Relinquish

“Why is that person riding a horse on the side of the road?”

John’s question was sharp, skeptical, causing Betsy to jump in surprise. She’d thought he’d dozed off in the passenger seat as she drove, but he clearly wasn’t asleep now.

She’d just pulled over into the oncoming traffic lane to steer clear of a woman on a black mare, walking peacefully down the road. She glanced into the rearview mirror to get another glimpse of the horse. “I guess she has somewhere to go.”

“So she rides a horse on a busy road.”

“Horses are big here. There are wild horses up in Corolla. You can’t get there to see them without a four-wheel drive.”

“That wasn’t a wild horse.”

“I know. I’m just saying. People like horses here.”

John shook his head and muttered, “Silly.”

Betsy had heard that curt word muttered countless times in the years she’d known John. It was his all-encompassing judgment on anything he found trivial, anything he saw as unproductive.

Usually she found it kind of funny. He often said it in half jest. He didn’t seem to be joking this time though, and she didn’t find it amusing. “I’m sure she enjoys it,” she said lightly.

“So where exactly are we going?” John demanded.

“I told you,” she said quietly, trying to keep her eyes wide and her expression innocent. “It’s a place on the Outer Banks. We should be there in twenty or twenty-five minutes now.”

“What place?”

John Davenport was the leader of a crisis response team with a Christian international relief organization. Betsy had worked for the organization for eight years, and she’d been part of John’s team for four. He was her boss—which was one of the reasons her present mission was so awkward.

There were a lot of reasons. She’d been dreading it for weeks.

John was used to being in charge, being active, having people do as he said. He wasn’t used to downtime or to being driven to places he didn’t know.

“It’s a place on the beach. Chuck and Curtis arranged it for you.”

Chuck was John’s boss, and Curtis was Chuck’s boss. Betsy was prepared to use their authority to ensure that John followed the plans they’d made.

She’d rehearsed this conversation many times for the past several weeks, but at the moment, she couldn’t remember what she’d practiced. Her heart was beating so loud she thought John might be able to hear it.

Both John and Betsy were on a month-long sabbatical—John having been forced into the required break with much argument. Betsy was going to spend time with her mother in Buxton, her hometown. John was going somewhere else.

“What place is it, Betsy? Something isn’t feeling right about it.”

“It is right.”

“You said it was a resort.”

“It is—of a kind.”

“Of what kind?”

She sighed. She’d volunteered to break this news to him because she thought he’d take it better from her, but now she was starting to regret it. “It’s a rest-and-retreat center.” Might as well just say it outright. There wasn’t much time left to delay since they weren’t very far away. They’d reached the coast and were headed south along the Outer Banks. They’d be to their destination soon.

He was silent for a moment. “And everyone is going to be there?”

She cleared her throat. “N-no. Just you.”

“What?” John tended to be a blunt man with a loud voice. His soft, hoarse tone was very uncharacteristic.

It caused Betsy’s stomach to twist. “It’s a really great place—right on the beach. You’ll like it.”

“I will not like it.”

“You have no idea whether you’ll like it or not. You have to give it a chance.” Leave it to John to put the pieces together in a few seconds and know exactly what was happening and why it was happening. He’d always been the quickest thinker she’d ever known.

“I don’t have to do anything. When you said they’d arranged a retreat, I assumed it would be for everyone. I’m not sick or damaged or psychologically troubled. I don’t need a damn—”

“No one is saying you are. But Chuck and Curtis think—”

“This place is right near your hometown?”

“Yes. Fairly close. Several miles north.”

“And you’re saying this was Chuck and Curtis’s idea?”

Betsy swallowed. Of course he would realize this particular retreat center had been her suggestion. “It was their decision,” she said firmly. “It’s a really nice place.”

“Why does everyone suddenly think I’ve lost it?” He was scowling and staring ahead of them at the busy two-lane road lined with beach shops, fishing stores, and quirky restaurants. The road ran the length of the Outer Banks, a string of peninsulas and barrier islands on the coast of North Carolina. He looked bad-tempered, but Betsy knew it was more than that.

He was upset. He didn’t want anyone to think he was weak or damaged. He’d always been that way. She was that way too—to a lesser extent—so she could understand how he felt.