The Memory Keeper: A Heartwarming, Feel-Good Romance
Jenny Hale
To the greats in this industry who nurtured and inspired me—and put up with me—you know who you are.
One
She’d made it.
“That’ll be thirty-eight bucks,” the taxi driver said, his breath puffing out into the winter air as he lumped the bags that Hannah Townsend had packed for herself and her boyfriend Miles onto a mound of sludge piled next to the sidewalk at LaGuardia airport.
“Thank you,” she said, preparing to make a run for it through the falling snow. She maneuvered around the clumps of winter road debris to hand the driver his fare with shivering fingers. It was icy cold outside, but Hannah barely noticed. Her pulse raced, eagerness zinging around inside her, all the while mentally counting down the seconds she was wasting standing there.
Hannah had to get to the baggage claim by the time Miles’s flight came in. Miles Monahan was owner and CEO of Monahan Enterprises, the leading developer of application programming interface technologies in New York City. ME, as he termed the company, was his spoiled child, he’d said. Miles spent all of his time building the company, nurturing it, and giving it everything it wanted, spending an obscene amount of time away from Hannah to focus on work. But it would all pay off in the end, he’d told her.
He was flying in to New York from Chicago, winding up one final business meeting just before he took some much-needed time off, which worked out perfectly because—he had no idea—Hannah was planning to reveal that they had two hours until their next flight.
As the newly appointed art director for Farmhouse Living magazine, Hannah had been working incredibly long hours as well. She’d taken time off of work, bought herself and Miles tickets to Barbados, and booked a glorious week at a luxury beachfront hotel. With temperatures in Barbados reaching a balmy eighty-four degrees in February, she couldn’t wait. She’d even reserved a couples massage the first day.
Hannah was turning the big thirty-five tomorrow, and she planned to tell Miles on this trip that she was ready to start a family. It wouldn’t be a complete surprise—they’d both mentioned it before, and he’d even stopped into Tiffany’s with her once while they were running errands to see what she’d like as an engagement ring—but he’d always put it off because of his work.
Hannah fiddled with the stargazer lily she’d tucked into her hair just above her ear. Tomorrow they’d be reclined side by side in lounge chairs, her arm stretched across the sand to hold his hand while they sipped on pi?a coladas and talked about the future. They were but a flight away from feeling the warmth of the sun and the only sounds around them being the quiet lapping of the waves—she couldn’t get there fast enough.
While she hopped up and down in little wiggles to keep warm, waiting for the traffic guard to signal that she could cross, her phone rang. She fumbled to get it out of her coat pocket, unsuccessful in her attempt to wipe the droplets of precipitation off the screen.
Mom.
Hannah would have to call her back. As soon as she reached Miles at baggage claim and told him the plan, she’d return the call.
The traffic guard waved Hannah across, so she dropped her phone back into her pocket and readjusted her bags, jogging as quickly as her wedge heels could take her on the slippery surface.
The airport terminal’s sliding doors hissed open and Hannah ran through, her head swiveling right and then left, looking past the red and pink Valentine’s displays for signs directing her to baggage claim. Once she spotted where to go, she dashed over to the elevator.
“Please wait!” she said to no one in particular, throwing her hand between the closing doors as they slid back open.
Hannah stepped through and pulled her bags into the crowded elevator to exhales and throat clearing, as everyone rearranged themselves to adjust to less personal space. Her phone rang once more and she slipped her hand into her pocket to silence it. She peeked at the call: her mother again.
Her mom always got excited about Hannah’s birthday, and since this one was a milestone, she was probably antsy to have a long, sweet chat like she loved to do. Hannah couldn’t wait to talk to her, but she wanted to take the call when she had enough time to give her mother the attention she deserved.
The doors opened, and Hannah ran to the baggage claim turnstile that flashed Miles’s flight number from Chicago. Her shoulders relaxed when she arrived with a few minutes to spare. The conveyor belt hummed to life, the anticipation of the surprise making her buzzy.
Hannah had packed Miles’s bag for him, making sure to bring all his favorite summer attire. She’d even remembered the tennis visor he liked to wear on the beach to shield his eyes from the sun. Of course, Hannah had all her sundresses, the new upscale strappy sandals she’d bought for the summer season, and a super cute swimsuit she’d gotten online. All they had to buy once they got to Barbados were bottles of suntan lotion and fruity cocktails, which, according to the website, were both available at the poolside swim-up bar.
The plastic strips at the entrance separating the baggage crew from the turnstile shifted forward, and a couple of suitcases landed on the conveyor belt with a thud just as Hannah’s phone rang yet again. Her mother would be worried sick if she tried to get through to Hannah for a third time and she hadn’t answered.
“Hi, Mama,” she said, the southern accent of her youth bubbling to the surface. She opened her mouth to explain the reason for not answering the calls, but her mother’s sniffle gave her pause.