Debbie Macomber by Where Angels Go Page A

the store had gotten motorized carts for handicapped and elderly patrons, which made the whole experience a lot more pleasant.
    Harry drove the motorized cart while his wife strolled by his side, filling the basket. Not once in the past year had Rosalie complained about the fact that he was the one who wrote their grocery lists, a chore she used to do.
    They’d just turned down the soup and canned vegetable aisle when Lucy Menard entered from the other end. Her face brightened as soon as she saw them.
    â€œRosalie,” Lucy called out. She left her own cart and hurried toward her friend, arms wide open.
    The two women hugged for an extra-long moment. During World War II, after Rosalie and Harry were married and while he was off fighting in Europe, she and Lucy had roomed together while working in the Portland, Oregon shipyards. At one time, they’d been as close as sisters. In fact, Lucy was godmother to their oldest daughter, Lorraine. Ever since Jake, Lucy’s husband, had died, they hadn’t seen much of her, which was sad. Mostly Harry blamed himself. Getting out and about was so difficult these days….
    â€œI swear it’s been a month of Sundays since I saw you two,” Lucy said, stepping back. She looked good, better than the last time Harry had seen her, which was…well, no wonder. It’d been at Jake’s funeral.
    â€œI’ve been meaning to let you know I’ve moved,” Lucy said excitedly.
    â€œMoved?” Rosalie seemed to find that hard to believe.
    Lucy beamed. “The kids finally convinced me that with Jake gone, I shouldn’t be living on my own.”
    â€œI’m surprised you’d leave your home,” Rosalie murmured. She glanced at Harry, then looked away. If it was up to Rosalie she’d delay moving as long as possible.
    â€œI got a place at Liberty Orchard, the new assisted-living complex off Frontier Street.”
    That caught Harry’s attention and he instantly straightened.
    â€œHarry’s been saying we need to do something like that, too, but I don’t think I can,” Rosalie admitted sheepishly.
    â€œI said the same thing.” Lucy nodded. “I figured after living in the same house for thirty years, I was too old to make that drastic a change. I told my children they were handing me a death sentence, moving me out of my home.”
    â€œThat’s how I feel,” Rosalie said, once again avoiding Harry’s gaze.
    â€œBut you did move,” Harry broke in. “And you’re happy now, right?”
    â€œOh, yes.” Lucy smiled contentedly. “I always assumed it would take a forklift to get me out of that house. The thought of sorting through and packing up all those years of living just overwhelmed me.”
    Harry knew that was part of Rosalie’s problem, too.
    â€œThank goodness the kids came in and made all the decisions for me. They went through each room, packing what I needed and dividing up what I didn’t. One day I was in my home and the next I was making friends at Liberty Orchard. It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in ten years.”
    Frowning, Rosalie regarded her friend. “Don’t they serve meals there?” she muttered. “Why are you shopping?”
    â€œThe meals are great, but a few times a week I don’t feel like being sociable. That’s my choice, you know. I fix myself something to eat. I’ve got my own refrigerator and microwave and that’s all I need.” She held up a box of microwave popcorn and giggled like a schoolgirl. “I love this stuff.”
    â€œIt sounds like the ideal setup,” Harry said.
    â€œI’m not ready,” his wife murmured.
    Because Harry recognized her fears, he hoped to reassure her and gently urge her along. “Maybe Rosalie and I could come and see you at your new digs,” he suggested jauntily, as though he was proposing a casual visit.
    His hope was that