I will do a good job. I will not let my reputation be tarnished with a poorly written book. I will protect the jobs of my employees and myself by not screwing this up. She chanted these thoughts to herself whenever she felt her focus and attention waning, and managed to make it through the first chapter in just a couple hours. The editor’s notes made sense, and though many of them required that she rewrite large sections of the manuscript, they at least gave her some direction so she knew which way to go and roughly what needed to be said.
The success of the first chapter gave her the energy she needed to continue after a brief lunch. Unfortunately, the notes in the second chapter indicated even larger rewrites, as well as asking her to rethink and redo an entire six-page section. You can do this. You can! She fought to maintain a positive attitude, but as the hours wore on her mind began to wander to the what if’s she’d been trying to avoid. What if the book doesn’t sell? What if my editor is just being nice and this is really just a huge piece of junk? What if people can tell I don’t mean what I say anymore?
She forced herself to stay until four, then packed up as though being timed and made a beeline for Village Inn. Once there she changed her mind and bought an entire pie instead of just a slice. She deserved it-and needed it.
She got home at 4:30 and, after one glance toward the dishes left in the sink from breakfast, decided to forgo dinner in favor of the pie. It was a given now that Shaun would be working late, and she just didn’t have the energy today to prep an entire meal for only one person.
She was on her second slice when the door opened. “Shaun?” Why was he home so early?
He came into the kitchen and she could tell from the anger in his eyes that something was wrong. “What is it?”
He dropped his keys on the counter, then speared her with his stare. “I talked to Kurt today. He told me he and Colleen saw you at the steakhouse with some guy.”
Oh no. “Shaun, it’s not what it sounded like.”
“No?” He looked unconvinced. “What was it then?”
“I had just sent off the book. I’d been in the house for three solid days trying to get that thing done. I just wanted to get out and celebrate a little. But you were gone, so I… I just went. I was just going to get a drink, maybe some food, and enjoy not having that stupid book hanging over my head. But then this guy asked me a question, and we started talking, and he was by himself, and he got an appetizer because I told him it was good so when it came he offered me some.” Shaun’s expression hadn’t changed. “Hand to God, Shaun, that was it. Nothing happened other than a nice conversation with someone. Whatever Colleen and Kurt saw could not have possibly been untoward, because nothing like that was going on. But I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t call you to ask you to come home, or wait to see when you’d get back, or at least tell you about it in case something like this happened. I am truly, truly sorry.”
She braced herself for the inevitable we-need-to-talk-to-Pastor-John speech. If he pulled that card, she would confront him about the mysterious receipts; she’d been holding onto that tidbit for when she needed to divert a probing conversation away from her and her behavior, though honestly she was afraid to hear his response.
But he did not threaten to call in the pastor; he didn’t even continue the conversation. Instead, without a word, Shaun walked past her and into his office, then shut the door.
She sank back onto the couch and held her head in her hands. She was glad he hadn’t kept on her about her night out, but she was also worried about why he hadn’t. Did their marriage not matter to him anymore? Did he not care that they were floating further and further apart, that they barely spoke anymore, that the air was thick with tension when they were alone together? The last time they’d struggled, back when A &A was first starting, he’d practically dragged Pastor John to their house after the service one Sunday, he was so desperate to start counseling and get things back on the right track. His ambivalence this time was disturbing.
She finished her piece of pie, then a third and fourth slice, ignoring the nausea in her stomach and going straight to bed when she was done. Wired from all the sugar, but physically exhausted from a day spent working so hard on the book, she lay unmoving in the bed and let her thoughts run wild. It took two hours for her to fall asleep. She never heard Shaun leave his office. She drifted into dreams making a checklist of ways she’d rebuild her life after he left her, because she was sure that was what he was going to do.
CHAPTER 9
THE REST OF OCTOBER PASSED MUCH LIKE SEPTEMBER HAD: awkwardly. Shaun spent as much time away from home as he could, and Savannah spent as much time away from A &A as she could without it looking as though she was avoiding the place. Operation Old Savannah lasted a couple weeks, but by the end of the month she was exhausted from all the acting. And I didn’t even get an Oscar nomination.
She had successfully transitioned into a full-time loner. Marisa and Shaun were the only two people she spoke with anymore, and she avoided even that interaction as much as possible. Colleen, Andi, Mary, and Bethany had doggedly pursued her, and she had rebuffed them with equal perseverance. Doctor appointments, both real and fabricated, imaginary illnesses or threats of illnesses she’d “heard are going around,” and convenient bouts of depression or insomnia that required long stretches of daytime sleeping had given her plenty of excuses to throw at them when they wanted to get together. They’d even tried showing up on her doorstep uninvited. She didn’t answer the door. She’d banked on Shaun’s recent reticence to socialize to keep their husbands at bay as well, and he had unwittingly come through. Eventually, to her immense relief, they’d finally gotten the hint.
She spent the bulk of her days on her laptop, reading the transplant forum. Or she’d lose herself in novels to escape her new reality. She chose books at the library based on their thickness, and finished even the 800 page tomes in a matter of days. She avoided anything that might make her think about the impending book tour, though the increased severity of her sour stomach – which stole her appetite and the desire to cook-told her that her subconscious was dwelling on it night and day. When the beginning of the tour was finally upon her, she was almost relieved – the sooner she started it the sooner it would end.
The night before the first gig in Colorado Springs, she slept less than three hours and spent most of her awake time dry heaving in the bathroom. She assured Shaun that it was just nerves, and though she was telling the truth, she still felt deceptive. When she awoke in the morning, feeling like death and almost wishing for it, she couldn’t eat breakfast and worked herself into a panic – dropping her notes and scattering the unnumbered pages.
“Savannah, just breathe,” Shaun said, holding her hands in his. They had hardly touched in weeks; the intimacy of the gesture made her feel even worse. “I’ve never seen you such a wreck. Why are you so nervous?”
“I… I don’t know, Shaun. I don’t know. I just am.”
He nodded as though this made sense, then made her sit down while he reassembled her talk. “Here,” he said after setting down the stack of papers. He reached out for her hands again. “Let me pray for you.”
“Please don’t.” The words were out before she could stop them. He looked at her, confused. “I just… I’m afraid it will make me emotional. Even more emotional, that is. I don’t want to start crying and mess up my makeup.”
“Oh. Okay.”
A knock on the door announced Marisa had arrived to pick up Savannah. “Break a leg,” he said to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sure it’ll all come back to you. You’re a natural.”
She gave him a look that said, “What’s natural anymore?” His seemed to sadly agree.
“You ready?” Marisa asked when Savannah opened the door. Her face fell when Savannah’s expression registered. “Oh dear. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She shut the door behind her, the folder of notes clutched tight in her hand. “Just nervous about getting back on the horse.”
“Okay.” Marisa sounded unconvinced. Savannah begged her telepathically not to comment further. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to keep things together.
They didn’t speak as they drove. When they arrived at the church that was hosting the event Savannah’s hands began to shake. She held them tightly in her lap. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Make a crack about being out of practice. They’ll all understand. Just read the talk, get it over with, and you can go home.
And do it nine more times.
Marisa gave her a sharp look when she groaned. “Savannah?”
