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yourself is better.”
    “Does help occupy one’s mind.”
    Lettie nodded slowly. “At times, jah . . .”
    Not knowing how to broach the subject that nagged at her, Adah rose and walked to the side door, opened it, and looked out. She’d never been one to get anywhere with this daughter by making small talk. No, she had always had to take matters into her own hands . . . her own way. “Did I hear ya wanderin’ the house and talkin’ to yourself in the wee hours?” she asked, eyes still fixed on the pastureland to the south.
    “Why do you ask?”
    “Well, your father and I were talkin’ and—”
    “You know there’s nothin’ to gain from that.”
    Adah turned to see Lettie sitting upright in the middle of the floor, her bare feet peeking out from beneath the green choring dress spread out all around her. “I meant no harm, Lettie.”
    “Then say nothin’ further.” Lettie wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I have enough to think about just now.”
    She means without me poking my nose in. “All right, then.” Adah glanced at the loaf she’d placed on the table. “I just thought you might like some fresh bread this morning. Would you want me to slice a piece for ya?”
    Lettie shook her head. “Denki, but I’ll take a break when I’m gut and ready.”
    Adah forced a smile and said she had work to do, then left for her own kitchen. No matter her hopes, the tension between Lettie and herself had never lifted despite the passing of years. She could only wonder when, or if, her daughter might open up to her ever again.

chapter
five
    T oday the doctor informed me I’m dying. Someday, he’s going to feel foolish for having ruined my day.
    Heather stopped typing in her laptop journal, resting her fingers on the keyboard as she stared at the screen. She sat high on a barstool at the kitchen counter, one of several favorite spots in the house she’d shared with her parents for so many years. Pulling up her file of personal photos, she smiled as she stared at the most recent pictures of her and Devon, taken at Busch Gardens. Before climbing aboard the Loch Ness Monster, the most intense ride ever. She studied herself carefully. She looked exactly the same then as now, the picture of perfect health. Her shoulder-length brown hair with golden highlights gleamed in the sunlight, and her blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. Sure, she was tall and slender, but that was nothing new for her.
    “See?” she said to a pair of matching black Persians. “I’m absolutely fine.”
    The cats had been a gift from her parents to each other on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. The big silver year was celebrated by most couples with a trip to Hawaii or Cancun . . . or silver jewelry and other finery.
    But in spite of their practical approach to marriage, her parents had always been anything but typical. For their special anniversary they’d dipped into their savings and bought the purebred kittens.
    As cat lovers, they had already owned three beautiful cats since saying “I do.” Tiger’s and Sasha’s lives had been short-lived . . . but the sweetest cat of all, Kiki, had surprised even the vet by living seventeen years before succumbing to old age. Mom had been too heartbroken to replace Kiki right away, so they’d waited a couple years to purchase the black feline siblings.
    Heather nuzzled her face into Moe’s gleaming fur. He always seemed to know her mood and liked to meow-talk when alone with her. She sighed and turned to scowl at the computer screen. “Starting over.” She selected what she’d just typed, then pressed Delete. “Hypothetically speaking, if I were as sick as the doc seems to think I am, what would I do?” She floated the question to the air.
    Meow . . . mew.
    She reached for Moe and held him close. “You silly cat.”
    What would Mom advise?
    She recalled her mother’s calm, sensible response to her own diagnosis. While she had gone the route of modern medicine, in