Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

“Of course not. Why would I? There’s no one to pray to.”

“But you know that’s not true.”

“No, I don’t. In my heart I know God is gone.”

“But you believed in him before.”

“And maybe before I was wrong. Maybe this is the truth, and my life before was misguided.”

“So we’re all wrong?” Shaun’s eyes flashed, she could feel his frustration. “Everything we’ve done at A &A for the last ten years was just chasing after a fairytale? The lives we’ve seen changed, the miracles we’ve witnessed-it’s all just a joke?”

She spread her hands in surrender. “I don’t know what to tell you. I just explained how I feel. I’m sorry I can’t just snap my fingers and say what you want me to say and believe it. I just can’t.”

He slumped back in his seat, ran his hands through his hair. “So what do we do about the tour?”

“We’ll just have to cancel it.”

He went white. “The whole thing? Do you have any idea how much money we’ll lose?”

“Classy, Shaun. So glad you’re concerned about me.”

“I am concerned about you. I’m concerned about how this will make you look to the almost 20,000 people who’ve bought this book. I’m concerned about the thousands of people who have already purchased their tickets, and what they’re going to think of you when you tell them you think they’re all a bunch of pitiful ignorants for believing in God.”

“I never said I think that!”

“You might as well have.”

Marisa waved her hands. “Stop, you two. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

But Savannah wasn’t stopping until everything was out that she’d been bottling up. “What would you have me do, Shaun? Get up there and lie to them about what I believe? Don’t you think that’s going to make everything worse when I quit the ministry?”

Shaun’s jaw hung slack. “Wh-what? Quit?”

She held up her hands. “I don’t know yet. I’m just speculating. I can’t make any decisions right now. I’m a total wreck, emotionally, and I need to get all this stress out of my body before I explode.”

“Oh, yes, by all means, go run yourself a nice bath while I try to figure out how I’m going to fix your mess.”

She swore at him, saying words she’d never uttered in her life. Marisa and Shaun’s shocked faces didn’t make her feel any better. She left for her office, slamming the door behind her, and sank into her chair and cried.

SHAUN SHOOK HIMSELF AWAKE AND shifted in his desk chair. He knew he should get home soon, before he was unsafe to drive from exhaustion, but home was the last place he wanted to be. Maybe it was time to bring one of their old sleeping bags in, stash it under his desk. He’d rather sleep on the hard floor of his office than next to the stranger in his bed.

It had been five days since Savannah had come unglued. They had spoken less than three times since, both of them choosing to avoid each other as much as possible. He and Marisa had agreed not to tell A &A’s staff the real reason why the tour had been canceled, which meant even more lying since everyone kept wanting to know how she was doing, if she was feeling better, if they were going to reschedule the tour. He thought maybe he’d try his hand at writing fiction when A &A crashed and burned; he’d gotten very good at making stuff up.

The numbers he’d been so happy to see in their bank account balance had dwindled further than he’d ever seen them dive after paying back the revenue they’d received from ticket sales. They’d been hovering at the low end of financially stable when he’d steeled his nerves and paid out the deposits to the ten locations where Savannah had been scheduled to speak, but now that those monies weren’t being replenished by ticket and merchandise sales, they were about to dip into the red. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this ship afloat.

He jerked awake again and stretched. Definitely time to go home. He woke his computer to shut it off and saw a new email in his inbox. It was from one of the stock promoters he subscribed to, singing the praises of an investment opportunity the promoter believed was going to skyrocket. Shaun read the email and knew by the end of it that he needed to get in on this ground floor. It had the potential to pay off all their debts and get A &A safely back in the black. He just had to find the money to invest with.

The problem was that he had no time. This report would make the price rise for sure. If he waited until he’d spoken with their retirement rep about pulling the money from their 403b like he’d planned on doing before, he’d risk not being able to buy a decent amount of shares. He had to do this soon – very soon. More than 24 hours and it wouldn’t be worth it.

He pulled up their banking software and examined the accounts. He’d drawn a line in the sand for himself months ago, vowing he wouldn’t touch A &A’s meager savings. But if this stock exploded like the promoter thought it would, he’d be able to replace what he borrowed before anyone knew it was gone.

He logged into their online banking account and withdrew half of A &A’s savings, then deposited it into his personal account, which he’d linked to A &A’s accounts last month to make such shuffling easier to do. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he made the arrangements to move the money into his stock market account and put in a buy order for fifty thousand shares. He could almost taste the financial freedom that was finally within reach – though it wasn’t strong enough to overpower the bitter tang of self-loathing.

After ensuring his requests had gone through, he resolved to go home before he did any more damage. He was about to close down his computer when the ding of his email announced another new message. He clicked on the program and felt his gut plummet.

She had written again.

Not now. I can’t take it.

He hesitated a moment, planning on just shutting down the computer without looking at the letter, then realized it was the fourth he’d received since Savannah had gotten sick and he hadn’t opened a single one. Could he afford to keep his head in the sand? What if she made good on whatever threats she was undoubtedly making? He couldn’t let her go public, not on top of all the other fires he had to put out.

He gathered his courage, then keyed her name into the search box and selected all four messages to open.

$5000 by August 15. Send it to this address. A PO box address in Denver followed.

You thought I was kidding? This won’t go away. $6000 by September 7 th.

Don’t make me call the Denver Post. $7000 by September 28.

Last chance, Shaun. I’m tired of waiting. $10,000 by November 10 or I call Paula Zittner at the Denver Post and tell her all the sordid details. Don’t make me do it, Shaun. I just want what I deserve. A link to the investigative reporter’s contact information followed-her way, he assumed, of showing she was serious.

He slammed his fist on the desk and shouted a curse at the top of his lungs. She may as well have asked for ten million. He simply didn’t have it, and wouldn’t in less than a week.

Although…

He shook his head. He couldn’t dip into A &A’s savings a second time. He was nervous enough about what he’d done tonight.

He thought she’d finally gotten the message, finally realized he wasn’t going to send anything else when he’d stopped responding to her. She’d already milked him for four thousand; how much did she think she deserved? He’d honestly thought she’d understand, once news got out about Savannah’s illness, that he didn’t have any money left to throw at her for her silence. What made her think he was flush with cash?

Of course: Savannah’s book.