lengthened its lead.
“Yep.” Ben tapped his watch with his pinky finger.
Why did the kid do that? Made him look so metro.
“Three p.m. on the button.”
“Give me ten minutes.”
Ben turned to go.
“Wait, why are you smiling?”
“I’ll tell you when we meet. You’re going to love it.”
“Tell me now.” Mark slid out of his chair, sauntered around the end of his desk, and leaned back against it.
“It can wait. I’ll be back in ten.”
“I’m ready now.”
Ben smirked, so slightly Mark almost missed it.
“Have you studied the local news feeds from around the country yet?” Ben pushed his dark red hair off his forehead, which flopped back down a moment later.
“No, I pay you to look at it for me.” Mark folded his arms.
“Ah yes, that’s right. I’ll be back in three minutes. I might have missed a story or two.”
Passive-aggressive little snot. He hated passive-aggressive behavior. Straight aggressive worked faster and kept people in their places more effectively. When he shot people, at least he had the courage to shoot them in the chest.
“Ben, what do you think you’re doing? Do you think God condones that attitude?”
“What attitude?”
“Cut it. We both know you’re pitching me nonsense and it won’t fly. If you want to be sitting where I am someday, you have to submit to my authority. Got it? Not just your actions—your attitude. Are we clear, or do you need to start looking for another job right now?”
“I’m sorry, Mark. You’re right. I totally get it. Forgive me.”
Grace. He needed it himself. So he needed to give it. Even when his emotions screamed to do the opposite. Breathe deep. Offer grace, c’mon.
“Done. It’s over, forgiven, forgotten.” Mark clasped his hands behind his head. “Now talk. Tell me about this story.”
Ben set a printout of a news story onto Mark’s desk. It featured a picture of a young blond boy with what must be his parents on either side. The headline read, Boy Cured of Asthma. Family Says Miracle.
“So what?” Mark pushed the paper back at Ben. “God still heals people these days.”
“I believe He does as well. But when the healing comes from involvement with a certain type of inanimate object I believe you have an absorbing fascination with, it makes the whole scenario much more interesting.”
Mark’s pulse spiked. “If you’re grinding my gears—”
“I’m not.” Ben shook his head and tapped the paper. “I’m betting the chair that kid sat in before he got healed was a chair you’re extremely familiar with.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.” Ben tapped the article again. “It was an antiques store.”
Mark leaned forward and read the entire article, raked his fingers through his hair, and said more to himself than Ben, “So this mom and her son wander into an antiques store, the boy had an asthma attack, the kid sits in a chair, and four hours later he’s healed.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“Where is the store?”
“The article didn’t give the name of the store.”
“Yes, I know.” Mark smacked the article with the back of his hand. “I can read. But the article is out of Colorado Springs, right?”
“So you want me to—?”
“Get on a plane tonight. Fly out there and find the store. Then charm the owner and find out everything you can about this chair.”
“And you’d like me to do it yesterday.”
“Precisely.”
Ben turned to go. “Anything else?”
“Nope.” Mark rubbed his mouth. “Wait.” He went to his desk and slid open the top drawer. “I’m booked tomorrow night, so I can’t use these.” He handed Ben two tickets to the OneRepublic concert.
“Are you serious?” Ben’s face spread into a grin. “I love these guys.”
“I know.” Mark patted him on the shoulder. “Enjoy.”
Mark stood at his office window and stared at the unsightly souls trudging up and down the sidewalk in front of his building. Most of them had no awareness of the
“Yep.” Ben tapped his watch with his pinky finger.
Why did the kid do that? Made him look so metro.
“Three p.m. on the button.”
“Give me ten minutes.”
Ben turned to go.
“Wait, why are you smiling?”
“I’ll tell you when we meet. You’re going to love it.”
“Tell me now.” Mark slid out of his chair, sauntered around the end of his desk, and leaned back against it.
“It can wait. I’ll be back in ten.”
“I’m ready now.”
Ben smirked, so slightly Mark almost missed it.
“Have you studied the local news feeds from around the country yet?” Ben pushed his dark red hair off his forehead, which flopped back down a moment later.
“No, I pay you to look at it for me.” Mark folded his arms.
“Ah yes, that’s right. I’ll be back in three minutes. I might have missed a story or two.”
Passive-aggressive little snot. He hated passive-aggressive behavior. Straight aggressive worked faster and kept people in their places more effectively. When he shot people, at least he had the courage to shoot them in the chest.
“Ben, what do you think you’re doing? Do you think God condones that attitude?”
“What attitude?”
“Cut it. We both know you’re pitching me nonsense and it won’t fly. If you want to be sitting where I am someday, you have to submit to my authority. Got it? Not just your actions—your attitude. Are we clear, or do you need to start looking for another job right now?”
“I’m sorry, Mark. You’re right. I totally get it. Forgive me.”
Grace. He needed it himself. So he needed to give it. Even when his emotions screamed to do the opposite. Breathe deep. Offer grace, c’mon.
“Done. It’s over, forgiven, forgotten.” Mark clasped his hands behind his head. “Now talk. Tell me about this story.”
Ben set a printout of a news story onto Mark’s desk. It featured a picture of a young blond boy with what must be his parents on either side. The headline read, Boy Cured of Asthma. Family Says Miracle.
“So what?” Mark pushed the paper back at Ben. “God still heals people these days.”
“I believe He does as well. But when the healing comes from involvement with a certain type of inanimate object I believe you have an absorbing fascination with, it makes the whole scenario much more interesting.”
Mark’s pulse spiked. “If you’re grinding my gears—”
“I’m not.” Ben shook his head and tapped the paper. “I’m betting the chair that kid sat in before he got healed was a chair you’re extremely familiar with.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.” Ben tapped the article again. “It was an antiques store.”
Mark leaned forward and read the entire article, raked his fingers through his hair, and said more to himself than Ben, “So this mom and her son wander into an antiques store, the boy had an asthma attack, the kid sits in a chair, and four hours later he’s healed.”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“Where is the store?”
“The article didn’t give the name of the store.”
“Yes, I know.” Mark smacked the article with the back of his hand. “I can read. But the article is out of Colorado Springs, right?”
“So you want me to—?”
“Get on a plane tonight. Fly out there and find the store. Then charm the owner and find out everything you can about this chair.”
“And you’d like me to do it yesterday.”
“Precisely.”
Ben turned to go. “Anything else?”
“Nope.” Mark rubbed his mouth. “Wait.” He went to his desk and slid open the top drawer. “I’m booked tomorrow night, so I can’t use these.” He handed Ben two tickets to the OneRepublic concert.
“Are you serious?” Ben’s face spread into a grin. “I love these guys.”
“I know.” Mark patted him on the shoulder. “Enjoy.”
Mark stood at his office window and stared at the unsightly souls trudging up and down the sidewalk in front of his building. Most of them had no awareness of the
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