Healing Waters by Stephen Arterburn, Nancy Rue Read Free Book Online Page B

do.”
    Sully gave a soft grunt. She already did. She knew everything about him, or she ought to. He’d crawled in here on his last emotional legs and spent the last sixty days—from May until now—doing a psychic dump with her. Her mind must be like a Sullivan Crisp landfill by now.
    She closed her eyes in that way that made her face one smooth plane except for the two fine lines chiseled on either side of her mouth. Anyone who didn’t know her would think she had drifted off into the doze common to octogenarians. He knew she was merely expecting, with an acuteness he could only dream of at forty-five. Clearly, what she waited for was the truth.
    â€œI don’t know about this idea of Rusty’s,” Sully said.
    â€œMaking a DVD.”
    â€œI don’t know whether he actually wants Everything Sullivan Crisp Knows in Ninety Minutes, or he’s just trying to ‘build my confidence.’ ”
    Porphyria watched him.
    â€œCome on, Dr. Ghent,” Sully said. “Where’s that therapeutic response?”
    â€œThe part where I say, ‘What do you think, Sullivan?’”
    â€œThat’s the one.”
    Porphyria let her lips part in a smile. “I’m glad to hear that sideways humor again.”
    â€œUh-huh. There’s a however in there.”
    â€œHowever, I wonder if it’s up to its old tricks.”
    â€œTricks?” Sully made his eyes bulge. “Moi?”
    â€œOui, vous.” Porphyria’s java-colored fingers floated up, pointed at Sully, drifted back to her lap.
    â€œI admit, sometimes it’s a coping mechanism,” he said.
    â€œAnd what are we coping with at the moment?”
    Sully let his grin collapse, and with it his bony shoulders and his bravado. “I know I need to get back to work, do something besides dwell on my stuff.”
    â€œMm-mmm.”
    â€œOkay, completely on my stuff.”
    â€œI like that better.”
    â€œI just don’t know what work I’m ready for.”
    â€œYou’ve been working,” Porphyria said.
    â€œI’ve been recycling.”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with rerunning your shows. I like that young man who’s doing the commentary on them.”
    â€œThere’s only about another month’s worth left before they start having to run them for the second time.” Sully gave his half grin. “It’s going to be like Law and Order on TNT. People will be able to recite the words with me, if they’re still listening.”
    â€œI don’t think anybody has stopped. Your work bears repeating.”
    Sully got up and unscrewed the camera from the tripod. “Tell that to my agent,” he said. “She says Thomas Nelson still wants another book proposal, but I can hear in her voice she doesn’t know how much longer they’re going to wait.”
    â€œThat’s the price you pay for being so perceptive.”
    Sully set the camera on a rock and propped his foot on the log. He stared down at a pad of moss, thick as his thoughts. “I don’t know what I have to bring to the table at this point. I know I’m healing . . .” He glanced up at her.
    Porphyria let her still-black eyebrows rise and fall. “Don’t look at me. Look at you. You know what’s going on in there.”
    â€œI do. But I’m afraid if I open it up as the next great Healing Choice . . .” Sully shrugged.
    Porphyria lifted her own majestic shoulders toward her ears. “What is this?”
    â€œIt’s plain ol’ fear, Porphyria. I’ve cried and talked and prayed my way back together, but the way the pieces are fitting now—it’s not the old Sullivan Crisp.”
    â€œDo you want it to be?”
    â€œHe worked for me. He built things—cars, ministries. He helped people reframe and reclaim. Find God.”
    The tissue paper skin around Porphyria’s eyes crinkled. “Now who’s