92 Pacific Boulevard - Debbie Macomber [16]
“Why do you say it like that?” Teri asked in a puzzled voice.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re standing up at an AA meeting and making a confession. Lots of people attend church, you know.”
“What about you?”
“I go every now and then, and I always feel good afterward. I don’t have anything against going to church and you shouldn’t, either.”
“I want to live a better life,” Christie said, remembering how she’d felt when she was delivering the charity baskets. Instead of being so self-absorbed, so consumed by her own loss, she’d reached out to help others less fortunate.
“That’s what I want, too,” Teri echoed. “A better life than our mother’s, a better life for my child…er, children.” Teri grinned as she said it.
“Pastor Flemming wrote a note to thank me for volunteering,” Christie said. The letter sat on the kitchen counter and she picked it up. When it first arrived, she’d been feeling depressed and had given it a cursory glance. The only thing she remembered was something about a backpack program sponsored by the church. She decided to find out what that was.
“Will you come to church with me on Sunday?” Christie asked.
Teri didn’t even hesitate. “Of course.”
“Thanks.”
“I’d get up and hug you,” Teri said, “but I’m too comfortable where I am.”
Christie laughed and stretched out a hand to clasp her sister’s.
Chapter Five
Sheriff Troy Davis closed the file concerning the break-in at Faith’s home. Unfortunately, there’d been no progress, and he felt he should deliver the disappointing news in person. As he drove his patrol car toward Rosewood Lane, he reviewed the little he knew about the situation.
He’d spoken to his lead detective regarding the break and enter. Detective Hildebrand had assured Troy that his staff had done everything that could be done—the neighbors had been interviewed, and comparisons made with similar crimes in Cedar Cove and in nearby jurisdictions.
Instead of letting Hildebrand or his assistant call or visit Faith, he’d stepped in and volunteered to do it. She was, after all, his friend. Or at least, she had been. Mostly this visit was prompted by Troy’s need to see how Faith was faring after the break-in.
When he’d parked in front of the house, he didn’t leave the car immediately, mentally preparing himself for the meeting. He knew that seeing her would be hard. Faith had made it clear that she didn’t want any further contact and he’d respected her wishes. This, however, was official business—even if it didn’t have to be his business.
He marched up the steps leading to her front door, rang the bell and waited, hat in his hand.
She answered the door cautiously, and her eyes brightened when she saw him. That spark was quickly gone, however, replaced by a faraway look, flat and emotionless. In that moment, it demanded all his discipline not to pull her into his arms and beg for another chance. He needed Faith, loved her, wanted to marry her—and had destroyed any possibility of that happening.
“I have the report from the investigating officer,” Troy said briskly, conveying that this was police business and not a social call.
“Oh, good.” She unlocked the screen door and held it open for him to come inside.
Troy paused to examine the lock and was relieved to see that Faith had taken his advice and installed a dead bolt. Or rather, Grace and Cliff Harding, the owners, had arranged for it. Not surprisingly, Grace had been horrified by what she’d seen. This had been her home for decades—and Faith was her friend. Megan had told him that both Grace and Cliff had helped with the cleanup.
The house was tidy once again and back to normal. That couldn’t have been an easy task. The aroma of baking reminded him that he’d worked through his lunch hour.
“I just took some bran muffins out of the oven. Would you like one?” Faith asked.
It’d been a long time since Troy had tasted anything home-baked. He wondered if she offered because she’d heard his stomach growl or if she’d noticed that he’d nearly swooned when he entered the house. Or maybe she was simply being