The Heart of Memory (28 page)

She stopped in her tracks. “Am I suicidal?” She spoke aloud to the trees, really not sure if she was or not. She didn’t
think
so, but maybe she was close. How else could she escape Charlie’s hold on her? Apparently she could do nothing, and his thoughts were ruining everything. How bad an idea was it really?

When you can’t, God can.
It was one of her tag-lines, one of the things she’d always worked into her books and talks. She’d lived by it, and then life had started clicking along just fine and she hadn’t needed to test its truth anymore. She’d gotten good at doing on her own whatever needed to be done. Her transplant had been the first thing she’d had to rely on God for in a long time. Now it seemed like her life was one giant “can’t”, but there wasn’t anyone she could turn to who could.

Over the last twenty-four hours, the weight of the anger in her heart and the chaos in her head had grown tenfold. She was so close to a fix, and yet completely stymied as to how to get it. She felt like she was on the edge of a cliff, teetering, waiting for an outstretched hand to reach just a little further, grab her jacket and yank her back to safety. But the hand just hovered there, a couple inches short.

The wind picked up again. She was beginning to regret coming out here. The orchard was barren without a place to shelter from the wind—or from herself. No bedclothes to hide beneath, no armchair to curl up in to escape to her latest book. The orchard had no distractions, and she realized she’d been living the last week from one distraction to the next because she didn’t know how else to cope. How do you look reality in the face when it’s so despairing? Why even bother?

The house was a hundred yards away now, and as the force of her emotions and fear began a cascade through her system, she found herself without any protection or defense.

Jessie, Shaun, A&A, Adam, Marisa, her reputation, her family, her marriage, her
self
… the loss and potential loss of so many things dear to her began to cave in on her. It was all because of this stupid heart, this heart that didn’t seem to realize Charlie was gone and Savannah was its home.

She had to get rid of this heart. But how?

She began to run down the aisles between the bare peach trees, their naked limbs bending with the wind like arms reaching out to grab her. She swerved to avoid a rock in the path and her jacket snagged on a low branch. She’d been an avid jogger before her illness, but the months since had atrophied her muscles to mush. She ignored their burn, the complaints of tendons challenged without a warm-up, and pushed herself farther and farther, the house receding behind her like a movie finale. She thought only of her heart, of taxing it beyond its capacity, of punishing it for destroying her life. She wanted it to burst.
And if they don’t find me in time, maybe that’s okay.

Her eyes streamed, her lungs burned, her heart slammed in her chest—until a hole in the path caught her foot and sent her flying face-down into the dirt. She burst into tears and screamed without thinking.
“Jesus!”

The name was like a key in the lock of the floodgates that held back the fullness of Charlie’s pain. They swung open, pouring a tidal wave of grief and anger and desperation over Savannah’s soul. Her fingers dug into the ground as she sobbed, seeking an anchor lest the emotion sweep her away. Her heart kicked in her chest as though trying to literally pound its way out.

Fear surfaced through the waves. What was she thinking, pushing herself that way? She didn’t really want to die, did she?

She couldn’t tell anymore what was her pain and what was Charlie’s. He was already dead, but his heart didn’t know it. If she didn’t get it under control, it might kill her, too.

She sucked in deep breaths, trying to slow the beat and rein in the overwhelming feelings. “Slow down, relax, be calm,” she panted. And then — because what did she have to lose? — “You’re mine. Charlie is gone, and you’re mine now. That anger is dead. That pain is done. Let it go. Just let it go already.”

Like flotsam from a shipwreck, thoughts swirled through her head that she knew instinctively were not hers, thoughts that told her life was a waste and love was a myth and God was a fairy tale. She pounded her fists to the ground and yelled. “No! Lies, lies, lies!” And then, grasping onto new thoughts that floated in the current like life preservers, she begged, “Be real, God. Be real again. I can’t do this anymore. Make this stop. This has to stop! Charlie is gone—you’re gone, Charlie, you’re dead, and this heart is mine!”

Her voice escalated with every sentence, her fists punctuating them on the dirt, until she dropped her head to the ground and waited for something to carry her away.

She had nothing left. No thoughts, no emotions. All were gone, like an ocean squall that disappears as quickly as it came, leaving you clinging to your raft and unsure if you can really trust it’s over. Her heart began to slow, her breath to regulate. She released the ground and slowly pushed herself up to her feet, standing cautiously as though the earth might tip and send her crashing down again. She felt different. She couldn’t identify the reason, but with each slow step that brought her closer to the house the difference became more pronounced.

Limping, she mounted the stairs to the front door. She headed for her room, ignoring the looks of concern from the others as she bypassed the flow of people leaving the dining room from dinner. She washed the earth from her face and hands, stripped off her stained clothes, and crawled beneath the blankets as exhaustion overtook her.

In the seconds before she fell into a hard sleep, she realized the difference was peace.

CHAPTER 14

S
UNLIGHT BATHED THE ROOM WHEN
S
AVANNAH AWOKE.
E
VERY
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.”

S
HAUN 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.

S
AVANNAH 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.