Free The Heart Remembers by Irene Hannon

he made one more circuit of the house to ensure that none of the furnishings had gone untagged. Most items were to be sold. A few were to be shipped to his cottage in Maine. Everything seemed to be in order.
    Inventory of the house completed, he stepped into the garage and glanced around. There wasn’t much of value out here, certainly nothing he planned to take to Maine. Unless…
    His gaze lingered on the boxes containing his father’s woodworking tools. He knew from Rob that they had lain unused since his mother’s death. But why not hang on to them…just in case? Without stopping to reconsider, Jake changed the instructions on the boxes, then headed back inside.
    By the end of the day, Jake had reached the last “box”—a small fireproof safe stored in the far corner of the closet in his parents’ bedroom, under the eaves. He read the label, written in his mother’s hand, with a puzzled frown. “Important Documents.” As far as he knew, he and Rob had already located and dealt with all the “important documents.”
    But the mystery was cleared up a moment later when he opened the lid. He should have guessed the kinds of things this box would contain, knowing his mother’s definition of “important.” One at a time, he withdrew the items. Her own mother’s handwritten recipe for apple pie. A poem she’d clipped from the newspaper about taking time to enjoy a quiet summer night. Jake’s kindergarten “diploma.” An embossed copy of the Twenty-third psalm, given to her on her wedding day by her father. These sentimental items were his mother’s real treasures. These “important documents”—not expensive rings or necklaces—had been her jewels.
    Every item touched his heart—but none more so than the last one. As he withdrew the single sheet of yellowed paper, memories came flooding back of a hot summer day more than a quarter of a century before. The document contained few words, but as his eyes scanned the sheet he remembered with bittersweet intensity the strong emotions and deep sincerity that had produced the short paragraph.
    It had been a long time since that document had seen the light of day. But as he carefully replaced the paper and gently closed the lid, he hoped its time would come again soon.
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    â€œIs Maggie here?”
    The unfamiliar woman behind the desk at Whispering Sails shook her head. “No, I’m sorry. Is there something I can help you with?”
    Jake stifled his disappointment. It had been a hectic and emotionally taxing three weeks since he’d left Maine, and he’d had a very long drive up from Boston. He should have gone straight to his cottage in Castine and contacted Maggie tomorrow. This had been a wasted detour.
    â€œNo. I was just hoping to see her for a minute. I should have called first.”
    Indecision flashed in the woman’s eyes. “Are you a friend of hers?”
    â€œYes.” Jake wasn’t sure Maggie would agree, but from his perspective the statement was true.
    â€œWell…then I guess it’s okay to tell you what happened. Allison was in a car accident, and Maggie’s at the hospital.”
    Jake’s pulse vaulted into double time. “How badly is she hurt?”
    â€œI don’t know. Maggie got the call about two hours ago, and I haven’t heard from her yet.”
    â€œWhere’s the hospital?”
    The woman gave him directions, and with a clipped “Thank you,” he strode out the door and to his car. Less than a minute later he pulled out of the driveway in a spray of gravel, his foot heavy on the gas pedal, oblivious to the speed signs posted along the route.
    By the time he reached the hospital, his body was rigid with tension. He scanned the emergency room, but there was no sign of Maggie.
    â€œSir…may I help you?”
    He glanced at the woman behind the desk. “I’m looking for