Under a Summer Sky by Nan Rossiter

She glanced at the clock. “Leaving in five—plan accordingly,” she called as she ran up the stairs.
     
    Noah looked out at his congregation. It was Memorial Day weekend and the sanctuary was almost full, so he decided people were taking advantage of the nice weather and opening up their summer homes early. He scanned the sea of faces, looking for his parents, and his dad caught his eye and smiled. Noah smiled back. Then he glanced at his watch and frowned. It wasn’t the first time his family was late. In fact, it was unusual if they weren’t late, but he’d hoped Laney would be there for the first hymn. He nodded to the organist, and she ended the interlude with a playful flourish.
    “Welcome!” he began. “This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.” He glanced at his bulletin. “Would everyone please stand and join in singing our opening hymn, number twenty-six?” He leafed through his hymnal, hoping Laney would get there soon, and as he turned the pages, he heard a loud commotion in the vestibule, and then his oldest son pushed open the door and Laney—who’d been wearing baggy sweatpants and a Nike JUST DO IT T-shirt when he’d left—swept in, wearing a light sea-green linen sundress. She looked stunning. But then again, she looked stunning no matter what she was wearing—his favorite being nothing at all! He watched as she masterfully ushered their five boys down the aisle and into the pew in front of his parents, and then slipped in before E so he could sit on the end. His dad leaned forward and handed Laney his open hymnal, and Laney, hearing the beginning notes of the familiar hymn, looked up at Noah and smiled. Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy”—also known as “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee” — was one of the hymns they’d played at their wedding.

12
    S unday evening, Asa Coleman sat on his son’s porch with a gin and tonic in his hand and Mennie’s head in his lap. He listened to Maddie and Laney chatting in the kitchen as they put the final touches on supper and stroked the Lab’s noble head. “You’re getting as old as me,” he said, looking into Mennie’s soulful brown eyes. He gazed at the doorway into the kitchen and a long-ago memory slipped into his mind . . .
    He’d just run back from his pickup truck through the summer rain to get his shoulder bag. As he had, he’d noticed Noelle struggling to collapse the umbrella by the pool. He’d stopped to help her . . . and then they had both run back to the porch, soaking wet and laughing . . . and she’d stood in front of him . . . so close . . . too close.... He could still smell the sweet scent of her sandalwood soap....
    “What do you want?” she’d whispered.
    He’d searched her eyes. “You,” he’d murmured—his voice barely audible.
    She’d stepped closer . . . reaching for him. . . .
    “Dad?”
    Asa looked up, startled.
    “Sorry,” Noah said, and nodded toward his glass. “I just wondered if you needed a refill.”
    “Hmm?” Asa glanced down. “Nope. I’m all set.”
    “Okay, I’m just going to grab a beer and I’ll be right out.”
    A moment later, he sat down across from his dad and noticed Mennie’s head resting on his lap. “Is he being a pest?”
    Asa stroked the old dog’s silky black ears. “Nope . . . we were just reminiscing. . . .”
    “And . . .what were you reminiscing about?”
    “Our salad days,” Asa said with a slow smile. He paused thoughtfully. “You know, I thought of something the other day . . . about your mom . . . Noelle.”
    Noah waited, listening. Through the years, he’d often felt as if half of his family history was missing—and all the information that went with it. It hit him especially hard when he was filling out medical forms at the doctor’s office. He’d stare at the list of questions about health history and try to picture his maternal grandparents: What health problems had they faced? How had they died? Did they have cancer or