Hannah's List (12 page)

“
M
ark’s stealing from the hospital was the worst shock of my life,” Leanne said. She’d stopped eating. “I knew something wasn’t right just from the way he behaved after the charity event, but he wouldn’t talk about it. I assumed it had to do with his job, but I wish I’d…asked more questions.”

I understood that better than she realized. “I’m a physician. Although I couldn’t have
known
Hannah had cancer, I feel I should’ve at least suspected she wasn’t well.”

I saw the sympathy in Leanne’s eyes. “You can’t blame yourself any more than I can take responsibility for what Mark did.”

I knew that; nevertheless I did blame myself. I’d been so wrapped up in my own career, in my own needs and wants, in our shared comforts and routines, it never occurred to me that anything might be wrong with my
wife. As a husband and a doctor, I couldn’t help feeling that I’d failed Hannah.

Consequently I’d failed myself, too. I wasn’t sure I could ever get over the guilt of that, irrational though it undoubtedly was. Hannah would be the first to reassure me. Again and again she’d reminded me that ovarian cancer is difficult to detect and there are few, if any, symptoms. There was no reason—no unusual fatigue, no pain or nausea, no family history, nothing—to suggest she might have this disease.

“You must’ve been surprised when Mark was arrested,” I said, preferring not to discuss Hannah, even though I’d assumed we would.

“I was speechless.” Leanne shook her head. “His parents, too. I think what confused me the most was the fact that Mark’s one of the most honorable people I know. He has…had more integrity than any other man I’d met.”

“You’re still in love with him?” I asked, although the answer was obvious.

Reluctantly, Leanne nodded. “Although I don’t really want to be…As you can imagine, I was outraged and embarrassed. Mark refused to explain himself, so I felt I had no option other than to file for divorce. I…I wish I’d waited—knowing what I do now.” She paused, closing her eyes. “Still, after recent…revelations, perhaps I made the right decision, after all.”

“Was Mark involved with someone else?” It was a painful question and I could see from the way she flinched that I’d touched the emotional equivalent of a bruise.

“I’m positive he wasn’t. Mark might’ve been able to deceive me when it came to embezzlement, but not…our marriage.” She sent me an agonized look.

I leaned over to lightly clasp her hand, releasing it after a few seconds.

“In my heart of hearts I have to believe he was faithful during our marriage…but I don’t know about now. He might be seeing someone else, although I don’t really think so. If he was dating again, I’m sure his mother would’ve told me. We’re still in touch.”

“Did Mark want the divorce?” To me, it didn’t make sense that he’d throw away his marriage, along with his freedom and his career.

“Apparently. He certainly didn’t resist when I told him that was what I wanted. He signed the final papers without a second’s hesitation.”

That must’ve been devastating to Leanne. “He probably didn’t want you involved in his legal troubles,” I offered as a possible explanation.

“Maybe, but how could I not be?” she asked. “He was my husband, so I was already up to my neck in it, and then to have him walk away from our marriage without a backward glance…”

I remembered reading about the case and of course Patrick had mentioned it, but my recollection of the facts was vague. “Was there a trial?”

“No. He accepted a plea bargain.”

She took a deep breath. “Mark served a year in prison
and has to make restitution. He also received a substantial fine. His mother told me he owes forty thousand dollars.”

While I didn’t want to dwell on Mark’s legal problems or his financial mess, I had to ask one last question. “How did this ever happen?” From what Leanne had said, Mark Lancaster was—or had been—a good, honorable man. Why had he become an embezzler? Surely there was some underlying problem—drugs, gambling, who knows what.

“I didn’t find out until much later that he took the money to help his sister. I won’t go into the whole story, but Denise was desperate. She thought she had the money, but it fell through at the last minute.”

“He went through all this for his
sister?”
I asked, a bit incredulous. I could only hope Denise appreciated what he’d done, no matter how wrong and misguided it was.

“They’re close.”

“Even now?”

Leanne nodded. “To be fair, Denise—well, she had no idea Mark had, um, borrowed the money. She thought he’d gotten a loan and would simply be covering the interest until she could repay it. She didn’t know what this so-called loan had cost him until it was too late. She did plead for leniency before the judge and is doing what she can to pay back the money.”

I noticed she hadn’t touched her chowder since the first spoonful. I continued eating, but at a slow pace.

“Have you had any contact with him since he got out of prison?” I asked.

I could see her struggle to hide her feelings. “Not really,” she said in a low voice.

I wasn’t sure what that meant, but had the distinct impression she didn’t want to talk about it. That was fine. I wouldn’t press her to tell me anything she found distressing.

“He says he wants nothing more to do with me. According to him, I should get on with my life.” She bit her lip. “I saw a counselor for a while. She said essentially the same thing.”

“Have you?” I asked. I remembered how Leanne and I had talked about this—the way we disliked that kind of advice; I figured I was the only one who could decide when and how to “move on.” And yet…Hannah herself was, in effect, saying it, too.

“I made one other attempt to date. Besides tonight,” she clarified.

“How did that go?”

She grinned. “Awful.”

“Is tonight starting off any better?”

Again she smiled, and the worry lines between her eyebrows relaxed. “Much better.”

That was comforting. I smiled back.

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Have you tried to socialize again since you lost Hannah?”

Rather than explain that this was my first date with another woman since my early twenties, I shrugged. “Some.” I was counting the coffee with Hannah’s cousin as a sort-of date.

“How’d it go for you?”

I thought about my time with Winter. “All right, I guess.”

“Hannah was an extraordinary woman.”

Extraordinary
didn’t begin to describe my beautiful wife.

“At work I care for people undergoing cancer treatment and they all have different attitudes,” Leanne said. “Some are angry, some are defeated or resigned. Hannah was always cheerful and optimistic. She helped others see the positives instead of the negatives.” She was silent and thoughtful for a moment. “Even at the end, she found things to be grateful for. When she died, I can’t tell you the number of people who told me what an inspiration Hannah was to them.”

“She inspired me, too.” I was a better man for having spent twelve years as her husband.

“I want you to know how sorry I am that I couldn’t attend her funeral.”

I shook my head, dismissing Leanne’s apology. I hardly remembered who was there and who wasn’t. My own grief had been so overwhelming that such details were of little concern. The church was packed and the service was moving—that’s about all I took in.

I saw that Leanne was now eating her chowder and I was the one who’d stopped.

“It’s been a difficult year for you, hasn’t it?” Leanne murmured.

“It’s been a year,” I said in a weak attempt at a joke.

“Mark and I were divorced two years ago. I assumed everything would get easier.”

“It hasn’t?” This wasn’t a good sign.

“In some ways it has. When I say my name now, people don’t automatically ask if I’m any relation to the accountant who stole the hospital’s money.”

“How do you cope?” I asked, hoping for ideas to lessen the emptiness in my own life. Or if not ideas, at least some reassurance. “Do you miss him any less?”

“No,” she said starkly. “I miss him every single day.”

Although I would’ve liked a more encouraging answer, I didn’t really expect one. “I miss Hannah the same way.”

“A divorce is a loss of another kind,” Leanne said, “but it’s still a loss.”

No argument there.

We finished our meals and I dumped our leftovers in a nearby receptacle. I wanted to suggest we walk for a while, but wasn’t sure how Leanne felt about extending our time together.

“It’s a lovely evening,” she said, gazing out over Puget Sound. The lights on the boats, reflected in the green-blue water, seemed festive to me, even though this was an ordinary weekday evening. Or maybe not so ordinary…

“Would you care to walk along the waterfront?” I asked, thinking she might not object, after all.

“I’d love to.”

We strolled down the sidewalk, but neither of us seemed talkative. I pointed out a Starbucks and proposed a cup of coffee to conclude our evening. I hesitated to use the word
date.
This didn’t feel like one.

“I’m comfortable with you,” I said after I’d paid for our
coffee and we continued down the walkway past the Seattle Aquarium.

“Thank you. I’m comfortable with you, too.” She looked over at me and smiled. It was a pleasant smile and I caught myself staring at her and wondering what it would be like to kiss her. I wasn’t going to do it; neither of us was ready for anything physical. Still, the thought had entered my mind and I didn’t feel instantly guilty. That was progress.

When we’d drunk our coffee, I escorted Leanne to the parking garage where she’d left her car, despite her protests. I couldn’t in all conscience let her walk into a practically deserted garage alone.

“Can I drive you to your car?” she asked when we got there.

“No, thanks. The exercise will do me good.”

I took the stairs out of the garage and emerged onto the sidewalk. Since my car was ten blocks away, I started the strenuous climb up the Seattle hills.

“Well, what did you think?” I asked Hannah, burying my hands in my pockets. Glancing toward the sky, I resumed my ongoing conversation with her. “I think it went well, don’t you?”

There were certain times I felt her presence and this was one of them.

“I hope you’re pleased,” I said. “I’ve gotten together with two of the three women on your list.”

I couldn’t immediately remember the name of the third woman, whom I’d never met. Her cousin I knew fairly well, although we hadn’t been in contact since Hannah’s death. Until last week. Leanne Lancaster I’d known on a
casual basis, and Macy…yes, Macy Roth, that was her name. I knew absolutely nothing about her.

“Why Macy?” I asked.

Silence greeted my question.

“Okay, you’re right, I haven’t met her yet. I will.” Although I hadn’t come up with a way to do it…

“You have any bright ideas?” I asked Hannah. “You want me to meet Ms. Roth, so it would help if you had a suggestion or two on how to go about it.”

Still no answer. “I am not making a cold call, so you can forget that,” I told Hannah. I definitely wasn’t phoning this woman out of the blue!

“If you want me to meet Macy, you’ll need to show me how.” I nodded my head decisively so Hannah would know I was serious.

I reached the parking garage. The night-shift attendant knew me. Paul had been at the garage from the day I joined the practice. It’d been a while since I’d chatted with the older black man.

“Evening, Dr. Everett.”

“Hello, Paul.”

“Staying extra late tonight?”

“A bit,” I agreed. “Good night now.” I started to walk away.

“Dr. Everett,” Paul said as I turned.

“Yes?”

He smiled and there was a note of approval in his voice. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you seem better.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re healing,” Paul said. “When you first lost the
missus, I was real worried about you. But I can see that you’re looking more alive. Your step’s a bit lighter.”

I thanked him with a smile.

“It really does get easier with time.”

“Does it?” I asked, not really believing that was possible.

“It did with me. I lost my Lucille three years ago.”

“I’m sorry, Paul, I didn’t know.”

“No reason you should. I didn’t let on, figured professional men and women like yourself don’t want to hear about my troubles.”

I felt bad that he’d borne this alone.

“Have you…remarried?” I asked.

“No, but I got myself a girlfriend. We play bingo at the VFW on Saturday nights and she talked me into taking dance lessons.” He chuckled and shook his head with its patch of unruly white hair. “If only Lucille could see me now. She’d get such a kick out of me on that dance floor.”

“You ready for
Dancing with the Stars?”
I joked.

He laughed outright. “I don’t think any TV producer’s going to be interested in me.”

I raised my hand in farewell.

“Nice talking to you, Dr. Everett.”

“You, too, Paul,” I said and headed in the direction of my car. I noticed I was smiling when I happened to catch my reflection in the car window.

I glanced upward, imagining Hannah with a satisfied little smirk on her face. “I suppose you’re responsible for that conversation, too.”

E
ver since my dinner date with Leanne Lancaster, I hadn’t been able to get Hannah’s list out of my mind. I’d entered into this scheme of hers kicking and screaming and now…Well, now I was still fighting it, but my objections weren’t as loud.

I’d connected with Leanne. I wasn’t romantically interested in her, but I felt that at some point I could be. I believed the same was true of her. We’d put no pressure on each other. We’d both suffered great loss and while that might be a fragile bond, it gave us each a reprieve from loneliness. Simply put, I enjoyed the evening with her. The hardest part about being alone is…being alone.

Tuesday morning when I got to the office I still felt good, which I attributed to my dinner with Leanne. What had helped, too, was my chat with Paul, the parking garage attendant. That brief conversation had filled me with
hope. Like me, he’d lost his wife, but had been able to move forward in life. Granted, with him it’d taken three years but at least he’d shown me that this grief, this all-consuming pain, would abate. Leanne had reminded me that others suffered, too, that I was not unique in my pain, regardless of how it felt. Paul had assured me that, with enough time, suffering became bearable.

At noon I found a message from my brother-in-law and returned Ritchie’s call while I ate lunch.

“It’s me,” I said when he answered the phone. “You called?”

“Yeah, I wanted to give you the details for Max’s party.”

“Go ahead.” I reached for a pen and a pad.

“Saturday at eleven. Steph’s taking Max and five of his friends to the arcade and out for pizza afterward.”

“Are we expected to tag along?” I asked, grinning, knowing Ritchie was a kid at heart.

“You mean you don’t want to accompany me and six highly active screaming boys to the arcade, where they’ll go through quarters faster than a slot machine?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“I’ll make a point of arriving early this Saturday,” I told him.

Then that radar of Ritchie’s seemed to kick in. “Anything new with you?”

“How do you mean
new?”
I asked, stalling for time.

“With you and that oncology nurse.”

I hesitated, then decided I’d tell him about meeting Leanne. “I went to dinner with her last night.”

“Dinner? You actually asked her out?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d that go?”

“Good.” I didn’t elaborate.

I felt more than heard Ritchie’s uncertainty. “Define
good.”

I should’ve realized he wouldn’t be satisfied with a one-word response. “Okay, if you must know, we spent three hours together.”

Ritchie released a sharp whistle. “Sounds like the two of you hit it off.”

I wasn’t convinced I should be discussing this with my brother-in-law. Sure as anything, on Wednesday when we met at the gym he’d besiege me with questions. Questions I had no intention of answering.

“Leanne and I have a lot in common,” was all I was willing to tell him.

“That’s a great start,” he said enthusiastically. “You’ve met with Winter and now with Leanne.”

Apparently, he was keeping tabs.

“Of the two of them, who has the strongest appeal?” he asked.

“Leanne,” I said. “Not that I don’t like Winter,” I added quickly, remembering they were cousins.

“What’s the name of the third woman again?”

“Macy Roth.” I had no connection with her at all, no way of casually running into her as I had with Leanne. And it wasn’t as if I could stop by her restaurant for coffee and a croissant.

“What do you know about her?”

“Practically nothing.”

“No, wait. She’s the model.” Ritchie wasn’t giving up. “What else did Hannah say about her?”

“I don’t remember.” A lie. In her letter Hannah had mentioned the fact that Macy held several jobs. She’d also written that she thought Macy would make me smile.

“Are you going to call her?” Ritchie asked.

“Macy? I wouldn’t even know how to get in touch with her.”

“Come on, buddy, you’re smarter than that.”

I wasn’t interested in meeting the third woman on Hannah’s list. I liked Winter, but I had more of a connection with Leanne. Adding a third woman to the mix would confuse me, especially if I felt any kind of affinity with her, the way I did with Leanne.

“Hannah wanted you to meet her,” Ritchie pointed out—as if I’d forgotten.

“Then I’ll let Hannah arrange it.”

“You know what? She just might.”

“I can handle that,” I said, not altogether sure I could. I looked down at my lunch of broccoli soup and a hard roll. I realized I’d spent most of my break talking to Ritchie. “I’ve got to run.”

“See you in the morning.”

“See you.” With that I disconnected.

I wondered why Hannah had chosen
three
candidates. Why not two? Or four? Maybe because three’s a magic number, the number that always appears in fairy tales. If
I was going to complete all my tasks like a fairy-tale hero, I had to meet this third woman.

“Okay,” I muttered, sensing her dissatisfaction with me. If not hers, then Ritchie’s. “I’ll meet Macy. Somehow.” I wasn’t happy about it. I was astonished by how susceptible I was to guilt. And both Hannah and Ritchie were piling it on.

When I’d finished my lunch, Linda came by, all smiles. She tended to be a sober woman and her amusement caught my attention.

I asked her about it.

“Have you seen Dr. O’Malley’s office?” Linda asked me.

“Not recently.” I saw Patrick two or three times a week but rarely visited his office at the opposite end of the floor.

“He had a mural painted for the children. It covers the entire hallway, both sides. It’s the cutest scene with fire trucks and bulldozers on one side for the boys, and on the other is a castle with a coach and horse-drawn carriage for the girls.”

“A mural,” I repeated slowly.

“I was thinking this is something we might want to consider, too.”

Hannah had done it again. She’d given me the perfect excuse to contact Macy Roth. In her letter she’d mentioned that one of Macy’s many professions was that of artist. She painted murals. Therefore I’d hire her to paint the office wall; that would allow me to meet her without any expectations. Well, other than for the job I was hiring her to do.

“A mural’s an excellent idea,” I said.

“Would you like me to ask Susan in Dr. O’Malley’s office for the artist’s name?”

“No…ah, sure. But I already know the name of a woman who could do this.”

“I’ll get the phone number of the one who painted Dr. O’Malley’s mural, as well,” Linda told me. “Then if the artist you know doesn’t work out, we’ll have another option.”

“Great.” This was what I appreciated most about Linda. She thought of everything.

I waited until the end of the day to call Macy. I found her phone listing in the online directory and punched out the number.

The phone rang four times and I was preparing to leave a message when a breathless voice greeted me. “Hello?”

“Macy Roth?”

“That’s me.” She sounded as if she’d run a long distance.

“This is Dr. Michael Everett.”

“Is it about Harvey?” she demanded, panic in her voice. “I asked him to give my name as an emergency contact. He’s terribly ill, isn’t he? I’ve been so worried! He didn’t tell me he made a doctor’s appointment, but there’s a lot Harvey doesn’t tell me.”

I had to wait for her to take a breath. As soon as she did, I jumped in and assured her this had nothing to do with Harvey, whoever that might be. “Actually, I’m phoning on an entirely different matter.”

The line went quiet. “This
isn’t
about Harvey?”

“No,” I told her again. “This is about a job. I understand you paint murals.”

“I do,” she said brightly. “I’m good at it, too.”

And modest about her talent, I noted.

“Would you like me to paint a wall for you? I charge reasonable rates and I’m creative and dependable.”

I chose to ignore the finer qualities she felt obliged to enumerate. “I’m thinking of having a mural painted in my office.” I wasn’t willing to commit myself until I’d had an opportunity to meet Macy.

“I’d be happy to paint a mural for you.”

“Do you have pictures of what you’ve done?” I asked.

“I do…somewhere. I’m not sure exactly where they are, but I do have photographs of my work.”

“Can I see them?” It seemed a logical request.

“I’ll have to hunt them up. I’m afraid that might take a while.”

The woman clearly didn’t possess much of a business mind, let alone any organizational skills. “Would you like to know what I want painted?” I asked, half amused and half irritated.

“It’s a wall, right? That’s where most people want their murals.”

“A hallway.”

“Okay. Have you chosen a subject? Like…like goldfish in a pond. Or a farm scene. Or—”

“I’d like to hear your ideas. When would it be convenient for you to stop by?”

“I’m not doing anything right now,” she volunteered. “If you want, I could drop in tonight.”

It would be nice to deal with this matter after hours, rather than between patients. “How soon can you be here?” I asked after giving her the office address.

“Oh, you’re close. I could make it in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll alert the security guard to let you into the building.”

“Thanks.” She hesitated, then asked, “If I’m a few minutes late, it’s not a problem, right?”

“Well…”

“I’ll do my best,” she promised and the line went dead.

“A few minutes late,” as Macy called it, turned out to be thirty-five minutes
past
the time she’d mentioned. I paced the office, disgruntled and annoyed. I insist on promptness, especially in business situations; when I tell someone I’ll arrive in twenty minutes, I keep my word. If I’m held up for some unforeseen reason, I contact the person in question and explain.

Almost an hour after our phone call, I heard the office door open and came out to meet Macy Roth. To my surprise, I did know her. When Leanne had apologized for not attending the funeral, I’d said I hadn’t been aware of who was there and who wasn’t.

With one exception.

The woman in red. The woman who’d worn a bright red outfit and a wide-brimmed hat with curls of carroty hair poking out beneath. She’d stood out like a lone apple tree in the middle of a meadow. Everyone else had worn black or dark clothes for mourning. Not Macy. Just seeing her there as though dressed for a party had set my teeth on edge. Obviously the woman had no discretion. No common sense, either, since she’d chosen to wear such cheerful clothes to a funeral. Today she had on a pair of yellow leggings, a leopard-print tunic and ballet-style shoes. Her
long, red hair was pulled into a ponytail high on her head. Macy Roth must have been thirty, but in that get-up she looked about eighteen. She certainly didn’t exhibit the professional appearance I would’ve expected at an interview.

She stopped abruptly when she saw me and her eyes met mine in sudden recognition. “You’re Hannah’s husband,” she whispered.

I nodded.

Macy’s eyes went soft with pain. “I loved Hannah.”

“Thank you,” I said curtly. I wasn’t going to discuss my wife with this woman I’d disliked on sight.

“I remember the time she—”

“You’re late.” I knew I was being rude, but I couldn’t help it. I was astonished that Hannah had seen this woman as a suitable wife for me.

She snapped to attention like a raw recruit. “Oh, yes. Sorry about that.”

“You said twenty minutes.”

“I had to get the shoe box down from the closet and then Lovie got trapped inside when I closed the door, except I didn’t know that. All I could hear were these frantic cries. It took me five minutes to discover that she was still in the closet.”

I had no idea who Lovie was and could only assume she was either an animal or, God forbid, a toddler.

“I found the photos you wanted to see. They were in the shoe box, the one in the closet. I have them in my purse.” She fumbled with the zipper and chattered away nonstop.
“You see, Sammy wanted to be friends with Lovie, and Lovie wasn’t interested. Normally Sammy’s over at Harvey’s place.” She paused. “I really am worried about Harvey. He just isn’t himself lately.”

“The mural?” I said. “For the hallway?”

“I’d like to see it.”

“I’d like to show it to you.” I directed her to the area behind the receptionist’s desk. A series of five doors off the long hallway. One opened into my office and the other four led to exam rooms for patients. There was an alcove on the opposite side for Linda.

“Did you have anything in mind?” she asked.

“Not really. What I’d like is a scene that would create a sense of comfort. The children I see are sick, and some of them are afraid they’ll need a shot or that someone’s going to poke a needle in them and draw blood. I want to convey that the doctor’s office isn’t a scary place.”

Macy frowned. “It was for me.”

I frowned in return. “Then make sure this one isn’t.”

She hesitated, and I could see she disliked me as much as I did her.

Then she smiled. “I’ll sketch a concept and bring it in for your approval,” she said pleasantly.

“When can I expect that?”

She shrugged. “It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.”

I questioned that, considering her attitude toward punctuality. “And your fee is?” I asked.

She glanced down the hallway and I could almost see
the wheels turning in her brain. When people know I’m a physician, they usually jack up the price. If she attempted to gouge me, I wouldn’t tolerate it. Linda had given me the amount charged by the artist Patrick had employed, so I had a rate to compare Macy’s to.

“I can see this running about seven hundred dollars.” She looked at me assessingly. “That’s half of what I normally charge—but I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” I immediately asked.

“A small one. I’ll tell you once we’ve agreed on a scene. Okay?”

I nodded, just so we could move this process along. I could always decline and find another artist.

“Go ahead and sketch out your idea and bring it over when it’s convenient,” I said.