THE MEMORY KEEPER – A Short Story

My short story, The Memory Keeper, received an Honorable Mention in the Writers Weekly Spring 2025 short story contest. I hope you enjoy it!

The breeze carried a sweetness that hit Marianne before the fairgrounds came into view, bringing back a rush of memories. She paused at the edge of the gravel lot and pulled the collar of her cashmere sweater tighter around her neck. It was warmer than it had been in months, but she was glad she’d worn it.

She drew in a deep breath, trying to ease the anxiety that twisted her insides, and melded into the crowd.

The Spring Fair hadn’t changed. The same carousel music and children’s chatter filled the brisk afternoon air, the same stalls lined the perimeter of the lake. But only one stall interested her, and she prayed it was here again this year.

Regret hit her as she remembered last year. She’d recognized the locket with the tiny blue pressed flowers, displayed in a box frame at the back of the arts-and-crafts stall, completely out of place. It had been her mother’s, the only item she had left to remember her by. She had pawned it years ago when she didn’t know how she would pay rent or feed herself. A few months later, she’d returned to reclaim it, only to learn it had been sold.

“I’m sorry, it’s not for sale,” the woman attending the stall had said. “It’s my good luck charm.”

Marianne wanted to insist but was too proud to admit she’d pawned it.

“A good luck charm?” she asked.

The woman smiled. “I met my husband the day I bought this locket in a local pawn shop. I accidentally collided with him on my way out, and we hit it off immediately. We’ve been happily married for ten years.”

Marianne had been too stunned to say anything more. She could have offered a thousand dollars for the locket, but deep down, she understood why the woman wasn’t willing to let it go. An item that carried such meaning had no price.

Anxious to get another look at her locket, she searched the rows of stalls. She exhaled in relief when she saw the familiar blue canopy tent. It was nestled between “Lou’s Local Honey” and “Grandma’s Doily Nook,” just like last year.

Her heart sped up. What if the owner didn’t have the locket?

Arming herself with courage, she entered the stall. A few people were browsing the assortment of decorative arts and ceramics, but there was no sign of the woman from last year.

“May I help you?” A warm, masculine voice cut through her thoughts. She looked up to see a man with brown eyes watching her expectantly.

Flushing, as if he could read her intentions, she managed, “Oh, I was just looking.”

“Anything in particular you’re after?”

She fiddled with the strap of her bag, avoiding his gaze. “Not really. The woman who was here last spring…Is she around?”

The man’s expression shifted, the warmth leaving his eyes. “No.” He picked up a cloth and absentmindedly dusted off a ceramic vase.

An opportunity arose as a customer approached. Marianne quickly wandered away, pretending to browse while her eyes scanned the shelves. Then, her heart stopped. There it was. The frame containing the locket, tucked behind a stack of prints, as though forgotten.

She glanced around. The man was still talking to the customer, his back to her. Without a second thought, she slid behind a display table and snatched the frame. Her hands trembled as the memory of her mother’s smiling face flooded her mind. She was about to slip it into her bag when a presence behind her froze her in place.

“You’re the woman who wanted to buy the locket,” the man said, his voice quiet but firm.

Marianne spun around, guilt rising in her chest. “How…how do you know?”

“My wife told me. She said you were quite disappointed when she told you it wasn’t for sale.”

Marianne looked down. “I…it belonged to my mother. I lost it after I pawned it.”

The man’s expression softened. “I’m sorry. My wife always said this locket brought us together.” His gaze fell on the frame. “She’s gone now, died of cancer a few months ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” Marianne whispered, feeling wretched. She turned to leave, but a hand caught her arm.

“Wait,” the man said. He opened the frame and removed the locket. “I’m sure my wife would have wanted you to have it. She would have understood how much it meant to you.”

For a moment, Marianne couldn’t speak, the locket heavy in her hands, as though it was meant to be there. “But I can’t—”

He smiled, and the warmth returned to his eyes. “Trust me, you can. Your mother would want you to have it back. Just like my wife believed, it’s a symbol of the kind of luck that finds us when we least expect it.” A warmth filled Marianne’s hand as she held the locket to her heart. Somehow, she knew the man was right.

THE END