Hannah's List (15 page)

“Okay, why not? But I have to warn you it’s been years since I got on a bike.”

“You’ll pick it up right away,” I assured her. “It really is true that once you’ve learned you never forget.”

“That’s good to know.”

Already I was looking forward to the weekend.

We chatted for a few more minutes and then just before I was ready to hang up Winter said, “I’m glad you called.”

“I am, too,” I said and I meant it. Wherever our relationship went—whether we became close friends or casual ones, whether we experimented with romance or eventually fell in love—I was prepared to accept.

What would be would be.

“
I
have to wear a helmet?” Winter asked.

“It’s the law in King County,” I explained. She seemed uncertain about every aspect of this venture. I was beginning to think taking out the bikes hadn’t been such a great idea, after all. Winter had dressed in a matching pants outfit, and I worried that her cuff would get caught in the chain. By the time I noticed, it was too late to suggest she change clothes. I found a couple of metal pant clips and used them to secure the loose material, a concession to safety if not fashion. Her rhinestone-studded flip-flops weren’t ideal for bike riding, either. I still had a pair of Hannah’s biking shoes and recommended she wear those. Their feet seemed to be about the same size. Since Winter hadn’t cycled in years, I worked with her for several minutes until I was confident she wouldn’t have a problem. Then we both climbed on our bikes and rode
up and down the block before we set out beyond the neighborhood.

“How are you doing?” I called back to her.

“Great.”

Her reply sounded tentative, so I made another circuit of the block, riding slowly. Hannah had been a competent cyclist, but it was unfair to compare Winter to her. I’d need to remind myself of that. I appreciated Winter’s willingness to at least try. My hope was that in time she’d come to enjoy biking, which I loved.

I was surprised to realize how long it’d been since I’d last taken out my bike. Hannah and I had often talked about riding in the STP, the Seattle to Portland Bicycle Race held every July. It’s a two-day event and we’d been gearing up for the ride when Hannah was diagnosed. She’d wanted me to participate, but I’d refused. It wouldn’t have been any fun without her.

Ritchie rode a stationary bike at the gym, but I couldn’t imagine him out on the streets in a serious ride. Not because he lacked athletic ability, but because he couldn’t care less about cycling. Baseball was his sport and he was a rabid Seattle Mariners fan. He watched or attended every game the team played, memorized the stats and was a font of useless information. Useless, that was, in my opinion, although I’d never say that to Ritchie’s face.

Absorbed in my own thoughts, I hadn’t noticed that I’d gotten quite far ahead of Winter. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her wobbling dangerously. I turned my
bicycle, intent on rejoining her. Winter saw me turn and for whatever reason decided to stop.

I could see her start to fall, but I was unable to help. She couldn’t get her foot released fast enough and as a result she crashed onto her side, the bicycle on top of her. It seemed to happen in slow motion, but I’m sure it didn’t feel that way to Winter.

She cried out as she landed with a thud.

“Winter!” I pedaled to her side and was off my bike in a matter of seconds. Just as I’d feared, despite the clip, her pant cuff had gotten caught in the chain and had torn. I pulled away the bicycle and rested it against a tree, then did a quick visual exam. The skin on her elbow had been scraped and was bleeding, as was her knee, which appeared to be the worst of her injuries.

“Don’t touch me!” She tensed as I bent down to examine her more thoroughly.

“I won’t,” I promised, looking in both directions to make sure no cars were coming.

Winter closed her eyes and released a shaky breath.

“Does anything feel broken?” I asked, quickly transitioning into doctor mode.

“No…nothing.”

“Keep still for a moment. Concentrate. Where’s the pain?”

“My elbow and knee—nothing’s broken. I’m sure of it.”

She struggled into a sitting position. When I tried to help, she shook her head, telling me she wanted to do this on her own.

She sat up slowly and, bending her arm, studied her elbow
first. Then she stared down at her knee. I knew it must hurt. It wasn’t as if we were kids and could easily recover from a fall. As adults we land a lot harder.

“Do you feel dizzy?” I asked, afraid she might have bumped her head. She was wearing Hannah’s old helmet, but I had to ask.

“No.”

“Light-headed?”

“No. The helmet saved me, I think.”

“That’s why we’re supposed to use them.” I’ve dealt with too many preventable head injuries in children who hadn’t been wearing helmets.

Winter grinned. “You’re not one of those men who take delight in saying
I told you so,
are you?”

I grinned back. “Every man lives for the opportunity.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said, coming awkwardly to a stand.

“I’ll take you to the house and patch up your wounds,” I said.

Winter hobbled toward the house while I pushed both bikes. So much for that plan. Bike riding had been a disaster.

“I’m sorry, Winter.”

“Why should you apologize? I’m the inept one.”

“I should’ve suggested we do something else.” I put the bikes in the garage, then joined her. With my arm around her waist, I led her into the kitchen and sat her down on a kitchen chair while I went in search of Band-Aids and antibiotic cream.

When I returned I had a fresh washcloth, too. Next I
ran cool water into a bowl and brought it over to the table where I’d set my supplies. I dabbed at her scraped elbow and knee, applied ointment and carefully bandaged them.

“I’m not a good patient,” Winter said from between clenched teeth.

“On the contrary, you’re an excellent patient.”

She smiled and our eyes met.

Once I’d finished, I took away the water and the cloth and put everything back where it belonged. I hate to admit it, but I’m a neat freak, as Hannah rather unflatteringly described me. It’s a habit I developed as a child, perhaps because my brother, with whom I shared a bedroom, was such a slob. Ever since then, I’d felt a need to have order around me.

“My mother always gave me a treat when I was hurt as a kid,” Winter told me when I came back.

“What kind of treat?”

“Sometimes it was hot cocoa, other times a cookie. When I broke my arm she let me sleep in her bed and watch movies all day.” Her face reddened and she immediately broke eye contact. “I wasn’t asking to sleep in your bed, Michael.”

I hadn’t taken it that way and merely laughed. “Don’t worry about it.”

She thanked me with a lopsided smile.

“Would you like to watch a movie?” I offered. That was the only thing I could think of, probably because she’d just mentioned it.

“Do you have popcorn?”

“Let me check.” Groceries were a hit-and-miss chore with me. I was thankful to discover an unopened box of microwave popcorn in the cupboard above the refrigerator. I didn’t know how long it’d been there, but it served the purpose.

While I stood guard over it, Winter went through the stack of DVDs. I couldn’t remember when I’d actually sat down and watched one, although we owned quite a few. Hannah was the movie lover, everything from black-and-white classics to foreign films to Hollywood blockbusters. I watched them with her—mainly to
be
with her—but movies seemed a waste of time to me.

Winter came into the kitchen, a DVD in her hand.
“The African Queen
is one of my favorites.”

“Hannah’s, too.”

“I know. I’m guessing she bought it.”

She had.

The popping slowed and then stopped, and the timer buzzed. I was grateful for the distraction. I didn’t want to get caught up in memories of Hannah. I didn’t think it was wise to drag her name into every conversation. Winter must have felt the same way because she didn’t mention Hannah again.

The TV was in the family room and I inserted the movie, then sat down on the sofa next to Winter. I left several inches between us. She had her bowl of popcorn and I had mine.

It’d been probably four years since I’d seen the Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn movie. I’d forgot
ten what a moving love story it is. I did recall that Hannah invariably cried at the end.

As the credits rolled, Winter glanced in my direction. Neither of us had moved during the film. The same few inches still separated us.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“I’ll survive.”

“I’ve got some aspirin.” I should’ve thought of it earlier. If she wasn’t stiff and sore now, she would be soon.

She shook her head. “It hardly hurts at all.”

“Well, tomorrow might be another story,” I said, blaming myself regardless of her protests.

“As you might’ve guessed, I’m more of an inside woman,” Winter announced. “I’ve always loved working in the kitchen and experimenting with recipes. I’m not really into sports.”

Hannah had enjoyed cooking, too, but as far as sports went, she was game for anything. She had the spirit of an adventurer. Never once could I remember her holding back when I suggested we try something new, whether it was biking a hundred and fifty miles on a two-day trek to Oregon or signing us up for a river rafting trip.

“I might not be any good at sports, but I could whip up a dinner you’d rave about for weeks,” Winter said.

“I’ll bet you could.” I hoped she didn’t hear the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. Since Hannah’s charming dinner parties, I’d lost any interest in elaborate meals. Eating was just a means of fueling the body for me, not the soul.

“What would you like to do?” I asked.

“Do you play cards?”

“Not anymore.” I used to play poker, of course, but not since Hannah got ill. “Sorry.”

“Oh.” Her disappointment was obvious.

“What do you do on your days off?” I asked.

“I putter around in my kitchen. I know!” Her eyes brightened. “How about if I make you dinner?”

“Don’t you cook all week? You shouldn’t have to do it on your day off.”

“But it’s what I love,” she said. “When I’m at the café I’m stuck doing the paperwork, ordering, things like that. So I seldom get a chance to experiment in the kitchen anymore. There are a few dishes I’ve been eager to try, but it doesn’t make sense to cook for one.”

“I haven’t been to the store in a while.” I gestured for her to search through the fridge and cupboards if she wished, knowing she’d find mostly canned soup and a few frozen meals.

“Oh, that’s part of the fun,” she said. “I like grocery shopping.”

“Okay, then. Let’s go.”

She grinned widely as I reached for my car keys. This wasn’t how I’d envisioned spending our Sunday afternoon, but if it was what she wanted I wasn’t about to complain.

From the moment we stepped inside the store, it was clear that Winter was in her element. She maneuvered the aisles like a pro, pausing now and then to throw an item into the cart. She read labels, talked to the butcher requesting a special cut, and smelled and squeezed the fruit and vegetables. It was an experience just being with her.

Tagging along, I caught a bit of her enthusiasm. Passion is contagious.

“You’ve memorized the recipe?” I asked.

She stared at me as if I’d spoken a foreign language.

“You know,” I said. “The recipe for this fabulous dinner you’re cooking me.”

“Ha!” she said with a laugh. “I don’t have any recipe!”

“You said there was one you wanted to try.”

“Well, yes. It’s something I had not long ago while I was out with friends. I’ve been dying to reproduce it myself.”

“Oh.”

“Never mind—I promise it’ll taste like a feast Henry VIII would’ve been proud to eat.”

“Otherwise off with your head?” I joked, and she seemed to find that funny.

Back at the house, I unloaded the car while Winter set to work in the kitchen. She soon had the vegetables in the sink and started organizing ingredients on the counter. I saw the thick slices of fresh tuna and boneless chicken breasts and couldn’t imagine what she might be planning with that combination.

“What can I do?” I asked, my hands in my back pockets. I’d never been much use in the kitchen.

She looked at me and for an instant I saw a flicker of sadness in her eyes.

“Were you thinking of Hannah just now?” I asked.

It did seem odd to see another woman in Hannah’s kitchen, even if that woman was there by invitation. Almost immediately I realized I’d broken one of my own
rules. I’d brought Hannah into our conversation, and I’d been determined not to do that.

“Not Hannah,” Winter answered after a brief pause.

“Then who?”

“Pierre. He’s the chef I mentioned. We used to love cooking together.”

I nodded.

Winter turned abruptly away from me. “I think I told you Pierre and I…are taking a break from each other,” she said. “Unfortunately it looks like it’ll be a permanent one.”

Winter was preparing a meal, indulging in her favorite pastime—which she used to share with the man she loved. I’d done the same thing when I suggested we take out the bikes. Hannah and I had often gone cycling on a Sunday afternoon, and it appeared that Winter and Pierre had spent their time together in the kitchen, doing something they were equally passionate about.

I could picture them working side by side, offering each other small tastes of their creations, arguing, laughing, kissing.

“What exactly happened with you and Pierre?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

Her voice registered such pain that I automatically took a step closer, and stopped myself just in time from wrapping my arms around her.

“I don’t know,” she said again. “I can’t even begin to explain it.”

Like me, like Leanne…Winter, too, was dealing with loss.

G
rumbling the entire time, Macy did as Dr. Everett had requested and drew a jungle scene. The problem was that the man had no imagination. She’d met men like him before and found them uniformly boring. He obviously didn’t have a sense of humor, either. In her humble opinion, the children’s doctor could use a good laugh. He took everything far too seriously.

Monday afternoon, as promised, she showed up at his office—on time. He didn’t seem impressed. This ill-mannered physician hardly even noticed the effort she’d put into making sure she wasn’t late.

In fact, Macy was kept waiting for five whole minutes. She could’ve used those extra minutes. Snowball hadn’t eaten that morning, and Macy was concerned. He could be ill. Or mad. He seemed to think he was punishing Macy by not eating. How like a male to punish
himself to
spite her.

“Dr. Everett will see you now,” his nurse told her, holding open the door to the inner sanctum.

Macy hadn’t formed an opinion about this nurse. Her name tag identified her as Linda Barclay. The woman was certainly friendlier than the physician who employed her, but that wasn’t saying much. However, based on a few comments she’d made, Macy suspected the nurse had a better sense of humor than the doctor.

“He’s in his office,” Linda said, pointing the way.

The last time she’d stopped by, Linda had escorted Macy directly into Dr. Everett’s office; on this visit, she’d been left twiddling her thumbs in the waiting room. That was probably because Macy had taken it upon herself to read one of his precious medical books. He’d practically snatched the book out of her hands, not giving her the opportunity to explain why she’d taken it in the first place. She’d been studying the index because she wanted to look up certain symptoms. Harvey just didn’t seem to be himself lately, and she was worried. He blamed his fainting spells on the fact that he hadn’t eaten, but Macy thought it was more than low blood sugar. Besides, it’d happened again recently. On that occasion, she knew Harvey had eaten less than an hour earlier. Something else was responsible for all this, and her friend was too stubborn to make a doctor’s appointment. Well, there were other ways to deal with this situation.

Between her cat and her neighbor, Macy was in need of medical advice, although she’d have to be crafty if she was going to get any valuable information from Dr. Everett.
Granted, she’d already suggested an exchange of favors during their previous meeting, but he hadn’t seemed enthusiastic. She’d have to handle him with finesse.

When Macy walked into his office, Michael was sitting behind his desk. He glanced up when she entered.

“I was on time,” she told him pointedly.

He stared back at her, apparently unaware of the significance of this feat.

“I was late the first day we met, remember?”

“Oh, yes. By quite a bit, as I recall.”

“But—” she raised her index finger “—I had a good excuse.”

“Well, congratulations for being on time this afternoon.” A hint of a smile touched his eyes.

Oh, what Macy would give to see him
really
smile. The urge to walk over and turn up the edges of his mouth with her fingertips was almost overwhelming. She cocked her head to one side as she tried to imagine what he’d look like amused.

“Macy?” he said, frowning. “You have the drawings?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. I was trying to get a picture of you in my mind.”

“I’m standing right here. Why would you want to do that?”

“I was trying to picture you happy. You know—smiling, maybe even laughing. You don’t do that very often, do you?”

He turned away from her as though he found her exasperating.

“It’s a shame,” Macy felt obliged to tell him.

“That I don’t smile?”

“Well, yes. It must be hard to frown all the time. I once read that it takes twice as many muscles to frown as it does to smile.”

“Perhaps my lack of amusement has something to do with my limited patience.”

That was a clear-cut reminder that she was there for a specific purpose.

“You were going to show me the new sketch for the mural. That
is
the reason you’re here, correct?”

“I have the new sketch with me.” The man was all business, which didn’t bode well because she needed his help and wanted to propose an exchange, the “favor” she’d mentioned last week. While considering how best to broach the subject, she carefully removed the sketch, which she’d rolled into a tight scroll, from her backpack.

Dr. Everett took off the rubber band and unrolled the new sketch across the table. He secured it, then stepped back to examine her proposal.

“These animals are behind bars,” he said with a grimace. He looked up at her, his frown deepening.

“You said you wanted zoo animals. I did what you asked,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “See the gorilla?”

“Why is he caged?”

“Have you visited a zoo lately?” She wasn’t in favor of imprisoning wild animals, and this whole zoo concept had bothered her.

“I said I wanted zoo
animals
,” he said, speaking slowly
as if she was hard of hearing. “I didn’t ask you to draw a zoo scene. You took me far too literally.”

“I can paint it without the bars.” She’d be happy to do that, in fact, but she’d wanted to give him precisely what he’d asked for. Apparently, he’d taken offense; maybe he didn’t approve of zoos, either.

“I asked for a jungle scene.”

“In a zoo,” she added. “But like I said, I’ll take away the bars. Other than that, does this sketch
suit
you?” She wondered if he’d remember he’d used that very word in their previous meeting.

He went over each detail. “It does,” he said slowly. “You’re actually quite talented,” he told her, and she wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or insulted by the surprise in his voice.

“Thank you.” A compliment—well, she’d settle for that.

“When would you like me to start?” she asked, eager now to get down to the negotiations. They’d already agreed on a price, although, as she’d told him, it was half of what she normally charged.

“You can begin this week if you like.”

“Great. However…”

“How long do you think it’ll take you to complete the project?” he asked.

Macy wasn’t fooled. He wanted her in and out of his office as quickly as possible. Well, she wasn’t keen on spending any more time than necessary with him, either.

“A couple of weeks, tops.” She paused. “Um, if you’ll recall, the figure I quoted you is half my usual fee.” She gestured with one hand, but when she noticed how he
glared at it, she immediately lowered it. “As you might also remember, that price is contingent on you doing me a favor.”

Predictably, he frowned.

“I might be able to finish in ten days,” she said, changing tactics.

“What’s this
favor?
” he asked with unmistakable sarcasm.

“Just to see a patient.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Fine.” He pulled open a desk drawer and took out his checkbook. “I’ll give you fifty percent up front.”

“Thanks.” She’d hoped he’d pay her an advance.

He sat down at his desk and started to write the check. She watched for a moment before blurting out her question. “Do you make house calls?”

“House calls?”

“Yes. That’s when a doctor visits a patient’s home and diagnoses that patient in the comfort of his or her own environment.”

He sighed. “I know what a house call is.”

“I figured you would.” She sent him a bright smile. “So, do you make them?”

“No, I don’t,” he said.

“But would you?” she asked hopefully.

“No.”

“Don’t you think it would be better to see patients when they’re relaxed and comfortable?”

“Depends.”

“Wouldn’t you be able to make a more accurate assessment?”

“Not always. There are tests I couldn’t run at a patient’s house.”

“But you could order those, right?” she persisted.

“Is there a reason you’re asking me all these questions? Does it have to do with the patient you want me to see?”

“Y-e-s.” She drawled the word, but didn’t elaborate. She needed to line up her arguments first.

“I don’t make house calls so it’s a moot point,” he said with finality.

“But you could.”

“No,” he said. “For malpractice insurance reasons it’s out of the question.”

“Oh.”

He closed his checkbook and returned it to the top drawer.

“But what if we bartered for it?” Macy asked.

“That’s irrelevant. As I explained, because of my insurance restrictions, it’s impossible, no matter how you paid for it.”

She bit her lip and tried a different approach. “I have a friend I want you to meet.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s sick and refuses to see a doctor.”

“How old is your friend?”

“Eighty-six.”

Dr. Everett’s eyebrows rose. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a pediatrician. I treat children. I have no expertise in geriatrics.”

“That’s all right,” Macy said half-humorously. “Harvey sometimes says he’s going through his second childhood.”

The physician didn’t even crack a smile. “I apologize, but I can’t see your friend on a professional basis.”

“Could you just meet him?”

“Socially I can meet anyone.”

Macy clapped her hands. “That’s perfect. Then I’ll stick to my original agreement. I’ll paint the mural at the price I quoted the other day. Otherwise…it would have to be more.”

Dr. Everett closed his eyes, then opened them again. “Ms. Roth, first, your business practices are questionable, to say the least. Second, I have no intention of meeting your friend.”

“Okay, if you insist I’ll pay you, but the mural will be fourteen hundred dollars instead. I was giving you a fifty percent discount for meeting Harvey.”

He exhaled in what seemed to be complete confusion. “You have no idea what you’re asking me to do.”

He was probably right, but Macy was desperate. “Harvey is a wonderful old man and I don’t think he realizes how sick he is. He doesn’t have anyone in the world. Except me—and Sammy.”

“Sammy’s his son? But you said—”

“No, he’s a stray dog I rescued. I found him in the street. He would’ve been killed if I hadn’t gone after him. I share him with Harvey.” She didn’t understand why it was so important that he hear every detail, but she couldn’t make herself stop talking. Macy was sure that once Michael got to know Harvey, he wouldn’t be able to refuse.

“At first Harvey didn’t want anything to do with Sammy, but he needs someone with him and I can’t be there as much I’d like. Sammy’s great and I can tell he belonged to someone, so I put up notices hoping to find his rightful owner, but the truth is, I was just as glad no one claimed him because Sammy’s such a good companion for Harvey.” This last part was said in one gigantic breath.

“Ms. Roth—”

“Please,” she said, willing to beg if necessary. “Harvey’s like a grandfather to me. I love that old man and want him to live for many years to come. He’s a war hero, you know.”

“Ah…”

“Please. I’ll paint the mural for free if you’ll come and meet Harvey. That’s all I want—for you to meet him. You don’t have to listen to his heart or take his blood pressure or anything else that would put you at risk with the big powerful insurance company.”

He hesitated and Macy could see he was thinking about it.

“Harvey never married,” she said, rushing ahead with more reasons for him to meet her neighbor. “He was in World War II and fought in the South Pacific. He once told me he got malaria and was sick for months and then he was captured by the Japanese and we both know those prison camps weren’t like Camp Winnemucca where I went each summer as a kid.”

“My grandfather was in the war, too,” the doctor said quietly.

Again Macy could see that he was giving the matter serious consideration. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. She felt she was generally a good judge of character and
wondered if she’d been too quick to find fault with Dr. Everett. “If this was your grandfather, wouldn’t you want someone who cared about him to get a doctor to visit? Wouldn’t you?”

Dr. Everett exhaled slowly. “Tell me what’s going on with Harvey.”

“That’s just it,” she cried. “I don’t know! I think it must be his heart or it could be a recurrence of malaria. He has weak spells and sometimes faints, but he brushes off my concern.”

“Describe one of these spells.”

“Okay,” she murmured. “The other day I found him slouched in his chair without his hat. He always wears his hat because he doesn’t tolerate the sun very well. Sammy knew something was wrong, too, because he came to get me.”

“The dog?”

“Yes. Harvey was too weak to stand up. He hadn’t eaten in a while so I heated up soup and brought that to him, but his weakness was due to more than an empty stomach. There was another time he blamed the fact that he hadn’t eaten, but I knew he had. These spells seem to be happening more and more. It’s scaring me. Something’s wrong, I can feel it.”

The doctor didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You’re probably right that it’s his heart.”

“Will you please come?”

He met her eyes.

“You don’t have to pay me any more for the mural than
this—the three-fifty—if you’ll agree to come and meet Harvey.” She’d offered to do the whole mural for free, and she would if he insisted, but she really could use the money. “All you have to do is meet him. I’d like you to talk to him a bit, though. Maybe you can figure out what’s wrong.”

“I doubt meeting your friend will do much good, Macy.”

“He might listen to you.”

“About what?”

“Seeing a doctor. I mean, for a real appointment. A checkup.”

“When’s the last time he was in to see a doctor?”

Macy smiled. “I asked him that, too, and he said it was when he enlisted in the marines.”

He smiled. Dr. Everett actually smiled.

“Wow,” she said aloud.

“Wow, what?”

“You’re quite good-looking when you smile.”

He immediately frowned. “About your friend…”

“You’d be willing to meet Harvey?” she asked, interrupting him for fear he’d be motivated by the insurance company and their small print instead of his own compassion and better judgment.