey, dressing, two different potato dishes, special salads and more.

      When they’d had dessert—the two pies, with whipped cream or ice cream—the family lingered at the table and chatted amicably, teasing one another, joking and sharing stories. This was Emily’s favorite part of the holiday.

      “The boys and I will load the dishwasher,” Dave announced as he stood up half an hour later.

      Matthew wore a horrified look. “Dad!” he burst out. “Don’t volunteer.”

      “Dad!” Even Mark seemed appalled. “There must be a hundred thousand dishes.”

      “Then I suggest we get started.”

      Both boys groaned.

      “Your mother and grandmother spent all day cooking this wonderful meal. It wouldn’t be right to expect them to wash the dishes, too.”

      “What about Grandpa?” Mark asked.

      “I’ll help,” her father said with a chuckle.

      “No, you won’t, Al,” Dave insisted. “You sit back and relax. The boys and I can manage.”

      “Dad, you can’t turn down help,” Mark told his father urgently.

      “All right, Al, if you’re game, then by all means join us in the kitchen.”

      Emily and her mother put away the leftovers, then relaxed in the living room, drinking tea while the men handled the cleaning up.

      “Well,” Emily said, looking at her mother. “What do you think?” She didn’t need to elaborate.

      Barbara frowned thoughtfully. After a moment she bit her lower lip. “He’s doing a good job of it.”

      “Of