Alison Strobel - The Heart of Memory

Seeing her mother curled beneath the quilt kicked her guilt into high gear. Savannah couldn’t help what people said about her or control other people’s motives. Jessie knew her anger was misplaced, but it had turned in Savannah’s direction for so long that she channeled it toward her practically out of habit.

Time for penance. Jessie left the books by the door and went to the kitchen. It was nearly seven-thirty already, but she was hungry and could tell by the lack of dirty dishes that her mother likely hadn’t eaten much that day. She decided to go all-out and make her mother’s chicken soup.

Standing on tiptoes, she pulled the wooden recipe box from the cabinet above the stove. She hadn’t cooked anything from scratch in ages – but then again, neither had Savannah. Before she’d started working, Savannah had always made everything by hand – even bread. Jessie could remember coming home to the most amazing smells when she was in elementary school. But the bigger A &A got, and the more writing Savannah was contracted to do and the more speaking engagements she received, the less time she spent in the kitchen, until the only one who cooked anything anymore was Shaun. And his repertoire was limited to the basics; everything else came from a can or box.

Jessie flipped through the index cards until she found the soup recipe that had nourished her through countless childhood ailments. How long had it been since she’d had it? Eight years, easily. She read the ingredients, mouth watering at the memories of the taste, and began pulling items from the fridge and pantry. She’d never made anything more complex than pancakes from scratch when the boxed mix had run out – she hoped she wouldn’t mess up the soup. She was a lousy cook and she knew it; she seemed to be missing the domestic gene, and by the time she’d been old enough to start helping in the kitchen Savannah had been wrapped up in A &A and book tours and hadn’t had time to teach her anything. But it’s not rocket science, right? I can totally do this. So what if the recipe is two cards long?

She had the chicken boiling in a pot when Savannah wandered in, her short hair sticking out in crazy directions and her eyes droopy with sleep. “What’s going on in here?”

Jessie summoned her compassion. “I’m making you chicken noodle soup.”

“Well, that’s sweet, Jessie. Thank you.” Savannah glanced into the pot. “What’s in here?”

“The chicken.”

“What did you use?”

Jessie held up the card. “Well, it said to use a whole chicken, but we didn’t have one so I just used a bunch of chicken breasts. I looked up the amounts to make sure I’d have enough-”

“It’s not the amount so much as the taste that’s going to be affected. Without the dark meat the flavoring will be all wrong.”

Jessie’s compassion left her in a single breath huffed in irritation. “How was I supposed to know that? The card didn’t say that, and it’s not like anyone ever taught me that kind of thing.”

She instantly regretted the words, but Savannah didn’t appear to notice the dig. “Oh well, better than nothing, I suppose. Just add some stock and rosemary.” She set the top back on the pot and said, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” and wandered out again.

Jessie focused on the carrots she was dicing, trying not to let her thoughts darken again. For once she’d love a reason to not resent her mother. Savannah had had the chance right then. Had she come alongside Jessie and walked her through the recipe-explaining the difference chicken breasts would make compared to a whole chicken, showing her the best way to prep the vegetables and explaining how to make sure everything was done at the right time – Jessie would have gladly shelved years of hurt. But instead she’d done what she always did-swooped in, dropped a confidence-destroying bomb, and then retreated, leaving Jessie to figure it out herself.

Blinking away tears, Jessie consulted the recipe card again, but didn’t really comprehend it. For years she’d longed to have a mom who took her under her wing instead of assuming she was smart enough to work everything out on her own, a mom who knew how to offer suggestions without making it sound like criticism. But her hope of ever having that had all but died out. Savannah would always be Savannah; there was no point in wishing she’d change.

Jessie turned off the burner beneath the pot and swept the vegetables into a bowl, then covered them in plastic wrap and stuck them in the fridge. Her enthusiasm was gone. She’d make mac n’ cheese from a box instead.

SHAUN WAS JUST FINISHING HIS bag lunch the next day when a knock came on his door. “It’s open,” he called.

Nick entered, holding an expense report. Shaun’s heart went into panic mode, beating like Morse code.

“Hey, Shaun – oh, you’re eating. I’m sorry.”

“No, not a problem. I was almost done. Come on in.”

Nick walked to the desk and held up a piece of paper. “I was going over Savannah’s reimbursement form and found an error in your math.” He pointed out the total he’d come up with, written next to the total Shaun had recorded. Instantly Shaun saw his mistake. “It’s not a big deal. I just wanted to show you so you didn’t wonder why the amount was different when you got the check.”

“Thanks, Nick. I appreciate it. You’d think I’d be able to operate a calculator, huh?”

Nick shrugged. “Hey, it happens. At least you’re getting more than you were expecting.”

“Ha, yeah.”

“I’ll get you the check by the end of the day. Come see me if you don’t have it before you leave, in case you want to go early to take care of Savannah.”

“I will. Thanks.” Nick left, closing the door behind him, and Shaun let out a breath and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He’d done this dozens of times, but he’d never forgotten to check his math. What had he been thinking? The last thing he needed was to give Nick a reason to start checking those forms more closely.

His appetite gone, Shaun stuffed the rest of his lunch back into the sack and shoved it into the trash can beneath his desk. Now he felt jumpy. He couldn’t concentrate, and his thoughts kept going back to the second he saw the report in Nick’s hand and was sure he’d finally been caught. How much longer until his luck ran out? He’d been under the impression that Nick rubber-stamped whatever Shaun turned in, but apparently he was more diligent than Shaun had realized.

He stood and paced the small office for a second, trying to dissipate some of the adrenaline, then headed for the front door. “I’m going out for a bit,” he told Brenda. “I’ll be back in an hour.” Slipping on sunglasses, he set out towards the small park a couple blocks away. The noon sun seared him through his golf shirt, but the shade above his favorite park bench when he arrived made up for the heat. He sat down beneath the cottonwood and closed his eyes. The adrenaline was mostly gone now, but the problem still remained.

He’d have to do something about Nick.

SAVANNAH HAD BEEN AWAKE FOR TEN MINUTES, BUT STILL hadn’t opened her eyes. She’d listened as Shaun had showered and shaved and left for the kitchen, planning to get up after he went downstairs. But instead, she was still beneath the covers, her mind vacillating between cataloging her current ills and throwing herself a pity party.

She’d been home for over a week, and she still felt about as sick as she had that first day after the tour. The only improvement so far had been when her fever had broken four days ago. It removed some of the aches, but not all of them, and sleeping still took up most of her day. She was resolved-in her head, anyway-that today would be the last day she just sat around. It was time to start figuring out what was going on with her body.