Free Orchard Valley Grooms by Debbie Macomber

rarely seen outside of small towns anymore. Valerie had lost count of the number of times she’d stopped in after school with her friends. She wondered if “going to Al’s for a chocolate malt” remained as popular with local teenagers these days as it had been when she was growing up. She suspected it did.
    “Valerie Bloomfield,” the aging pharmacist called to her from behind the counter. “I thought that was you. How’s your dad doing?”
    “The same.”
    “Norah phoned and said you were on your way. I put those snapshots aside for you and just wrote it up on the bill. You tell your dad I’m counting on him to go fishing with me come July, and I won’t take no for an answer.”
    “I’ll tell him,” Valerie promised.
    She took the package and wandered outside. Curiosity got the better of her, though, and she paused on the sidewalk to open the envelope. Inside was an array of snapshots her father had taken that spring.
    Valerie’s heart constricted at the number of photos he had of her mother’s grave site. In each, a profusion of flowers adorned the headstone. There were a couple of pictures of Norah, as well. The first showed her sitting in a chair by the fireplace, a plaid blanket around her knees and an open book on her lap. The second was taken outside, probably in late March. The wind had whipped Norah’s blond hair about her face, and she was laughing into the sun. In both photographs her resemblance to their mother was uncanny.
    Grief and pity tore at Valerie’s heart as she imagined her father taking those pictures. He was so lost and lonely without his Grace, and the photographs told her that in an unmistakable and poignant way.
    Her thoughts oppressive, Valerie walked aimlessly for a few minutes. When she saw that she was near the community park, she strolled in, past the swimming pool, now drained and empty, and followed the stone walkway that meandered through the manicured lawns. As she reached the children’s playground, a breeze caught the swings, rocking them back and forth.
    Memories of her childhood crowded her mind, and she sat in one of the old swings, almost wishing she could be a little girl again. It would’ve been easy to close her eyes, pretending she was eight years old. She allowed herself a minute to remember Sunday afternoons spent in this very park, with David pushing her and a tiny Stephanie on these swings, catching them at the bottom of the slide. But she was thirty-one now and her father, whom she adored, was in a hospital room, fighting for each breath he drew.
    She refused to even consider the possibility of losing him. Was she being selfish? She didn’t know. Her father had said he was ready to die, ready to relinquish his life.
    She dragged the toe of her shoe along the ground, slowing the swing to a halt. When the time came to let go of her father, Valerie prayed she could do it with acceptance and strength. When death came to him, she wanted it to be as a friend, not an enemy with a score to settle. But don’t let him die yet. Please, not yet.
    As she drove back to the hospital, past the stripmalls that marked the highway, she caught sight of a recent addition. A movie theater, a six-plex. It astonished her that little Orchard Valley could have six movies all playing at once, especially in the era of DVDs and movies you could download from the Internet. She supposed that in a small town, going to the movies was still a major social event. The downtown theater she remembered so well from her teenage years still operated, but to a limited audience; according to Norah the features were second-run and often second-rate.
    Orchard Valley had its share of national fast-food restaurants now, too, many of them situated along the highway. But as far as Valerie was concerned, hamburgers didn’t get any better than those at The Burger Shack, a locally owned diner.
    The summer she was sixteen, Valerie had worked there as a waitress, serving customers for minimum wage,