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shirt and jacket hung on his large frame. She stacked up the old magazines that had gathered on the couch and added them to the pile of newspapers she had put on the coffee table.
    “And everything is still okay at the clinic?” he asked Cara. “Do you need me to stop in?”
    “Everything is still under control. Don’t you dare drop in,” Cara said, snapping open a garbage bag. “You need to rest.”
    “Like you’re resting?” he teased as she dumped the magazines in the bag.
    “I’m not the one who had a heart attack.”
    “You might get one the way you’ve been going. You haven’t sat down since I came home,” he said. “Just relax.”
    But Cara couldn’t. When she came back from the hospital she had immediately started tidying. She’d made some progress, but she’d had to ignore the disorganized pantry. She would have loved to tackle the kitchen, but her aunt was there now, making up a snack for them.
    “I want to get a little more done before I go,” she said, tying the handles of the garbage bag.
    Uncle Alan caught her hand as she bent over to pick up the discarded coffee cup from the floor beside him. “You didn’t want to go to church with your aunt? You could have easily picked me up afterward.”
    Cara didn’t meet her uncle’s eye, feeling a nudge of guilt at the concern she saw there. “No. I…wanted to get you home as soon as they released you.” That was a lame response, but it was mostly the truth. She didn’t want to tell him that last week she’d felt uncomfortable singing songs about drawing closer to Jesus and about trusting in Him.
    She preferred to trust in herself. Just as her mother had always taught her. She realized the benefits of that now. There were fewer disappointments in your life when you didn’t count on others for happiness. Love was too risky. Either love of God or love of others. They required too much trust and that trust was too often broken.
    “I don’t mind being home earlier. I get tired pretty quick. It’s frustrating,” he said.
    Cara curled her hand around his, squeezing it gently. “You don’t have to worry about anything. The clinic is doing fine.”
    “I’m trying not to worry,” Alan said, shifting in his chair. “But the doctor says I’ll be back at work soon,” he said, returning Cara’s hand squeeze.
    Cara didn’t reply because she knew better. The specialist had been fairly emphatic about Uncle Alan making drastic changes in his lifestyle.
    And the most drastic had to do with his work. He was too old to deal with the stress of late-night calls, which meant his work would slow considerably.
    “Have you talked to that new vet, Gordon?” Cara asked. “Is there any way he can come sooner?”
    “I called him and he said he might. Depending on how things go with the job he’s working now.”
    “So are you ready for dessert?” Aunt Lori asked, coming into the living room, carrying a tray of fruit and three small bowls.
    Uncle Alan pulled a face at the fruit and Cara stifled a smile. Uncle Alan loved his sweets and she could see future battles with her aunt once he felt better.
    She glanced at the clock, then got to her feet, grabbing the garbage bag as she left. “Sorry to bail on you, but I have to meet Nicholas.”
    Uncle Alan’s frown made her smile.
    “We’re planning Lorne and Trista’s wedding,” she assured him. “They’ll be there, as well.”
    He relaxed visibly. “Okay then. You go.”
    Cara brushed a kiss over his forehead. “And you make sure you take care of yourself.”
    But as she straightened, he caught her by the hand, squeezing it as if to catch her attention.
    “And you take care of yourself, too,” he said, his serious voice holding another undertone.
    “I will.”
    But as she got into her uncle’s car, his warning rang in her ears.
    Uncle Alan knew exactly the struggle Cara had with Nicholas. It was he who had told her sometimes hard choices needed to be made and that it wasn’t wrong to think of