The Memory Keeper: A heartwarming, feel-good romance

by Jenny Hale

  “Why don’t y’all go over there tomorrow after you see Gran?” Maura proposed.

  “Sounds good to me,” Hannah replied. “Though does that mean I have to take the papers to her?”

  “We don’t have to bombard her with it first thing,” her mother replied. “We can hold off for the time being…”

  Hannah was happy to be able to help Georgia, even if it was only short term. And a tiny part of her couldn’t wait to get back to The Memory Keeper. Perhaps cleaning it up would keep her mind off her uncertain future for a while.

  Seventeen

  The whole house was still sleeping when Hannah awoke in the morning. She’d taken Gran’s journal with her to make a cup of coffee, quietly turning on the morning news on the TV in the kitchen. She watched long enough to catch the weather. A warm front was moving in.

  Now she sat at the table in the silence of daybreak, peering out the window at Gran’s rocking chairs on the porch. Gran used to sit in one of those rockers every summer. It would be so nice to have coffee with her grandmother out there when the weather got warmer. Would she ever be able to do that again?

  Hannah tried not to contemplate the question. Instead, she decided to read the next entry in Gran’s journal.

  June 5, 1943

  Charles is missing. No one has heard from him since his last letter in March. I’m worried sick. There have been rumors of a battle that took place around where he’d told us he was stationed, but no one can find him or his friend Alvin. I never knew he had a friend named Alvin—his mother told me that Alvin had been his bunkmate. I go to work every day and I am thankful now for the long hours James Williams gives us, because then I don’t have to be alone in my room to ponder all the possibilities of what might have happened to Charles. The not knowing is causing me to guess at what might have transpired over there, and my mind is running wild, keeping me up at night. I pray for his safe return.

  Hannah considered the reality of how it had probably come to be that Gran had ended up with Pop-pop, and her heart sank for Charles. She knew the outcome before she’d even read it.

  Jerry trotted in and jumped up, putting his paws on her leg. Hannah closed the journal and stroked his head.

  “Morning,” Georgia said, padding into the room with a bag of dog food in her hand. She’d donned flannel pajamas and her hair was in a messy ponytail, not much different from her regular style. She set the food bag by the wall and opened the back door in the kitchen to let Jerry out.

  “We don’t have a fence for him,” Hannah warned.

  “It’s okay. He won’t go far. He does his business before breakfast every morning… Is that coffee?”

  “Yeah. Cups are in the top cabinet to the left of the coffee maker.”

  “I love you,” Georgia said, heading over to make herself a cup. Once she’d made her coffee, she joined Hannah at the table and peered out the window at Gran’s rocking chairs. “Those are nice,” she said.

  “Maybe we’ll be able to sit out there soon. The weather’s supposed to be warming up… Unless you find your parents before then.” Hannah put down her mug. “Would you show me their photo?”

  “I’ll go get it.” Georgia let Jerry in and then went back to her room.

  Jerry sniffed around by the dog-food bag, seemingly out of sorts because his breakfast wasn’t ready. He peered up at Hannah.

  “I’ve got nothin’,” she said to him, putting her hands in the air.

  Georgia returned with the photos, setting them in front of Hannah.

  Hannah peered down at the one of Georgia’s parents. “They look like a nice family,” she said, as Georgia poured some dog food into a bowl for Jerry. “And the baby is adorable.” Hannah ran her finger over the blue blanket with miniature anchors on it in the baby’s arms. “Who were your adoptive parents?” she asked.

  “A woman named Betty and her husband Paul. They were great people, but I never really felt like I fit in their family. They were incredibly… traditional,” she said, sitting down with her coffee. She dragged the photo of her birth family over to her with a finger and gazed at it. “I was their ‘wild child,’ as they called me. For years I thought I was, but the older I got, the more I realized that I wasn’t rebellious, I just saw the world differently. While they wanted me to learn chess, I wondered what it would look like to paint my room in vibrant patterns. They signed me up for the science club in school, and I wanted to take dance. Stuff like that.”

  “That had to be hard,” Hannah said.

  Georgia kept her gaze on the photo. “I wondered over the years if my birth parents were creative like I am.”

  “Hopefully, you’ll find out one day.” Hannah sipped her coffee, feeling blessed to have had her family to support her. “What made you start looking for them now?”

  Georgia held her mug in both hands and peered down into the brown liquid. “You got time for a long story?”

  “Of course,” Hannah replied.

  “All right, then. I first started thinking about them at eighteen, when I got pregnant,” she said.

  Hannah stopped mid-sip, her mug dangling from her fingers in front of her. She realized the coffee was about to spill, so she righted it.

  “Paul and Betty were no-nonsense about it. They told me that if I was grown up enough to make that happen, I had to get a job and figure out how to be an adult. I had no idea what to do, but I knew what I didn’t want to do, and that was to be sloggin’ it somewhere in a nine-to-five job. I started takin’ photos and hangin’ ’em up in the grocery store. Every now and again, I’d sell one. The biggest one I ever sold went to a guy named Brent Silva. He was passin’ through and, after a night out at the bar, he offered to give me a ride to Chicago. We dated for a while.

  “Before I knew it, I had a tiny apartment on the outskirts of the city, and I was waitressin’ at the local bar and grill. I’d get so tired by the end of my shift that I could hardly see straight, and I questioned whether I’d have enough energy to come home and take care of a baby. Brent and I split up, and I wondered if it would be better for the child if I gave it up for adoption like my parents had.”

  “Did you?” Hannah asked.

  Georgia shook her head. “Naw. I lost it. It was God’s way of saying, ‘Not yet.’ But by then I liked the freedom of being on my own, away from my parents. I began to see that all the things I’d done ‘incorrectly’ according to them were actually just creative—different. I’d spent my whole life trying to be the wrong thing and feeling like a failure, when I wasn’t. I just couldn’t see that until I got out on my own. I got rid of my apartment, bought a tent to live in so I could travel easily, and started taking photos full time for about a year all over the country.

  “I used what I earned, went back to Chicago, and took some classes at the local community college at night whenever I could afford them, and I ended up transferring to a four-year school on an art scholarship—I only took a couple of classes at a time, just what I could afford, since books and stuff were so expensive. After about six years, I had an art degree, and I took a position as a creative associate at a boutique media company in the city. I barely made anything, but I got another apartment. I had to waitress on weekends and twice a week in the evenings to make rent in downtown Chicago, but I felt like I was going somewhere.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Hannah said.

  “And then it all came crashing down when I met Jackson Reuttiger.”

  “Who’s that?” Hannah asked.

  “My ex.” She took a long drink from her mug and swallowed. “Jackson was different from anyone I’d ever dated. I met him at the bar and grill where I used to work those extra hours. He had some big job in the city—I never really figured it out, but whatever it was, he wore expensive button-down shirts and Italian leather wingtips. We dated up until a few weeks before this trip. I was on cloud nine most of the time during our relationship. I remember thinking how far I’d come when the two of us walked into the bar where I had worked and had a beer to
gether. I had people waiting on me for a change.”

  Hannah smiled.

  “But one night when we’d gone to get a drink, I got that vaguely familiar queasiness in my belly, and I told him I just wanted water, that I didn’t feel well. I saw the fear in his eyes, as if his future with me flashed before him and terrified him to the very core. And I knew that he was not the person I wanted to be with me and my child.” Georgia’s eyes got misty and she cleared her throat. “He didn’t have to worry though, because I lost that baby too.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Hannah covered her mouth, and then it hit her. “Did you lose the baby recently?”

  “Yeah. About four months ago.” Georgia’s voice broke.

  Hannah reached over and gave her a hug. The tightness of Georgia’s squeeze surprised her, and Hannah knew that Georgia just needed someone to listen to her.

  “So that prompted you to find your parents?”

  “I just felt like no one understood me—not my adoptive parents, not Jackson… I want to find my people, you know? No hard feelings, no strings attached. Just people like me.” She gathered up the two photos and held them in her hand. “I hope I can find them.”

  “Me too,” Hannah told her.

  Her heart ached for Georgia to find the people who would take her for who she really was and lift up her talents. There was no telling what she could do if she had that support in her life.

  While they were finishing their coffee, the investigator called Georgia and asked her to meet him to hear some more ideas he’d had about finding her parents, so Hannah had dropped her off in town, then headed to see Gran at the hospital for a quick few minutes before meeting Liam and Noah.

  “I read about Charles going missing,” Hannah told Gran.

  A nostalgic look came over Gran’s face, and she lifted her bruised arms to fold her hands together, the IVs pulling tighter with every movement. “There are two sides to every coin,” she said with intensity in her eyes, as she looked at Hannah.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll come back to Charles. Let’s talk about your own life for a minute.”

  Hannah scooted her chair closer when Gran reached for her hand.

  “I’ll tell you what I know from years of experience: There are people in life who allow you to do your own thing, roaming free like a caterpillar just walking along its path. There’s nothing wrong with that—there’s something to be said about the love and trust that creates that kind of freedom. But there are others who can affect you in such a way that before you’ve even realized it, you’ve become a butterfly, soaring on brightly colored wings you never knew you had. When you meet that person, you might look back on the version of you who was with Miles and not even recognize her.”

  Hannah nodded, Gran’s wise words were always so inspirational. “So are you saying that Charles was your Miles?”

  “Mm,” she said, her thin lips pressed into a weak smile. “Charles was nothing like Miles. I adored him. He was a charming man. I still love him now. Our story was tragic, as it had to be. God puts people in our lives in mysterious ways…” Her eyes glistened with tears, and she blinked them away.

  Hannah nodded, considering this.

  “If Charles had lived through the war, who might I have become?” Gran asked. “Or more importantly, who might I not have become?”

  “I wouldn’t be here,” Hannah said. “Because you and Pop-pop would never have had Dad.”

  “That’s right.” She squeezed Hannah’s hand. “I might have never had my flower shop. It has defined me for so many years. I just know that it could be amazing again,” she said, switching gears—Gran’s mind was always on that shop. “How’s business been the last few days?”

  Hannah let go of Gran’s hand and leaned toward her. “Gran, you must know how dire things are with The Memory Keeper. You have to be aware, right?”

  Gran pursed her lips. “I won’t give up on it,” she whispered stubbornly.

  “Pop-pop would be okay if you let it go. I’m nearly sure of that. He’d want you to rest, Gran. Your heart can’t take the day-to-day stress of the job anymore.”

  Gran closed her eyes, clearly exhausted, and murmured, “Without The Memory Keeper, I have no heart at all. I built it from nothing. But it built me as well.” She waggled a shaky finger at Hannah. “And I know your parents are trying to close it down again. I told them a few years ago that I wouldn’t do it, and I won’t do it now.”

  “But it’s putting Mama and Daddy in financial trouble, Gran. I know you wouldn’t want that for them.”

  Her eyes misted over. “I suppose I was hoping someone would save it, the way it saved me.”

  A tiny plume of guilt swelled in Hannah’s stomach because, after what Darlene had told her, she knew Gran meant Hannah was the someone.

  Gran swallowed hard and looked Hannah in the eye. “I was a naive child when I started that shop. But making bouquets for people, I learned about the world. I met people who were grieving, I went through more wars, I participated in celebrations, and I saw happy parents with their newborn children… Everyone I met through The Memory Keeper was a chance to learn about people and myself. By learning about the world and who was really in it, I was a better wife, a better mother, and a better grandmother.”

  Hannah compared this to her own working life. She thought about Amanda, the person with whom she worked so closely. She didn’t know what Amanda liked to do for her birthday or who was in her family. She had no idea where Amanda had grown up. She didn’t know that kind of information about anyone in New York at all. And yet she’d called them all friends. This whole time, she’d thought that she’d become a more well-rounded person if she got out of this small town, but perhaps she’d have learned more staying right here.

  Eighteen

  “Hannah!” Noah called, breaking from his dad’s side, and running toward her down the dirt path to Emmitt Abernathy’s cottage, where Hannah had asked Liam to meet her. Noah wrapped his little arms around her and squeezed her waist.

  “Hi,” she said with a chuckle, his embrace surprising her. “Are you ready to swing really high?” she asked him, waving to Liam who was partway down the dirt road, catching up.

  “Yes!” Noah took her hand and looked up at her from under the stocking cap that had slid down his forehead. He pushed it into place with a mittened hand.

  “Well,” she said as Liam joined them, “I called Mr. Abernathy and let him know we might be stopping by. He said we were welcome to swing, and we could even pop in to see him for some hot cocoa if we get cold.”

  Noah’s eyes grew round. “I’d love to have some hot cocoa.”

  She leaned down and whispered, “He said he keeps a secret stash of peppermint balls in his cabinet, and sometimes he’ll slip one or two into the hot cocoa.”

  “Can we get some now?” Noah asked.

  Hannah laughed. “Let’s swing first.” She led him toward the old tire swing.

  “Hey,” Liam said, stepping up beside her.

  “Hi,” she returned, as they walked over the hill that ran next to Emmitt’s cottage.

  Emmitt had a modest A-line home on his farm with a small front porch and two rocking chairs out front. A yellow glow came from the windows, giving the home a kind of warmth she’d only ever seen in her childhood. They passed two oak trees that had a hammock strung between them. It was full of fallen leaves, the canvas sagging with their weight.

  In the summertime, Emmitt had always allowed the kids in town to walk along the side of his house and use the tire swing that hung from a huge maple tree, offering a gorgeous view of the river along the back of the property. He had a grandson their age named Tommy, but even if Tommy wasn’t there, Emmitt always welcomed them on his farm. They’d go all the time, and in the evenings, they’d see Emmitt and his wife Sue waving from their porch. They didn’t care at all that there were always kids on their land. Instead, it was like a big family.

  “I haven’t ever been here,” Liam s
aid, looking around. “Tommy and I played baseball together when we were young.”

  “I’d forgotten you both played baseball,” Hannah told him. “Emmitt lives here alone now—Sue passed away a few years ago and Tommy’s in the military, stationed in Arizona.”

  “Wow,” Liam said. “How life has changed for us all, right?”

  Hannah nodded, understanding the truth of his question.

  The cold grass crunched under their feet as they made their way down the other side of the hill to the swing in the middle of the yard.

  “Emmitt was delighted I’d called,” she told Liam as they continued on through the vast property. “I had to get his number from Gran right before I left her today. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to him.” She swung Noah’s arm back and forth playfully as they talked.

  “Is that the swing?” Noah asked, pointing to the old tire suspended by a thick rope from a towering maple tree. It twisted around in the wind.

  “Yep!” Hannah said, remembering all the times Gran and Pop-pop had brought her here to swing when she was about Noah’s age. She’d stayed outside for hours on end, swinging, and catching lightning bugs at the riverbank while her grandparents had chatted with Emmitt and Sue.

  When they reached the swing, Hannah held it still so Noah could thread his legs through. “I like to hold on to the rope,” she said, “but some of my friends used to hug the tire—whichever feels more comfortable to you.”

  “I want to hug the tire,” Noah said with an enormous grin on his face. “Don’t push me too high at first.”

  Hannah grabbed the tire and pulled it toward her, Noah’s sneakers dangling above the cold ground. “This good?” she asked Noah. “Or higher?”

  “A little higher,” he replied.

  She pulled the tire to her chest and then let it go, Noah sailing into the air as smooth as if he were gliding on a sheet of glass. The arc of the swing paralleled the riverbank, Noah’s head tipping back, his whole body jiggling with his laughter.