“Actually, Cynthia called and asked if we had a spare bed that Rebecca could use. Can you take that over to the Fisher house on Dogwood in the morning? She can use that old bed in the spare room. You know it’s just sitting.” “What?” Cash had to focus on not using a squeaky voice. That bed had been Abigail’s for years. She’d gotten a new one, but it was still strange. Mary frowned. “What is it?” “Nothing.” He didn’t need to explain it. It was odd for Rebecca to sleep in a bed that used to be Abigail’s. It made Rebecca too close. Somehow. It was only a bed. That was how he should think of it.
