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“Why is Ben on my client list for today?” Sara slapped her schedule down on the table in front of Rebecca and crossed her arms.

Rebecca shrugged and prayed her voice would stay steady. And that the tears prickling her eyes wouldn’t show. “I guess he needed to change things around.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to? I thought you were going to work things out.”

“Yeah, well. I chickened out. If he doesn’t want to work with me, I’m not going to force the issue. Besides, it’s not like we spent a whole lot of time connecting on any kind of deep level during therapy. It’s all about strengthening his knee. You know that.”

Sara sighed and propped a hip on the table. “So you’re letting him go? Just like that?”

Rebecca swallowed, though it did nothing to ease the acidic burn creeping up her throat. “I don’t see another choice. If I want to have something—anything—with him, I have to tell him the truth. I can’t—”

“First place trophy winner for most pig-headed person I’ve ever met, that’s where. Do you really think you’re the first person in the world whose dad is a class-A jerk?”

“Even better then. How many people do you know who don’t have issues with one or both of their parents at least some of the time? Perfect families only happen in books. You deal with it and move on. Besides, I thought you said your dad was coming around.”

“Doesn’t erase the damage or the stigma.” Rebecca reached into the backpack sitting by her chair and pulled out the current issue of a Christian living magazine that more churches than she cared to count gave out for free. Let alone the people who actually subscribed. She thumbed it open and dropped it on the table, gesturing to the half-page photo of her parents at the start of an article concerning her dad’s upcoming book and speaking tour. She tapped the sidebar. “Read that. Aloud. Go ahead.”

“Where is she now? Though Dr. MacDonald has made a name for himself as a parenting expert, it wasn’t his degree that got him there. It’s hard to forget the troubled teen years of his daughter Becky that formed the basis for his expertise. His quiet, unassuming manner as he discussed the heartbreak he and his wife encountered in the face of their daughter’s escapades is what earned him his place on our bookshelves and our hearts. In the last several years, the tales of Becky have faded from prominence as Dr. MacDonald has returned to more generic examples of misbehavior and suggestions for coping. However, speculation still runs rampant that Becky hasn’t reformed from her tempestuous ways. Sources suggest that, at the time of this printing, the troubled young woman is, in fact, residing in Switzerland at an extended in-patient rehabilitation and mental health facility as her parents, yet again, work to return their lost sheep to the fold.”

Sara snorted, her cheeks flushed, eyes sparking. “Honestly? This proves my point.”

“How? How does that prove anyone’s point but mine? Apparently, the only way I could possibly turn out was to become an insane druggie. You know this magazine is everywhere, so who’s he going to believe?”

Sara cocked her head to the side and studied Rebecca. “The woman he loves. If she’ll let him.”

Rebecca licked her lips and closed the magazine. “Pretty sure that ship has sailed.”

“So call it back to port. What do you have to lose?” Sara squeezed Rebecca’s shoulder. “Think about it, at least. Okay? In the meantime, if you feel the need to swap clients, just swing by. I like old Mr. Phillips, even if he does try to pinch your booty when you’re not looking.”

Rebecca trudged from the parking lot into the homeless shelter. It wasn’t her night to volunteer, but yet again she couldn’t face the prospect of her empty townhouse. What had been her haven now felt empty and dead. She really should look into getting a cat. A dog would be better, but they needed more regular hours than she could promise at this point. Cats, at least, could survive pretty well independently. And, if she was lucky, she’d get one that was willing to cuddle now and then. Maybe she’d swing by the shelter this weekend and see if they had any likely candidates.

She waved at Jerry as she walked by his office. He shook his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. It wasn’t as if he was going to turn a volunteer away. The common room was busier tonight, lots of folks gathered around the television watching, she craned her neck to see, a game show? Not their usual choice, but maybe the news was too depressing. Onlookers hollered out answers before the contestants, going for funny instead of accurate. She grinned. Many of the folks who came to the mission had a wicked sense of humor.

Rebecca pulled out a chair at the table on the far side of the room where Kira sat with D’Andre.

“Maybe you can settle this for us, Rebecca.” Kira smiled as she looked up from the text book on the table. “D’Andre says that as long as you get the right answer, it shouldn’t matter how you got it. I think it’s just as important—maybe more—to have the right process, even if you make a little mistake along the way and get the answer wrong.”

D’Andre nodded and slid a paper over to her. “Mr. Wilson graded me down because I didn’t show my work. I did it in my head, cause this is easy, so why spend the time markin’ up a paper?”

Rebecca studied the math test, eyebrows lifting as she saw the answers with minimal work. She puffed out her cheeks. “I’m going to side with Kira and Mr. Wilson on this one. Showing your work is important. He needs to know that you really understand how to get from A to B, not just that you’re a lucky guesser.”

“Or that I cheated? You can say it. I know that’s what everybody thinks.” D’Andre crossed his arms and jutted out his chin. “But I didn’t cheat. This is just easy.”

“I’ve seen enough of your work to know you didn’t cheat, D’Andre. You’re a bright kid, smarter than you let on. And I suspect that’s why you didn’t want to show your work, in case someone else noticed that you’re smart. But you’ve gotta let your teachers see it—I’m guessing they already know. But they can’t grade you fairly if you don’t do all the steps.” Rebecca tapped the paper before sliding it back. “Is Mr. Wilson tall and skinny, with sort of a skater haircut?”

What were the chances that Zach was the math teacher in question? Was she going to spend the rest of her life running into connections that tied her to Ben? “Just met him. He seems pretty cool though. I bet if you had a talk with him, explained the situation, he might help you find a way to save face and still get full credit.”

“Maybe I’ll do that.” D’Andre took the book and paper and stuffed them in his tattered backpack. “I gotta’ bounce. Mom needs me to watch the little ones. She’s got a job interview. Might give her better hours. Thanks for the help. I’ll hit up Mr. W tomorrow.”

Rebecca waved. She should probably text Ben and see if she could get Zach’s number to warn him. Nothing quite like being put on the spot by one of your students. But she could do that later. That gave her a chance to figure out some other way to get in touch with Zach without having to text Ben. She looked at Kira and smiled. The girl was wan, and looked like she’d lost weight since the last time Rebecca had seen her. “How’re you doing?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I’m supposed to try and make sure you don’t overdo. He loves you a lot—like you’re his own.”

Kira grinned. “That’s Uncle Jerry. He takes on everyone’s problems. But it’s what makes him good at this. I’m doing okay. Tired. The treatment...it takes a lot out of me. I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to convince my folks that I can still come down here, so I’m trying to get in as much time as I can.”

“Isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing?” In a similar situation, would she keep coming here? Keep working and serving? Or would her focus be more selfish? She wanted to say she’d still concentrate on serving...but the truth was, she didn’t believe she would.

“Not really. God’s given me so much to be thankful for. I have a great family, wonderful friends, and so many experiences that most people don’t get. The time I spent at college was amazing and even if I don’t get to go back, I’ll always be grateful for the chances I had when I was there. Why wouldn’t I give back while I can? If God calls me home, I want to know I was faithful when I had the chance.”

Wow. Rebecca sighed. What would it be like to have that kind of conviction about your calling? And to be able to act on it? What little clarity she’d had herself had disappeared quickly once it became obvious no one was going to take her desire to make a difference seriously. That’s why she’d switched majors and gone on to get her master’s in physical therapy. But it wasn’t like she made a difference for God. Not really. Sure, she helped people get better, but what eternal value was there in any aspect of her life? None.

“Just be sure you aren’t setting your health back. I know you’ve made a big impact on the kids, D’Andre especially, but if you work too hard and can’t come in at all, you defeat the purpose. Plus Jerry’ll kill me.”

Rebecca crawled into bed. Was it too late to text? Surely Ben turned his phone off or set it to vibrate or something when he went to bed. Didn’t everyone?

She hit send. He probably wouldn’t see it until tomorrow. So she’d just hope she got to Zach before D’Andre did. She opened her email program and shook her head. Did the man do anything other than send email?

Rebecca skimmed the first message. Was she supposed to care about tablecloth colors? Why did it matter? She sent back a quick reply letting him know that the suggestions sounded fine, archived the message and moved to the next. Her phone buzzed with a new text.

She smiled. That was friendlier than he’d been at the clinic today, when she’d gotten the barest wave from him while she escorted Mr. Phillips back to the weights. And the crazy old man had pinched her butt three separate times. Honestly, he was sweet, but someone needed to remind him that behavior didn’t fly anymore. If it ever had.

She opened a new text and warned Zach about D’Andre’s desire to keep his cool status while still making a good math grade. Hopefully, Zach was able to see the boy’s potential and would be willing to figure something out. He’d seemed pretty reasonable, but that’d been in a social setting. And he’d been trying to impress that other girl—Amy? So who knew? Maybe he was one of those strict teachers who never bent a rule in their life. In which case, she’d owe D’Andre an apology.

Tears pricked her eyes. If only she deserved a man like Ben. But how could she? If she told him the truth, would he believe she wasn’t what her dad painted her to be? What if he didn’t? She’d rather live without him, knowing that he thought she was someone special, someone worth knowing, than to still be without him and have him think of her the same way everyone else thought of Becky MacDonald.

Sighing, she powered off her phone and plugged it in. She’d reply tomorrow. Or not at all.