The Memory Keeper: A Heartwarming, Feel-Good Romance(44)
“Wow,” she said in almost a whisper.
“I remember feeling guilty that you’d stolen my attention—like I was being unfaithful to Alison’s memory—so I pushed on toward the baggage claim. But our bags got tangled. And then I felt a wave of fear that my life was moving forward without my wife, and I wasn’t ready. I’d gotten comfortable in my gray, empty world. I forced myself to let you go. When Georgia saw you, I wondered if I was getting a nudge to step out of my normal. When I woke up in the hotel room, kissing you, I wrestled with what to do, because I felt something for you that I couldn’t deny.”
Hannah could hardly breathe. “My goodness.”
“When you asked me outright if I was married—it was the first time in two years that I’d considered what my answer to that question was. And I froze. Well, actually, I ran.” He offered a weak smile. “I’m so sorry. I just don’t know how to navigate the way I feel about you yet.”
Hannah reached across the table and took his hand. “It doesn’t have to be either-or,” she said. “Alison is from a totally different part of your life. You’re allowed to keep going and explore new friendships and relationships without her. You have to. It’s why you’re still here.”
“I just feel like, after what you’ve experienced with Miles, you deserve to have someone who can give you their all, and I want to offer you that, but I don’t know if I can yet. It’s all so new.”
“Let’s just be who we are at this moment. We’re friends. There’s no rush to be anything more than that.” She’d never felt more certain about that fact than she did at this moment. Neither of them was in any position to develop into something more than what they were right now. But they might just be the greatest of friends.
The world on her shoulders, Hannah walked back to Gran’s house with shopping bags dangling from her fingers. After coffee, Liam had offered to drive her, but Hannah had wanted time alone to think. She’d stopped into a few of the boutiques and bought some clothes to get her through the rest of the week, the whole time lost in thought about everything. When she arrived at Gran’s, she wasn’t closer to having answers to any of it. She let herself in and walked into the kitchen.
“Hey there,” her mother said when Hannah plopped down on a bar stool at the island. “How was Gran when you left?” Her mom’s back was turned to Hannah while she pushed a wooden spoon around a large bowl cradled in her arms. She set down the bowl next to a greased cookie sheet and faced her.
“Good, I guess. She was sleeping.”
Hannah peered into the bowl, excited to see a batter full of chocolate chips. Hannah had missed her mother’s baking. However, even the cookies couldn’t make Hannah feel better about what she was about to say.
“I’ll help you get Gran to sign the forms for the lawyer,” Hannah said, the reality of it causing a weight to settle on her chest. Everything inside her screamed that this was wrong, but the rational side of her didn’t see any other possibility.
“You saw the shop, I take it?” Maura began rolling balls of dough and placing them onto the cookie sheet.
“Yeah. It’s in rough shape.” She rubbed the pinch that had formed in her shoulder, trying not to think about the disappointment Gran would experience when Hannah told her of their decision.
“Yes,” Maura agreed.
“Those cookies ready yet?” her father teased as he came into the room. He patted the tops of Hannah’s arms, before going around the island and giving Maura a kiss on the cheek.
“Doesn’t matter,” Maura responded playfully. “You aren’t getting any. You’re on a special diet—doctor’s orders.”
“I’ll bribe you for them,” Chuck said, nibbling Maura’s neck, making her squeal.
“Must you two?” Hannah said with a laugh. But she was only giving them a hard time. They’d been together for forty-two years, and she’d never seen them argue. “I’m beat,” she told them. “I think I’m going to go into Gran’s room and take a nap or something.”
“That sounds good, darling,” Maura said. “I’ll come get you when the cookies are ready.”
Hannah headed down to Gran’s room. When she got inside she crawled onto Gran’s bed, promising herself it would be okay, that Gran would definitely be back home soon and she’d settle into life without The Memory Keeper. But her promise felt empty. Mentally exhausted and needing the peace that only Gran could bring, she moved the satin ribbon bookmark sewn into the binding of the journal and began to read.
April 7, 1943
My hands are so rough from the long hours at the factory. I help insert metal tubing into the guns, and even though I come straight home and wash with Palmolive soap, and then add a dab of Mama’s lotion, they’re still like sandpaper. I want to look nice when Charles returns home, but I’m going to be old and ragged. I’ve been tying my hair up at work, and it’s dry and always lumped in the shape of the bandana I wear. I haven’t done my pin curls in so long that I fear I’ve forgotten how. Ever since the war, I’ve had to do this awful job. It’s not a place for someone like me. I’m not beneath it, but I want to create, take photographs, and drink a Green River at the soda fountain with a stack of books beside me. Will I ever get out?