Free Healing Waters by Stephen Arterburn, Nancy Rue Page B

impassive as a tombstone. My only clue was the strained up-and-down bob of his Adam’s apple.
    â€œCall me when you need me,” he said.
    When he was gone, I went to the vending machines and filled the pockets of my pink smock. Later, in the lounge after everyone else had left, I had a supper of cheese crackers and Snickers and didn’t think about Marnie perhaps slipping to my home to be with my husband, to whom I’d just given the perfect opportunity to have his affair.
    Anything not to feel.

    â€œNo wonder we can’t pry you out of here, Sully. This place is amazing.”
    Sully handed Rusty Huff a glass of iced tea and leaned with him on the railing of Porphyria’s wraparound veranda. Below them a thick field of ragwort and bee balm tumbled toward the woods in happy abandon. Beyond, the Smokies seemed to drift in a bluegray mist.
    â€œPorphyria admits God doesn’t live here,” Sully said, “but she swears this is where He spends most of His time.”
    â€œIt was the perfect place for you to heal.” Rusty took a sip from the glass and looked at it reverently. “Did God make this too?”
    â€œClose.” Sully grinned. “Porphyria’s trying to teach me, but I’m pretty much hopeless.”
    â€œYeah, we all give anything you cook a wide margin.”
    Rusty furrowed his forehead, and Sully knew he was about to say something that made a huge amount of sense. It was the reason Sully had chosen him as acting head of Healing Choice Ministries in his absence.
    â€œSo—you planning to bring everybody up here for healing?” Rusty said.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYou haven’t given me anything for the DVD. I thought maybe you were planning a retreat for all the hurting people who need what you’ve learned.” Rusty looked into the glass as he swirled the ice. “I think you’ve got the lamp-under-a-bushel thing going on.”
    Sully left the railing and dropped into a padded wicker chair. “I don’t think the DVD idea is going to work. I looked at what I’ve filmed so far, and I come across more like a prisoner of war than a spiritual-health guru.”
    â€œYeah, you’re pretty scrawny-looking right now, but we can doctor that up.”
    Sully shook his head. “I just can’t get it all to come together yet.”
    â€œSo maybe a full-blown DVD isn’t what you need to do right now. Maybe it’s more about the process. What about a series of podcasts?”
    Sully picked up his glass. “You mean like for the HCM Web site?”
    â€œRight. Like an audio magazine subscription. People can receive them however often you upload them and listen to them at their leisure—on their iPods or whatever. You can do one a week, more if you want.”
    â€œIt’s not a matter of want . It’s a matter of can. ”
    â€œOh, come off it, Sully.” Rusty narrowed his gold-flecked brown eyes. “So you’re not the all-knowing Dr. Sullivan Crisp anymore. Personally, I like you better this way—a little more scarred, a little less I-got-it-all-under-control.”
    â€œYou got that right.”
    â€œThen let people see that they don’t have to be at the top of their form all the time—that you struggle too.” He bounced his fist lightly off Sully’s shoulder. “That’s what you would tell anybody who came to a Healing Choice clinic.”
    â€œI hate it when you throw my own words up in my face.”
    â€œYeah, it stinks.”
    â€œPodcasts,” Sully said. “What else ya got?”
    â€œNothin’.”
    â€œIs that an ultimatum?”
    â€œI wasn’t going to call it that.”
    Sully turned at the weight in Rusty’s voice. He studied his sweet tea. “What?” he said.
    â€œKIHS in Burbank has taken you off the air. They said as soon as you have something fresh they’ll be all over it. And they’re not the