Debbie Macomber by Where Angels Go

long?”
    â€œDavid.” His mother’s voice was soft and filled with warning, almost as if she feared his father would make another promise he couldn’t keep.
    â€œI don’t know, but I promise that as soon as we can afford it, you’ll get your dog.”
    That was the same thing his mother had said. Carter swallowed hard. He couldn’t ask his father’s parents. They lived back east and they mailed their gifts, which had arrived last week. The gaily wrapped presents were arranged on the coffee table with a miniature Christmas tree his mother had bought at the grocery store for five dollars. His one hope had been Grandma and Grandpa Parker—his mom’s parents—and according to his father, it wasn’t going to happen.
    His last chance, his only chance now, was God. And with everything inside him, Carter believed God would send him a dog.

6
    R osalie Alderwood was humming “O Come, All Ye Faithful” in the kitchen while Harry watched the news on TV. This was Wednesday, their traditional shopping day, and the advertised grocery specials were in the morning paper. Soup was on special, tomato, his favorite, two cans for a dollar. So was ice cream—three half-gallons for only six dollars. The brand wasn’t his favorite but ice cream was ice cream, and Harry had always had a weakness for it. He didn’t have much appetite anymore, but the thought of chocolate ice cream was appealing.
    For years—ever since his retirement—Harry and Rosalie had done their grocery-shopping in the middle of the week.
    â€œShould I get the car warmed up?” Harry asked. He’d put off the conversation with his daughters about selling it; maybe he’d call them tonight.
    â€œGood idea.” Rosalie came to stand in front of him, a dish towel in her hand, and glanced at the advertisements in the paper, spread out on the coffee table.
    â€œYou’ll want to get a few cans of the tomato soup that’s on special,” he said.
    â€œYes,” she agreed.
    Because Rosalie had gotten so absentminded, Harry had begun compiling lists of items they needed to pick up at the store. This morning they were out of both milk and bread. He didn’t want to miss that ice cream, either. He planned to arrive early enough to have his selection of fresh flowers, too. Maybe a potted poinsettia in honor of the season…His pleasures were few.
    â€œI’ll get my coat,” Rosalie told him.
    Harry nodded and reached for his car keys hanging on the peg by the door. She left, and knowing Rosalie, it would take her ten minutes to get ready. And that was after telling him to start the car. Early on in their marriage, that habit used to irritate him, but not anymore. This tendency to dawdle was part of Rosalie’s personality and Harry had learned to accept it.
    Before he went out to the car, he checked the refrigerator.
    Another of Rosalie’s longtime habits was her inability to discard things, even rotting food. He didn’t understand it but had realized years ago that he was the one who’d have to toss the leftovers. Thankfully, with her cooking so little, there wasn’t much. A quick inspection of the contents revealed several odd items. Frankly Harry had no idea why they needed anchovy paste or five varieties of mustard. Good grief, he hadn’t even known they made that many.
    Sure enough, it was ten minutes before Rosalie appeared. She’d put on fresh lipstick and combed her hair. “I’m ready, Harry.”
    â€œMe, too.” Rosalie didn’t drive. His own abilities were severely limited now and he took to the road only when necessary. In fact, he hadn’t driven since he’d gone to see the doctor on Monday. The days of Sunday-afternoon excursions into the country had long since passed.
    One of the advantages of shopping on Wednesday mornings was the lack of crowds. Mostly it was a few folks like Rosalie and him. Recently