Sandpiper Way (Cedar Cove #8)(11)

Soon the house would be bustling with activity. Dave and her father would be watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on television, while the boys raced around the house and Emily and her mother worked in the kitchen, preparing the twenty-two-pound turkey for the oven. Most likely these few moments of peace were all she’d get. If she was going to pull off today’s dinner without her mother suspecting anything was awry, then Emily would need this time.

She’d always been close to her mother, and it wouldn’t be easy to fool Barbara Lewis. Emily sat at the kitchen table, taking deep calming breaths, trying to control her emotions. Her unopened Bible rested in front of her. She’d begun reading it every morning, seeking and finding solace in Psalms.

The coffeepot gave one last sizzling refrain. She got up and had just reached inside the cupboard for a mug when her mother strolled into the kitchen.

Barbara tied her long housecoat at the waist and covered a yawn. “I thought I heard you up and about. My goodness, what time is it, anyway?”

“It’s early, Mom.”

Barbara frowned at the oven clock. “It isn’t even five!”

“I know.” As it was, Emily had awakened before three, tossing and turning before giving up any hope of going back to sleep.

Her mother sat down. “The coffee smells great. Is it ready?”

“It is.” Emily poured a second mug, added cream to both, and brought them to the table, joining her mother.

After a few sips, Barbara looked directly at Emily, who tried to meet her eyes but couldn’t.

“Something on your mind, Em?” her mother said, eyebrows raised.

Hoping to distract Barbara, she murmured, “I was reviewing our menu. I was thinking we should make a double batch of stuffing this year. Everyone loves leftovers.”

“We could.”

“I made the cranberry salad yesterday before you arrived.” The salad, which was more of a dessert, was a longtime family favorite and served only at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Cranberries, gelatin and whipped topping were stirred together and placed in the freezer.

Seeing that her mother was about to speak, Emily interjected. “Instead of Brussels sprouts this year, I thought I’d make a broccoli casserole. I found a recipe on the Internet that looks absolutely delicious.”

“Em…”

“By my calculations, we should get the turkey in the oven around eight if we want to have dinner on the table by four this afternoon.” Emily knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you or are you going to make me guess?” her mother asked.

Emily closed her eyes, then abandoned the pretense and buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t someone who easily gave way to emotion. If she had been, the tears would’ve flowed nonstop.

Her mother rested her hand on Emily’s forearm. “There’s nothing you can’t tell me. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she whispered brokenly.

“I knew the minute I walked into the house that things weren’t right. Is it to do with the boys?”

Emily shook her head. “No, they’re fine.” She thanked God for that.

“Dave?” Her mother sounded hesitant, as if she didn’t really believe there could possibly be a problem. Everyone knew Dave Flemming was a good man. He was everything Emily had ever dreamed of finding in a husband—loving, responsible, caring, gentle and so much more. She’d fallen in love with him while they were in college, and her love had grown and matured in the years since. Not once had she even considered looking at another man. She’d been so sure he loved her just as much until recent events gave her cause to wonder.

“He’s working too hard, isn’t he?” Barbara asked.

Emily swallowed. She couldn’t deny that, although not for the reasons her mother assumed. “He’s gone a lot, yes.”

“It’s all those committee meetings, isn’t it?” Barbara pursed her lips. “Church duties can steal away family time if he lets them. He needs to take a stand.”

Emily straightened. “I don’t think that’s it. I…” She could barely utter the words. “I believe…I have reason to think that Dave—” she paused, hardly able to continue “—that he might be involved with another woman.”

Her mother’s eyes widened in shock before she categorically denied the possibility. “Not Dave, Em. He’s simply not the type. I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“I used to assume that, too,” Emily said flatly. “Do you honestly think this is something I want to believe?”

“Well…no.” Her mother was suddenly speechless, and for Barbara Lewis, that was unusual indeed.

“The evidence had to practically hit me over the head before I recognized it for what it was,” she whispered.

“Who?”

Emily shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know and I don’t want to know.” She’d racked her mind in a futile effort to figure out who it could be. The only person she could remember him spending a lot of time with in the past year was Martha Evans. She was the elderly widow who’d died in September. Dave had gone to visit her every week. Visiting the sick and bedridden was one of his pastoral duties, of course, but he’d told her Martha was a friend, that they’d grown especially close.