Free Saturday Morning by Lauraine Snelling

Benson to see you, sir.”
    Hope rolled her eyes. As if Peter didn’t know her name. He had been on the board of directors for J House for over two years. I must be PMSing. She’s new. She doesn’t know me. “Hello, Peter.” Hope crossed to the huge free-form desk. No drawers, no files, just glass, the color of which reminded her of the clear blue waters of Montego Bay, the prettiest bay in all of Jamaica.
    Peter Kent stood up behind his desk. “Good to see you, Hope.”
    He had aged since she’d seen him last. When was it? Three months ago? His dark hair was now silver-streaked, and a once healthy tan now appeared faded and splotchy. Dare she ask after his health? He was a very private man.
    He came around the desk and indicated they should sit in two leather chairs, which bracketed a small table of the same blue glass as the desk. “Let’s sit here, where we can be more comfortable.”
    Hope felt the now familiar heartburn start to creep up her esophagus. Go away!
    “Coffee? Tea? I have iced tea.”
    How about a milk shake of antacid? “Iced tea would be fine,” shesaid, glad for the offer. “And artificial sweetener, if you don’t mind.” She saw him nod toward his assistant. Miss S.H. nodded back. It wasn’t difficult to spot the resentment in the young woman’s eyes, even through all that mascara. She didn’t appreciate playing maid.
    “So what brings you here today?” As usual, Peter got right to the point.
    In for a dollar, in for a dime. Her mother had loved old sayings. “Peter, are you all right?” she asked, concern overriding polite correctness. “You look … ” She clamped her mouth shut when she saw him glance at Miss S.H., as if to say, Wait till she leaves . So he didn’t want to say anything in front of her.
    As soon as the door closed, Peter answered her question. “I’m happy to say I’m recovering.”
    “I didn’t know you had been ill.” She leaned forward. “What was wrong, if you don’t mind my asking? You know how incredibly nosy I can be.” There were times she wished she weren’t so nosy; this was one of them.
    “I had part of a lung removed. Malignancy.”
    The personal assistant returned a few minutes later and set a small lacquered tray down on the table. “Will there be anything else?”
    “No thank you,” Peter said, flashing her a quick smile. “That will be all for now.”
    Wordlessly, the young woman left the room.
    Hope leaned forward, took a packet of Splenda off the tray, tore it open, and poured it into the tall, frosty glass of tea.
    Peter simply picked up his coffee cup and took a sip.
    “Six months ago, if you remember, I would be lighting up about now. But no more. I’ve learned my lesson about smoking.”
    “Oh, Peter, I wish you had let me know.” No wonder she hadn’t heard from him. I should have called when I thought about him.
    “There’s nothing you or anyone could have done.”
    “Sure there is. We could have prayed for you.”
    “Thank you, Hope. I appreciate the thought, but you know how I am. Anyway, I’m doing fine now. God was good to me and gave me a reprieve.” He smiled, leaned against the chair back, and steepled his fingers. “Now, I know you didn’t take time from your crazy schedule to come here and drink iced tea with me. What can I do for you?”
    “How about getting us a million dollars?” she said with a half laugh.
    He tilted his head slightly and raised one eyebrow. “No takers yet, huh?”
    “Not yet.” Hope failed at trapping a sigh. “I admit I’m a little worried.”
    “A little worried?”
    “Okay, so I’m a lot worried,” she amended. “I thought for sure that by now, what with all the letters we’ve put out, someone would have stepped forward to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.”
    “Retrofitting an old building like J House isn’t cheap, my dear.”
    “But I thought big corporations were always on the hunt for a good tax write-off.”
    “There are a lot of worthy causes out