by Jenny Hale
Hannah gasped, her mouth dropping open. “This. Is. Perfect!”
An enormous chandelier hung from the ceiling, sparkling like a rare jewel above them. Bales of hay were stacked against the walls and lining the cement floor, acting as chairs for the rustic whiskey-barrel tables. One of them held two glasses and a bottle of wine. She pointed to them questioningly.
“Local,” he said, popping the cork and pouring them each a glass.
She took the offering and tipped it up against her lips. A rush of fruity nectar mixed with the bite of alcohol tickled her taste buds. “I’m supposed to be working,” she teased.
“You are,” he said, patting the top of the barrel. “Draw what you envision for this space. I want to see.”
Hannah took another drink of her wine and then went to work, sketching her suggestions for Georgia’s photos. Her pencil flying over the paper, the ideas were coming faster than she could draw them.
“I had no idea you were so creative,” he said.
She turned her sketch around for him to view. In the drawing Liam sat on a block of hay in the center of the room under the chandelier, with Noah on his knee, teaching his son how to play guitar.
He studied it for a moment. “Alison was the teacher of the two of us. One time, she and I talked about how she’d wanted to teach Noah to eat with chopsticks when he got older… It seemed so silly a thing to consider at the time, but now I always think about who will teach him how. I’ve never used chopsticks… You know, when Alison died and I grieved for her, Noah was so young, and he didn’t understand. Raising him is challenging and terrifying. Noah was fussy—he had tantrums, cried out with nightmares in the night, but he wouldn’t allow me to comfort him.”
“He was heartbroken too,” she noted.
“I know. And I just froze. A friend recommended our nanny, and when she intervened, it provided the relief I needed to move through my grief, but then I didn’t know where I belonged in his life. So I threw myself into work, building the business with Alison’s brother.”
A moment of hesitation flickered across his face, but it was gone before she could make out the reason for it.
“Because,” he continued, “if the role I had was breadwinner, then I was going to be the very best provider for Noah that I could be. Alison grew up quite wealthy, and I felt like I had to prove myself, both for her memory and for Noah.”
“You put a lot of pressure on yourself,” she said.
He nodded. “I just want the people I care about to know they’re loved.”
Hannah put her hand on his arm. “I think Noah might have felt more loved by you at the tire swing and dancing in the kitchen than he has any other time.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But I needed you to show me how to do it. You’re so good with him—different from his nanny.”
“How so?” she asked, interested to hear his answer.
“Elise is sort of like a schoolteacher. Your interactions are more natural. Like a mother would be.”
The pang that surfaced whenever she allowed herself to think about motherhood washed over her.
“He really enjoys you,” Liam told her. He took a drink from his glass and gazed at her, the vulnerability in his face undeniable. “I enjoy you too,” he admitted.
A flutter spread through her like wildfire. Liam was so different from Miles. He listened to her, and he was open and honest. “You’re pretty great yourself,” she said.
As Hannah stood in the middle of that barn with Liam, New York just didn’t feel like the right place for her. She was falling for Liam, but he and his adorable child would be heading back to Charleston in the coming days. Just when things were starting to feel right.
Twenty-Five
September 7, 1943
I could scream with happiness! I’ve quit my job at the metal company. I just walked right out. Minnie gave me a job with full wages at her floral shop! I’ll be working five days a week with two whole days off! I told Warren all about it, and he said he’s going to call my parents and ask if he can take me to dinner to celebrate! I couldn’t be more excited. And this will give me more time to chat with him. I like our talks. We discuss art and music instead of the politics of war like my parents do. He reads me things I’d have never considered before, and I simply want to soak in every word he has to tell me.
Hannah closed Gran’s journal and set it on the dresser in her room, as daybreak pushed its way through the bedroom window. Things certainly did happen for a reason—look at Gran now. Hannah’s need to make The Memory Keeper a success felt stronger after reading Gran’s words firsthand. Pop-pop and the shop were Gran’s happily ever after, and Hannah couldn’t bear to watch Gran spend her last years knowing things hadn’t turned out like she’d hoped.
Her gaze fell upon the open closet door, noticing her old riding boots. She didn’t know Gran had kept them. They were the shorties she used to love to ride in. The sides were still dirty from the last time she’d ridden, causing a memory to surface.
Eighteen-year-old Hannah put her dusty boot up on the fender of Ethan’s Bronco, which they’d driven around in all summer after he’d cashed in his life’s savings in lawn-cutting money for the hunk of tin he’d sworn he’d restore one day. Hannah fiddled with the hem of her jeans until they felt comfortable around the leather of her boot and then, for good measure, she stomped her foot on the gravel path leading to the old horse barn to shimmy the denim down into place.
The sun had slipped below the horizon, and the lightning bugs danced around them as they stood between the two wide cornfields on Ethan’s grandparents’ property out in the country. The small plot of land boasted a barn and a grazing area for Ethan’s horses, Flash, Emma, and Nugget. Hannah secured her hair with the tie that had kept it out of her eyes earlier today while she’d been riding Flash, her favorite of the three, and jumped into Ethan’s truck.
“Why would you ever want to leave here?” He stretched his hand out the open window, adjusting his side-view mirror to keep the reflection of the bright-orange sunset from blinding him as it peeked from between the rolling Tennessee hills sliding past them.
Thinking about it now, she wasn’t so sure why anyone would want to leave…
“Whatcha thinking about, snugabug?” her father said from the doorway, before he came in and sat down next to Hannah on Gran’s bed. He used to call her snugabug when she was little, the name catapulting her to simpler times.
“I don’t know,” she said on an exhale. “Life, I suppose.”
“You’ve had a huge amount of change in a very short time,” Chuck said with a doting pat on the leg. “You keep pushing forward, giving your all to the next thing, before you’ve tackled what’s in front of you.”
“I thought my job in New York was a culmination of everything I’ve ever wanted, and all I’ve worked for. But when I’m home, it seems so far away from who I want to be…” She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her abdomen before lying back on the bed in defeat. “I thought I had my life all figured out.”
“Wanna know a secret? None of us have our lives figured out. Life isn’t stagnant; it doesn’t stop until you get to the end. It’s an ever-changing dynamic of experiences and desires. The key is to try to do the best you can for yourself in every moment, and listen to your inner voice when it tries to tell you something.”
“But that’s just it.” Hannah sat back up. “I’m not sure what I want anymore. I think more and more that I want to be here, running Gran’s shop, but I haven’t figured out how the rest of it fits.”
“Then keep going on the path you’re on, and listen as you go.”
“I’ve never gone through life without a solid plan. Is that wise?”
“Sometimes you have to tread water for a while, waiting for the next wave, so that when it comes, you’ll be prepared to ride it in.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said.
“I’m always right,” he said with a wink. “Come on in for breakfast. Georgia’s alr
eady up, and your mother’s made pancakes. The weather’s gloriously warm today, so she’s setting up on the table on Gran’s back porch.”
“Pancakes and sunshine both sound delicious.” She stretched, eyeing the boots again and wondering how they’d look with her designer jeans. With a deep breath, she got up, ready to face the day.
“What is it?” Georgia asked from behind her sunglasses, when Hannah’s old boots came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk on Main Street. Jerry pulled on his leash before turning around to see what the problem was.
Hannah peered into the window at the local bakery to view the flier posted inside. They were on their way to The Memory Keeper to meet with the reporter who was doing the story on the shop and, to take advantage of the appearance of nice weather, Hannah had asked if they could walk into town this morning. “Dance lessons.” She pointed to the yellow sheet of paper. Setting her bag full of the supplies they’d picked up onto the sidewalk, she ran inside, grabbing one of the fliers off the counter as well as another for the upcoming Spring Festival, and stuffed them into her bag when she came back out.
“You want to take dance lessons?”
“Nope, but I will.”
“Did the barista slip somethin’ special in your coffee this morning?” Georgia eyed her.
Hannah laughed. “No. Ethan’s wife Christie wants to be a dancer. I was going to call around to see if I could find her dance lessons, but then this appeared. I’m gonna call for an introductory class.”
“Sounds fun,” Georgia said as they started walking again. “Oh, let’s not forget to stop and pick up the baskets we ordered to replace the silver buckets.” They’d decided the baskets would give the shop a more laid-back, comfortable feel.
“The home interiors shop is just down here,” Hannah said. “So did you find out if Mary had a suggestion for who could make the ladder for us?”
“Yes!” Georgia said. She reached down and stroked Jerry’s head. “She actually said she has an old ladder up in her barn that would be absolutely perfect. She’s going to see if Liam can adapt it to work on the track.”
Hannah paused to focus on Georgia. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”
“Yes! So we need to get those baskets so we can unpack the flowers.”
They passed the road where Ethan’s parents lived, and Hannah couldn’t help but peer over at the house, noticing Ethan’s truck there. “Would you feel comfortable picking up the baskets for me?” She checked the time on her phone—they still had an hour before the reporter came. “I’m going to walk to Ethan’s parents’ house to see if I can try one more time to convince Ethan to do our skyline painting.”
“Think you can?”
“I have no idea, but I won’t know until I try.”
“The heck you doin’?” Ethan said as he came out onto his parents’ front porch.
“Persuading you to paint Gran’s shop,” Hannah said from the driver’s seat of his old truck. She had the door open and her boots propped up on the dash next to the steering wheel as she sipped her coffee.
His gaze flickered to the dusty shorties and then up to her face. “Well, I ain’t gonna do it.” His lips were set in a defensive pout, but his affection for his best friend showed in his eyes.
“I’m not getting out of this driver’s seat until you tell me yes.”
“Looks like you’ll be doin’ a lot of drivin’ then. I need to be at work in five minutes. Better put those old boots on the gas pedal.”
She swung her legs down to the ground and twisted toward him. “If this is about me leaving all those years ago, you don’t need to punish Gran for that. I’ll take the full brunt of it.”
Unsaid thoughts flashed across his face.
“It’s my fault, Ethan. Not Gran’s,” she pressed.
“It’s bigger than you leavin’,” he said.
“What is it then?” She stood up to face him. “Tell me. I’m your best friend.”
He shook his head, walking off, but then stopped and turned back.
She walked over to him. “Tell me, please.”
He tipped his head back as if the answer were above him. Then he looked her straight in the eyes. “Growin’ up, you gave me hope that my life could be different, that I could be somethin’ more than a small-town guy in my dad’s shop—I loved the way you thought. I’d never met another person in this town who had that kind of fire for life. Your dream was New York but mine was even bigger than that. And yes, when you left, it took the wind out of my sails. My boat stopped, Hannah—dead in the water. But I still held on to that possibility. And when Christie got pregnant and I had to be able to support my family, my future was laid out in front of me. Paintin’ reminds me of the life I’d hoped for but didn’t get to live. I know I can still paint. I get that. But if I paint, I’m worried I’ll resent the life I’ve got, and Christie and Wesley don’t deserve that.”
Without warning, Hannah pressed her hand to his chest as he looked on curiously. “I still feel that heart of yours beating,” she said.
“I hope so,” he said.
“If your heart’s still beating, then you’re definitely alive, and whatever life you want is out there for the taking. You’ve just gotta make it happen.”
“Easy for you to say,” he said, clearly frustrated. “This ain’t the shiny land of opportunity like that big city you come from. You waltz in here with these grand ideas with no one to worry about but yourself. Sure, it’s easy as pie for you to change your life. But what if I can’t put food on the table for Wesley? That would kill me.”
“What if you can provide for him?” she challenged. “You’re choosing the safest route, which is commendable, Ethan. But you’re also ignoring your God-given talent. You owe it to yourself and your family to explore that. You don’t have to quit your job. Just do what you love as often as you can, and your path will be made clear.”
That last sentence gave her pause. She sounded like Gran.
“You done?” Ethan asked, reclaiming her focus. “At this rate, I’ma throw you in the back and take you with me, so you can explain to my father why I’m late.”
“It’s your choice, Ethan, but you could agree to do this one painting and then decide if it’s something you want to keep doing.”
He didn’t answer, so she upped the stakes. “I’ll tell you what. If I can get Christie to do dance lessons, will you paint The Memory Keeper for me?”
“What?”
“I’m serious. I want to try to convince your wife to dance.”
“Good luck,” he said with an indignant chuckle.
“Deal?”
He blew air through his lips. “Deal, I guess.”
Hannah threw her arms around him, and squealed, “I love you,” making him laugh.
“Don’t love me until I paint somethin’ decent,” he said. “And I need a firm yes from Christie before I even pick up a paintbrush. I ain’t agreein’ to your harebrained ideas unless she does too.”
“Absolutely.”
“Now, can I go to work?”
“Yes,” she said with a giant grin.
“Want a ride to the flower shop?”
“I’d love that.” She gave him one more quick squeeze, and then got in on the other side of the truck, putting her old boots on the dash like she had when she was a girl.
“Those look amazing!” Hannah said, as Georgia switched out the old silver buckets for the baskets they’d bought.
“I’m glad you like them,” Georgia said, turning her head to the side and squinting one eye to examine the display’s straightness.
“I’ll check with Liam after work to see if he can do anything with that ladder,” Hannah offered.
“I love coming into this shop with you,” Georgia said, as she placed a container filled with water in the bottom of each basket. She grabbed a handful of red roses and placed them inside it. “Look how great that looks!” She stepped back and admired her work. “I feel like I have purpose here.”
“I’d
love to talk to Gran about giving you a job if you’d want it. But we have to become profitable first.”
“You would? Oh, I’d love that.”
“Then we’d better start making some money,” Hannah teased, wiping a vase with a towel to get the dust off of it. “I think that on the heels of the article we’re doing for the paper, the Spring Festival would be our best shot to pull in some serious business and get the word out.” She retrieved the flier from her bag and held it out to Georgia.
“But that’s in three days,” Georgia said, peering down at the paper.
“I know…” Hannah chewed on her lip. “And I was also wondering if you’d like to run a display for the festival. We could put a table with some bouquets under our vendor’s tent outside.”
“You want me to run it?”
“Yeah. I figured you could make little bouquets of some sort for the festivalgoers, and I can be in the shop for anyone who comes in with bigger orders. I’d pay you… You interested?”
Georgia jumped up and down, clapping her hands. “That sounds amazing. Thank you for letting me do this.”
“I’m glad you’re excited.” Hannah looked around the shop, remembering the grievance bouquets Minnie had thought of during the war. “I wish we could find something unique to offer at the festival…” She eyed the different flowers, trying to figure out what they could sell that would be exclusive to what they usually had in the shop. Then suddenly an idea came to her. “What if we did tiny take-away bouquets, and we offered an artful keepsake notecard with a photo of the bouquet with each one?”
“Flowers are forever…” Georgia said.
“No. Memories are forever.”
“That’s perfect.”
“Okay,” Hannah said, feeling the push to get the shop ready. “We’ve got three days.” She dropped the dusting towel onto the counter. “I’ll be back. I’ve got some business to take care of with Christie Wright.”
Hannah set a bottle of water on the grocery checkout in front of Christie.
