Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

He turned the corner, eyes snagged by a bright display of soda cases arranged in a pattern, and walked right into a customer ticking items off a list. “I’m sorry-”

“Oh.”

Shaun and Marisa stared at each other as a blanket of awkwardness settled over them. “I wasn’t looking where I was going; forgive me,” Shaun finally said, stepping out of her way.

Her look of surprise morphed to irritation as she pocketed the list. “Slinking around in the dark,” she said, her tone sardonic. “That’s fitting.”

He stared at her in frank shock. This was the woman who had shared their table at countless holidays and casual get-togethers, whom he’d seen nearly every day for years. She’d been like a sister to Savannah and, in turn, like family to him. He never would have expected so much venom. “Well… so are you,” was all he could manage to come up with in retort.

She rolled her eyes. “Taking a break from a night of packing so I can get to New York by Thanksgiving. I needed a break and a meal.”

“New York-that’s great.”

“Yeah – at least I have somewhere to go to. Unlike the other people you left in the lurch.”

“Marisa, I didn’t-”

“Look. I know you were doing something with the reimbursement forms. I should have followed my gut but I just couldn’t bring myself to believe that you would steal from the ministry. And don’t think I don’t know that’s the root of the ministry’s financial issues. If I could prove it I would.”

Panic began to rise. How much did she know? How had she figured it out? “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever.” She pushed past him, then turned and skewered him with her eyes. “I just pray more people don’t get hurt by your selfishness. Six people who lived and breathed that ministry and looked up to you and Savannah is enough of a body count.” She spun and walked away, leaving Shaun speechless with fear. He abandoned his empty basket in the middle of the aisle and left the store, walking quickly and keeping an eye out for Marisa lest he run into her again. He was gripped by the irrational thought that she’d be able to read his mind the longer they were in the same vicinity. He had to get out, now.

He jumped into the car and fought not to speed the whole way home. Even back in the confines of his depressing house he didn’t feel any safer. Marisa knew something, and even though it wasn’t much, it was enough to ruin him and Savannah if she went public with it. Even without solid proof people would believe whatever accusation she leveled against him, given the abrupt shuttering of the ministry.

How much evidence of suspicion would the police need? The IRS? What if others knew, too, but had never said anything? He’d been so careful, but obviously not careful enough. What other slipups had he made that he was unaware of? Who else was sitting at home, stewing at the meager severance they’d been doled out at the ministry’s closing, plotting out their revenge?

He had a timeline for how things were supposed to go. He had the information he needed, he was just trying to figure out how to go about starting things off. It was taking longer than he’d expected to ramp up the courage to tell Savannah he wanted a divorce. But after that, assuming she cooperated, things could go quickly. And then he could finish things, up in the mountains, somewhere where he’d be eventually found. Then it would all be over and Savannah and Jessie could get on with their lives.

But knowing that Marisa was on to him, even with what little evidence she had, changed things entirely. The plan needed to go more quickly.

Either that, or he had to skip to the end.

SAVANNAH WASHED THE RAW HAMBURGER from her hands. “Can’t wait for lunch, Aniyah. Thanks again.”

“Naw, thank you, ‘Vannah. It’s nice to work a little slower and not have to rush. The three of us make a good team. Gonna miss you when you go.” Her eyes glinted when Savannah glanced at her. “And just when is that, anyhow?”

“Trying not to think about it.” She made room for Tim, the quiet young man who worked as Aniyah’s assistant, as he passed behind her with a sack of potatoes. “Who knows what might happen. Maybe I’ll just move here for good.” If only.

Aniyah let out one of her deep chuckles. “Aw, ‘Vanna, stop that now.”

Savannah dried her hands. “It’s about time to go. Are you ready?”

Aniyah slid the green onions she’d been dicing into a bowl and covered it with plastic. “Just about. Now Tim, you watch them fries and make sure they don’t burn. You get overwhelmed, you just holler. I’ll hear you.”

Tim looked up from the pile of fries he’d made. “I’ll be fine, Aniyah.”

“Let the boy be,” Savannah said with a grin. “He’s plenty competent.”

Aniyah pulled off her apron. “I just don’t like leaving my kitchen.”

The two women walked out together and Savannah said quietly, “You think Tim even knows how to holler?” Aniyah’s laugh echoed through the foyer.

With the scent of hamburger and spices still in her nose, Savannah followed Aniyah into the group therapy room where nearly everyone else was already present. As much as she’d begun to enjoy meeting with the others, she hated leaving the kitchen just as much as Aniyah did. It was where she felt most in touch with her old self. The act of service, not just to Aniyah and Tim, but for the Refugees and Tabitha as well, gave her a sense of purpose and served as her way to thank them for letting her hide among them while she sorted out her life. Even the thought of her family wasn’t enough to stir a desire to leave. She tried not to dwell on that uncomfortable truth.

Tabitha saw them enter and smiled. “Alright folks, I think we’re ready to start.” The group settled into their seats and gave Tabitha their attention. “Every once in a while a former Refugee comes back to share his or her story with us, as a way to encourage and support those who are struggling the same way they did. And today Aniyah is going to do that for us. She’s been here for a few years now, cooking up the world-class fare we get to eat every day, and now she would like to share her experience. Aniyah – whenever you’re ready.”

Aniyah had everyone’s full attention. Savannah had only heard a small sliver of the story, the first day she’d stepped into the kitchen to lend a hand. Aniyah had never continued the tale, and Savannah hadn’t felt comfortable asking. Now, with the others, she waited with anticipation to hear how the feisty woman had come to stay at The Refuge.

“Sometimes folks think I’s telling tales when I tell them about my life. But I think I can trust y’all to know I ain’t lying. And hopefully it’ll speak to you, somehow. God’s been good about redeeming my lost years that way.

“My mama was a voodoo priestess. We lived out in the Bayou, in a shack you couldn’t reach but by boat. I learned cooking from her, though it wasn’t just food we cooked, but charms and spells, too-though mostly I just watched when she did those.”

She told her story without hyperbole to the riveted audience, repeating the details Savannah had heard while cutting beignets.

“So’s I got to New Orleans and couldn’t get a job. Didn’t know my social security number, and didn’t want to bring attention to myself trying to find it. I took to the street, turning tricks to make money, but then this guy finds me and gives me my first crack. It was all downhill from there. Had to keep selling myself to buy the crack, and because of the crack I couldn’t do nothing else but keep turning tricks.

“Sometimes when I wasn’t high – which wasn’t very often – I would think about my mama, and my auntie, and about spirits and God and all that. I’d grown up surrounded by talk about the loa, the spirits and souls, and when I got to Auntie’s she talked about the spirit and soul all the time, too, but in a different way. Mama’s way had been mysterious and beautiful, and a little creepy sometimes – but Auntie’s way had been all mean and depressing. I was never good enough. I was always bad, always sinful and evil, didn’t matter if I really did something wrong or not.