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grabbed up the breakfast dishes. Why was she the villain? How come the kids didn’t blame their father for missed events?
    Sinking back into the chair, she ran her fingers through her short cropped hair.

    Rose couldn’t
shake her melancholy mood. Something was missing in her life, and she knew it as she later drove to the Christian Restoration Center. The volunteer work at the center was important to her. Someone had said that when a parent goes to prison, the whole family goes there too. This particular ministry worked with those behind bars, the at-risk families of those who were imprisoned, and ex-offenders once they were released. For the past three years, the church had helped with their Christmas program, wrapping gifts for the children of incarcerated parents.
    Right now, Rose’s heart felt heavy when she picked up four women at the church parking lot.
    “Have you heard about Sue Barton?” Sharon rummaged in her purse and took out a stick of gum.
    “She phoned the other night, but I was on my way out to choir practice. I haven’t gotten back to her yet.” Rose sat back to navigate the heavy morning traffic.
    “She found a lump in her left breast.”
    Deafening silence filled the car. Not a woman spoke, but Rose’s heart sank. Sue had found a lump in her breast? Was that why she had called? Her throat closed as she listened to the quiet speculations now floating around the interior of the car.
    “Probably nothing — they say that 80 percent of all lumps are benign,” one of the ladies commented hopefully.
    Eighty percent of other women’s lumps were benign, and that was a blessing. But what about the other 20 percent? Rose switched lanes, her ears tuned to the conversation.
    “My sister found a lump last year. They did a biopsy and everything turned out fine.”
    “Sue’s such a worrier,” someone commented. “She stresses over everything.”
    A lump definitely qualified as “stress” in Rose’s estimation. She would call Sue the moment she got home. Her headache that had been only an annoyance now began to expand and intensify. She hadn’t made that luncheon date with Jean yet. She wondered how the family was doing. Had they heard anything from Ken’s tests, or were they still in a perpetual frozen state waiting for the phone to ring?
    And Blyth — she needed to pray for Blyth, but her mind was going in fifty different directions. Drawing a deep breath, Rose reminded herself of first things first. Wrap the presents for the inmates’ children, and then worry about phone calls.
    It was nearing three o’clock when she left the prison fellowship building. Her head felt like someone had ripped it off her shoulders and given it a couple of hard stomps. She dropped the other women off at their cars and headed home, wondering what to do about dinner. She couldn’t send Joey and the kids out again. She still had a sea of pending tasks ahead of her and not a leftover in the refrigerator.
    As she drove along the highway, the exit to Dr. Reel’s office came in sight. Before she realized it, she threw on the blinker. Five minutes later, she walked into the clinic, unannounced and with no appointment.
    The receptionist glanced up, smiling. “Rose?” Her gaze dropped to the appointment sheet. “I don’t have you scheduled.”
    “I don’t have an appointment.” Rose sagged against the small reception window, aware that she probably looked as wiped out as she felt. “Is it possible to see the doctor? My head feels like it’s about to explode, and I’ve already used my Maxalt for the month.” She thought of the empty blister packs in the bathroom cabinet and wanted to weep. Insurance paid for only so many a month, and she had a lot of month left.
    “Rose?” Dr. Reel’s nurse, Lana, spotted her and stepped to the window. “What’s going on?”
    “I’m out of Maxalt and on impulse I stopped, hoping the doctor can work me in.”
    Lana winked. “I think it’s possible.”
    Ten minutes later