Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

She didn’t press him to admit who was getting the wrong story, though. Instead, she took his keys from the corner of the desk. “I’m leaving. Call when you want a ride home.” With a brief wave to Brenda she left the building, then started for home, seething.

Her thoughts were racing. What was Shaun hiding? And how could he do it in such a small organization, when everyone was so close? Certainly he hadn’t expected to never be found out. She didn’t buy his excuse, regardless of what opinion of God’s he was trying to invoke. Honestly, it was the comment about God telling him to fire Nick that made her even more doubtful.

But she wasn’t far from A &A’s campus when she realized that she was as guilty as he. She was harboring her own secrets. And it was the fact that she had her own secrets now-the doubts and anger involving God that got stronger every day – that made her even more worried. She knew just how bad things might get if she admitted how she truly felt.

She was afraid to even imagine what Shaun’s secrets might lead to.

IT WAS FRIDAY NIGHT, AND A &A WAS CLOSED FOR THE WEEKend. Despite this, Shaun was in his office, the budget printed out and its pages strewn across his desk. He clutched a highlighter as he poured over every line item, considering each carefully before moving to the next. When he found something he could eliminate, he dragged the squeaky marker over it, relishing the sound. He hadn’t heard it much since starting the exercise.

When he finished going through the budget, he pulled out a list of the positions held in the ministry. Each description outlined the responsibilities of that job, and he began to scrutinize each one, looking for ways to consolidate them. Having Nick gone helped, but if he could cut at least one more position, he’d easily be able to move them to a smaller office space.

It was almost eight by the time he locked A &A’s doors behind him. He felt bad for staying late, but it was easier than trying to mull these issues over at home where Savannah might get nosy about why he couldn’t keep focused on anything. His mind wandered to the issue of money at the slightest provocation these days. It didn’t help that getting the mail every day almost always meant receiving another bill-mortgage, insurance, utilities, hospital bills, hospital bills, and more hospital bills. And now on top of that were Savannah’s medications, of which she had a small pharmacy’s worth. Not exactly the kinds of things he could scale back on. He was doing as much at home as he could to cut costs, but without Savannah being on board his skimping didn’t amount to much. And he wasn’t about to break it to her that they were broke.

The one thing they had going for them was an excellent credit rating, which meant high spending limits on their credit cards. He hadn’t been much of a charger before, but he was lately out of sheer necessity. Of course, those bills came calling, too. He knew he could use them only so much before he dug himself into a far deeper hole.

He took the long way home, wanting just a few more minutes alone to think. He really wanted to downsize their home. They didn’t need a house this size, especially now that Jessie was essentially gone. But Savannah loved it, loved the neighborhood, the proximity to good shopping. The only cheaper housing options in that area were condos and apartments, neither of which would fly with Savannah. And a move would be out of the question without opening up about just how badly they were in debt, and he just couldn’t do it, not yet.

But when?

And on top of the stress was the guilt that squeezed his soul night and day. What kind of man had he become, who did the kinds of things he was doing? A desperate one, certainly. And a weak one. He hated himself a little more every time he fixed the books or messed with receipts.

Shaun felt more and more trapped with every day that passed. But what really scared him were the thoughts of escape that would form out of nowhere. A longing to just be… gone. It didn’t help that his marriage was not what it once was – nor was his wife. He’d thought crises were supposed to bring couples closer together, but this one seemed to be pushing them apart, even though it had a happy ending with Savannah’s transplant. But it was the transplant that seemed to be causing all the problems. Ever since, she’d been… harder. Like some of her Southern upbringing had been removed along with her damaged heart. She was constantly irritable, less gracious, not as warm. He kept hoping it was just part of the emotional flux they were told to expect, or maybe the medication. But what if it wasn’t? What if this was who she was now, for good?

It was making working with her – and living with her – a lot more difficult.

SAVANNAH’S DEADLINE WAS TWENTY-FOUR HOURS away. Not that she technically had one, but the subtle pressure to get the book done quickly made it clear her publisher – and Shaun – wanted the book done now. For the last three days she had literally locked herself into her office to pound out the project she’d been pushing off and avoiding for the last month. She’d never written her books at home before – usually she took her laptop out somewhere so she was surrounded by people, even if she couldn’t afford to stop working to interact with them. But this time she couldn’t bear the thought of being recognized. Not just because she didn’t have the time to chat, but because she felt like such a fraud, and she was afraid it would be obvious somehow.

When she’d read through the outline she’d been overwhelmed at the topics she’d been trying to address. God’s goodness amidst suffering? Taking a “heaven’s eye view” of pain? What had she been thinking? Had she really thought she’d be able to speak with authority on topics that scholars still wrestled with? What had made her think she could be at all convincing?

It had been a brutal seventy-two hours as she’d hammered out the text. Trying not to think too much about how thin her arguments appeared to her, she laced the manuscript with platitudes and sayings tweaked just enough to sound original, and leaned heavily on the narrative of her own experience to carry the book. But even the retelling of her revelation before the surgery-which was only slightly drawn-out and embellished – read as trite and unbelievable. And if it sounded that way to the person to whom it had happened, how would it sound to those in the midst of their own struggles?

The end was in sight when Shaun called to tell her he wouldn’t be home for supper. She was relieved. She was so close to being done, she hadn’t wanted to stop working to try to figure out a meal. She skipped dinner and pushed through, not allowing herself to question the marginally coherent metaphors and shoddy writing that her flying fingers produced. She just wanted the book done.

When she finished the last sentence she almost cried. She didn’t care that the book was a fraction of the length of her others and hoped no one else would either. She emailed it to her editor with embarrassment, knowing the quality was nothing compared to her previous books, but the thrill of being done overpowered her regret over the poor quality. When the email was sent, she shoved her chair back from her desk and breathed in deep. She was done. Done and feeling almost happy. The chronic edginess abated somewhat with the weight of the book finally off her shoulders. She hadn’t felt happy since before her surgery. She needed to do something to celebrate.

She considered the contents of her pantry and fridge. With so much time on her hands these days, she’d begun cooking again, reviving an old hobby that had been forgotten when the demands of A &A grew to a full-time position. She’d pulled out old family recipes a couple weeks ago and started working her way through them. They all needed to be scaled down so she wasn’t swimming in leftovers, but even with that challenge she had been enjoying herself in the kitchen. It wasn’t just the fun of rediscovering a buried skill that Savannah appreciated as she sautéed and measured. It was the comfort of a decidedly Old Savannah characteristic, of finding a piece of her previous self she could point to and say, “See? I’m still me.”