The Memory Keeper: A Heartwarming, Feel-Good Romance(48)

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 together. 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.