Free Under a Summer Sky by Nan Rossiter

for you.” She searched Laney’s anxious eyes. “Now, don’t start worrying! I want you to go home, relax, enjoy the weekend, and I’ll be in touch next week after I get the results.”
    “Okay,” Laney said with a nod, knowing full well she was going to worry.
     
    Twenty minutes later, as she walked up toward the house, Laney stopped to look at the brightly lit windows welcoming her home. Noah’s car was in the driveway, so she knew he was already home with the pizzas, and she could hear laughter and giggling drifting through the open windows. She stood still, listening, savoring the lovely sound. Then she remembered the concern she’d seen on her doctor’s face, and a wave of anxiety swept over her. What if something is wrong? What if there’s a day when I’m no longer here to hear these wonderful sounds? What if my boys have to carry on without me? She pictured her six handsome men lined up tearfully at her graveside, and the image broke her heart. “Oh, God,” she whispered, “please don’t let anything happen to me—not until I’m really old and they’re ready to let me go. . . .” She shook her head, trying to push the heartbreaking image from her mind. “I can’t think like this,” she admonished. “Even if something is wrong, I have to stay positive.”
    She shifted her bag to her other shoulder and resigned to be strong. Noah didn’t need to know yet. There was nothing to tell. It was just a routine follow-up. Lots of women had them. She forced a smile and pulled opened the door.
    “Mom’s home!” announced a chorus of happy voices.
    “Hi, Mom!” Asher gushed, rushing over to wrap his arms around her.
    “Pizza’s still hot,” Noah said with a smile. “Want a slice of Hawaiian?”

21
    N oah lifted the calendar off the kitchen wall and looked at the many handwritten appointments and commitments that had been kept over the last thirty-one days—almost every square had something written on it. “Well, May flew by like nobody’s business,” he said, trying to decipher his wife’s scribble.
    “It sure did,” Laney agreed, drying her hands on the dish towel, “and it’s about time someone changed the calendar. June started a week ago.”
    “By the way, how was your physical?” Noah asked as he turned the page and rehung the calendar.
    “Fine,” Laney replied vaguely.
    “Was it fun?” he teased, knowing how much she loved her annual.
    “It was. Sorry you missed it.”
    He grinned and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry I missed it too.”
    Just then, Seth wandered into the kitchen. “Geez! Get a room, wouldja?” he said, shielding his eyes in mock embarrassment as he opened the fridge and stood in front of it, gazing at its contents. “What’s for supper?”
    “Believe it or not, that appliance is not an air conditioner,” Noah admonished, ignoring his question.
    “Well, maybe if we had a real air conditioner, I’d know what one looked like,” Seth answered sarcastically. “This family really needs to join the twenty-first century. It’s primitive to live the way we do.”
    “Primitive?” Noah retorted. “You don’t know what primitive is. Not to mention, we have a year-round ocean breeze, so we don’t need an air conditioner.”
    “Yes, we do! Our room is so hot!”
    Noah eyed his wife. “I think someone needs an attitude adjustment. I think there’s a bridge falling down somewhere.”
    “Is it in London?” Laney asked with raised eyebrows.
    “Oh no, it isn—” Seth started to protest, but before he could escape, his parents’ arms had dropped down on both sides of him.
    Noah and Laney immediately broke into the old song about the fate of London Bridge, swaying their son back and forth. “I’m too old for this!” he shouted, trying not to laugh.
    “You’re never too old,” Noah said, laughing.
    Finally, as they sang “My Fair Lady” at the top of their lungs, they squeezed him and he started laughing so hard he had tears rolling down