The Heart of Memory (3 page)

She left them chuckling at her relief and reclaimed her place on the couch. They all came in together, plates heaped with side dishes and desserts. Savannah was supposed to have supplied the main dish. “Sorry again, girls.”

“No worries.” Mary sat on the opposite end of the couch and set her drink on the end table. “More room for Colleen’s cheesecake.”

“So what’s your diagnosis, Van?” asked Andi.

“I don’t know. Just the flu, I guess.”

“Weird time of year for the flu.”

She shrugged. “Leave it to me to pick it up on the off-season.”

“When was the last time you were sick? I mean, seriously, in the twenty years I’ve known you I think I’ve only seen you sick, like, twice.”

“I had a cold right before my second tour with Women of the Word.”

“I remember that!” Colleen snapped her fingers. “You were worried you wouldn’t be well in time.”

“But you were over that in, like, three days. I remember calling to see if I could bring dinner for Shaun and Jessie, and you were already past the worst of it.”

“Yeah, you’re so good to your body, you’ll be over this by Friday, easy.” Mary grinned. “Now, if it were me,” she said, waving a hand to indicate her ample figure, “I’d be bedridden for a week. I wish I had your self-discipline at the gym—and the kitchen. And the grocery store.” The others laughed, but Savannah shook her head.

“This isn’t going to be as easy to get rid of, I don’t think. I’ve never felt this awful in my life. Honestly, it’s kind of disconcerting.”

“Well, I hate to bring it up, Van, but you are getting older.”

“Mary!” Andi laughed.

“Well, it’s true! You’re, what, nearly forty-seven, you work like a maniac, you just got back from nearly three months on the road. Your body is just plain worn out, sister. Of course you feel the worst you’ve ever felt. When was the last time you got sick at the tail end of so much activity?”

“That’s true,” Colleen said.

Savannah pouted. “Not that it makes me feel any better.”

“I know.” Mary gave her a sympathetic smile. “But seriously, you’re going to be fine. The flu can be pretty dangerous, though. Go to your doctor if you’re really and truly worried. Just don’t be surprised if he tells you you need to relax a little. Like you said, it’s been a long time since you got sick. You’re just due for a good hard knock to the immune system.”

The conversation turned to homeopathic flu treatments, and Savannah let the others chat and eat while she sat back and sipped her water. Mary was probably right. Just a flu, maybe a bad one, but nothing she couldn’t handle.
Right?

She just couldn’t shake the feeling, though, that she was wrong.

J
ESSIE WAS ON HER WAY
to turn off the
Open
sign when Torrie grabbed her elbow as she walked past the Bibles. “Jess, this customer is looking for Lutton’s
Biblical Parenting.
Could you check the shelves? I’ve got a customer on hold on the office phone.”

Jessie smiled at the woman and tilted her head towards Marriage & Family. “Sure, it’s right over here.”

The woman fell in step behind her. “I looked once but didn’t see it. The computer said you had it, though.”

“Someone might have mis-shelved it; happens all the time. I’m pretty sure we had at least a couple copies, though.” She ran a finger along the spines, then knelt to check the bottom shelf. “Ah ha! Here we go.” She pulled a copy and handed it to the customer. “Great book, too. Can I help you with anything else?”

“No, that’s all.”

Jessie walked her to the front and rang up her purchase. Once the customer was gone, she flipped the switch on the sign and locked the door. Closing didn’t take her long, and when she finished her job she poked her head in the stockroom where Torrie was doing inventory. “I’m outta here. See you tomorrow.”

“Will do — oh, wait a minute.” Torrie nodded to an open-top box on the floor. “Copies of your mom’s books for that fundraiser we’re helping with. Think you could take them home and have her sign them?”

Jessie had forgotten all about those, but being reminded made her question whether she’d gotten this job solely because of the access it would give Torrie to Savannah. It was the kind of thing she’d hoped to avoid. Were it not for her love of books, she wouldn’t have applied at all. She hoisted the box with a grimace. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Tell her thanks for me.”

“Will do.”

Jessie backed out of the front door, grimacing under the weight of the box. Hardbacks were a pain to move—but they made great gifts. The private Christian school where they were helping with the fundraiser would make a mint selling the autographed copies.

She dropped the box into the front seat of her car, and the inventory list blew off the top. Her mother’s face smiled up at her from the book’s cover. She tossed her purse over it and shut the door.

Once home, she was not at all surprised to see her mother asleep on the couch. The first few times she’d found her that way, Jessie had been stunned. She’d never seen her mother nap. Savannah never had the time. But this flu she had was really kicking her butt. Jessie wasn’t happy that her mother was miserable, but she did feel a teensy bit smug at seeing her laid out as badly as Jessie had been when she’d had the flu last year.

Human after all.

The uncharitable thought burned in her spirit. It had been a particularly bad day for the kindness of her thoughts toward her mother. She’d overheard one customer gushing to another about Savannah’s talk at the conference, which had then segued into a hearsay-based discussion of her marriage and family life. Jessie had bitten back a correction, not wanting to reveal her own identity. But hearing her mother nearly sainted by two total strangers had really gotten under her skin.

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.

S
HAUN 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.

CHAPTER 3

S
AVANNAH 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.

Ten minutes later she dragged herself from bed and into the shower. The improvement in mood that usually came with a hot shower eluded her yet again. She combed out her hair but skipped styling it, then dressed in yoga pants and a T-shirt before going downstairs. She’d start with a good breakfast; she hadn’t had one since she’d been home. She knew she needed to eat, despite the fact that she had no appetite. But once she faced the refrigerator, all inspiration left her. She shut it and slumped onto the couch instead.

“I thought I heard you down here.” Shaun came out of his office and kissed the top of her head. “Just getting ready to go. Can I make you something to eat?”

“That’s sweet, but I don’t know what to have. Just make me anything.”

“You’ve got it.” He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Savannah to stare out the window at the stand of trees at the back of their property. After a week spent this way, she had every tree just about memorized.

Shaun set a plate with toast and grapes on the table beside her, and held out a mug of tea. “Anything else I can do for you before I leave?”

“No, but do you think I should go to the doctor?”

“That’s your call, hon. I know how you are about doctors.”

She sighed. “I know. I’m just afraid something is really wrong.”

He sat beside her. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. This just doesn’t seem right, though. No one else is sick; it’s not like this is going around.”

“Maybe not here, but maybe it is in Omaha, or wherever you were before that stop.”

She sighed. “Maybe. But …”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her against his chest. “Look, Van, you need to listen to your gut. If you think it’s serious, then make an appointment with Dr. Helms. But if you’re just discouraged because it’s taking so long, then look for something to do today that will keep your mind busy so you’re not dwelling on it. It’s not like you’re not improving at all; your fever is gone and you don’t hurt as much, right?”

“Yes, you’re right.” She sat up. “Go to work, honey. I’ll talk to you later.”

He gave her another kiss, then left her with her breakfast. She opened her Bible and read while she ate, though her mind was only half engaged with the text. The other half was thinking about her symptoms. When she realized she wasn’t comprehending anything she read, she shut her Bible and opened her journal to the back page and wrote “Symptoms.” She followed it with a bullet-point list.

• Weakness
  
• Exhaustion
  
• Melancholia
  

Writing them down made her realize she didn’t have as many symptoms as she thought she did. The ones she did have didn’t seem as concerning when she wrote them out. Shaun was probably right, she was just discouraged.

Although …

She went to the bookshelf in their bedroom and pulled a medical encyclopedia from the lower shelf. She’d purchased the thick volume when Jessie was born, paranoid that her daughter might be sick one day and she wouldn’t know what to do for her, though in the end it had rarely been used. She flipped to the flow charts that helped diagnose based on symptoms and checked each one until she found the one she wanted. She moved her finger along the page, following the path from box to box, until she reached the end.

Possible Diagnoses:

Anemia

Underactive Thyroid

Pregnancy

She shut the book.
Pregnancy?

She laughed out loud for a brief moment, then moved more quickly than she had in a week to her Daytimer. She flipped the pages back until she saw the red circle, then wracked her brain for a memory of the last time she and Shaun had been intimate. She’d been on the tour for three months … but made a stop at home in July. She looked again at the date and did the math.

“Oh my goodness.”

It wasn’t possible, was it? She was forty-seven years old, for heaven’s sake. Underactive thyroid made much more sense — but would that hit as fast as this had? She wondered the same about anemia. Whereas pregnancy symptoms
could
hit strong out of nowhere. She’d been pregnant three times, and each time the signs had turned on as though flipped by a switch.

She thought back to her pregnancies, looking for similarities between how she felt then and now. The exhaustion, the lethargy, even the blue mood — she’d experienced all of them. Granted, she hadn’t had a fever.
But what if I really did have the flu first?

It was possible. She could hardly believe it, but it was definitely possible.

She crawled back under the covers, seeking a safe place to let her emotions unravel. A baby, at this age, with their only other child already halfway through college—talk about completely un-ideal. They’d never know each other, Jessie and the baby. Jessie would be more like an aunt than a sister. And at her age, Savannah would certainly be considered high-risk, which would mean frequent appointments, ultrasounds, and other medical interventions she was not a fan of. Not to mention the toll it would take on her ministry. The timing was, in all ways, absolutely horrible.

She pulled the sheets to her chin and curled on her side, eyes squeezed shut. What was the point of even thinking about the effects of a baby on her life? If she really was pregnant, then the likelihood of her carrying it to term was small. She couldn’t bear the thought of going through another miscarriage — the dreams dashed, the hopeless labor, the raging emotions with no baby to hold on to and anchor her.
Please, God, not again.

She stayed in bed, overwhelmed at the possibility, until the sun shifted and shone on her face. She sat up and forced herself from bed. She knew it was ridiculous to let her imagination run like that when it was possible to confirm — or rule out — the pregnancy with a home test. She just had to go buy one.

She hadn’t left the house in a week. The idea of going out was enough to distract her. She pulled a baseball cap over her head and tied on her gym shoes, focusing her thoughts on where she would go to buy a test and not on what it might tell her.

She drove to the pharmacy six blocks from their house, then turned around and left. It would not be a good idea to risk being seen by someone who knew her. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to know this might be happening. She got on the freeway and went south, then took the last exit before leaving Colorado Springs and stopped at the closest gas station to get directions to a pharmacy. She still might be seen, but it was much less likely.

It felt good to be out. She spotted a coffee shop and nearly stopped, but then remembered caffeine wasn’t good for the baby.
Not that it matters. It’s not like it will live long.

The callousness of her thoughts surprised her. That wasn’t like her—even if it were true.
And what if this is the one that sticks? God could work a miracle, right?

She pulled into the pharmacy parking lot and shut off the car, dwelling on that last thought. He
could
work a miracle. She really could have another baby, if God willed it. And to get pregnant now, after all this time, even though they used protection—that really would be God, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t help her conceive only to put her through the same pain yet again, would he?

She entered the store, eyes peeled for familiar faces, and sought out the right aisle. She was stunned when she found it. It had been fifteen years since the last time she’d been pregnant, and the home pregnancy test industry had exploded since then. With so many choices — and having taxed her mental energy too much already just by driving — she couldn’t discern which test was the best. She grabbed the most expensive box, reasoning that it must be the most accurate, then grabbed one more just to be safe.

She went through the check out, feeling oddly embarrassed with her purchase, then went back to the car with her hat pulled low. Once safe inside, she ripped open a box to read the instructions. Her heart sank when she read that it was better to wait until first thing in the morning. How would she ever make it that long?

She drove home, frustrated and utterly spent from all the activity. After stashing the boxes in her bathroom drawer, she crawled back into bed to try to sleep. But for the first time all week, sleep eluded her. She couldn’t stop thinking about the chance to hold a newborn again.

T
HE SLAM OF THE DOOR
awoke her. She opened one eye to check the clock and sighed; she had just fallen asleep. She pulled the sheet up to her chin and shut her eyes again, but a knock at the door brought them back open. “Come in.”

Jessie appeared in the doorway, looking sheepish. “I woke you up; I’m sorry.”

“No, baby, that’s okay.” Savannah pushed herself upright and winced at the thudding that commenced in her head. “Did you need something?”

“I’m packing for school but can’t find my bedding. I went to the cleaners, thinking it was still there from when we brought it in back in May, but they didn’t have it. Do you know where it is?”

“Bedding, bedding …” Savannah swung her legs off the edge of the bed and stood. “I think I got it when I picked up some of my speaking suits. Let me check the closet.” Jessie followed her in, and Savannah glanced around to make sure there were no traces of her pregnancy test packaging around. The thought brought another to mind: Jessie was in her first real relationship, and while Adam was an upstanding young man, and Jessie herself had a smart head on her shoulders, Savannah knew there was no difference in hormones between them and any other twenty-year-olds.

And with that, Savannah realized in a panic she’d never talked to her daughter about sex. The public school had beaten her to it, and since Jessie hadn’t dated in junior high or high school, Savannah hadn’t seen the point in bringing up such an awkward subject. But now, with Jessie and Adam so serious, and heaven only knew what kind of supervision was going on at the college, Savannah knew she should probably bring it up.

She’d been lucky so far—Jessie had grown up just fine even though Savannah hadn’t been able to spend all the time with her during those years that she’d planned. But who knew what disasters might be avoided if she did the motherly thing and brought up the topic now, uncomfortable as it may be? It had been a long time since she and Jessie had engaged in a good heart-to-heart, and these opportunities came less and less frequently; she should grab this one while she still could.

“So, Jessie,” Savannah began, trying to sound casual as she examined the contents of her closet, “you and Adam are pretty serious, I know… May I ask what the two of you are doing to keep your relationship pure?”

Jessie’s eyes went wide before she sputtered, “What —
pure?
Oh my gosh, Mom, are you asking if we’re having sex?”

“No, no, no — I’m asking what you’re doing to make sure you
don’t
have sex.”

“No way, Mom. I am not having this conversation.” Jessie’s face was red. “I totally can’t believe you just went there.”

“Honey, listen, I was dating your father at your age, and I vividly remember wanting—”

“So help me, if you talk to me about having sex with Dad—”

“Good gracious, no!” Savannah was flustered. “I wasn’t going to give any details. I’m just saying I remember the temptation and how difficult it was to handle sometimes, and I wanted to make sure you had a plan in place to handle that temptation when it came your way.”

Jessie’s hands covered her face. “Gross, gross, gross. I cannot believe we’re having this conversation.” Her hands slid down her cheeks. “We’re not gonna have sex, Mom, okay?”

“Alright, honey, I’m glad you’re resolved not to. But listen, if you find yourself struggling you can always come and talk to me, okay?”

Jessie let out a snort. “Yeah, okay.”

“What do you mean, ‘Yeah, okay’?”

Jessie rolled her eyes. “Nothing.”

Savannah pulled the bedding, still in plastic, from the bottom of a pile of off-season clothing. “Not nothing. What?”

Her daughter’s eyes were focused on the striped duvet cover. “No offense, Mom, but you and I don’t really talk about that kind of thing.”

“Well, no, we haven’t—but we haven’t needed to, either.”