Armed with compassion and casseroles, they came. Colleagues from the fire department. Church friends. Baseball players and their wives. The smell of freshly fried chicken, normally a favorite, overwhelmed him. He headed out the back door, across the yard to the play set he’d purchased for the three children who now belonged to him forever. What was he going to do with three kids? Three grieving, stunned children whose only anchor was no more. He heard the back door open, the sound of voices issuing out and then going silent again with the door’s closing. Too full of sorrow and fear, he didn’t turn around until a familiar hand touched his back. Jilly. She didn’t say a word. She simply rested a hand against him, a comfort and a friend who knew without asking what he needed most. “What am I going to do with three kids?” He asked the question again, this time aloud. “What you’ve already been doing.” She stepped around in front of him, still in work scrubs. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
What do You think about The Last Bridge Home (2011)?
