Under a Summer Sky by Nan Rossiter Page A

heart problems? Did they have high blood pressure or a history of strokes? Diabetes or dementia? What possible ailments did he have to look forward to?
    “Her father was a minister.”
    “Really?” Noah sputtered, choking on the sip he’d just taken.
    Asa nodded. “I don’t know why I never thought of it before—especially when you were in seminary.” He smiled and shook his head. “I’ve become very forgetful lately, but occasionally something comes to me, and it’s as clear as if it happened yesterday.”
    Noah nodded, and Asa took a sip from his glass. “Your mom could recite all the books of the Bible—Old and New Testaments . . . and she could do it backward.”
    Noah laughed. “I love these old tidbits you come up with.”
    His dad nodded, smiling wistfully. “She was quite a lady. She gave me this book.” He patted the ancient tome beside him. “It’s my poem for tonight,” he added with a conspiratorial grin.
    “Must be a good one,” Noah said.
    “It is.” He paused thoughtfully. “I told you she had a brother. . . .” It was more of a statement than a question.
    “No, I think you left that part out too,” Noah replied.
    “Pete. He was killed in the war. Her family was devastated—even her father’s faith was shaken. They were never the same.”
    Noah nodded, his heart aching for the tragedies that had struck his family—the family he’d never known. He took a sip and slowly realized that since the day he was born, he’d had his very own cloud of witnesses—people who would have loved him, had they lived—watching over him.
    Asa closed his eyes, and Noah leaned back in his chair and recalled the countless times he and his dad had stopped by to check on this house. Back then, it had been empty except for an old piano, which they still had and which Gabe sometimes played, but he’d never given any thought to the house’s owner. He just remembered it vaguely from his childhood and assumed it belonged to someone in his dad’s family; but then, on his sixteenth birthday, when they’d stopped by to check on it, his dad had revealed that it belonged to him, and then he’d searched his young son’s eyes and finally answered all the questions he’d been asking.
    “Noah?” Laney appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on the dish towel. “Oh . . . I didn’t know you were . . .”
    Asa opened his eyes, and Noah smiled. “We were just reminiscing, weren’t we, Dad?” he said, winking at him.
    Laney nodded. “Well, is the grill almost ready?”
    “Yup.”
    “Did you happen to find out how many hamburgers and hot dogs we need . . . and if anyone wants a cheeseburger?”
    “No, but I will.” He looked at his dad. “Cheeseburger, Dad?”
    “Sounds good,” Asa replied.
    “The boys are down on the beach with Halle,” Laney said, as she turned toward the kitchen. “If the grill’s ready, they need to come up.”
    Noah looked at his dad. “Want to take a walk down with me?”
    “No, I think I’ll stay here,” Asa said, scratching Mennie’s ears.
    “Everything okay?” Noah asked, realizing his dad didn’t have his usual spark.
    “Yup—just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” He sighed. “Don’t get old, son.”
    “There’s not much of an alternative, Dad,” Noah said, pushing open the screen door. “I’ll be right back.”
    He headed down the path to the beach to round up the boys, and Asa leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Something was going on, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He hadn’t said anything to Maddie. He didn’t want her to worry, but he didn’t feel quite right. It wasn’t just forgetfulness and having trouble sleeping; his vision was sometimes blurry too, and he was having headaches that the usual remedies didn’t touch. Maybe he needed new glasses—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had his eyes checked. He started to doze off . . . and then, somewhere in his subconscious, he heard the screen door swing