The Heart of Memory Read Online Free PDF Page A

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