Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

yes, I would rather be at a retreat center apparently full of Christians than to be at home. How sad is that?

She sighed and turned into the driveway, following it to a circle drive in front of the house where she parked. The house was even more impressive up close. The white columns supporting the second-story wraparound porch looked to be freshly painted, and the brick facade gave the structure a stately, solid feel. She could picture Scarlett O’Hara gazing out of the tall windows from behind the purple velvet curtains, and the image made her smile. Her family had all been city folk, most of them residing in Charleston, but her grandmother had lived in a small plantation home in rural South Carolina that had looked like this one’s little sister.

Savannah tapped the knocker twice on the door and waited, her breath shallow in her chest. When the door opened, it was like being sucked into a time warp. Tabitha looked just as she had twenty years ago, with only a few laugh lines and a touch of wisdom added to her kind face. Her smile was as welcoming as it had been back then, and before her embarrassment at past foolishness could stop her, Savannah fell into the embrace of her friend’s outstretched arms.

“Come on in,” Tabitha said after releasing her from the bear hug. “We’ll get your bags and park your car later. I’ve been so excited for you to come, I feel like a kid. I’ve got spinach dip in the sitting room and all manner of Coke, is that alright?”

Savannah laughed as she followed Tabitha through the warmly decorated foyer. “ ‘All manner of Coke', eh? You certainly have taken to the culture.”

Tabitha grinned. “I fell in love with the South. It’s got its flaws, but I was blessed to fall in with the folks that I did when I moved out from Colorado.” She offered a velvet-backed chair to Savannah beside a table where a tray held a bowl of dip surrounded by crackers. “To drink?”

“Sprite?”

“You’ve got it. Be right back.”

Savannah surveyed the room while she waited for Tabitha to return. The decor was straight from Southern Living, and felt like a great big hug from a well-loved aunt. The Southerner in her missed the bright colors and high ceilings and little touches that were hallmarks of the Southern style. She loved her mountain lodge-like home, too, but this place resonated with her roots. It was another remnant of her former self that brought her a grain of comfort.

Tabitha returned, and Savannah accepted the drink she poured for her. “So you’ve been in this house all this time?”

“Oh, no, we moved here about seven years ago. I was in Savannah before that, believe it or not.”

Savannah noticed Tabitha wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. “And ‘we’ would be…”

“Oh, the ministry I run, The Refuge.”

Savannah narrowed her eyes and shook a finger at her, though a smile tugged at her mouth. “You didn’t tell me you’d come back to the fold – or that you were in ministry, you sneak.”

Tabitha chuckled, her nose wrinkled in the endearing way that had attracted half the boys in college. “I got the impression that it wouldn’t go over well. And I knew if you came out it would be good for you. I didn’t want anything to change your mind.”

“You duped me.”

“I’d like to think I saved you from your own misconceptions.”

“Ooh, think you know me so well after all this time?”

“Oh, honey,” Tabitha said, her words edged with laughter. “Twenty years isn’t so long in some ways. And besides, you and I were always like two peas, and I know myself well enough to know that I would have changed my plans, were our roles reversed.” She helped herself to some dip and indicated that Savannah should do the same. “Now, I should warn you that in about ten minutes we’ll be seeing some more people. Everyone’s at the group therapy session at the moment, but after that most everybody will be coming through here on their way to the kitchen.”

“Group therapy? What exactly is The Refuge?”

“It’s a place for people who have been deeply wounded by the church, or by anyone, really, in the name of Christianity. I started it with a friend about ten years ago. We’ve had pastors, church and ministry volunteers and staff, missionaries – even people who grew up with spiritually abusive parents who fed them a poisoned view of God. Folks stay here and get counseling, some fellowship, and support as they find their way back to God. The church has a tendency to shoot its wounded – we try to help them heal in the aftermath.”

Savannah found it hard to look Tabitha in the eyes, knowing that she had been guilty of ‘shooting’ Tabitha when she’d begun to question their faith. Instead, she studied the elaborate pattern on the wallpaper. “That’s a really beautiful thing to do, Tabitha.”

“Thank you.”

“How long do folks stay when they come? Is it like Betty Ford, a 28-day program?”

Tabitha chuckled. “No. It’s more of a drop-in setup. They stay for as long as they feel necessary, and some people come and go, using us as a supplemental program to the therapy they’re already doing in their own hometown. Right now we’ve got about ten folks staying with us; two more are coming next week, and three are planning to go home.” She smiled at Savannah. “And now, of course, there’s you, too. But don’t worry,” she added hastily, “I wasn’t expecting you to participate in the program or anything. Though you are welcome to if you want. I’ll give you a schedule so you know what’s going on when. But now you know why I thought it might be helpful for you to be here – besides the fact that I’ve been in your shoes.”

Savannah sighed and forced herself to meet Tabitha’s gaze. “I am sorry, friend. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Tabitha shook her head. “It’s all forgiven, truly. And don’t think you were the one that drove me away; I didn’t tell you everything that was going on, and you couldn’t have known what I was really going through. That was my own fault. I had no reason not to trust you with the details, but I was young and stupid and hurting and knew a lot of it was my own fault, so it was hard to admit everything, even to my closest friend. So, forgive me for not being honest with you and giving you a chance to help me when I needed it.”

Savannah ached for all the years they’d lost because of pride and hastily-drawn misconceptions. “What was it that you didn’t think you could tell me? If you’re willing to tell me now, that is. It’s alright if you’d rather not.”

Tabitha settled deeper into her seat. “No, I don’t mind. Remember Professor Hurst? We had him junior year. He was handsome in a Redford kind of way.”

Savannah thought for a moment. “Oh – Old Testament, right? Yes, I do remember him.”

“Well, we had an affair.”

Savannah nearly dropped her glass. “What!” Tabitha chuckled. “I just… I can’t even…”

“I know, I know. But remember how I started working for the Biblical Studies department senior year? I ended up doing a lot of work for him – research and transcribing and the like. And we were alone together in the department offices quite a lot, because I worked at night and he often stayed late. He was so friendly, and a bit of a flirt, and you remember what I was like back then.”

Savannah did indeed. Lithe and beautiful, with serious smarts, but a penchant for free-spirited fun. Savannah often warned her that men would misinterpret her actions as being flirtatious and welcoming in a sexual way, even though she was just vivacious and friendly. She had been a bit of a rule-breaker, too, which only added to the problem. “Let me guess – he thought you were coming on to him.”