“THE LAST ITEM OF BUSINESS IS FOR ME TO ANNOUNCE WE’RE going to be moving to a new location in January. It’s not too far, just off West Uintah. I specifically tried to find something that would keep the change in your commute times at a minimum. It’s a great location, nice neighborhood. I’m going to give up my office and join the rest of you in the cubes, and we may need to combine a couple of you in a cube together, but when we make the move we’ll figure that out.”
Shaun looked around at the blank faces of the staff. He’d expected some kind of a reaction, but they didn’t seem to care. Unfortunately, these were the expressions he saw more often than not these days. “So… when I finalize things with the management company I’ll let you know when our moving date is. Any questions?” He was met again with silence. “Alright then, have a good Monday.”
He followed them as they shuffled out, noting how conversation didn’t begin between anyone until he was about to close his office door. He was losing them, he could tell. This did not bode well.
He set aside the notes from the meeting and woke his computer. He checked for new email, then clicked the icon on his desktop that opened his account with his online stock broker. It had been almost a week since he’d purchased that stock, and he just knew one of these mornings he’d open his account and see the little green line shooting up.
When it loaded, he almost had a heart attack. The little green line had plummeted. The amount listed as the worth of his purchase was a fraction of what it had been. He scrambled to open a web browser and look up the company’s website, and once he was there he wanted to cry.
A lawsuit over patent infringement. This can’t be happening.
He read the article listed on the website, which assured stockholders that the plaintiff in the case didn’t have a leg to stand on, and once the case got to court it would certainly be thrown out.
But that did him no good if it took months to get that far. He needed to get that money back now.
He put a sell alert on his stock, hoping to recover at least part of what he’d spent. Something would be better than nothing-though not by much.
He grabbed his keys to leave, then sat back down. He couldn’t afford to waste gas on aimless driving, even if it did help him think. He was stuck here.
He was stuck, period.
SAVANNAH’S KNEE BOUNCED AS SHE flipped through a six-month-old magazine without reading its contents. She’d gotten to Dr. Boxer’s office with ten minutes to spare and was now wishing she’d spent them in the car. Knowing she was about to be analyzed made her nervous, and she began to wonder if choosing a non-Christian therapist had been a good idea. She’d wanted to avoid people who would likely tell her to just pray harder, and people who would likely know who she was, but at least their approach would be somewhat familiar. She had no idea what to expect here.
Dr. Boxer’s office door opened and a young couple came out holding hands. That gave Savannah some hope. A few minutes later a woman about her own age popped her head out of the door and smiled at her. “Savannah Trover? Come on in.”
Savannah smoothed her pantsuit as she stood. She wasn’t sure why she’d felt compelled to dress up, but it seemed like a good idea. She was kicking herself now for not dressing in something more comfortable. The suit just added to her sense of unfamiliarity with her own self.
Dr. Boxer nodded to a couch set under the window. “Feel free to take a seat. I just need to switch my files around here.” Savannah sat and looked around the office while the doctor fiddled with some papers on her desk. After a minute she sat across from Savannah with a notepad and pen. “So, Savannah, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
“Why don’t you start by telling me what brought you in today?”
Savannah took a deep breath to calm her nerves. “Well, I had a heart transplant about two and a half months ago.” She explained the circumstances leading up to it, even though the details weren’t pertinent; she needed time to acclimate to telling a complete stranger about her most intimate thoughts. “And I feel like every day when I wake up I discover something else that has changed about me, or my personality, or the things I liked or didn’t like. And it’s not just in my head; my family and coworkers have noticed it too. But the worst part is that I have this anger that I just can’t shake. I don’t know why I’m so mad, but I am, all the time, and it doesn’t take a lot for me to really show it.”
Dr. Boxer pulled a form from a desk drawer and handed it to Savannah. Depression Inventory. “Do any of these apply to you?”
Savannah scanned the list. Are you often sad or irritable? Have you noticed changes in your sleep patterns? Have you lost interest in activities you once enjoyed? Her frustration mounted as she saw where this would likely lead. “Well, yes,” she said after reading all ten items. “They all apply, actually. But not because I’m depressed, because I’m not.”
Dr. Boxer nodded as she wrote on the notepad. “It’s quite common for transplant recipients to experience a wide swing in moods after their operation. Depression is very common-”
“But this isn’t depression; it’s anger. I’ve counseled people with depression before. I know what it looks like. This is anger.”
“Anger is very common as well.”
“For people who lost out on a lot of their life waiting for a heart-yes, I’ve read about that. But that’s not true in my case. I went from healthy to transplant in less than a month.”
“Anger can also be a symptom of depression.”
“But I’m not depressed!” She took a deep breath, trying not to let her anger get the best of her. “Depression and anger are obviously two different things, otherwise we wouldn’t have two separate words for them. I’m angry. And more importantly, I’m angry at God, around whom my entire pre-transplant life revolved. A little anger would make sense, but not this much-and not at someone that I wouldn’t have even considered blaming before. Now I don’t think he’s even there to be blamed. And that makes no sense. It scares me. I’m not me anymore. And I want to get back to who I was.”
Dr. Boxer’s even expression made Savannah want to slap her. “I understand that, Savannah. But until you’re willing to work with me and with what I believe is your diagnosis, you’re not going to get any better.”
Savannah tried not to roll her eyes. “Alright, what is my diagnosis?”
“I believe you’re suffering from clinical depression, and I propose that you see your doctor about starting an antidepressant. We can continue to meet, if you want to, to work through the underlying issues that are manifesting themselves as anger toward God.”
Savannah slouched back in the couch, resigned to the fact that this woman had no idea what she was talking about. “Fine, fine – I’ll call my doctor.” She stood and gave Dr. Boxer’s hand a brief shake, then left the appointment twenty minutes early.
She knew she’d never be able to explain it to the therapist, whose mind was obviously made up, but Savannah just knew she wasn’t depressed. It made sense that no one would believe her, but she wasn’t going to play along with a diagnosis that she knew was incorrect, and she certainly wasn’t about to add yet another pill to her daily regimen.
She sat in the car and tried to decide her next move. She didn’t want to, but she knew her best bet was likely going to be with Rose, the counselor to whom A &A often directed local women when they called for advice. She and Rose had known each other for almost ten years, and while they weren’t close friends, Savannah hoped Rose knew her well enough to know she wasn’t in denial about being depressed.
She called Marisa on her cell and got Rose’s number, then called the counselor’s office. “Rose? It’s Savannah Trover.”
“Savannah! Honey, how are you – I heard about the surgery.”
“Well, you know… I’m not that great, actually. I was wondering if I could come talk to you some time this week?”
“This week? Nonsense. Can you come at 5?”
She smiled in spite of herself. Maybe this is a good omen. “Tonight? Yes, absolutely.”
“Wonderful. I’ll carry in some sandwiches and we can chat.”
Savannah hoped the encouragement she already felt wasn’t misleading her. They rang off and she headed home to change out of the ridiculous pantsuit and into her new jeans.
Savannah pulled up to Rose’s office at five and smiled when she saw the Jimmy John’s Sandwich delivery car in the lot. She went in just as the delivery boy came out, and was quickly greeted with a hug from Rose. “Come on in, honey. I’ve got a sandwich right here for you. Just pull up a chair to my desk.” Savannah did as she was told, then froze when Rose said, “Shall we pray?”
Deciding then and there to be completely transparent, Savannah said, “Actually, I’d prefer that we didn’t.”
Rose didn’t even blink, but instead pointed to the sandwich in front of Savannah and said, “Turkey and swiss. I hope that’s alright. I didn’t even think to get your order when we were on the phone.”
“That’s perfect. Thank you.”
“So you had your transplant back in August, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Is the reason you’re here today related to that?”
“I think so, yes.”
“I don’t have any first-hand experience counseling people who have gone through transplants, just so you know. I’ve read case studies in the past, but nothing recent.”
“That’s alright. From what I gather the things I’m experiencing aren’t very common, so I don’t know how much help extra experience would have been for you anyway.”
Rose’s eyebrows arched. “Well, now I’m curious. Do tell.”
So she did, trying not to gloss over anything as often happened when telling a story for a second time in a day. Rose nodded along as she ate and listened, and when she finished Savannah sat back and gestured with her soda in a “voila” kind of way. “I don’t need to tell you how devastating this is to my entire life, Rose. I need to figure out what’s happened, and get it fixed.”
Rose dabbed her mouth with a napkin, then sat back and gave Savannah the answer she’d been hoping not to hear. “I don’t know what to tell you, honey. I agree it doesn’t sound like depression, though. I’ve never heard of this kind of a reaction to a transplant, but I can tell you that God created us in such a way as for all our facets to be integrated-the physical affects the emotional and the spiritual, and vise versa. You sound pretty well-versed in the basics of the emotional effects, but I’m just as clueless as you when it comes to the spiritual. If you don’t mind, I’d like to consult with a few other professionals who might have a little more experience with this, see what they have to say. I won’t use your name, of course.”
Savannah nodded, though her spirits sank. “That would be fine, Rose. I appreciate your trying to help.”
“Of course, honey. Just wish I could offer you more right now.”
Savannah gave her a small smile. “Me too.”
BACK AT HOME, SAVANNAH DECIDED it was time to pull out the big guns. It wasn’t the approach Shaun was likely to approve of, but it was the only option left she could think of. She wasn’t about to waste her time bouncing from clueless therapist to clueless therapist, rehashing her personal life over and over and getting the same response. She needed to talk to someone who had lived through at least some of what she was experiencing. She woke her computer and brought up a search engine, then typed in the name of her old college roommate, her former best friend, the woman she hadn’t talked to in twenty years. Tabitha Vaughn.
Google returned only seven pages of links. She scanned the first page, then the second, wondering if she should save herself some time and trouble and just pay for the people finder website that came up as the top hit. Then her eye caught something familiar: the name of Christ College of Colorado, their alma mater. She clicked the link and found Tabitha’s bio on the college’s alumni page. It hadn’t been updated in about six years, but it listed her location as Georgia. She went to one of the social networking sites Shaun had bugged her to join once and typed “Tabitha Vaughn” + Georgia into the search box. Only two profiles appeared, including one that was marked as private, but the picture next to the name was definitely her.
Seeing Tabitha’s face after so long brought back a deluge of memories. Double dates, sneaking out-and back in – after curfew, studying for finals and envying how easily Tabitha’s straight A’s came to her. She was reminded yet again of the falling out that had come right after their graduation. She chewed her lip, debating. Was this worth it?
No harm in trying- or at least, not much. She clicked a link beneath Tabitha’s name and began writing her a message.
Dear Tabitha,
She stopped, thinking. What did one say to someone after twenty years? Should she ease into things, not explain right away her reasons for tracking her down? Should she apologize? An apology over email didn’t seem appropriate, given how harsh she’d been the last day they’d spoken. But then what should she say?
She agonized for a few minutes before giving up on propriety.
I know this is out of nowhere, and I hope you’ll forgive me for being so forward, but I’m desperate for some help and you’re the only person I can think of that might understand what I’m going through. If you’d be willing to talk to me – and I’ll understand if you aren’t-please call me.
She ended with her name and phone number, then her email address in case Tabitha couldn’t handle such an intimate exchange. She waited expectantly, watching her inbox for a new message, then chided herself for her impatience and went to the kitchen for tea.
The phone rang as she was stirring in the sugar. Her nerves jangled with each ring as she gathered her courage to answer. She picked it up just before it went to voicemail. “H-hello?”
“Savannah Robertson Trover, is that really you?”
Tabitha’s jovial tone put Savannah at ease. She could practically hear her friend’s smile, and could certainly picture it. “It is. Wow – it’s been too long. And it’s my fault. Tabitha, I am so sorry. So truly, deeply sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
Tabitha made a familiar noise of dismissal. “Water under the bridge. Forgiven and forgotten a long time ago.”
“I don’t deserve to be let off the hook that easily.”
“I could call you a couple names if it would make you feel better.”
She laughed, though it made her sad to realize how long she’d gone without the wit and insights and love of the only person, besides Shaun, with whom she’d ever felt a soul connection. “Oh, Tabs. It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“It’s good to hear yours, too. Though I’ve got to ask-are you alright? Because your message sure sounded concerning.”
Savannah gripped the phone tighter and begged the universe for Tabitha’s understanding and help. “The very short story is that my faith is… gone.”
“Oh. Goodness.”
“Yes, you could say that.”
“What happened?”
“Well, that’s the funny part. I don’t know. I mean, I honestly don’t know. I had a heart transplant-”
“I heard about that. Could hardly believe it given how healthy you always were.”
“I know, right? And ever since, it’s like my spirituality has just disappeared. And I don’t have anyone I can talk to here who understands. I – I thought you might be able to offer me a little commiseration.”
Tabitha’s laughter was sympathetic. “Oh, girlfriend. Can I ever. I’ll bet you’re feeling pretty claustrophobic. Isolated, too.”
“Yes, exactly!”
“Why don’t you come visit me?”
Savannah gasped. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. We’ve got plenty of room. Fly into Atlanta; I’ll give you our address. Just come whenever you want. I’m always here.”
Savannah scanned her calendar, which held nothing but two doctor appointments. “Provided I can get a flight with my miles, I can come the day after tomorrow. Wednesday.”
“Pot roast night; you’ll love it.”
Savannah laughed, a feeling of lightness buoying her soul for the first time in months. “I can’t wait. And I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me neither. Listen, I have an appointment in ten, so I need to run. Let me give you my contact info.”
Savannah copied the address and phone number into her calendar, and they rang off with a promise to spend many hours catching up. Savannah couldn’t stop smiling as she looked up the number of her primary airline to book her flight.
THE SOUND OF SHAUN COMING in took her by surprise. It was only eight-thirty. She briefly wondered if something was wrong, then decided she honestly didn’t care.
It was another twenty minutes before he came up to the bedroom and froze in the doorway. “You’re leaving?”
She set the sweater she was holding into her suitcase. “Not the way you might think. I’m going to Georgia tomorrow.”
“Georgia? Tomorrow? What on earth for?”
She set another sweater on the pile. “Believe it or not, I’m going to see Tabitha.”
“Tabitha Vaughn?”
“We know any other Tabithas?”
“Well – I’m just surprised.”
“I know, me too. Surprised but very excited.” She dumped a handful of balled up socks into the suitcase’s corner. “And I didn’t mean for it to be such a shock; I hadn’t planned on going until Wednesday, but I was able to turn in some of my miles for a flight tomorrow, so I figured I might as well. I’m going to leave straight from my clinic visit.”
Shaun sat hard on the corner of the bed. “Okay, just-wait a minute. Why are you doing this? What’s going on?”
She shrugged. “Let’s call it a sabbatical.”
“Um… okay.”
She raised her eyebrows as she met his baffled gaze. “You know why I’m going to see her, right? You get the connection?”
“Well, yes – I just didn’t think, after twenty years…”
“I know, me neither.”
“Where are you staying?”
“With her.”
He watched her for another minute as she finished packing away her clothes. “Huh. Well, alright then. Have fun, I guess.”
“Thanks.”
He stood and wandered into the closet, then came out in his running gear and disappeared into the hall. She heard the door open and shut a few minutes later and frowned. He hadn’t seemed particularly broken up about her leaving. She was briefly irritated at his nonchalance. Despite how ugly things had been with them lately, she still would have expected at least a little more interest.
Not that I’ve been a real joy to live with lately. She forced herself to acknowledge the truth as she folded her sweats. And the more she thought about it, the clearer it became that she wasn’t very sad about leaving Shaun, either. Maybe this trip would solve a couple problems at once: help her get her head on straight, and if she was really lucky, the absence would make both Shaun’s heart and hers grow fonder.
SHAUN WATCHED SAVANNAH WALK INTO the terminal before pulling away from the curb. He’d never felt so unmoved by her leaving. Actually, unmoved wasn’t quite accurate. In truth, he felt relieved.
Back home, he relished the silence of the house, knowing he had the place to himself, even if it was just for a few days. He could think so much better with no interruptions, no need for careful plotting to avoid running into his wife in the hallway. And heaven knew he had a lot of thinking to do.
He’d checked the credit card statements online the night before, looking for the expenses Savannah was raking up on this little jaunt. She had rented a car, at a total of almost three hundred dollars for the four days she’d be gone, and that was before gas. She’d get something to eat at the airport, most likely-possibly at both of them. Another twenty dollars? Luckily she wasn’t big on doing touristy things; she preferred to talk to people. Or at least, that’s how she used to be. Maybe the new Savannah was a shutterbug who couldn’t wait to see the local claim to fame. He wouldn’t know.
Either way, these were more expenses he hadn’t been expecting. The card Savannah typically used was nearing its limit; he probably should have warned her about that before she left. He’d been avoiding that conversation for a while now, knowing it would inevitably turn into her berating him for answers as to why he had only been paying the minimum balance for so long. But he wasn’t ready to have that discussion.
Shaun tried to look on the bright side. With Savannah gone, the part of his brain that focused so much these days on avoiding confrontation would be freed up to figure out how he was going to get out of this financial mess. And I might as well start right now. He headed for his office and stood before the white board he used for brainstorming. What resources can we produce without Savannah having to actually do anything? He wrote the thought at the top of the board, then stared at it, waiting for inspiration.
Compilation CD? Perhaps a collection of some of her talks. Women of the Word owned the rights to the presentations she’d done on tour, but A &A had some recordings of independent events, some of them dating back quite a ways. That was definitely a possibility.
The idea sparked another. Compilation book? His marker squeaked over the board as he ruminated. Perhaps – a Complete Savannah Trover Library or something similar. Maybe he could add the transcripts of a couple of her more popular presentations, to give readers more incentive to buy it if they already had some of the other books.
Worship CD? He shook his head as soon as he was done writing it, knowing it was too soon after the release of the last worship CD they’d compiled. Those were expensive to produce, too, and he wanted to put out as little capital as possible on whatever project they did.
He continued to brainstorm throughout the morning, then stopped for lunch and a run. On his way back to the house he picked up the mail, and seeing the bank statement in the pile squelched his runner’s high. Would this be the statement that showed bounced checks? He didn’t let himself tear into it on the street like he wanted to, but waited until he was back in his office before ripping open the envelope and facing the unavoidable. Two of them, and no money in savings for overdraft protection. He breathed deeply to keep himself from vomiting.
He took a three-minute shower and came back to his office to brainstorm. An email from her sat in his inbox. He clicked it, numb to whatever it had to say. The message was simple. You’re a day late. “And a dollar short,” he muttered. “Ten thousand of them, in fact. Deal with it, Carlie. You’re not getting any blood from this stone. I’m all dried up.” He was proud of himself for not letting her email get to him. Obviously she was all bark and no bite.
The phone rang, jarring him from his thoughts. He was surprised to see Marisa’s number on the caller ID. “Hey, Marisa. Listen, I’m not going to be going in today-”
“That’s fine. I’m not either. Savannah emailed me about her trip and told me to take a vacation.”
Shaun chuckled without humor. “How benevolent of her. So what are you going to do with your free time?”
“Well, that’s why I’m calling. I think we need to talk.”