Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

Jessie was so smart, had so much potential, Savannah was afraid she’d end up unappreciated in some overcrowded school working for pittance. And, if she was brutally honest with herself, she had to admit she’d often hoped Jessie would want to join Savannah in her ministry to women, helping them to reach out and grab the life God had for them.

It had all been for Jessie, really. For Jessie and her generation and the generations after her. All she’d wanted was to make the Christian subculture a place where women’s contributions were just as valued as the men’s, where the jobs mothers did were held in the same esteem as the pastors and teachers of the church. She’d been trying to strengthen and empower Christian moms to see the worth in what they did-and in doing so, she had checked out of her own mothering role and left her daughter to fend for herself.

She now saw the irony.

Savannah went to Jessie’s room and knocked. She opened the door when “come in” was muttered, and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m… I’m sorry, Jessie.”

“Thanks.” Her daughter’s tone suggested she didn’t think the apology very heartfelt.

“Listen-why don’t we do something this weekend, since Adam is going to be tied up anyway. Why don’t we go somewhere-like a spa.”

Jessie’s breath left her like a deflating balloon. “A spa? Seriously? I never even paint my nails, Mom. Not that you’ve probably ever noticed.”

She was right.

It was obvious Jessie had no intention of letting this smooth over and be done with. Their problems had been a decade in the making; one spa invitation wouldn’t make things right, but Savannah had no idea what to do. She shut the door and went back to her computer to lose herself on the forums.

SHAUN COULDN’T SLEEP. HE’D BEEN staring at the ceiling for over an hour when he finally got up and tiptoed from the bedroom so as not to wake Savannah. She’d told him about her conversation with Jessie, and it had broken his heart to see Savannah so wounded by the realizations she’d come to. He’d been unable to answer her, however, when she’d asked why he’d never said anything to her about her attitude.

“We’ve been doing this for ten years and you never once told me I was turning into a prima donna. Why didn’t you stop me, speak some sense into me?”

He’d squirmed beneath her stare, unwilling to confront his own shortcomings. He already had enough to hate himself for. He’d made up some excuse about not wanting to encroach on her personal approach to ministry, but she hadn’t bought it. Thankfully she hadn’t pushed him for a better answer.

Sure, maybe he should have challenged her more in regards to Jessie’s and her relationship-but what did he know about mothers and daughters? He’d been raised in a houseful of boys. When Jessie had been born, dads at church with daughters had warned him of the teen years. He’d just assumed a rocky relationship was par for the course. And the few times he’d spoken up on Jessie’s behalf, Savannah had countered with what sounded to him like a perfectly reasonable excuse for whatever it was she’d said or done to send Jessie crying to him.

He sympathized with Jessie’s frustration; he just wished she had picked a different weekend to dump all this on Savannah. She had enough on her mind without facing the damage she’d done to her daughter. But trying to untangle it now was not going to make her any more confident in writing that book, and that book needed to get written. They needed the advance. Jessie’s tuition bill was past due; he’d written a letter to the financial department asking for grace given the unexpected financial hardship they were facing, but he hadn’t heard back yet on whether or not they would be willing to give him some more time.

What frustrated him more was that Savannah wasn’t even trying to write the book. Twice he’d snuck a peek on her laptop to see if she’d started the manuscript, but found no new documents in the word processing program. The file for the outline hadn’t been opened in weeks.

He sat in his office with the lights out, staring at the moon and trying to figure out how to get that book done. Maybe he could hire a ghost writer. It would kill him to have to split the advance, but part of an advance would be better than none at all. Savannah could just write out notes, rather than having to worry about crafting them into something readable; maybe she could go through the finished manuscript and add her own touches here and there so it sounded more like her voice. All it really needed was her name on the front to be a bestseller.

And if they arranged a small book tour to promote it -just ten cities, perhaps, to guard her from exhaustion and overexertion – they’d really be in the clear. That would bring in all they needed, certainly. Savannah could sell hamburgers to a vegan if given the chance; she could easily get this book on the top of the New York Bestseller List if she was able to get in front of people. He knew how important a personal connection with the author could be in increasing sales; maybe if they arranged for signings that didn’t include a presentation and held those in other cities -

The light switched on and he let out a yelp of surprise. Savannah stood in the doorway, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Shaun rubbed a hand over his face as the adrenaline settled. “That’s alright. I was just lost in thought and didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s two in the morning. You’re not still working, are you?”

“No, just couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d come in here rather than risk waking you up.”

She sat in the chair across from his desk. “What’s on your mind?”

Had he been thinking, he wouldn’t have answered the way he did. But instead he made the mistake of being honest. “I was thinking about your book. Maybe we should hire a ghost writer, just to take some of the pressure off you.”

“A ghost writer? Are you serious? What-you think I can’t write anymore?”

“No, Van, it’s not that at all. Just, like I said, to help take the pressure off. I don’t doubt your ability, but I’ve seen how difficult it’s been for you to get going on it. We have a lot riding on this one; we have lots of bills to pay. The sooner we get it done, the better.”

She waved her hand. “That’s what savings are for, Shaun. I know you like to have that safety net; this is when it’s okay to dip into it.”

“Well, between the medical bills and Jessie’s tuition, our savings aren’t going to cut it.” He knew better than to tell her they had none.

“So this is all on me then? It’s up to me to save us, is that what you’re saying? Ha-no pressure or anything.”

He winced at the bitterness in her tone. “No, Van, that’s not how I meant it. I’m just saying that… that God brought you this contract. He’s trying to provide a means for us to deal with these expenses, but we need to do our part.”

“You mean I have to do my part, as in, this is all on me -just like I said.” She crossed her arms, her expression steely. “So God throws an ‘opportunity’ at me and I don’t have a choice? I just have to take it? What if I don’t want it?”

“What do you mean, ‘throws’ an opportunity at you? You started the book on your own; it’s not like God was twisting your arm. If you didn’t want to write it you shouldn’t have told your agent about it.”

She pushed herself to her feet. “Well, regardless, I don’t feel like dealing with God and his opportunities right now.”

Shaun was confused. “What does that mean?”

But she was already halfway out the door, and if she heard him, she didn’t let on.

He stared at the doorway with his mouth hanging open. What was that about? He knew writing books wasn’t always her favorite thing to do-it was too solitary a task, and she hated the time it took away from relating face-to-face with people. But she knew it was part and parcel with being a speaker, and had always managed to soldier her way through the process anyway. Why was this book any different?