David Blake had known Jen was a preacher when he married her, and he knew what that entailed. Still, he was careful that she get the time off that she needed. It wasn't only that this time off was spent with him.

They had Sunday dinner with the family of one of the members of the church. David wasn't quite sure how the families rotated, but Jen received only one invitation, and always received one. Probably, the congregation saw that as part of the recompense for serving as a pastor; Jen and he saw it as one of the duties.

From the time they left the family, though, until the next evening, Jen was off duty as much as a pastor can be. They had established a routine. Maybe he had established it more than she had, but she enjoyed it, too. Sunday after their own light supper, they read the Gospel for the coming Sunday. They would read the Epistle and Old Testament passages over meals later in the week, Monday and Tuesday if nothing interfered. He led her in a discussion which was a modification of Lectio Divina. Schedule permitting, she led discussions of the Old Testament chapters he was studying after their other dinners.

But, when they got up from their study Sunday, they headed for bed. It wasn't their only times for love -- they were newlyweds, after all. But he tried to make these special for Jen.

Fall was coming all too soon, and his job teaching in the seminary would start up. Then, his days off would be Saturday and Sunday. Which meant that their joint days off would be half of Sunday. Might as well make those memorable.

Jen was telling how the Luke passage spoke to her when the phone rang. He grabbed it. If it were an emergency, he'd hand the phone to Jen; if it weren't an emergency, he'd make sure that the caller didn't call again.

"Independence United Methodist Church."

"I think Gary is going. Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Blake...."

That was an emergency. "I'll let you speak to your pastor."

"What room?" Jen asked. So much for Lectio Divina. So much for the night of sweet love, probably. But there was no sense pouting. He got his suit coat.

"I'll drive you," he said. Hell of a period of family time, probably. But it was their family time. "Hospital?" he asked when they were in his car. Almost certainly it was, she'd asked for the room number.

"St. Joseph's. I'll give you directions." And she did.

Jen was a superb pastor. What she did with the family at the hospital wasn't the sort of counseling she'd taken in classes; it was being there when the people needed her. He wasn't good at this, and never had been. On the other hand, when the patient's son looked like he was going to have a hissy fit about 'no extraordinary measures,' Jen was in no position to handle it. She was holding the patient's wife in her arms.

David took the son out of the room and started him walking down the hall. He blew off steam for a couple of minutes. When he'd run down, David told him, "There was a woman back a few years. Had serious cancer of the liver. The doctors took out the tumor, or what they could reach. It wasn't enough, and the woman had a funeral and was buried.

"The cancer cells, however, were kept alive in test tubes and beakers. Some of them are still reproducing to this day.

"Now," he finished off, "is the woman still alive?"

"Well, no."

"They can keep cells or organs alive almost forever, but you have to decide whether the person is still alive. It's a decision. And, these days, it's a decision that each of us makes for ourselves. Now, from what I've heard, this was your dad's decision. And I know doctors. You don't have any of them complaining that they could keep him alive, which means they don't think they could. Now, I'll grant you, they could keep the body alive a little longer."

"He always did things his own way." That made sense. The guy's protests weren't about a parent he'd loved; they were about a taskmaster who was demanding another hard task.

"And this is the last thing he's going to do. Why not let him do it his own way?"

"I sort of have to, don't I?"

"Well, yes. All you're doing is making it harder on your mother, and she's having a hard enough time right now."

"Thanks."

"Let's go back." And, when they turned around, he led the way back. If the son had kept being argumentative, he'd have had one hell of a problem finding the room again.

They stood around until Jen started the Lord's Prayer. He joined in. A little later, a doctor stopped in to pronounce the patient dead. "Let me get the car," he said when they were outside. He glanced at his watch. A little after two.

"I'm glad," he said when he was sure that he was heading towards the parsonage, "that I offered to drive." He only meant how drained Jen must be, but then he realized that she was crying.

"When I was assigned," Jen said, "Gary Mitchell stopped attending and cut off his pledge. His next appearance in church was to tell the charge conference that they shouldn't pay our apportionment until the conference sent them a 'real pastor.'"

"Sounds fairly nervy from someone who wasn't contributing towards the church."

"Joe Englehard made that very point. Anyway, why am I crying now?"

"Coupla reasons. It's two o'clock in the morning. Losing an enemy is as hard as losing a friend. You're crying for the family whose loss is quite real. 'We piped for you and you would not dance; we wept and wailed, and you would not mourn.'"

"David, do you always answer rhetorical questions?"

She needed some humor in her life right then, not that it would work. "Not always."

When they were inside and he'd hung up the suit jacket, he held his arms out. "Hit me."

"I'm not mad at you."

"But you're mad, and I'm available."

"No, David. Let's go to bed, but...." But not use the bed for its real purpose. "But it's nearly three a.m.," he finished for her. "I don't claim to be extremely sensitive, but I'm not going to expect sex at this hour."

He did get to hold her, though. He appreciated her curves and worried about her continuing tension for one or two minutes before he dropped off. When he woke, she was relaxed into softness, and that softness was right up against him. The alarm hadn't rung. Jen usually set it even for Mondays. He only took a minute to appreciate the feel of her curves before he needed to visit the john. After his coffee, he ran a tub -- the parsonage didn't have a shower.

He wanted to share breakfast with Jen and didn't want to wake her. So he relaxed in the tub when he was done washing. After her stressful night, it would be hard to bring Jen into a fun mood for her day off. He was planning how to do that when she came into the room. He lay there giving her all the privacy he could while she used the john.

"Coffee's made," he said when she got up.

"You're good to me."

"We're good to each other."

"Eaten?" she asked.

"I was waiting for you. Want me to cook?" It would be an excuse to leave and give her a little privacy.

"Not this morning." She still sounded depressed.

He put his pajamas back on and left her there. When she came out, he followed her down to the kitchen and copied her breakfast choice.

He didn't want her gloomy, but you couldn't deal with death by cracking a few jokes. Something changed her gloom, though. When they'd dumped their dishes in the washer, she wiggled her bottom as she climbed the stairs in front of him. He hoped she was aroused. They'd not made love Friday night; they never made love Saturday; they'd skipped Sunday for the first time. He wasn't on a hair trigger, but nearly. He'd need to get her close if he wasn't to go off leaving her high and dry.

After the first kiss, she lifted her arms for him to remove her nightgown. When he did, she lay down immediately. Her legs were spread; did she want kisses there this soon? Deciding that a slower build up would build her higher, he bent over the bed to kiss her. When he started down, she reached for his pajamas. He removed them and started over on her shoulders.

He gave her lovely breasts less than their due of kisses and continued lower. When he reached her mound, however, she pulled at him. Before he could respond she reached towards his phallus. This was not the time for that; he'd come in her hand.

He climbed between her legs. He still owed her marvelous breasts more attention, but he'd caught her intention. He only gave them one kiss each on his way up. Before he got to her entrance, he was achingly hard. She was as warm as ever against his tip, but dryer than he would have expected from her behavior.

"Oh Jennifer," he said. Then he thrust inward. It was more effort than usual; she was fairly dry. Still, the feeling on his phallus was marvelous. Jen certainly didn't complain. Resting on his elbows with his hands on her breasts, he told her how marvelous it felt.

"Nothing could be finah
"Than to be in Jen's vagina
"In the morning."

She laughed! On this gloomy day, she howled.

He slipped out and continued.

"Nothing could taste sweeter,
"Than my sweetie when I eat her
"In the morning." He drew out that last word.

And, Jen having laughed, this was a special occasion. Maybe that was partly hysterical laughter, but he would settle for a hysterical orgasm for starters. He'd settle for two; it was her day off, and she could sleep the morning away; she'd just sleep a post-orgasmic morning away rather than sleeping her mourning away.

Her center was moving too much from the laughter just then to be safe for his mouth. He started on her thighs, which he hadn't kissed this morning anyway.

She tugged at his hair. "Inside," she said.

"But, Jen...." She'd still be dry.

"Inside. Now!" She tugged his hair again when he tried to pay a little interest on the debt he owed her breasts.

His entry was only a little easier than it had been the first time. As much as he loved her usual slickness, he couldn't deny that this friction was taking him over. "Jen," he gasped. Drove forward into her and pumped his juice even deeper into her center.

When he tried to show the minor consideration of resting his weight elsewhere, she resisted. So he collapsed onto her supple frame. His body was overjoyed; his spirit was disappointed. This had been great for him, but for her?

When he had his breath back, she let him go. Having failed her, he'd -- at least -- give her some privacy. When he started to get up, though, she said, "Stay here."

When she moved back against him, he held her while she cried silently. He'd long ago told her that his orgasm ended their play; what she wanted she should get first. But, this time, he could deal with her after they both had their rest. He was planning that when the phone rang. Jen got it.

"I can," she said. "How are you holding up?" Cathy what's- her-name then. "How long were you married?"

She spoke some more comfort, hung up, and went into the john.

He went downstairs. When Jen joined him, she was dressed and in pastor mode -- day off or not.

While she made some calls, he fixed lunch. This was no day to suggest a picnic. Still, he had an agenda to raise during the lunch. "Look, you didn't come, and that's not your fault." He had to make that clear. "But I could have helped you there."

"David." Then she produced a dramatic fake orgasm. It might have been convincing if she were not sitting across the lunch table from him.

"I'm sorry." And he was. She'd had loads of problems, and -- as her husband -- he was supposed to reduce her problems not add to them.

"I'm sorry," she said. "You've been wonderful. I don't know what I could have done without you. But, still.... I wasn't going to climax today, and I knew that."

"You're sure."

"I was sure. And I needed you inside me."

"You really needed that?" he asked. She wasn't just accommodating him?

"Life." Whatever that meant, but it sounded sincere. Jen would have thought up an elaboate explanation if she were trying to con him.

"Okay, then. It's nice to be needed." And even more of a relief than it was a mystery. Her orgasms were so fulfilling -- and such fun to observe. How could she do without them so readily?

"It's nice to be supported, too. I just hope none of my parishioners was within hearing distance." That was one more worry he'd caused her.

"They shouldn't be. They know this is your day off."