“Are you sure about that?” Cathy’s voice quivered as she fidgeted and shuffled the papers on the cluttered desk.

“I can’t see any way out of this, Cathy. The gallery just isn’t bringing in enough to keep us afloat.” Judy plopped into the leather arm chair opposite the great maple desk. Her employer’s normally sparkling blue eyes now looked more like little ponds reflecting stormy clouds. “We barely paid this month’s lease and there’s absolutely no way we’re going to pay next month’s.”

Cathy clicked the mouse and stared blankly at the red columns on her computer screen. Nearly a year in business and she was going to have to close. Not the rousing success she had planned for her life. Sighing, she closed the program and turned off the computer. Pulling herself together, she gave her assistant a watery smile.

“Tomorrow I’ll see what I can do to sell off our remaining inventory to some other galleries.” Tears pooled but she refused to let them fall—yet. “It was fun while it lasted, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, I know it’s important.” Joanne ran her fingers through her salt-and-pepper hair. “I need to check my calendar. I’ll get back to you.”

She sighed as she hung up the phone. Lord, I’ve served You in this ministry to immigrants for two years. I need a break.

In the kitchen, Joanne picked up a towel. “Because I don’t have a job, I get called to help all the time,” she explained to the casserole dish she was drying. “Do other widows get calls like this?”

God, I love to serve, but this broken wrist hasn’t been easy. I don’t want to help with the tea party. Not this time.

Joanne moved restlessly through her apartment, absently rubbing at the cast on her wrist. She checked her e-mail, brightening at a message from CalmHope, a friend from college days. Her three longtime friends lived near one another and met for breakfast the first Friday of every month at the Plainfield Avenue Denny’s in Grand Rapids.

She looked at her calendar. “The first Friday of the month is next week.”