LITMIR.BIZ

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to crackers from the box and crumbled them in her bowl, one cracker at a time.

      “I like him.”

      “I do, too. Did he give you another prescription?”

      Harry shook his head. As it was, the visiting nurse, who stopped by the house every second day, had to use a chart to keep his medications straight.

      “You’re going to be fine, aren’t you?” his wife asked.

      Harry saw that her face had tightened with fear. “Of course I am. It’s…it’s just a matter of getting the proper rest.”

      She instantly relaxed. “Good. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

      Harry didn’t, either. He sighed. Perhaps he should take this opportunity to introduce the subject—again. “I was thinking that the upkeep on the house is too much for me.” Harry felt that if he described the idea of moving to assisted living as something he needed, he might have a better chance of convincing her.

      Rosalie ignored the comment. Although her face had wrinkled with age, Harry saw her as he had that first time, sixty-six years ago. She’d worked at the lunch counter at a Woolworth’s store in Seattle. Harry had gone over from Yakima to take a short training course, shortly after he’d gotten an underwriting position with the insurance company. He’d worked for the same company for more than forty years.

      It had been his first trip to the big city, and the crowds and noise had overwhelmed him. A friend had suggested they stop at the lunch counter for a bite to eat. One look at Rosalie, and he was completely smitten. Until then, he would’ve scoffed at the very thought of love at first sight. He never did again. One look and he’d fallen head over heels for his beautiful Rosalie.

      “Harry?”

      He blinked, surprised at the way he’d become immersed in his memories.

      “You’re finished your lunch?” she asked.

      “Yes,” he murmured. “I’m not very hungry.” She didn’t seem to be eating much herself, he noticed.

      “I’ll fix you something later,” Rosalie suggested.

      “That would be good.” He lingered at the table. “Dr. Snellgrove wants me to use my walker.”

      Rosalie pinched her lips together. “Haven’t I been saying the same thing? If you fall down again, I won’t be able to help you up, sweetheart.”

      This was a problem. A week ago, he’d fallen and, struggle as he might, he couldn’t get back on his feet. Rosalie had tried to help and soon they were both exhausted. As a last resort, she’d phoned the fire station. They’d sent out an entire crew, embarrassing Harry no end, although the firefighters couldn’t have been nicer. He purposely hadn’t mentioned the incident to Dr. Snellgrove. No reason to. He was fine, a bit chagrined, but no worse for wear.

      With careful movements, Harry shuffled into the family room and settled down in front of the television. Rosalie carried their soup bowls to the sink and after rinsing them out, sat in her own chair, beside his.

      “Oprah will be on soon,” she informed him.

      This was her way of letting him know she’d be watching the talk show. Rosie liked Oprah and Dr. Phil, and while she’d grown forgetful in some areas, she had no trouble remembering when her favorite shows were on. Harry hated to admit it, but he’d come to enjoy them, too. The complete lack of common sense exhibited by some of the folks on those programs continued to astonish him, and he was always heartened by the occasional portrayals of heroism.

      “We might think about visiting Liberty Orchard one of these days,” he said, reclining in his chair. He reached for the afghan Rosalie had knit him years earlier and spread it on his lap. The cold never seemed to leave him.

      “I don’t see any rush, do you?” Rosalie asked.

      Rather than go into what Dr. Snellgrove had told him, Harry said, “Like I was saying earlier, this house is too much for me now. I don’t see any reason to delay. We could put our name in, anyway.”

      “We can, I suppose,” Rosalie reluctantly agreed. “But I’d rather wait until summer.”

      He didn’t want to alarm her and decided to put the discussion off until later. Perhaps after he’d rested…

      

      Gabriel studied Mercy. Her deep-blue eyes brimmed with compassion as she turned to him. “He’s very weak.”

      Gabriel nodded.

      “How much longer does he have?” she asked, watching the tender look Rosalie sent her husband as she left her own recliner and walked over to where Harry slept. Rosalie gently tucked the hand-knit blanket around Harry’s shoulders and pressed her lips against his brow.

      “Not long,” Gabriel responded.

      “Surely God won’t take him until after Christmas?”

      “Unfortunately, Harry will leave earth before then.”

      “Oh, dear. So his prayer request is urgent. Someone has to convince Rosalie to move, and quickly.”

      “Yes.”

      “But Christmas is only about a week away!”

      No one needed to tell Gabriel that. “I know.”

      “Oh, my.”

      “Are you still interested in taking on this request?” he asked, certain she’d change her mind.

      Mercy bit her lip, mulling over the situation. This was the most difficult request he’d ever proposed.

      “There can be no shenanigans this time,” he warned.

      “None,” she said solemnly. Her gaze remained on the old couple, and the warmth and love that flowed between them.

      “Do you think you can help Harry?” Gabriel asked, still unsure. Mercy was so easily distracted….

      “I can,” she said confidently. She turned again to look at him and Gabriel was shocked to see tears in her eyes. Harry Alderwood had touched Mercy’s heart. Gabriel couldn’t hope for anything more. Mercy would do everything in her power to prepare both Harry and his wife for a life apart, for death.

      3

      Beth Fischer couldn’t wait to get home from her Seattle job as a paralegal for Barney, Blackburn and Buckley, one of the most prestigious law firms in the state.

      The minute she walked into her small downtown condo, she logged on to the computer. As soon as she was on the Internet, she hit the key to bring up the computer game that had enthralled her for months. World of Warcraft had quickly become addictive. Six months ago, one of the attorneys at the office had casually mentioned it; he’d laughingly advised his colleagues to stay away from it because of its enticing qualities. Beth should’ve listened—but on the other hand, she was glad she hadn’t.

      While the game loaded, she hurriedly made herself a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and carried it into the small office that served as a guest bedroom on rare occasions. Directly off her kitchen, it was a perfect computer room.

      She sank into her comfortable office chair, tucked her shoeless feet beneath her and signed on. Her name was Borincana and she was a hunter. Her pet wolf was called Spot, not the most original name, but it had attracted the attention of a priest named Timixie, who had since teamed up with her. Both were Night Elves and together had risen to level forty.

      They were unbeatable and unstoppable, a legend in the annals of online computer games—in their own minds, anyway. Both of them were addicted to the game and met every evening to play, sometimes for hours. They didn’t need to be on line at the same time but often were.

      When Lloyd, the attorney, had commented on this game, Beth had been looking for a mindless way to fill her evenings. She needed something to relax

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