Silver Linings by Debbie Macomber

rang just as I entered my office. It was my business line, so when I answered I put on my most professional voice.
    “Rose Harbor Inn, this is Jo Marie Rose.”
    “Lindsey Johnson here.”
    I recognized the name but couldn’t place where I knew it from. “How can I help you, Lindsey?” I asked.
    “You might not remember me. I called a few months back regarding SOS, Survivor Outreach Services. At the time you were busy and said there wasn’t anything you needed.”
    I remembered the call and realized now why the name had sounded familiar. “I hadn’t gotten definitive word that my husband was dead…his body hadn’t been returned,” I explained. “I didn’t think I should join the group when there was a possibility Paul had survived the crash.”
    “I see that he has since been identified and laid to rest.”
    “Yes.” I couldn’t hold back the small catch in my voice. “He’s buried at Arlington Cemetery.”
    “I’m sorry for your loss, Jo Marie.”
    “Thank you,” I whispered in return.
    “I’m calling to let you know our support group is meeting next week and I wanted to personally invite you to give us a try. We’ve all lost a spouse here. We know what you’re going through. We’re here to help in any way we can.”
    “Funny you should call. I was just thinking about how I still haven’t found my new normal,” I said.
    “Well, that’s something you’re going to need to do on your own, but we can offer you some tools to ease you along the way.”
    My first instinct was to decline. I had a hard enough time dealing with my own grief without taking on the pain of others who’d buried a husband, or in some cases a wife. I wasn’t ready for this. I yearned to escape the pain of the past instead of wading through it in waters so deep I’d need hip boots. But I had to do something to get myself out of the rut I was in.
    “Okay,” I said, shocking myself. “I’ll come.” I reached for a pen and made a note of the date, time, and location.
    After I hung up, I stood for several seconds, staring sightlessly at the wall. My heart beat in double time, which was completely illogical. It didn’t make sense that I should be afraid of a support-group meeting, and yet that was exactly what I felt. Scared. Instinctively, I realized joining the group would be my first baby step toward forging a path to a new life.
    I’d been sidetracked by Lindsey’s call. I needed to pay Mark what I owed him for his work on the gazebo. I pulled the bill from my pocket and, sitting down, I reached for my checkbook. He hadn’t stuck around long enough to be paid, the way he normally did, but then I suspected he’d been eager to escape before another emotional scene might happen.
    I opened the ledger and smoothed out the bill that had crumpled inside my pocket. As was our practice, I paid for all materials up front. In this case the lumber, nails, and paint. When he completed the project, I paid him for his labor costs. One thing about Mark I liked was that his work was excellent and his prices were fair.
    I looked at the bill and my breath froze. He’d written PAID IN FULL across the top of the statement. But I hadn’t paid him in full. I owed him for his labor. If this was a farewell gift, then I didn’t want it. He’d earned his fee, and if I had anything to say about it, and I did, he was going to collect it. The man had tried my patience for the last time.
    It was a bit of a challenge to calculate how much I owed him. I wrote out the check in a rush, so angry I could barely read my own handwriting. Tearing the check from the ledger, I stood and started for the door.
    Sensing my mood, Rover followed me, his short legs marching with equal determination. I knew he’d be upset if I left him in the house, so I grabbed his leash.
    Coco and Katie were coming down the stairs as I attached the leash to my faithful dog.
    “We’re heading over to the school,” Coco said.
    I’d given each of them a house key.