The Heart of Memory (12 page)

She now saw the irony.

Savannah went to Jessie’s room and knocked. She opened the door when “come in” was muttered, and leaned against the doorframe. “I’m … I’m sorry, Jessie.”

“Thanks.” Her daughter’s tone suggested she didn’t think the apology very heartfelt.

“Listen—why don’t we do something this weekend, since Adam is going to be tied up anyway. Why don’t we go somewhere—like a spa.”

Jessie’s breath left her like a deflating balloon. “A spa? Seriously? I never even paint my nails, Mom. Not that you’ve probably ever noticed.”

She was right.

It was obvious Jessie had no intention of letting this smooth over and be done with. Their problems had been a decade in the making; one spa invitation wouldn’t make things right, but Savannah had no idea what to do. She shut the door and went back to her computer to lose herself on the forums.

S
HAUN COULDN’T SLEEP. HE’D BEEN
staring at the ceiling for over an hour when he finally got up and tiptoed from the bedroom so as not to wake Savannah. She’d told him about her conversation with Jessie, and it had broken his heart to see Savannah so wounded by the realizations she’d come to. He’d been unable to answer her, however, when she’d asked why he’d never said anything to her about her attitude.

“We’ve been doing this for ten years and you never once told me I was turning into a prima donna. Why didn’t you stop me, speak some sense into me?”

He’d squirmed beneath her stare, unwilling to confront his own shortcomings. He already had enough to hate himself for. He’d made up some excuse about not wanting to encroach on her personal approach to ministry, but she hadn’t bought it. Thankfully she hadn’t pushed him for a better answer.

Sure, maybe he should have challenged her more in regards to Jessie’s and her relationship—but what did he know about mothers and daughters? He’d been raised in a houseful of boys. When Jessie had been born, dads at church with daughters had warned him of the teen years. He’d just assumed a rocky relationship was par for the course. And the few times he’d spoken up on Jessie’s behalf, Savannah had countered with what sounded to him like a perfectly reasonable excuse for whatever it was she’d said or done to send Jessie crying to him.

He sympathized with Jessie’s frustration; he just wished she had picked a different weekend to dump all this on Savannah. She had enough on her mind without facing the damage she’d done to her daughter. But trying to untangle it now was not going to make her any more confident in writing that book, and that book
needed
to get written. They needed the advance. Jessie’s tuition bill was past due; he’d written a letter to the financial department asking for grace given the unexpected financial hardship they were facing, but he hadn’t heard back yet on whether or not they would be willing to give him some more time.

What frustrated him more was that Savannah wasn’t even trying to write the book. Twice he’d snuck a peek on her laptop to see if she’d started the manuscript, but found no new documents in the word processing program. The file for the outline hadn’t been opened in weeks.

He sat in his office with the lights out, staring at the moon and trying to figure out how to get that book done. Maybe he could hire a ghost writer. It would kill him to have to split the advance, but part of an advance would be better than none at all. Savannah could just write out notes, rather than having to worry about crafting them into something readable; maybe she could go through the finished manuscript and add her own touches here and there so it sounded more like her voice. All it really needed was her name on the front to be a bestseller.

And if they arranged a small book tour to promote it —just ten cities, perhaps, to guard her from exhaustion and overexertion — they’d really be in the clear. That would bring in all they needed, certainly. Savannah could sell hamburgers to a vegan if given the chance; she could easily get this book on the top of the New York Bestseller List if she was able to get in front of people. He knew how important a personal connection with the author could be in increasing sales; maybe if they arranged for signings that didn’t include a presentation and held those in other cities —

The light switched on and he let out a yelp of surprise. Savannah stood in the doorway, looking sheepish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Shaun rubbed a hand over his face as the adrenaline settled. “That’s alright. I was just lost in thought and didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s two in the morning. You’re not still working, are you?”

“No, just couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d come in here rather than risk waking you up.”

She sat in the chair across from his desk. “What’s on your mind?”

Had he been thinking, he wouldn’t have answered the way he did. But instead he made the mistake of being honest. “I was thinking about your book. Maybe we should hire a ghost writer, just to take some of the pressure off you.”

“A ghost writer? Are you serious? What—you think I can’t write anymore?”

“No, Van, it’s not that at all. Just, like I said, to help take the pressure off. I don’t doubt your ability, but I’ve seen how difficult it’s been for you to get going on it. We have a lot riding on this one; we have lots of bills to pay. The sooner we get it done, the better.”

She waved her hand. “That’s what savings are for, Shaun. I know you like to have that safety net; this is when it’s okay to dip into it.”

“Well, between the medical bills and Jessie’s tuition, our savings aren’t going to cut it.” He knew better than to tell her they had none.

“So this is all on me then? It’s up to me to save us, is that what you’re saying? Ha—no pressure or anything.”

He winced at the bitterness in her tone. “No, Van, that’s not how I meant it. I’m just saying that … that God brought you this contract. He’s trying to provide a means for us to deal with these expenses, but we need to do our part.”

“You mean
I
have to do
my
part, as in, this is all on me —just like I said.” She crossed her arms, her expression steely. “So God throws an ‘opportunity’ at me and I don’t have a choice? I just have to take it? What if I don’t want it?”

“What do you mean, ‘throws’ an opportunity at you? You started the book on your own; it’s not like God was twisting your arm. If you didn’t want to write it you shouldn’t have told your agent about it.”

She pushed herself to her feet. “Well, regardless, I don’t feel like dealing with God and his opportunities right now.”

Shaun was confused. “What does that mean?”

But she was already halfway out the door, and if she heard him, she didn’t let on.

He stared at the doorway with his mouth hanging open. What was that about? He knew writing books wasn’t always her favorite thing to do—it was too solitary a task, and she hated the time it took away from relating face-to-face with people. But she knew it was part and parcel with being a speaker, and had always managed to soldier her way through the process anyway. Why was this book any different?

He certainly couldn’t go to bed now; he didn’t want to risk running into a steaming Savannah. He woke his computer, planning on returning a few emails he’d been putting off, but when he opened the program his mouth turned to cotton. Another email from her sat in the inbox. Fear won out and he closed the program without looking at the message. That was the last thing he wanted to think about. He’d read it tomorrow.

Maybe.

W
HAT’S THAT AXIOM ABOUT THE
best-laid plans? Or, even better— Man plans, God laughs. Well, if he’s laughing at this then he’s pretty cruel.

Those were the thoughts in Jessie’s head as Adam drove them back to school Sunday night. The weekend had been an absolute disaster. All her self-analyzing and resolutions aimed at improving things with Savannah had flown right out of her head during their first conversation. It was as though her mouth worked on autopilot. She hadn’t really wanted to fight, but the accusations came almost without her thinking them.
Tears of practice, I suppose. An unfortunate form of muscle memory.

She’d kept herself out of sight for the rest of the weekend, spending as much time at Adam’s as she could. They needed the extra hands anyway, and it wasn’t like she was needed at home. Her dad worked most of the time, even on the weekend, and all her mother did was sit around on the computer—a new hobby, apparently. Jessie wondered if Savannah enjoyed the anonymity of internet forums as much as she did. She had actually been really curious about the forum Savannah was on, and would have liked to have talked with her about it. For once they had something in common. But she’d wrecked any chance of that with her opening salvo.
Old habits die hard. Another fitting cliché

She’d just finished unpacking when her cell rang. Shaun’s name was on the screen. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hey yourself. Back at school?”

“Yeah, just a bit ago.”

“Didn’t get to see you much this weekend.”

Guilt tugged at her gut. “Yeah, I know. Adam’s family needed some help.”

“Well, I’m glad you could help them out. But I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk. I, um, heard you and your mother had an interesting conversation.”

Her defenses rose. “We talked, yes.”

“Sounds more like you ranted.”

“Seriously? You’re going to judge our whole conversation just from her view? That’s not fair.”

“I don’t really think it matters whose view it’s from, your mother doesn’t deserve to be called self-centered.”

“Even when it’s true?”

“Your mother is
not
self-centered. She’s focused.”

“Semantics, Dad.”

“Mind your tone, Jessie.”

She winced. “Sorry. But really, Dad, it’s not like I haven’t told you this stuff before. She just … I don’t know. And honestly, I was trying so hard to be agreeable, but it’s like my brain has these ruts from years of us butting heads, and the minute she says something that rubs me the wrong way I fall right into them and can’t get out. I end up arguing even though I don’t want to. Believe me — “ She swallowed back the lump that was forming in her throat. “I don’t want to fight with her. I don’t. And I really do want for us to get along. But it’s like it doesn’t matter what I do; it’s not gonna happen.”

His voice was softer when he spoke. “I understand, sweetheart. And I’m glad to hear that you’re trying and that you want things to change. They will. Change is hard, especially when the old way of doing things is so ingrained. Keep working at it, keep praying for a change of heart—it’ll come.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And in the meantime, I think an apology would be a good idea.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

“You were pretty disrespectful, Jessie. And your mom is having a hard enough time right now.”

“Is she going to apologize to me?”

“Should we only apologize when we’re receiving an apology as well?”

“No, but that’s not the point.”

“Don’t worry about what your mother does or doesn’t do. Just do what
you
need to do.”

Anger made the tears start. “Yeah, I’ll think about it. Gotta go. Bye.” She ended the call and choked back a sob of frustration. This was not how she’d wanted to end her weekend.

She dialed Angie’s number. “Talk me down.”

“Uh oh. What happened?”

“Mom and I had a fight and Dad is totally taking her side and insisting I apologize, even though
she
isn’t going to apologize, as usual.”

“Oy. Details?”

Jessie laid out the conversation, sniffing her way through it and hating how hard it was to talk while crying.

“I’m so sorry, Jess,” Angie said when she finished her story. “I totally get why you’re so upset. But I think your dad is right.”

“What?!”

“Put on the big-girl panties and apologize. You know, that whole fifth commandment thing about honoring your parents.”

“I can’t believe you’re siding with my dad.”

“Oh, come on, Jess, you know I’m not siding with anyone. I really do get how angry you are, and I totally agree that your mom was out of line. But seriously, if you’re wanting to make things better with you guys and break out of the pattern you’re stuck in, then this is a good way to do it.”

Jessie rubbed her eyes and sniffed. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Angie chuckled. “Sorry.”

“I just … seriously, I feel like it’s all a lost cause. She’s never going to change. And I know I really tried only once to make things better, but I feel like it’s always going to be an uphill battle and that it’s not going to work in the end anyway, so why keep trying?”

“That’s uncharacteristically pessimistic of you.”