Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

On the small writing desk in the corner sat the yellow envelope she’d gotten from Marisa. She still hadn’t opened it. She avoided thinking too much about A &A. But it had to be done eventually, and sorting it would be a decent way to pass the time.

She emptied the contents onto the bed-eight letters altogether, but one in particular caught her eye. The envelope was pink, with an embossed flower in the corner. It smelled faintly of a perfume that seemed familiar, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. She ripped it open and slid out the single sheet of paper-pink and embossed liked the envelope-covered in both sides with slanted blue cursive. The scent of the perfume was calming.

Dear Mrs. Trover,

This is a very difficult letter to write, mostly because I will be very embarrassed if I am wrong. But I feel in my heart that I’m right, and I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t follow that impression.

My brother, Charlie, was living in Boulder at the time of his death back in August. As his only living kin, I was notified of his passing by the hospital where he was taken after his car accident. They told me he had chosen to be an organ donor, and I was pleased to hear that- his life had not amounted to much, and I felt like it was a second chance for him, to be able to help someone else to live their life.

A month after the accident I was at a women’s tea at my church, and your ministry came up in conversation. Someone mentioned you’d undergone a heart transplant, and I can’t explain why, but I felt compelled to find whatever details were public about your procedure. I bought your new book, and when I discovered your surgery occurred the night my brother died, I couldn’t help but think it was more than mere coincidence.

I’ve done a little bit of research about transplants, and I’ve learned that the recipient often wishes he or she could contact the family of the donor. I don’t know if you feel that way or not, but if you do, I want you to know I would love to meet you. I’m including my contact information, but please do not feel any pressure to write or call. I’m just sure you received Charlie’s heart, and I’m content knowing that it went to someone like you; I will not be offended if you don’t want to contact me.

I pray that every day is a blessing, and that Charlie’s heart allows you to live a long, full life in service to the Lord. (It would be quite the irony if it did, believe me. But with God, all things are possible!) God bless you and your ministry – I pray for you every day.

Sincerely,

Lori Bates

A torrent of emotions rolled over her. She’d stopped consciously wondering about her donor weeks ago, but faced with the chance to learn about him she felt almost desperate for information. And an inexplicable fondness for this Lori drove her to inhale again the scent wafting from the stationery.

But this woman believed Savannah to be-well, who everyone thought she was. She sounded so happy to know Savannah was a good Christian woman – would Lori be angry if she knew Savannah wasn’t? Didn’t her life count for something even if she wasn’t speaking to capacity crowds and writing bestsellers? Or even if she didn’t believe in God?

Her hand hovered over her cell phone. She’d have to fake the good Christian woman stuff if she went to meet her-and she definitely wanted to meet her. Could she do it?

Only one way to find out.

Hand trembling, she dialed the number. When a woman answered she knew it was her without even asking. “Lori, this is Savannah Trover.”

She heard a gasp, then Lori laughed. “Oh my stars, Savannah, it is so nice of you to call.”

“I can’t thank you enough for your note. I wish I could explain how much it means to me.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Thank you.”

“If you were serious about meeting-”

“I was, absolutely.”

“What are you doing Friday?”

After hanging up with Lori, she called the airline and arranged her flight, then called the car rental company. She gave them her credit card number, then let her mind wander while she was on hold. She was pulled from her daydream by the customer representative’s apology and had to ask her to repeat it.

“I’m sorry, but that card isn’t going through.”

“It’s not?” She read the number off again.

“Still not working, I’m sorry. Do you want to cancel the reservation or try another card?”

Savannah huffed in frustration. “Try another card.” She dug out the card she rarely used and read off the number.

“That worked. Thank you.”

She finished making the reservation, then hung up and stared at her credit card. “That’s just not right,” she muttered. She dialed Shaun’s number but got his voicemail. “It’s me,” she said. “I just tried to use the Visa and it wouldn’t go through. Any idea what that’s about? Did you cancel it for some reason? Let me know.”

She’d never had a card denied before. Certainly it was a mistake of some kind. Perhaps Shaun had lost his card and had to cancel them, and had just forgotten to tell her.

She nodded to herself. Yes, that made sense. He probably didn’t think she’d need to use the card on the trip, so he hadn’t bothered to let her know. That must be it.

Unless it’s maxed out.

The thought almost made her laugh aloud. Almost. They had a ridiculously high credit limit on it, there was no way they’d reached it.

Right?

SAVANNAH CHECKED THE ADDRESS ONCE MORE BEFORE PULLING to the curb. Lori’s house matched the tone of her voice: small, sweet, and tidy. The suburban Kansas street was lined with tall oaks and prim houses in pastel colors that reminded Savannah of Easter eggs. She had a feeling Lori was either a preschool teacher or a librarian.

She sat in the rental and psyched herself up for the act. Just keep the conversation on her brother – on Charlie – and off your ministry. You can do this. It’s just for a couple hours. She let herself through the white picket gate and rang the bell. When Lori answered the door, Savannah was overcome with a sense of warmth and affection that melted her apprehension and compelled her to hug the small woman. “It is so wonderful to meet you. Thank you so much for letting me come over.”

“Oh of course, of course!” the woman said as she welcomed Savannah in. “I’m so happy you got my note – and that you didn’t think I was a loon. I was afraid it would get screened out by an assistant or something and you’d never even see it.”

Savannah chuckled. “Actually, my assistant was the one that gave it to me.” And now she knew why.

Lori ushered her into a tiny living room with a flower print love-seat and a coffee table set with a tray of cookies and slices of lemon cake. She brought Savannah a mug of coffee, then sat down in a slipcovered chair across from her. “I just can’t believe Savannah Trover is sitting in my living room. The ladies at church will never believe me.”

The irritation Savannah expected to feel at the comment was nowhere to be found. Instead, she felt a sense of graciousness that she hadn’t experienced in a long time. “I’m no one special, believe me. But thank you for thinking I am.” She pulled the corner off her slice of bread. “This is really awkward, but I want to say how sorry I am that you lost your brother. Obviously I am tremendously grateful for his willingness to be an organ donor, but as a recipient it’s grieving to know you’re alive because of someone else’s loss.”

Lori nodded, her long, mousy brown hair waving over her shoulders. “I can imagine it would be. As Christians, we have such a different understanding of that concept, though, don’t we? We are who we are because someone else died so we could live.”