Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

MOVED—NO FORWARDING ADDRESS. She hadn’t heard from Carolyn since. Her mother had read in the paper—she regularly studied the obituaries—that Carolyn’s parents were both gone. Susannah hadn’t realized Carolyn was back in Colville.

      “Carolyn was so excited when I told her you were coming to town. She said she’d love to see you.”

      “Did she happen to mention if she was married?”

      Vivian shook her head. “She didn’t say, but I think she would have if she was, don’t you?”

      Carolyn had married shortly after college; it had lasted barely a year. To the best of her knowledge, Carolyn had never remarried. Susannah wondered if the experience of that divorce had left her friend cynical about marriage.

      “I remember her mother,” Vivian murmured, pinching her lips. “She always acted as if she was better than the rest of us.” Carolyn’s mother had been a war bride from Paris, and in retrospect Susannah thought she’d never really adjusted to life in a small American town. Carolyn had been an only child, and her mother had insisted her daughter attend high school in France. She and Susannah were friends all through grade school and junior high, and then Carolyn had left for a boarding school just outside Paris. They’d written for a while, but their letters became infrequent as they each made new friends.

      Later Susannah’s father had sent her to the same school. Carolyn had been her salvation.

      It was Carolyn who’d cried with her when she learned of Doug’s death. Susannah had been inconsolable and desperate to get home. But that wasn’t to be. She was convinced she wouldn’t have survived the rest of that horrible year without her best friend.

      Back in the United States, they’d attended separate colleges but stayed in touch. That special bond had lasted through Carolyn’s failed marriage. Then Susannah met Joe and they’d married and the friendship had slowly come to an end.

      “I’ll call her after dinner.”

      “Oh, she gave me her number. It’s unlisted.” Her mother seemed flustered for a moment and then relieved. “I remember now, I put it in my purse so I wouldn’t lose it.”

      “When did Carolyn move back to Colville?”

      Her mother blinked several times, as though this was something she should know and didn’t. “I don’t…remember. I don’t recall if she told me.” Changing the subject, her mother motioned toward the chest of drawers. “Should I clean out the drawers so you’ll have some place to unpack your things? Your father put stuff in there.”

      “No, Mom, don’t worry about it.”

      Vivian nodded, then shuffled away, presumably to change clothes.

      Susannah finished her unpacking. Then, taking the cell phone from her purse, she sat on the edge of the bed and punched the number that would dial her Seattle home.

      Her son answered on the second ring.

      “Hello, Brian.”

      “Hey, Mom. How’s Grandma?”

      “She’s fine. Is your father home yet?”

      “Yeah. Chrissie’s here, too. We’ve already had a fight over who got to use the phone.” He lowered his voice and it sounded as if he’d cupped his hand around the mouthpiece. “Apparently she’s on the outs with Jason and she’s in one bitch of a mood.”

      “Static,” Susannah said automatically. That was the term she used whenever her children or her students spoke in an unacceptable way. She’d picked up the habit as a fifth-grade teacher. Her kids might consider her old-fashioned, but she didn’t allow them to use foul language, insulting labels or bad grammar, and that wasn’t a rule she planned to change. She said the word static in order to give the child an opportunity to correct his or her mistake.

      “One hell—heck of a mood,” Brian amended, “but she’s been a real you-know-what since she walked in the door.”

      Susannah sighed. “Let me talk to your father.”

      “All right.” She heard Brian shout in a voice loud enough to shatter glass. “Dad! It’s Mom.”

      “Mom.” Chrissie was on the phone first. “I thought you’d be here.”

      “I’m sorry, Chrissie. Grandma needs me right now.”

      “Well, I need you, too. You should’ve let me know.”

      “I’m sorry you’re disappointed….”

      “Dad isn’t any help.”

      “Did you and Jason have a falling out?”

      A half-second pause. “Brian told you?”

      “Yes.” Susannah could imagine her daughter sending her brother a dirty look.

      “How dare he!”

      “Chrissie…”

      “I wanted to talk to you. I don’t know what’s wrong, and I think—oh, I don’t know, but I’m afraid Jason’s interested in someone else.”

      “Did you ask him?”

      Chrissie hesitated. “Not directly. I probably should have. He hasn’t phoned yet and he said he would.”

      “Chrissie, you just got home. Give him a chance.”

      There was a lengthy silence and Susannah sighed again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she murmured. “I guess all you can do is wait and see.”

      “You liked Jason, didn’t you?”

      “Very much.” God willing, her daughter would one day marry a man like Jason. Not anytime soon, of course. “You’re upset now, but sleep on it and everything will look better in the morning.”

      “I wish you were here,” Chrissie whined. “Why didn’t you take me with you? I love Grandma and I’d like to spend time with her, too.”

      “I needed to get to Colville as quickly as possible.” Leave it to Chrissie to make her feel even guiltier. She was tired. School had drained her and nothing about her life felt right.

      “Dad said I had to cook dinner,” Chrissie muttered. “He said that without you here, I’m supposed to take over meals.”

      “I’m sure Dad would find that helpful.” And since her daughter wasn’t working, she could do something around the house, Susannah thought but didn’t say.

      “He wants me to be his galley slave.”

      “One meal a day, Chrissie, is hardly slave labor.”

      “I had plans for tonight.”

      Susannah didn’t want to get into an argument with her daughter. “Let me talk to your father.”

      “All right, but tell him he’s being totally unreasonable.”

      Susannah rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, grateful to have escaped her daughter’s theatrics. Half a minute later, Joe got on the phone.

      “Hi,” he said. “How was the drive?”

      “Great. I listened to music the entire way.”

      “Did it help?”

      His real question was whether she was still depressed. “I think it did,” she said without a lot of enthusiasm, “I’ll be okay in a week or so.” She prayed that was true.

      For a moment it seemed as if he hadn’t heard her. “Do you intend to visit your father’s grave?”

      “Why should I?”

      “Susannah, don’t get all bent out of shape. It was just a question.”

      “You know how I feel about him.”

      “All right, fine.” He