PART 1 — DEAN’S TREE
My husband planted our apple tree twelve years ago, only a few months before he passed away.
Dean had already been ill for some time, although neither of us liked admitting how serious it had become. Even when carrying a bag of soil left him breathless, he remained determined to plant the young sapling himself.
“This is the best place,” he said, pointing toward a sunny corner of the garden.
I reminded him that his doctor had forbidden heavy lifting.
“It’s a tree, Sloane,” he replied with a grin. “Not a weightlifting competition
Pages: 1 2