Healing Stones by Stephen Arterburn, Nancy Rue

out what common ground we had to work from. Kevin’s camp always answered, “We have taught the Word as it was meant to be taught, and there is no reason to allow anyone to put a different slant on it.” I would never forget the faculty meeting when Kevin himself had said, “The next thing you know someone will be declaring that the Prodigal Son was the victim of a wealthy workaholic father who never paid any attention to him.” I guffawed right across the table.
    The thing was, all Zach and Ethan and I, and a few others, wanted for our students was a chance to grapple with the possibilities, to pray together over interpretation.
    A lump the size of my fist formed in my throat. I hadn’t shed a tear over any of this, not even in the endless darkness of three AM. Now every one I’d been holding back threatened to break free, just as three girls, led by Brandon Stires, crowded into my office.
    â€œSo what’s the deal, Dr. C.?” Brandon leaned a bony shoulder against the empty bookshelf. “The note on Dr. A.’s door says some new guy’s taking over his classes.”
    Chelsea Farmer’s eyes, perfectly framed in eyeliner, widened at the box I hoisted off the desk. “Are you leaving too?”
    â€œIrreconcilable differences with the university,” I said. “I was going to send out an e-mail, but—” I dusted off my hands. “Here you are.”
    I attempted a smile, which no one appeared to buy, and they all exchanged loaded looks.
    â€œI’ve been asked not to discuss it, guys,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
    Brandon elbowed his way past Chelsea, Marcy, and a new girl who’d transferred from Olympia in January. I thought her name was Audrey. Now I’d never know for sure.
    â€œYou can’t even tell us what’s gonna happen to F&D?” Brandon said.
    Marcy’s wide face flattened. “We talked about writing monologues we could perform. What about that?”
    I tried to swallow. “I’ll get together with Dr. Archer, and we’ll set up a time to discuss it with you.”
    Brandon folded his arms. “What do we do in the meantime?”
    â€œKeep meeting, interviewing people.” For no reason that I could think of, I nodded vehemently at the dark-haired, diminutive Audrey. “You’ll be okay, and I promise you, we won’t abandon you. We’ll get you a new advisor—”
    â€œLike who?” Marcy said with a sniff. “Dr. St. Clair?”
    â€œDude—no! It’ll go from the Faith and Doubt project to the Mandatory Faith Edict.” Brandon jerked his head. “He’ll want to rename
it You Better Believe It.”
    I winced. “All right, so maybe we—maybe I could act as an outside consultant.”
    â€œThat would work,” Chelsea said. “What about Dr. A.?”
    I’d come to the end of what I could pretend. “I can’t speak for him,” I said.
    Marcy nodded. “You guys are a team.”
    I turned to an empty box and resisted the urge to stick my head in it.
    â€œIt’ll be okay,” I said again.
    Nobody appeared to believe that. Least of all me.
    When they were gone, everything was packed except two books that belonged to Zach— Speaking in Parables by Sally McFague and Paul Tillich’s Dynamics of Faith. We’d talked about both of them, in those early days before we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
    The theology department “secretary”—a round senior named Sebastian who never looked up from his NKJV when any of us made a request—let me use the master key to get into Zach’s office to return them. I probably could have told him I wanted to rifle the place and he wouldn’t have cared, or remembered two minutes later.
    The aura of the tiny room overpowered me as I closed myself in— Zach’s musky scent and herby-smelling tea stash and slicing wit still