Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

“Glad my wardrobe comes in handy for you now, but I was hoping to bring all my long-sleeve stuff back to school with me. I don’t suppose the plum one is in the wash somewhere, is it?”

“Um, yes-wore that yesterday.”

“Alrighty then. Guess I’ll just do some laundry tonight or something. I’ll come back for that one some other time.”

“No, no, that’s alright. I’ll go change and you can take it.” She set the pillow and laptop on the couch and got up, leaving Jessie alone in the living room.

I cannot believe she’s wearing my clothes. Jessie flopped on the sofa to wait for Savannah, and glanced at the computer screen to see what her mother had been working on. She expected to see email, or the text of a talk or book, but instead it was the message board her mother had been on the last time she was home. She turned the computer so she could see it better and checked the title of the page. Transplant Connections ~ Support, Encouragement, and Resources for Transplant Recipients and Their Loved Ones. Jessie’s interest was piqued. The title of the current thread was, “What else changed after your transplant?”

“What are you doing?”

Savannah’s sharp tone made Jessie jump. “Just looking at-”

“Do you have no concept of privacy?” Savannah slapped the laptop shut, nearly catching Jessie’s fingertips in the process. “Since when is it appropriate to look through someone’s computer?”

“I wasn’t looking through it, you left it open. I was just curious!”

Savannah thrust the shirts at Jessie. “Here they are. Now get out of here and go find some manners.”

Jessie’s jaw hung slack. She’d never heard that type of tone from her mother before. She took the shirts, waiting for her brain to kick in with some kind of comeback, but nothing came to mind. Nonplussed, she turned and left for her car.

What was that? Jessie had chalked up her mother’s less-than-diplomatic tone during their last conversation to being tired or distracted. But the way she spoke to her just now had been downright antagonistic and offensive. She shook her head, eyes glued to the road. “And she’s wearing my clothes?!” It used to be her mother wouldn’t be caught dead in anything that wasn’t fashionable. Jessie had never cared about fashion-yet another bone of contention between the two of them. At least her mother had given up trying to influence her wardrobe choices after she left for college. But to actually start wearing Jessie’s clothes was more than just a concession for comfort. It was… well, she wasn’t sure what it was. But she was sure it wasn’t like her mother. At all.

And to get all secretive about those forums… What is she hiding? Jessie’s incredulousness morphed into a mix of curiosity and anger. What would make her act like that?

One thing was certain. She had a new forum to join – and some sleuthing to do.

IT WAS DAY TWO OF Operation Old Savannah. She thought she’d done pretty well yesterday. She’d brought homemade cookies to A &A and managed to stay and chat amiably with everyone for nearly an hour. After that she’d gone to the coffee shop to work some more on her book tour talk. She found it much easier to write if she didn’t envision herself actually giving the talk. She pretended she was just a speechwriter, so it didn’t matter if she believed the words or not. She just had to make them sound good for the person actually saying them. As long as she didn’t think about that person being her, she was okay.

This morning she’d pulled on her new jeans and one of the blouses she’d gotten, then dressed it up with a blazer that still fit as long as she didn’t try to close it. The jacket toned down the outdoorsy feel and brought the ensemble a little closer to the styles she used to wear. Her goal was to get the talk finished today, even if it meant staying all day at the corner table in the back of the shop. As an incentive, she’d promised herself a slice of strawberry pie from Village Inn when she was finished.

Savannah unpacked her laptop and set it on the table beside her steaming mocha. After powering it up, she launched her word processor and then, stalling, her email. Her inbox filled as the messages were downloaded, and one of them caught her eye. She chewed her lip, finger twitching as it hovered above the trackpad.

The book edits from her publisher had arrived.

Hi Savannah -just finished these last night, and must say you pulled together a great book given how little time you had to write it. Speaking of time, we’re hoping to get this to the typesetter by the end of next week, so if you could get the edits back to me by the 7th that would be ideal. I know that’s incredibly short notice, but it will keep us on track for having typeset pages available by the end of the month. I understand from Marisa that your tour dates are tentatively set- we don’t want to botch up the release date and mess that up for you. Let me know if you have any questions.

Her relief at knowing the editor liked the book was overshadowed by the fact that she had only three days to get the edits completed. So much for working on her tour talk. She opened the attached manuscript with her editor’s notes and began to read.

I will do a good job. I will not let my reputation be tarnished with a poorly written book. I will protect the jobs of my employees and myself by not screwing this up. She chanted these thoughts to herself whenever she felt her focus and attention waning, and managed to make it through the first chapter in just a couple hours. The editor’s notes made sense, and though many of them required that she rewrite large sections of the manuscript, they at least gave her some direction so she knew which way to go and roughly what needed to be said.

The success of the first chapter gave her the energy she needed to continue after a brief lunch. Unfortunately, the notes in the second chapter indicated even larger rewrites, as well as asking her to rethink and redo an entire six-page section. You can do this. You can! She fought to maintain a positive attitude, but as the hours wore on her mind began to wander to the what if’s she’d been trying to avoid. What if the book doesn’t sell? What if my editor is just being nice and this is really just a huge piece of junk? What if people can tell I don’t mean what I say anymore?

She forced herself to stay until four, then packed up as though being timed and made a beeline for Village Inn. Once there she changed her mind and bought an entire pie instead of just a slice. She deserved it-and needed it.

She got home at 4:30 and, after one glance toward the dishes left in the sink from breakfast, decided to forgo dinner in favor of the pie. It was a given now that Shaun would be working late, and she just didn’t have the energy today to prep an entire meal for only one person.

She was on her second slice when the door opened. “Shaun?” Why was he home so early?

He came into the kitchen and she could tell from the anger in his eyes that something was wrong. “What is it?”

He dropped his keys on the counter, then speared her with his stare. “I talked to Kurt today. He told me he and Colleen saw you at the steakhouse with some guy.”

Oh no. “Shaun, it’s not what it sounded like.”

“No?” He looked unconvinced. “What was it then?”

“I had just sent off the book. I’d been in the house for three solid days trying to get that thing done. I just wanted to get out and celebrate a little. But you were gone, so I… I just went. I was just going to get a drink, maybe some food, and enjoy not having that stupid book hanging over my head. But then this guy asked me a question, and we started talking, and he was by himself, and he got an appetizer because I told him it was good so when it came he offered me some.” Shaun’s expression hadn’t changed. “Hand to God, Shaun, that was it. Nothing happened other than a nice conversation with someone. Whatever Colleen and Kurt saw could not have possibly been untoward, because nothing like that was going on. But I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t call you to ask you to come home, or wait to see when you’d get back, or at least tell you about it in case something like this happened. I am truly, truly sorry.”