A good minister didn't pack up and leave on short notice, putting her associate in charge of the next week's sermons. But when Lucy got word that an old friend was dying and needed her to come right away, she got on the first overnight flight to Portland she could afford and prayed her superiors would understand.
She remembered the first time she'd met Mike Mitchell. Back then he was "Mike the Mutant" to everyone, due to some crazy urban legend that had started and gotten out of hand. But he'd warmed up to her and eventually learned to open up to other people as well, and the last time she'd seen him he was going to travel the world as a gallery artist.
That was nine years ago, and she'd saved every letter he'd written her since then. But there was no letter this time, only a phone call from his at-home nurse.
As soon as she got off the plane, Lucy double-checked the address she'd written down and called for a cab. When she arrived, Mike's nurse greeted her warmly and let her inside. "Second door on the left," she said, and Lucy braced herself.
He'd aged greatly in the nine years since she'd seen him. The scar remained, but his hair was white and there was much less of it. When she walked into the room, Mike slowly turned his head and smiled at her.
"I knew you would come."
Tears filled her eyes as she sits in the empty chair beside the bed.
"I'm only sorry we didn't get to see each other again before now," she said.
"We've been busy." Mike coughed and placed his weathered hand atop hers. "Would you like to hear some stories? I'm sure you've got them, too."
And so they sat and exchanged stories from the past nine years. Happy, sad, funny, even strange and hard to believe.
When Lucy finished her last story, she realized his hand was cold and that he wasn't breathing anymore. But he was smiling. Tears streamed down her face as she placed his arm at his side, then leaned over and kissed his cheek.
"Rest well, Mike."