Staring out the dining room window as the sunset sent orange and scarlet fingers across the horizon, Esther Hasbrook sighed. She ignored the laptop sitting in front of her on the long oak table. After months of being confined to home by the pandemic sweeping the world, she had trouble resurrecting the creativity that had kept her writing for decades. How was she ever going to meet the deadline for her column in the Seasoned Citizens Gazette , the weekly journal she published for her neighbors in the senior mobile home park? The words simply refused to come.  Her gaze wandered to her prize cherry tree. Asher had planted it on their wedding day. Cherry pie had been his favorite, and they shared a home-baked one every year on their anniversary. This year would be a little different because Asher had slipped away in his sleep in the wee morning hours fifty-five years and one day after their wedding. In three days she would celebrate her first anniversary without him. Those d...