The Heart of Memory

CHAPTER 14

SUNLIGHT BATHED THE ROOM WHEN SAVANNAH AWOKE. EVERY muscle ached when she rolled from the bed, but she relished the sensation as she sat on the floor to stretch. It felt good to have awakened her body again, beat it into submission, shown it who was boss. She smiled, her body responding to the wake-up call of a few pilates poses.

She was still not her old self. Foreign feelings still coursed through her veins, but the strange peace that had enveloped her before falling asleep the night before was still there. She noted with great pleasure that the simmering anger had cooled as well. Not completely, but enough to give her hope.

She had new feelings as well, ones that she could claim as her own. Empowerment. Ambition. No more hiding, no more distractions. Time to stare it all in the face and deal with it head on. It was time to find healing instead of despairing that it would ever come.

Her resources at The Refuge were too good to pass up. She found Tabitha and told her what had happened the night before. “I’m ready to try the group therapy, if you’re still alright with that. I don’t know if it’s going to help, but I might as well try – and if nothing else it’ll give me something else to do with my time.”

Tabitha hugged her. “You’ve gone through the fire and come out the other side.”

“That’s about how I felt.”

“Group is at ten.”

“I’ll be there.”

She had half an hour, and she spent it on the porch with a notebook. She labeled a page Shaun and began to list the issues she could identify, trying to bring order to all the confusion that had reigned in her head lately. After that she listed the steps she could think of that might help resolve things, or at least slow their descent into total catastrophe.

A little before ten she left the rocking chair and made her way to the group therapy room, where a circle of chairs awaited the Refugees. She was greeted with warm smiles that bolstered her courage. If they could do it, so could she. Even though she wasn’t sure what “it” was.

After everyone was seated, Tabitha announced Savannah to the group. “I know you’ve all met her already, but I wanted to give her an official introduction as a Refugee member. Welcome to the group, Savannah.”

Savannah gave a nod and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. After a brief murmur of welcome from the others, Tabitha kicked off the session with a statement-structured prayer that lacked any sense of a prayer at all. “God can heal us, and we ask him to do that today,” she said with eyes open, locking gazes with each person in turn as she spoke. “God can soften our hearts toward those who have wounded us, and can bring us out of the pain we’ve been living in. Do you agree?”

Some-though not all, Savannah noticed-echoed their agreement. She wondered if her own prayer for a softened heart would do any good, since her heart wasn’t exactly her heart. Maybe it’s like praying for someone else. Though that would require that she actually pray, and while she had called out to Jesus the night before, it hadn’t exactly been in a reverent and prayerful way. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to take that step, especially if uttering that one name had brought on such a tempest. What kind of storm would a whole prayer unleash? She decided she would open herself to the prayers of others, but not attempt her own quite yet. Baby steps.

Tabitha began talking about the subject of the day’s meeting: what forgiveness looked like and how it would help them, versus what it did, if anything, for the person that wounded them. She listened to Tabitha’s teaching, and to the honest and sometimes gut-wrenching admissions of the Refugees who were willing to share with the group. Her mind wandered a bit as she listened, attempting to determine how her own situation could be helped by this, but by the time lunch rolled around and they all filed out together she found she was energized and encouraged by the meeting. Tabitha stopped her before they entered the dining room and asked, “So, what did you think?”

“It was… it was good, I think. I’m really glad I did it. I’m still not sure how this is going to help me, but I’m willing to try it.”

Tabitha wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I’m so glad.”

Savannah was struck with an idea. “Listen. Would you be willing to pray for me? Not out loud, necessarily, just… while we’re standing here.”

Tabitha’s smile was electric. “Absolutely.” She led Savannah to the windows, and they each took a seat and stared out to the land that stretched along the front of the house. She found herself almost cheering Tabitha on in her mind, as though this one prayer might actually change anything. After a moment Tabitha turned to her and smiled. “Done.”

“Painless. Thanks. Baby steps are good, right?”

“They’re crucial, yes.”

“Okay, good.” She inhaled deeply, relishing the peace that was still hanging around. “Baby steps I think I can do.”

SHAUN WANDERED THE EMPTY GROCERY store aisle without really seeing the items on the shelves. He didn’t actually need anything-he still had a decent amount of food to finish off- but he’d been desperate to escape the prison of the empty house where he felt compelled to hide during the day. Midnight was the perfect time to venture out without the likelihood of running into someone who now hated him.

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.

“This street preacher used to come down to the tent city and talk about God. Most folks didn’t like him, thought he was gonna rat on them to the police or something. But all he ever did was talk about God loving people, even when they was all messed up. One day he saw me watching him, and he came right over to me and said, ‘Sister, he was bruised for your transgressions and crushed for your iniquities because he loves you.’ I didn’t know what he was talking about, but it sounded like a lot to go through just to love someone like me.”

She tugged at a thread on her sleeve. “But then I’d think about Auntie and what she said about God, and I figured Street Preacher didn’t know enough about me, ‘cause if he did he’d know God could never love someone like me. And besides, why would I want him to? What had he done for me? I was a homeless druggie prostitute – a whole Bible worth of sins rolled into one, and ain’t nothing lovable about that.”

She looked to Tabitha and smiled. “But then one day this white woman comes walking down by the tent city, looking all pulled together and nice. I saw her and thought she’d be done for, but it was like nobody saw her but me. I was on the corner, looking for customers, and she stopped and said, ‘God told me to help you. Can I please help you?’”

All eyes turned to Tabitha, who shrugged and grinned. “Well, he did.”

“That was the first time I thought maybe Street Preacher was right. Maybe God was trying to look out for me. Maybe this white lady was an angel. So’s I didn’t even let myself think about it, I just said okay. She walked me to her car, and it was like we was invisible, nobody was looking at us like they shoulda been – this cleaned-up white woman and this dirty black lady that looked like a skeleton. She took me to a rehab place and checked me in and come to visit me every day. And when I was finally clean, she brought me here.”

Tabitha shrugged again at the faces that looked to her in awe. “Nothing like that had ever happened to me before, but truly, I felt like God told me to find her and help her. I was on the other side of town, meeting with a psychologist that had been working with spiritual abuse cases, and when I left I got this impression to turn right at this one street, so I did. Then left at another, then right again, and then I saw an open parking spot on the street and just grabbed it. And then it was like God said, ‘Just start walking.’ I figured I’d know what I was supposed to do when I came to it, but I will admit I was nervous – that was not a good part of town. But when I saw her, I just… knew. Knew she was the one God meant for me to find, knew she needed to get clean. Some good friends of mine – they’re like my adoptive parents, actually-paid for her rehab.”

“But you weren’t a believer before, right, Aniyah?” Savannah asked. “Why did you come here?”

Tabitha answered. “I told her about The Refuge and we figured together that, if nothing else, this would be a safe place for her to be. Alanna-she helped me start The Refuge – she was the one in charge of the kitchen, but her husband was being relocated and we knew we had to find someone else. I asked Aniyah if she wanted to try her hand at cooking, in exchange for free room and board and, if she wanted, therapy.”

“I wasn’t gonna say no, not to a roof over my head and decent food. Plus, how could I say no to the woman who saved my life?”

Aniyah pulled one sneakered foot beneath herself and continued. “So Alanna taught me some basic cooking stuff, and when I wasn’t working I would sit in group therapy or just talk with folks. I didn’t tell no one why I was really there; they all just thought I was the new cook. And after a while I started thinking about how different these God people was from my auntie. For a while I was real confused-I mean, if one person says God loves you, and another says God hates you because you’re a sinner, then who do you believe? People like Tabitha here was making me want to believe God was real and really did love me, but then I’d remember Auntie, and I didn’t wanna get involved with him if she was the one who was right.

“So one day I told Tabitha I needed to figure God out once and for all. Was he good like she said, or just waiting to zap me like Auntie said? So she gave me a Bible and said, ‘Just start reading, and we’ll talk.’ Now, I’d read the Bible before; Auntie made me write it out word for word sometimes, when she thought I was being bad. But I’d never just read it straight, you know? And I didn’t get a lot of it, but Tabitha and I, we talked about the parts I got stuck on, and after a while I started thinking Auntie must have got it all real wrong. God seemed mighty patient with his stupid children. And then when Jesus came-whooee, that was love like I’ve never seen! I read through those gospels in just a couple nights. And when I was done, I thought, this is what I want. I want this Jesus. And I knew Jesus and God was like a package deal, and I decided that was okay. Because that God, in the Bible, was nothing like the God Auntie tried to teach me about. This one loved me, and was sad I had to go through such a rotten life.”

The room was silent as Aniyah paused, her lip trembling and tears glistening in her eyes. She pushed a corner of her sleeve to her eyes, then said, “Anyways, that’s why I’m here, and that’s why I stay. ‘Cause I love God and I love to take care of the people who’re trying to find him again. Now, you gotta excuse me while I go finish up making your lunch.” She stood and hurried out, head bowed, while the Refugees showered her with applause.

Tabitha began to talk, but Savannah didn’t hear her. Her mind was churning, not just in shock from her friend’s story, but with the frenzied pinballing of ideas on the verge of breaking through. As soon as the session was over Savannah skipped lunch and went to her room to think.

Legs folded beneath her on the bed, she sat with her notebook and pen, staring out the window at the orchard as she worked on the knot of thoughts in her head. After a few minutes she began to write. Charlie was mad at God because of the betrayal he experienced of both his father and his neighbor. He projected the unloving, unprincipled characters of these two men onto God. He heard God was loving, but didn’t understand why a loving God would let happen the things that he experienced. Charlie believed God had abandoned him just as his father had abandoned him. He was unwilling to believe anything that might paint God in a better light, because he couldn’t get past his own hurt.

It wasn’t identical to Aniyah’s story, but the parallels were there. Both had made assumptions about God based on the very ungodly actions of other people. But, unlike Charlie, Aniyah had gone to the source to figure out once and for all who God really was. It was then Savannah realized she’d allowed her thoughts and feelings – or, more accurately, Charlie’s – to dictate what she thought about God, rather than going back to the source and reminding herself what was really true.

She flipped the page and began writing again, her words scrawled with haste. WHAT I KNOW TO BE TRUE ABOUT GOD:

She concentrated on the view again as she fought to recall the things she’d once believed about God. These she wrote slowly, wanting to make sure she was getting them right, as she forced herself not to analyze whether or not she actually agreed with them.

· God’s ways are not man’s ways/when we don’t understand why he’s doing or not doing something, it’s because of our own lack of knowledge

· The existence of evil does not disprove the existence of God

· Just because we think God has abandoned us does not mean he actually has

· God does not leave his children

· God can use our pain and painful circumstances for good

· God can heal us if we let him

She stared at what she had written. It didn’t take up a lot of room, it wasn’t full of epiphanies or revolutionary thoughts, but it embodied a radical retooling of her thought process from how it had been over the last three months. She didn’t actually believe all those statements about God, but that didn’t matter. What was more important was the lesson that emotion and experience didn’t always tell the truth.

She picked up her pen again and wrote, Do I believe God is real? She paused, thinking before writing. My heart does not. Not sure about my head- hard to isolate those thoughts apart from my emotions. Do I want him to be real? She paused again, though she knew the answer already. She just wasn’t sure what to do with it. I think my head does. My heart does not.

So how do I get my heart on the same page as my head?

She set down her pen and picked up her jacket. The sun was shining. It was time to head back to the orchard.

There was no wind today, no storm on the horizon. She walked the same path she had run down just a couple days before, the memory of that evening vivid in her mind. The anger she usually felt had diminished significantly since then, though it was still there, manifesting itself more as a feeling of disgruntled annoyance than real anger. The peace that had bloomed after her catharsis was also still there. Changes were definitely happening, and moving her in the right direction, but that last hurdle still seemed impossible to jump. The open expanse of the orchard gave her the space she needed to think about how to attack it.

She thought back to what she had written in her room. Fact: Charlie’s heart was hardened because of the pain people put him through, not because of God. He had projected those people’s actions onto God and aimed his anger at him. Maybe if she tried to address the hurts that he had been subjected to, validate his pain, and separate the anger from the fact of the situations, she’d be able to ease some of the negative emotions.

But how?

She took a quick look around, then spoke before she could convince herself she was crazy. “I know you were hurt. But you shouldn’t dwell on your pain to the exclusion of the good things that happened in your life.” She laughed aloud in nervous embarrassment, the sound swallowed by the silence that surrounded her in the hibernating orchard. Shaun would have her committed if he heard her talking to herself this way. Tabitha, on the other hand, would probably applaud her. She felt utterly foolish doing it, but in the absence of any other ideas, it certainly wouldn’t hurt. “I think it’s time to let go of that pain and get on with your life already. Well-not your life, since you’re dead, but let me get on with my life at least.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead, as though that might dislodge some better ideas. She wasn’t messing with spirits or anything, was she? That was the last thing she needed to deal with now-possession by Charlie’s hell-bound soul.

She tried a different approach. If the hurt were actually hers, what would she want to hear? It dawned on her that the things that came to mind to say-get over it, move on-weren’t exactly empathetic. No wonder she and Jessie had a hard time communicating. Affirmation and encouragement had never come easily to her when it came to her own family. To a stranger, a woman pouring out her soul at a book signing or in the meet-and-greet after a speaking event, she could effuse gentle and inspiring advice without a problem. Why not for those she was closest to?

Another problem for another day. Let’s focus on getting back to normal first, then we can go to Rose for some therapy. She tried again, picturing herself in her mind as wounded, hurting. What would she need to hear?

“You were hurt. Your father should have been there for you, he should have provided you with the love and knowledge and positive example that fathers are supposed to give their children. He robbed you of the security and love that you needed to thrive in your childhood. That wasn’t your fault. He was wrong for leaving.”

She let the words sink in, imagined them flowing through her veins and into her heart, absorbing into the tissue and soothing the cells. “Kirk was not a perfect human being. You idolized him because he was everything you needed – a strong man who shared your interests and took you under his wing, who taught you the things fathers are supposed to teach. He took a real interest in you, and invested himself in you. He even made you think twice about the conclusions you’d come to about religion. But he wasn’t perfect, despite how you thought he was. He was a broken, fallen man, like all of us are, and he made a very big mistake.

“But he didn’t do it to hurt you. He didn’t do it to hurt anyone. He had a problem, and he tried to solve it the wrong way; it backfired and ruined his marriage. That doesn’t mean that everything he told you was wrong.”

She stopped walking and stared down the row of trees that stretched beyond her vision. She almost expected Charlie to materialize in the distance, like a peach tree orchard version of Field of Dreams. As nutty as it felt to talk to herself, she had to admit it felt like a step in the right direction. She wasn’t any less disgruntled, any more willing to believe in God, but she did feel more open to thinking about him and possibly even reaching out to him, just as an experiment, to see what might happen. It struck her that praying for a release from the emotions might be the next thing she needed to do.

She wasn’t sure if screaming at Jesus counted as praying to him. If it didn’t, then it had been three months since she’d uttered anything to God. She wasn’t sure she was ready to try yet.

Savannah turned back toward the house. Tabitha would be finishing up lunch, the rest of the Refugees heading out to do whatever they chose to do while waiting for their individual therapy appointments. Maybe she and Tabitha could hide away somewhere and Tabitha could try praying for her again. Maybe even aloud.

The thought was not repulsive. That was a good sign.

SAVANNAH WAS IN A GOOD mood. It felt almost foreign, but she wasn’t one to deny a gift the universe (or, dare she consider it – God) had given her. Dinner had been eaten, Tabitha had prayed over her and she had lived to tell, and she was feeling cautiously hopeful that things might eventually turn out okay.

She decided to call Shaun. It was hard talking to him these days without feeling defensive, but she was feeling more amiable than she had in months, and maybe that would make all the difference. She sat out on the patio in her favorite rocking chair and hoped he was home.

“Hello?”

Savannah was surprised. “Jessie, hi honey. It’s Mom.”

“What do you want?”

She stopped rocking. “Well, I’m fine, thanks. How are you?”

“Oh, just peachy. The entire campus is ostracizing me and they’re threatening to kick me out for unpaid tuition. So I saved them all the trouble and just moved home.”

The pain in Jessie’s voice was loud and clear. Savannah ached with every word. “Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

“Whatever. If you were sorry you wouldn’t have done all this.”

“Jessie, I know it’s hard to understand what’s going on -”

“I’m not six, Mother, don’t talk to me like this is some big grown-up problem that little me can’t understand. You bailed on every commitment you had and left everyone to clean up after you.”

“Jessica, please understand. There’s more going on here than my issues. Your dad -”

“Don’t try to drag Dad down with you. You two are so dysfunctional, I swear! You’re trying to implicate him, he’s trying to defend you -”

“Defend me?”

“ – it makes me sick.”

The line went dead. Savannah gaped at the cell, head spinning. Things were apparently worse than she’d believed them to be, that much was clear. And with her daughter practically disowning her, Savannah knew it was time to go home. She had to get to the bottom of Shaun’s role in all this, and do whatever she could to salvage her relationship with Jessie.

She went in and began packing, but stopped when she realized she was picking and choosing what to bring back. This isn’t home. You can’t assume Tabitha can or will hold this room for you. Who knows when you’ll be back. Or if.

But was she ready to move on? She didn’t feel ready. Though, as you’ve already discovered, emotions can lie. But what would Tabitha say about her using the place like a hotel, just coming and going as she pleased?

She debated, frozen in the middle of the room with a pair of cargo pants in her hands, then slowly folded them and placed them into the duffel. I can always bring it all back. She stuffed the last shirt into the bag and zipped her books into the side pockets, then brought the bag downstairs and sought out Tabitha.

“I have to go home. Jessie left school and something’s going on with Shaun.”

Tabitha gave her a hug. “I’ll cancel my therapy sessions and drive you to the airport. When’s your flight?”

“I didn’t even make one. I’m just going to find the first plane I can get on.”

Tabitha tracked down Jim, the other resident therapist, and told him her plans, then ushered Savannah to the passenger van that sat in the barn-like garage. “May I pray aloud?” she asked as they turned onto the main road.

“Um… yes.”

Savannah gazed out the window at the scenery they passed as Tabitha kept up her spiritual assault on the plans of the enemy to destroy Savannah and her family. She was trying not to listen, but even though Tabitha kept her voice low, every word seemed to seep in. She didn’t feel uncomfortable, though. Oddly, the prayers made her feel safe. Maybe she had truly reached a turning point. Maybe she was ready to leave.

SAVANNAH ENTERED HER HOME JUST before ten p.m. No one called out; she heard no sounds at all. She’d been gone less than two weeks but she felt like an intruder.

She stood in the foyer, determining her next move. She checked the garage and neither Shaun’s nor Jessie’s cars were there. No point trying to track down Jessie; who knew where she might be, and she’d come home eventually. So would Shaun – and if she wanted to do any snooping, she’d best do it before then.

She left her bag by the door and went into Shaun’s office. She had never cased someone’s private space before. She walked around the room, eyes peeled for anything suspicious, though she didn’t know what that might be. Finally she sat down at his desk and began to open drawers. Now she really felt like an intruder.

Office supplies, software, files for the bills and insurance papers. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. She tried the drawers on the other side of the desk. The top one was empty. The bottom one was locked.

She searched for a key but found none. She opened the empty drawer again and examined the rails on which it slid, looking for a way to remove it. With some jiggling it finally came free, and she was able to peer down into the drawer below. A manila file, a binder, and a CD sat inside.

She pulled them out and opened the folder. Inside were four letters from the IRS, dated six years back. The first notified him that A &A was being audited because of suspicious tax filings their first two years in business. The second informed him of the amount due. The last two were late notices for those payments.

Savannah didn’t know A &A had ever been audited. How could Shaun have kept that from her? And how did he keep it from her?

She looked again at the letter stating the amount owed. It was larger than she would have expected. Had Shaun not paid any of their taxes those years?

Next she opened the binder. It turned out to be an executive checkbook, where only a few of the checks seemed to be missing. The stubs were all blank, there was nothing indicating what the checks had been made out for. The address was A &A’s.

Her hands went clammy. She’d seen the kinds of paychecks the staff got. They didn’t look like these. Neither did the reimbursement checks. What were these used for-and why were there apparently two sets of checkbooks?

Then she took the CD out of its case. There was nothing indicating what had been burned to it. She turned on his computer, then inserted the disc and waited for it to boot up. When she brought up the list of drives, the CD was listed as A &A Financials. She opened it, which launched the budgeting program Shaun used for the ministry. Spreadsheets and pie charts popped up on the screen. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she clicked around anyway, hoping something would stand out.

It did.

Here and there on the spreadsheet were amounts highlighted in blue. They were unlabeled, and did nothing when she clicked on them. All were fairly small; the largest was only $12.53. She counted them, flipping from one worksheet to another, until the total was over fifty and the amount equaled just over $450. What on earth?

She glanced back into the drawer, hoping she’d missed something that might give her more information. She saw it in the back. Another checkbook.

The checks inside contained only Shaun’s name, and their home address. The next check number was 118. Didn’t they usually start at 101? Seventeen checks missing, most likely, and no duplicates. Shaun had never told her he had a separate checking account.

She picked up the checkbooks to put them back in the drawer, and a loose check slipped out of the back of the smaller book. It had been partially filled out, then scribbled over as though to void it; the written-out version of the amount had been botched. The payee was listed as Carlie Stone. The amount in the box was $4000. The date was from last July.

Carlie Stone. Why do I know that name? She searched her memory, repeating it aloud, waiting for it to trigger something. Someone she met through A &A? No-someone who worked there. A short-lived administrative assistant, less than six months if she remembered correctly. They’d hired Brenda after that, three years ago.

Savannah put the check back into place and returned it, along with the other items, to the drawer. She shoved the top drawer in, then launched Shaun’s email client, hoping it was still what he used. The inbox contained messages from yesterday. Still in use! She entered Carlie Stone into the search box. A page’s worth of emails filed onto the screen. She scrolled down and opened the first one, dated September of 2006.

Don’t think I don’t know why I was fired. You are a liar, Shaun Trover. I’m plenty stable and I’m plenty competent. You’re the one who is sick in the head.

I want a thousand dollars by the end of the day on Friday. If it’s not here by then I’m going to tell Savannah we had an affair and tell her what you’re doing with A &A’s bank accounts.

Savannah’s hand trembled as she clicked the message that Shaun had written in reply.

This is blackmail, Carlie. This is illegal. And it’s not even true. We gave you a decent severance that you didn’t even technically qualify for, just be happy you have that and leave me alone.

Carlie’s next reply was a single sentence. You really want to test me?

Savannah opened each of the emails, which came at uneven intervals over the last few years. Sometimes months would go by, sometimes less than six weeks. At first she asked for the same amount every time, then starting last year the amount increased, until the most recent email asked for $10,000. Shaun’s response had been simple. I don’t have any money!!!

She hadn’t replied yet. He’d written her three weeks ago.

Savannah jumped when the front door closed. She’d spaced out, staring at the computer, feeling completely undone and not knowing what to do next. She scrambled to close the email client and was shutting the computer down when she heard Jessie call, “Mom?”

Relief flooded her. She went out to the foyer and saw her daughter looking as though she hadn’t slept in a week. Her cheeks were red, her hair damp at the temples. “I saw your bag.” Jessie nodded to the carry-on leaning against the wall. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”

“I just got in a bit ago. Last minute decision. Where were you so late at night?”

“Went for a run at the church’s gym.”

Savannah smiled. They actually did share something in common. “I didn’t know you ran.”

“Big surprise.”

Jessie turned to go upstairs. Savannah followed her. “Listen, Jessie, can we talk? I’ve had some revelations the last couple days, and one of them pertains to you.”

“Whatever.”

She followed her to her room and sat on the bed while Jessie sat on the floor and began to stretch. She didn’t make eye contact with Savannah at all, acted as though she wasn’t even in the room. Savannah decided to just forge ahead and see what happened. “I realized the other day I have a tendency to brush your troubles aside and not be very sympathetic. I tell you to buck up and get over it and don’t really give you the space you might need to deal with things the way you want to. And I don’t often give you a lot of encouragement or support. I guess… I guess I just wanted to make sure you knew how to take care of yourself, that you wouldn’t be one of those girls always looking for some boy’s shoulder to cry on. I wanted you to be independent and strong-and you are strong, but…” Savannah sighed. “Anyway, I hope you know what I’m trying to say.”

Jessie snorted. “And?”

“And?”

“All that and no apology. That’s pathetic, Mom.”

“Didn’t I just apologize?”

“No. There was nothing apologetic there but your tone, and after the last ten years I deserve a lot more than that.”

Savannah was wounded, but knew she’d earned that comment. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Real heartfelt.”

“No, Jessica, listen: I’m really, really sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t more attentive to your frustrations, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you the way you needed me to be, and… I’m sorry if you felt like you weren’t as important to me as A &A was.”

Jessie finally looked her in the eye, but her expression was anything but forgiving. “Buzz words. You’ve been talking to Dad.”

“Well… yes. But that doesn’t mean I’m not being honest. I know this doesn’t excuse it, but in my head, I was justifying the time I spent away from you because I thought the work I was doing at A &A would help make the world a better place for you. I was trying to reshape what it meant to be a Christian woman, trying to make it a better experience for women now and women in the future, like you. But I didn’t think about how your womanhood would be shaped by your childhood, and by how absent I was from it. I’m sorry.”

Jessie’s stare locked on Savannah’s for a moment more before she finally broke the connection and stood. “Shocker. You finally figured it out.”

“Yes, I did. And I’m here now and I want to do what I can to help. I know you don’t necessarily trust me right now, and I understand why. I won’t push you to share with me what’s going on, but I do want to know, and I do want to help if I can.”

Jessie eyed her warily. “Let me think about it. I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Go right ahead. Are you hungry? I’ll make us something to eat. Do you know when your father will be home?”

“No. I don’t even know where he is.”

“Alright then. Come on down when you’re ready; I’ll go cook something up.”

Savannah went downstairs, pride still smarting but feeling far more confident in the restoration of their relationship than she’d expected to be. She opened the cupboards, searching for comfort food, and was pleasantly surprised when she found what she was looking for.

Jessie appeared half an hour later, her hair still wet. “Waffles?”

“I always find carbs comforting.”

Savannah put a plate of two waffles in front of Jessie, along with a glass of milk. “So.”

“So.”

“Dad told me about Adam.”

Jessie’s eyes went to her plate and stayed there. “Yeah.”

“That was incredibly shallow of him.”

“I don’t know… I don’t feel like I can really blame him.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes sense he’d be so hurt. And what if our roles had been reversed-would I really want to go see his parents, spend Christmas day with them, knowing they’d put you out of a job?”

Savannah was encouraged by how little judgment was in Jessie’s tone. “I understand his loyalty to his family, and what a tight spot this has put them in. Ministries operate very differently from businesses. The knowledge of a higher purpose involved and a shared belief system breaks down those formal, business-like walls that people tend to erect between themselves and their superiors. We were all like family at A &A; which was good. But when life happens and businesses fail, people need to realize it wasn’t done intentionally. Nothing personal was meant by it. Mistakes have been made that I’m just now finding out about, and those mistakes are part of what led to A &A’s demise. I don’t want to go into details,” she added when she saw Jessie look up with curiosity, “because I want to make sure I’ve got all my facts straight-and I need to talk to your father to do that. But point being-Adam should have known our family better than to think we’d ever hurt his family – or anyone – on purpose. We didn’t ‘screw them over.’ The money ran out and we had to close down.”

Jessie nodded a little as she cut her waffle across the gridlines. “I guess that makes some sense. I’m just… I’m mad at God that all this happened. I don’t see how any of this can turn out well.”

Savannah brought her own plate to the bar and sat beside her daughter. “I know how that feels, believe me. At least your anger is yours”

“Yeah… Dad told me about the whole cellular memories thing.” She looked sideways at Savannah. “I’m having a hard time believing it. Sounds a little kooky to me.”

“It sounds kooky to me, too. But what other theories are there to explain it all?” She poured maple syrup over the waffles, wishing she had some strawberries. “But the good news is that I had started therapy back in Georgia, and I think it’s helping.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The folks at The Refuge are pretty remarkable. I hope you get to meet Tabitha someday. And Aniyah. The cooking this woman does, let me tell you…”

They continued to talk after dinner about Savannah’s experiences in Georgia and Jessie’s trials at school, until the clock on the mantel struck 2:30 and Jessie decided to turn in. Savannah sat in the living room with the remains of her coffee, longing for Aniyah’s sweet tea and reflecting on the last three hours she’d spent with her daughter. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d talked that long. She wasn’t actually sure they ever had.

But as the night settled around her, the warmth from their conversation gave way to a chill at the memory of what she’d found in Shaun’s office. She was getting anxious to hear the whole story. When would Shaun get home?

By 3:30, she was worried that he wouldn’t.