John woke up feeling stupid.

He’d been genuinely annoyed the day before, and he was convinced most people would have been as well—after being manipulated the way he’d been in being brought here by Betsy and his supervisors.

But he woke up when sunlight started to stream in from the edges of the curtains, and the first feeling he was aware of was embarrassment.

He thought of himself as a competent and independent person. People usually listened when he spoke and looked to him for answers.

He wasn’t the kind of person that others needed to plot about behind his back. He wasn’t weak and helpless.

But he couldn’t help but feel that way as he hauled himself out of bed.

He hadn’t slept well.

He travelled so much that he wasn’t usually afflicted with jet lag, but he normally woke up a few times during the night to check his phone. He’d woken up four times last night, but when he’d reached for the nightstand, he’d had no phone to check.

The lack of it left him feeling naked, ineffectual.

He didn’t like it.

Betsy had been right when she’d said that he needed to suck it up and get through this, though. He couldn’t lose his job. It was the way he contributed to the world. He would be nothing without it. So he forced himself into the shower and into clothes before he made his way downstairs.

Meals were served in the large dining room, and he was pleased to see that seating options included both communal tables and individual ones.

He got his food from a self-serve buffet and went to a small table by the window, instead of joining the few others already up and seated at one of the large tables.

He didn’t want to talk to strangers this morning. He wasn’t fit company.

He wasn’t a bit hungry today. In fact, his stomach was churning uncomfortably.

His team’s last job had been in Sudan, trying to bring relief to the victims of a widespread famine that had decimated large communities. The faces of the people he’d interacted with—gaunt men and women, dying children—still haunted him.

There was one boy named Jamal—about six years old. He’d liked to talk to John about baseball and cars. He’d been so sick when John had left.

Hopefully, he was responding to the medical treatment they’d provided.

That famine was horrifying, and so few people in the world were even talking about it.

No matter how little he felt like eating, John wasn’t about to leave food uneaten on his plate.

He said a silent grace, asking God to change his attitude and thanking him for the food, but John didn’t feel any better afterward.

In fact, he felt more guilty, less hungry.

He swallowed down half a cup of coffee before he started to eat.

The food was surprisingly good—he’d expected the typical tasteless eggs and rubbery bacon found on most breakfast buffets—but he didn’t really enjoy it. As he kept putting food into his mouth, he looked out the window. His seat looked out onto the far end of the patio. The ocean wasn’t visible from the first floor because the sand dunes were too high, but the view of the pool, with the dunes beyond and a crisp blue sky above, was still quite pleasant.

Instead of admiring it, John focused on a sea gull pecking at what looked like an old French fry.

The bird was very small for a gull, and the fry must have been ancient. It was evidently as hard as a rock because the bird kept pecking and pecking but made very little progress.

The view completely captivated him—going on for more than ten minutes—and when he was finished eating, the bird still hadn’t managed to get more than a few little crumbs.

“Would you like some more coffee?” a female voice came from above him.

He responded with an automatic yes before he turned his head to see the server was in fact Cecily Evans, the owner and manager.

She was dressed in another skirt and silk blouse with her hair pulled back just like it had been the day before. He wasn’t sure why she dressed up so much in a beach setting like this, but maybe she found the professional appearance helped her maintain authority.

It could be difficult for attractive women to be in charge. He’d seen it happen in various professional settings more than once.

“Thanks,” he said, realizing she was waiting for him to speak.

She seemed nice enough and competent, but John had to stifle a groan when she set the coffee pot down on the table and sat in the chair across from him.

He didn’t really feel like being friendly this morning.

It wasn’t Cecily’s fault he was in a bad mood, though, so he managed to smile. “Am I supposed to be socializing?” he asked, nodding toward the large table where more people had gathered. There were about twelve of them now.

Her eyes widened behind her glasses. “No. Of course not. There’s never any pressure to socialize here.”

“Really?”

“Really. A lot of my guests here are in business and in ministry—and they’re forced every day to interact with people. Doing so is part of their job. This place is about rest, and one of the ways people in your position can find rest is by being freed of the pressure of socializing. Some people make friends here, and so they enjoy talking to others. But for others it’s a luxury to be able to simply sit in silence.”

John had never thought about that before, but he was glad he wouldn’t be given any guilt-trips about not making friends.

He nodded by way of response.

Cecily was watching him with intelligent eyes. “There’s no pressure here. As long as you check off your weekly activities, you can do whatever you like with the rest of your time.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He still felt rather stupid—like he wasn’t the kind of person who should be at a place that had a weekly checklist of activities. But at least it wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared.

“I believe they’re looking for a fourth for tennis this morning,” Cecily said, nodding toward the large table. “If you like to play.”

“I don’t mind it, but I’d rather run, if that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

John frowned. “If they really need someone—”

“No, no. What did I just say? There’s no pressure. I’m sure they’ll find their fourth when more people come down for breakfast. You can run on the beach, of course, or if you prefer pavement, it’s safe to run along the main road. In the mornings particularly, when there’s less traffic.”

“I’ll run on the beach. I don’t mind the sand.”

Cecily inclined her head to acknowledge his words but didn’t say anything else immediately.

John sipped his coffee and looked back down at the bird by the window, who was still futilely pecking out the stale fry.

“How long have you known Betsy?” Cecily asked, still sounding friendly and conversational.

“I don’t know. Like eight years or something? Since she started working for my organization. She’s been part of my team now for four years. She said you’re from her hometown?”

“Yes. We went to the same school, although she’s quite a bit younger than I am. Everyone in town is very proud of the work she does. Her mother talks about her all the time.”

“Good,” John murmured, over the rim of his coffee cup. “Bets is pretty great.”

Cecily smiled. “I remember one year I came home on a college break, and she was in junior high and she’d organized a food drive for a homeless shelter. You wouldn’t believe how organized and enthusiastic she was, even as a kid. She ended up with a whole truckload of food for the shelter—more than they’d ever been given before.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle. “That sounds like her. She takes care of everything for our team. I couldn’t function without her.”

He felt another stab of guilt for the way he’d snapped at Betsy yesterday. She’d been trying to take care of things—take care of him—the way she always did. She didn’t deserve that attitude from him.

“I can imagine.” Cecily cleared her throat and started to stand up. “Hopefully she’ll be able to visit you some while you’re here.”

“She said she would.”

John sure as hell hoped she would. She’d promised to come every day.

“I can catch up with her sometime then. I hope you have a great day.” With another professional smile, Cecily took her coffee pot and moved on to the large table.

John finished his coffee, thinking about what Betsy must have been like as a child. When he finished, he walked back over to the buffet and picked up a biscuit as he left the room.

He went outside, walking across the patio to look out over the walkway across the dunes that led to the ocean.

On his way there, he discreetly crumbled up the biscuit and scattered the pieces near the stale French fry so the hungry sea gull could have a treat.

***

John ran for almost two hours that morning, until he was drenched with sweat and absolutely exhausted. Then he showered again and went down to the large deck on the second floor with views of the ocean.

He stretched out on a chaise with a bottle of water and his Kindle, and he started a new book by a theologian he admired on a biblical approach to ministry.

His mind was racing with ideas as he read—about possible ways to implement some of these principals on his team and in the larger organization.

He was so absorbed in the book that he didn’t even notice when someone sat down on the chaise beside him.

When he finally became aware of the presence, he looked up with a frown. He didn’t like people hovering around him.

He blinked in surprise to discover it was Betsy.

She looked fresh, pretty, and smiling, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hi,” she said. “That must be a good book.”

“It is,” he said.

He wasn’t sure why he thought she looked so pretty this morning. Her light brown hair was pulled back in its normal ponytail, and her clear skin and even features were free of makeup. She wore jeans, a white T-shirt, and sandals, which was a normal outfit for her.

Maybe it was just because he was used to seeing her all the time, and he hadn’t seen her in twenty hours.

Since he found the feeling disturbing, he immediately switched gears to something more comfortable and familiar. “Did I get any email?” he asked.

Her smile faded slightly. “A couple. Nothing important.”

“Who were they from?”

“It doesn’t matter. I forwarded them on to Rick. He’ll take care of them.”

John stifled the frustration over not having control of his own email account. “Calls?”

“Just Mark. I talked to him for a bit.”

“He knew about me coming here?” He didn’t like the idea that his brother—who had been through so much more than John ever would—knew he was being coddled this way.

“Yes. I ran it by him before we arranged everything. He thought it was a good idea.”

This made John scowl slightly, but he was determined to be less grumpy today so he didn’t speak his thoughts.

“He said he’d call you later,” Betsy added.

“How is he going to reach me?”

“The landline here. You’re allowed to talk to your family.”

He managed not to grumble about how that was all he was allowed to do.

They sat in silence for a minute. Then Betsy reached over to take his e-reader from his hand and looked down at the screen. That was just like her. No standing on ceremony or artifice. If she wanted to do something, she just did it.

She started to frown as she peered down at his Kindle. “Why are you reading this?”

“Because I want to.”

“But it’s a work book.”

“I don’t care. This is the kind of thing I read.” His happy feelings at her appearance were starting to dim.

“You’re supposed to be on a break. Why don’t you try reading a novel or two?”

“I don’t like novels. I like nonfiction.”

“You like work books.”

“Whatever you want to call it, this is what I read.”

She looked bad-tempered now too. “If all you’re going to read is things about work, then I’m going to take your Kindle with me.”

“You’re not going to do anything of the kind. I’m not a child, you know.”

“I never said you’re a child.” Her cheeks were slightly flushed, and her eyes were flashing. She looked prettier than ever. “But you’re supposed to be resting.”

“I can rest and also read the kind of books I want to read. You can force me to be here, but you can’t force me to change who I am.”

“No one is trying to change who you are. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m being ridiculous? You’re the one whose saying there’s something wrong with what I read.”

“I’m not saying something is wrong with the book. I’m saying that it’s work-focused, when you’re supposed to be thinking about something else.”

He and Betsy argued occasionally. Things always came up with their jobs that they disagreed on. The arguments were rarely heated, and they always quickly blew over. John wasn’t sure why he was feeling so resentful right now—over such a little thing. But he heard himself snapping, “It’s not your place to tell me what I’m supposed to be doing. You’re not my boss or my girlfriend.”

He’d gone too far. He knew he’d gone too far. He knew it as soon as the words had come out of his mouth, even before he saw Betsy jerk slightly, like he’d slapped her.

Betsy was important to him. She didn’t just work for him. It was utterly wrong to imply she was nothing to him but a team-member.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

She gave her head a little shake and then gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have pushed.”

He was silently cursing himself and searching his mind for some way to make it better. “It was me. It wasn’t you.”

She smiled again, but this one was just as fake as the one before.

He’d hurt her. She was trying not to let it show, but he could see it so clearly.

“It’s fine,” she said, her voice mostly natural. He wasn’t fooled for a minute, though. “I know it’s hard for you to be here, and I’m sorry that we had to trick you into it. I can’t stay very long today anyway. I just wanted to drop by and say hi and give you this.” She handed him a brown paper shopping bag.

“What is it?”

“Just a few things.” She stood up and was still holding on to that terrible, fake smile, the one that was killing him to see. “I can drop by tomorrow if you want.”

His throat was hurting and his heart was racing and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say to make this better. “That would be great. Thanks.”

She nodded and smiled and kept nodding and smiling until she finally turned around and walked away.

John stared after her, almost shaking with how stupid he had been.

Then he idly opened the bag to look down into it.

Inside were a few paperback books—novels, he immediately noticed—a container of what looked like homemade brownies, a pack of playing cards, and pair of binoculars.

She’d put together some little things that he might be able to use while he was here. Small things but thoughtful, generous, sweet.

“Damn it,” he muttered, slipping his Kindle into the bag and standing up. He ran back into the building, down the stairs, and through the lobby.

He caught up with Betsy as she was walking down the front steps to the parking area.

“Bets!” he called. “Betsy, wait!”

She stopped and turned around, staring at him in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly, pulling to a stop right in front of her. “I’m really sorry.”

“You already said that. I understand. I really do. It’s no big deal.”

“It is a big deal. I should never have treated you like that. You’re really… really important to me. And thank you for the stuff.”

She nodded and dropped her eyes.

He pulled his brows together and tilted up her chin so he could see her face. He didn’t want her to still be upset. He didn’t want her to be pretending to be fine with things.

He wanted her to like him again.

He froze for a moment when he saw a single tear sliding down her cheek.

She swiped it away quickly, clearly not wanting him to see it.

He had seen it, though. She wasn’t a woman who cried much or easily.

“Oh, damn, Bets,” he murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to say it again.” She’d squared her shoulders and was meeting his eyes now. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

“But you’re—”

“I’m not crying,” she insisted, despite the evidence to the contrary. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think it’s being home, relaxing. I’m just kind of… letting down. I’m more tired than I realized. It’s really nothing. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“I deserve to feel bad. You’ve been great to me. I’ve been the ass.”

She gave a little shrug, but her smile now was real. Slightly wobbly, but real.

He exhaled in relief. “I’m really sorry.”

“Please don’t say it again.”

“Do you really have to go so soon?”

“I…” She dropped her eyes and then raised them again. “I should have lunch with my mother.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s pretty good. Her knees are really bothering her, but otherwise she’s healthy. She’s staying just as busy as always.”

“Give her my best.”

“I will.”

“Thanks for the stuff.”

“You’re welcome. You don’t have to read the books, if you don’t want.”

“I’ll give them a try.”

She smiled at him, and he knew he’d said the right thing for once.

“You’ll come tomorrow?” He was surprised that his voice sounded so urgent, as if it was the most important thing in the world that she return the next day.

“Yes. I’ll come.”

“Maybe you can stay longer.”

She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure I can.”

“Good.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then she gave herself a little shake and turned away. “Bye.”

“Bye, Betsy.”

He stood and watched as she walked to her car. His eyes couldn’t help but dip down to admire the rounded curve of her butt in her jeans. She wasn’t built like a model. She wasn’t very tall, and she had all kinds of tantalizing curves.

He hadn’t been oblivious to this fact over the years, although he’d made sure to never let himself dwell on it.

He shouldn’t be dwelling on it now.

He shouldn’t. At all.

And he definitely shouldn’t be letting his body find hers so interesting.

He’d been a failure in every way today.

He’d have to do better tomorrow.

***

John was reading that evening when there was a knock on his door.

He jerked in surprise, and was even more surprised when he opened the door and was confronted with Zeke’s unsmiling face.

“Phone call,” the man muttered.

John raised his eyebrows. Betsy had mentioned that Mark might try to call him here, and it was evidently an acceptable arrangement according to the center’s rules. But Zeke was scowling as if it was John’s fault he’d had to walk up the stairs to make the announcement.

“Where can I take the call?” John asked, a little coolly.

“Sitting room on the second floor.” With that, Zeke turned around and walked away.

John rolled his eyes and resisted the temptation to make a rude comment to the other man’s back.

He went downstairs to the private sitting room—a small, comfortable space with expansive views out onto the ocean—and he closed the door before picking up the extension to the landline.

“Hello? This is John.”

“I’m hanging up now,” a pleasant female voice said. It wasn’t Cecily, so it must have been another member of the staff.

After the click, Mark said, “Hey. How are you doing?”

John felt a strangely intense wave of relief at hearing his brother’s familiar voice. “Hey. I’m fine. Thanks for calling.”

“I gather phone calls are a big event there, without cell phones.”

“Seems like it.” John shook his head at the empty room. “It’s crazy they don’t allow them.”

“Sounds like there’s good reason for it. Phones can really add to stress.”

“If you say so.”

Mark paused for a moment. “I guess you’re still just as cranky as Betsy said you were.”

John let out a breath and felt momentarily embarrassed. Maybe he really was being unreasonable lately. All of his annoyance felt rational and supportable, but he supposed it always did when you were in the instance of it. He wasn’t by nature a people pleaser, but he also didn’t want everyone to hate being around him. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I know it must have been a shock to have this sprung on you.”

“And yet everyone seems to think it was the right thing to do.”

“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have tried to get out of it, if you’d known it was coming?”

Of course, he would have tried to get out of it. That much was obvious.

“Anyway, I didn’t mean to sound cranky. I’m glad you called.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be out there when you arrived.”

“There’s no reason why you need to be. How have you been doing?”

Mark must have known from the change in John’s tone that was he was asking more than just the normal polite question. He really wanted to know. “I’ve been doing good. Really good.”

Eighteen months ago, when Mark had returned from the Middle East, after being held hostage, he’d been a broken man, physically and emotionally. His healing hadn’t been an easy thing, but even from halfway around the world, John could tell that every month he was getting stronger, happier.

“Are you still going to counseling?” John asked.

“Yeah, but just once a month now. I actually am doing better. It’s a miracle, really.”

“Well, you’re really tough. That helps too.”

“If you say so.”

“You are. I don’t know how many guys could have gotten through all that the way you did.”

Mark cleared his throat. “Thanks,” he muttered.

John didn’t dwell, since he knew it was making his brother uncomfortable. “How’s Sophie?”

“She’s great. Amazing, as always.”

“And things are going well between the two of you?”

“Yes. Really good. You don’t have to check every time, you know. Things were touch and go with her at first, but we’re better now. We really are.”

“I’m glad. She’s a keeper.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t know of any other woman who’d be willing to put up with you.”

“Thanks a lot,” Mark replied dryly. “At least there’s one in the world—which is more than I can say of you.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle. “Probably better that way.”

There was a strange silence on the line, as if Mark was trying to hold himself back from saying something. Normally, John would push to find out what he was thinking, but he was just as happy not to hear it at the moment.

“So nothing interesting is happening there?” John asked.

“Not really. Work is good. Church is good. Sophie and I had a huge fight about coffee this morning, so that was something, I guess.”

“About coffee?” John said with a laugh. “What was that about?”

“I like my coffee a lot stronger than her—like reasonable people do. I don’t know how she drinks such weak stuff. She calls it normal coffee, but it’s weak-ass and barely drinkable. She used to be fine with the strong stuff—when we first got married and after I got back. But then she just announced she’s never really liked it. Anyway, we tried to compromise for a while, but neither one of us liked the middle-ground coffee. So then we came up with a plan.”

John was smiling as he listened to this story. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

“We would take turns. Alternating days. One day I’d make good coffee, and the next day she’d make her weak-ass stuff. And so on.”

“And that didn’t work?”

“She started getting up at five-thirty to make her own coffee, even on my days. Then she’d pour the rest out and pretend she hadn’t done anything. So I started getting up at five on her days to do the same thing. I mean, what else could I do?”

John was laughing out loud now. “Sounds reasonable. She caught you, didn’t she?”

“Yes! And she got all outraged, like she hadn’t been doing the same thing. She said she’d get up at four-thirty from now on.”

“Can’t you just make two different pots of coffee?”

“Don’t try to bring rationality into a perfectly good marital spat. It’s the principle of the thing. Obviously.”

John couldn’t stop laughing. “Obviously.” He stared out the big windows, momentarily taken off guard by how beautiful the ocean was with the moonlight barely glinting off the waves. “For Christmas, I’ll get you all one of the one-cup brewers. That would solve your whole problem.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” Mark’s tone changed as he continued, “So how are things there? Are you having a good time?”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. I don’t care for downtime like this.”

“That’s because you’ve never let yourself enjoy it. If you give it a try, I bet you’ll have a good time.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Mark said, ignoring John’s sardonic tone. “You need to give it a try.”

“I will.”

“You were always like that.”

“Always like what?”

“Remember when you were working on that car when you were twelve or thirteen?”

“Sure, I remember.” He’d saved up his money and bought an ancient clunker that a neighbor had been going to send to the junkyard. He’d been convinced he could get it into working order again, and he’d worked for months after school to fix it up.

“You spent weeks on the transmission and couldn’t get the thing working.”

“Don’t remind me. That damn thing drove me crazy.”

“So finally Dad fixed it for you one night without telling you, and when you discovered it, you had a meltdown.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Not that bad? You were screaming your head off, and you took the whole thing apart again and spread out every little piece across the grass in the yard, just out of spite.”

John was chuckling again at the memory. “I had my reasons. Like you said about the coffee, it was the principle of the thing.”

“Dad was trying to help you, and you blew your top.”

Suddenly realizing the purpose of this trip down memory lane, John grew still. After a moment, he said, “This little story had a moral, didn’t it?”

“Not a moral. Just a point. You give help to anyone who asks for it. I can’t even begin to count the number of stray animals you picked up when we were kids or all the bullied kids you stood up for. Anyone can see you’ve devoted your whole life to helping the people who need it the most. But you’ve never been able to accept help yourself. You think you have to work to earn it.”

“I don’t really.”

“You do really. You think I don’t know you? You need a break right now. Everyone who knows and loves you agrees on this. So just take it. Make the best of it. Okay?”

John fought back his instinctive resistance, since he knew at heart that Mark was right. “Okay,” he mumbled at last. “Okay. I’m trying, all right.”

“Don’t try. Just rest.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Yeah. I know. But those are all the words of wisdom I’ve got for you tonight.”

They hung up a few minutes later, and John was surprised by how much better he felt as he returned to his room.

He thought a lot about how stupid and selfish he’d been as a child, throwing a fit when his father had tried to help.

His father—and his mother—had both died a few years later. John would give anything to have his dad to help him work on a car again.