As she jogged, she contemplated her options, thinking again of Uncle Nathaniel. At an intersection, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and shot him a quick text, asking if he was free. She glanced over at her companion. “I’m going to the parsonage for Capital Christian.”

He nodded and said something into his radio. Instead of waiting for the light, she turned right and picked up her pace. About twenty yards later, her phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen and saw her uncle’s confirmation.

Two miles later, she paused outside of the gate, looking up at the green two-story house next to the parking lot of the old church. She wiped her face on her shoulder and opened the wrought-iron gate. Her legs felt a little rubbery, and sweat poured down her back. Before she’d made it to the second step, the door opened, and her uncle stepped out onto the porch.

Uncle Nathaniel was her father’s older brother by twelve years. He was tall and athletic with bright-blue eyes and gray hair that had once been reddish-brown.

“Well, hello, niece. What a surprise,” he said, grinning.

“Hey, Uncle Nathaniel.” As she approached him, he held out his arms, but she put her hands up, palms toward him. “I’m super sweaty.”

“Bah.” He grabbed her and pulled her close. “It is so good to see you. I’m having dinner at your house tomorrow.”

“Really? I guess I could have waited instead of bothering you.”

“Nonsense.” He gestured inside. “Let’s get you out of the cold before you get sick.” He looked at the two men with her. “You too.”

“No, sir. We’ll stay here.”

Nathaniel led her to the little sitting room off the foyer. Here, he met with parishioners, keeping them out of the deeper, more personal portions of his home. This room led to the dining room, and through that was the kitchen.

She had always loved this charming and comfortable room. Tall bookshelves held all sorts of faith-based family and marriage counseling books, some Christian fiction, and some doctrinal texts. Light-blue couches flanked a fireplace that warmed the room. Yellow and dark-blue pillows brightened the space.

Cynthia perched on the edge of the couch. “I quit my job yesterday.”

“Well, so much for small talk, I guess.” He smiled as his housekeeper, Frances, came through the dining room carrying a tea tray. She set it on the low table in front of him. “Thank you, Fran.”

After she left and Cynthia held a steaming cup, she continued. “Something inside of me changed in the jungle. I can’t continue to work in private practice.”

He settled against the corner of the couch, a cup and saucer balanced on his crossed leg. “I know it was hard on you to come home.”