Retreat

Cecily Evans had managed the Balm in Gilead Center for Rest for eight years, and she’d owned it on her own for three, ever since her original partner retired. She had enough experience now to know when she was about to get dumped.

Bob was the pastor of a large church in Raleigh, and he’d been holding his leadership retreats at Balm in Gilead since they’d first opened their doors. He’d been one of the first people to take a chance on a newly opened spiritual and physical rest center—something no one had ever heard of—and she’d gone out of her way to show her appreciation by always giving him his choice of April weeks for his retreat and giving him a substantial discount on the rooms no matter how booked they were.

But after all these years, he was about to dump her. She could hear it in his voice.

She made a point of settling her features into her normal, tranquil expression—even though their conversation was on the phone and he couldn’t see her—because she didn’t want even a trace of her rising emotions to be heard in her voice.

“I do understand that your leadership retreat is still six months away,” she said, smiling intentionally at her empty office so her tone would reflect it. “But we’re booked solid a year in advance now since we were featured on Faith and Fabulousness a few months ago, and I just need to confirm your reservation.”

Bob hemmed and hawed on the other end of the call, obviously uncomfortable and not wanting to provide the needed confirmation.

The tense feeling got heavier in her chest. “You’ve come every year since we’ve been open, but I don’t like to assume your reservation is confirmed. If you’re rethinking it this year…”

“We’re just looking at other options. You know how people are. Always finding something to complain about.”

Cecily did know how people were, but she couldn’t help but wonder what the specific complaints were about Balm in Gilead. If she’d known, she would have tried to address them.

“And it’s awfully expensive,” Bob added.

“I’m already giving you a discount because you’ve been so loyal to us from the beginning. I can’t reduce the price any more and still meet expenses.”

“I know. I know. We’re just looking at other options.” He sounded like he thought she would be offended.

She wasn’t offended. This was a business, after all.

But she was a little bit sad.

She’d gone out of her way to remain loyal to Bob and his church because they’d always been loyal to her.

“I completely understand,” she said after taking a moment to ensure none of her emotional response was evident in her voice. “I just need to know one way or the other whether to confirm your reservation. If you can let me know by the end of week?”

Bob agreed, sounding relieved at the reprieve from the final decision.

Cecily hung up and stared at her computer screen, on which was displayed her perfectly organized email inbox. She breathed a few times, talking herself down from the irrational feeling of betrayal.

It was silly. Bob could make whatever decisions were best for him and his church. It wasn’t personal.

It wasn’t personal.

And just because she’d made financial sacrifices to make sure she could offer Bob the lowest rates possible for his retreat didn’t mean he’d necessarily take his leadership team to Balm in Gilead every year.

When he canceled—and she knew now he would—the empty slot in her schedule would be filled in less than a day. She had a waiting list since the center had gotten so much good press after being featured on an incredibly popular Christian blog.

It wasn’t the loss of business that bothered Cecily.

She shook off the feeling of loss and pulled up Facebook on her computer, hoping for something to distract her.

The first thing she saw was a picture her sister, Mercy, had posted of her and her husband on their vacation to Hawaii.

Their father had died in his sixties, when the girls had been in college, and their mother had died a couple of years ago. So Mercy was all Cecily had left of a family. For a long time both the sisters had been single, so they’d always traveled together. They were just a year apart, and they’d always been close. But a year ago—at thirty-five—Mercy had gotten married, so Cecily had lost her vacation partner.

She was happy for her sister—of course she was—but it was hard not to feel a very small sense of loss.

Cecily was thirty-seven and single. She was happy with her life and professionally successful. It had been nice to have someone to go on vacations with, but naturally Mercy would now take vacations with her husband.

Cecily scrolled through her Facebook feed, looking at pictures and reading posts from her friends. Nearly all of them had spouses and families, people who walked through life with them.

Cecily had a lot of friends—from college, from graduate school, from seminary, from professional circles, from the local church she attended. But they all had their own lives, and she was rather isolated on the Outer Banks, which was made up of very small towns and mostly populated by tourists and weekenders.

Living here full time as a single, professional woman didn’t make a social life easy.

She hadn’t dated in two years.