God's Gift. Dee Henderson

      “Please.”

      When she came back out with the coffee, he had moved, stretched his legs out fully, was slowly working his right knee. He was doing his best not to grimace with the movement.

      Rae felt an intense sense of empathy for him. He was like Kevin, a man accustomed to days of physical work. The pain had to be hard to cope with. She sat back down beside him, leaving a foot of space between them, turning slightly so she could lean against a porch post. “Patricia said the bug was damaging your joints,” she remarked, handing him the refilled mug.

      “It’s doing damage like lupus, fibromyalgia, or the aggressive forms of arthritis. The joints lose the ability to move freely.”

      “Is it getting better?”

      He grimaced. “At a snail’s pace. They don’t know what bug I picked up, and they don’t know how long the symptoms are going to last.”

      “Is it the pain that messes up your sleep?” she asked, curious.

      “Yes and no. The sleep study showed there is a lot of alpha wave activity during what should be delta sleep. My body isn’t sleeping properly anymore. They don’t know why.”

      “You weren’t praying for patience by any chance, were you?”

      He smiled. “I was praying for someone to show up in Africa who knew how to train medical staff. We were building clinics faster than we could staff them.”

      “What’s the problem with getting staff?”

      “Money. Doctors who have been in practice for a few years have grown to like the income and don’t want to go, doctors straight out of medical school are so deep in school debts, they can’t afford to go.”

      “I don’t know why that surprises me. We’ve got the same problem staffing the Crisis Centers here.”

      The door behind them opened. “Would you two like a hot or cold breakfast? We’ve got everything from fruit and cereal to bacon and eggs,” Patricia asked.

      “I want you to give me another pancake making lesson,” Rae requested, scooping up her mug. “The squirrels can eat the ones I burn.”

      James laughed. “Rae, she’s not the best at it either.”

      “She’s better than I am. That’s all I care about,” Rae replied with a grin as they both went inside.

      “Dave, Rae is cooking.” It was a whispered warning overheard from the hall. James had to smile at Lace’s reaction. No one could be that bad a cook.

      He changed his mind thirty minutes later. Rae had tried, but the pancakes were not like the ones his mom made.

      Rae chuckled at the expressions on her friends’ faces around the table, pulled back the plate of remaining pancakes she had set on the table and reappeared with a plate of pancakes Patricia had fixed. “I’m getting better, you didn’t try to stifle a gag.”

      “Rae, why don’t you just give up?” Dave asked. “It’s not your fault your grandmother refused to cook. Cooking is something you either learn as a child or it’s a lost art.”

      “Nope. I’m going to learn how if it kills me,” she replied, helping herself to two of the pancakes Patricia had fixed.

      “It might kill one of us one of these days,” Dave replied, then yelped when someone kicked him under the table.

      “David Hank McAllister, be nice.”

      “She knows I’m teasing, Lace.”

      “Hank?” Rae burst out laughing.

      Dave turned to Lace. “Now see what you’ve done? You promised you wouldn’t tell.”

      Rae’s laughter intensified. “Hank. Oh this is rich.”

      “I’ll give you rich, Amy.”

      Rae wrinkled her nose at him and did her best to stop her laughter. “I can’t believe I’ve known you ten years without knowing your middle name.”

      “What’s so funny?” Emily had joined them, wiping sleep from her eyes. James lifted her up into his lap, his own laughter hard to contain. “Just adult stuff,” he told her, smiling.

      The threesome quieted down. “Sorry, Dave,” Lace whispered, then giggled.

      He snagged his coffee mug to get a refill, his head shaking as he walked to the kitchen. “Women.”

      Rae leaned across Dave’s empty chair toward Lace, a smile dancing across her face. “I think I know what we should get him for his birthday.”

      Lace had to stifle her laughter at the whispered suggestion. “Think we could still find the CD?” Lace asked. “He hates country music almost as much as he does jazz. It’s perfect.”

      “You knew?”

      Lace grinned. “He hides a cringe every time I choose track four. He is so easy to get.”

      “Lace, you are good,” Rae said, sitting back in her chair and looking at her friend with new respect.

      Lace leaned back in her chair. “I’m better than good,” she replied with a smile. “He’s never going to know what hit him.”

      Laughter was good medicine, James thought. He hadn’t felt this good in weeks. Watching Rae and Lace, he couldn’t contain his smile.

      Rae caught him watching her and grinned. “You’ll get used to us, James.”

      “I’m enjoying it,” he replied, watching her blush slightly.

      Lace saw the blush and turned to look at him. He winked. James saw Lace hesitate a moment and glance back at Rae. Then a wide smile crossed her face. “Dave,” Lace called, “we want to go canoeing this morning. But I’m riding with you. Rae sent me into the drink last time.”

      Dave appeared in the doorway, munching on a piece of bacon. “Only if I’m steering.”

      “You can steer,” Lace agreed, getting up to clear her place.

      “Lace, I wanted to lounge on the patio with a book,” Rae remarked, stacking the plates.

      “No, you don’t. You want to go canoeing.”

      Rae looked at her friend, puzzled. “Okay.” She glanced over at Patricia and James. “Either one of you want to go canoeing?”

      “The kids and I have a date with a pair a horses,” Patricia replied, smiling.

      “Can I steer?” James asked quietly.

      Rae looked at him, finally caught the byplay between him and Lace, flushed, then laughed. “Sure.” She snagged her friend’s sweater. “Come on, Lace. You need to put those plates in the sink.”

      Lace let herself get tugged out of the room. “I need to put these plates in the sink,” she agreed, winking back at James.

      Dave watched them go with a rueful smile. He tugged out his chair with his foot. “It is going to be a long week.”

      James laughed. He had a feeling both he and Dave were going to enjoy it.

      “Do you want to beach the canoe and rest your wrists for a while?”

      James smiled. “Relax, Rae. I’m fine. That’s the fourth time you’ve asked.”

      “You’re here to recover, not make matters worse.”

      She rested her paddle across the bow and leaned over to watch a school of sunfish slide by near the surface.

      She had a nice back. He’d been admiring the view for the last hour.

      His wrists were sore, but not intolerable. His shirt was almost dry. There had been a laughter-filled water fight between the two canoes about forty minutes back. He hadn’t