Bright sunlight streamed down onto the small patio there, and the water in the stone fountain burbled happily. Then someone caught Jacobson’s eye.

A wrought-iron bench stood alongside the wall near Jacobson’s office door. Sitting on the bench sat the same man Jacobson had watched leave the service. Jacobson took a seat beside him. At first neither man spoke, both of them content to watch the fountain and to listen to the warbling birds.

“I was sorry to see you leave again, Wyatt,” Jacobson finally said. “Someday you’ll find the strength to take the blessings. But for now, I’m just thankful that you’re here every Sunday.”

“You know why I can’t take the blessings, James,” Wyatt replied. “Anyway, it’s your sermons that matter most to me. I can do quite well without all the other trappings.”

Wyatt smiled. “Besides,” he added, “you should be thankful that my father doesn’t come to church anymore. These days we never know what he’ll say, and it could be blasphemous as hell.”

Knowing Wyatt’s father as he did, Jacobson smiled. “So why are you here?”

Wyatt hesitated, as if not knowing how to start. “I’ve decided to reinstate the New Beginnings Program,” he finally said. “It’s been five years since we stopped. I want Krista’s dream to live again. Plus, this time it’s going to be free of charge.”

Jacobson was thrilled, and his broad smile said as much. Turning, he grabbed Wyatt’s shoulders and gave him a good-natured jostling.

“That’s wonderful!” he added enthusiastically. “I can already think of several parents who might want to enroll their teens. We’ll need the usual release forms, of course. I’ll see if I can find them.”

Jacobson stole a few moments to count his blessings. He could hardly contain his glee. The reverend also hoped this was a sign that Wyatt might finally be getting past the deaths of Krista and Danny.

Jacobson knew the horrors of that tragedy well, for he had counseled Wyatt after the tragic car crash, and he had performed the burial services. A hard Florida thunderstorm had arrived that afternoon, the heavy raindrops matching the tears shed by the more than four hundred mourners who had come to pay their last respects. Closing his eyes for a moment, Jacobson silently thanked the Lord for Wyatt’s unexpected gift.

“When will you start?” he asked.

“As soon as there are enough teens enrolled to make it worthwhile,” Wyatt answered. “That’s about thirty, give or take. Would you post a notice in next Sunday’s church bulletin and make an announcement from the pulpit? I’ll work on the schools.”

“I suppose that, like before, these sessions will be on the weekends?” Jacobson asked.

When Wyatt didn’t reply, Jacobson guessed that there was more news to come. Knowing Wyatt as he did, he decided to wait rather than ask. When Wyatt turned again to look at his friend and pastor, his expression was resolute.

“No,” he answered simply. “They’ll be three afternoons a week, provided we have enough takers.”

“But some days you work so late…,” Jacobson said.

“Not anymore,” Wyatt answered. “Last week I left the firm.”

Jacobson was stunned.