Wes turned toward Stevie and smiled.
"My favorite person," he said. "Even if you are a hard
taskmaster. I guess you'll be leaving for Los Angeles today," Wes said,
the smile fading from his eyes. "I'll miss you."
Stevie swallowed the lump in her
throat. "I'll miss you too." As she gazed at her young protege, she
recalled the long hours they had spent together in the hospital as Wes fought
through his pain to question her about faith and forgiveness. Once again she
had to fight tears as she remembered his sweet, simple prayer of repentance and
commitment to God.
"I have a present for you,"
Wes said. "A present for me? How thoughtful." Stevie opened the
envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. On it was scrawled a simple
poem, one that expressed gratitude and appreciation—and hope.
"Thank you, Wes," she
whispered, the tears she had been fighting finally spilling over onto her
cheeks. "I couldn't have wished for a nicer gift." "You’re my
favorite writer in the whole world," Stevie said, brushing the wetness
from her face.
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