Rachel Dahlrumple. Shea McMaster

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      A very important truth hit me, something I’d taken for granted, much the same as most people do.

      When disaster strikes, you find out who your true friends are.

      I opened my eyes enough to see Mark and Carl exchange a look much like the one Dan and John had exchanged the previous night. Par for the course. Most of the time they thought I was either crazy or too dense to understand the look. I was smarter than people tended to give me credit for, but I forgave them because although they didn’t understand me much, they tolerated my oddities–if curling up with a good book instead of hunting for snakes and spiders was considered odd, which it had been back then–when I displayed them, as I’d tolerated, or rather ignored, theirs. Snakes and spiders–ugh. For the most part, people, and by people I mean grownups rather than my littlest customers, never noticed me any more than they noticed last month’s bestsellers on the library shelves. But no matter what they thought of my quirks, we’d stood together more than once through the years.

      Dan’s hand skimmed up my back and under my hair, until his large, warm hand gripped my nape. Thinking he might be preparing to push my head down between my knees again, I leaned back into his hold. It was an intimate touch, far more than the situation required; however, the contact felt right and I didn’t move away. Neither did he.

      “Rachel,” Carl tried again, this time leaning forward, elbows on his knees, looking deadly earnest with gray hair at his temples blending into black. When had that happened? “Burt’s body is being brought back from the casino by ambulance. It’s going to the morgue at the Naval hospital. Since he’s a veteran and all.”

      “Always a good place for a body, I suppose.” Something glittery shimmered before my eyes. I blinked to clear them. “Unless you want to send it straight to Ever Faith Mortuary.”

      “Rachel, you need to know…to understand…” Pity filled his eyes and I leaned into Dan a little more. Cyndi shoved a tissue wad into my hand, then used another to dab at her eyes.

      “I understand,” I said. “He’s not coming. I get it. That’s fine. The party can still go on. It’s not like he does much to help out.” I looked to Cyndi. “You’ll tell John? I’ll need help cleaning up the yard tomorrow. Maybe he can organize a few of the neighbors to help.” I almost blurted out the fact that I’d be tossing Burt’s clothes along with the party trash, but both Cyndi and Dan squeezed my hands like they were juicing lemons.

      “Oh, honey.” Cyndi sniffled, her big blue eyes looking more so as they filled with fresh tears that leaked over the edges, streaking what little mascara remained right down her cheeks. “Don’t you worry about that.”

      “I’m not worried.” I shook her hand enough to get her to relax her grip and turned back to the men watching me from across the coffee table.

      Another vehicle pulled up in the half circular drive and parked carefully in front of Dan’s cruiser. Everyone in the living room turned to see who it was. Pastor McHugh and Dr. Sorrenson climbed out of the doctor’s shiny black sedan. Wow, all the heavy hitters were turning out. Behind them, a county paramedic unit pulled up, blocking the rest of the wide drive. Had they brought Burt here by mistake?

      Mark stood and opened the door to the newcomers. Dr. Sorrenson held up his hand and no one climbed out of the ambulance. Was this a new service? Emergency people anticipating a potential emergency? Did they expect one here? Okay, so I’d had ambulances called for me a couple times due to asthma, but those had been completely different situations during especially heavy pollen years. Certainly not in the last six years, unless people insisted on counting the call to Miguel the previous night. Why now? Because of that minor incident?

      Down the street, neighbors left their houses, coming out to stand on their lawns, their faces turned in the direction of my house. For a moment I imagined myself out there with them, people drifting together one and two at a time. What’s happening? they’d ask each other. I don’t know. The sirens weren’t blaring…

      A pair of my visitors moved the coffee table back and Pastor crouched at my feet, his frail-looking, elderly hand resting on my knee. He’d been my pastor my entire life; from baptism to confirmation, first communion and marriage, he’d been there for the milestones of my life. A new associate pastor had been brought in to help him ease off a bit and begin edging toward retirement. Not that we’d seen any difference.

      “Rachel?” His voice carried more strength than one would imagine. Going on seventy-five if he was a day, he moved with more grace and vigor than men half his age. I’d always imagined I could see a clean, pure white aura shimmering around him, pulsing with heavenly energy. That aura seemed sharper, yet warmer right then. Someone carried in a chair from the dining room for him, but he waved it away. “Rachel, child, tell me what you’re thinking.”

      “No one has volunteered to take over Burt’s spot at the beer table for the party tonight. If we could get that matter settled…” I wanted to rub the building ache in my temples, but my bookends still imprisoned my hands.

      “Don’t worry, lass. The party will be taken care of. Would you like us to cancel it?”

      “No, don’t do that. What would I do with all the…stuff? No need to cancel the party.” I could just see cases of drinks and stacks of paper and plasticware filling the garage for months.

      “Fine, fine.” He patted my knee. “We’ll turn it into a grand wake, shall we?”

      “A wake?”

      Dan’s hand tightened gently on my neck, giving silent approval. It felt good.

      “Yes, lass. A wake to celebrate Burt’s life. A chance for people to process.”