Hannah's List (30 page)

He grumbled again, but I could tell he was amused. And he did let Linda take his blood.

The next morning when I met Ritchie at the gym, I knew it was a mistake to say anything about Macy. But I hadn’t slept well, and when he prodded me about that, I blurted it out.

“She’s back?” my brother-in-law said, half jogging, half running on the treadmill.

I pretended I hadn’t heard him, running at my own pace. We were on machines that stood side by side.

“You talked to her?”

“No. I don’t plan to, either.”

Ritchie slowed his speed. “You honestly intend to stay away?”

“Yup.”

To my surprise, he didn’t have an automatic comeback. I glanced over at him and saw that he was studying me.

“I don’t get it, man.”

“What don’t you get?” I was foolish enough to ask.

“You. Macy disappears and you moon after her for weeks. In case you aren’t aware of it, you were miserable and you made everyone else miserable, too.”

“I apologized for that.” Unfortunately, Ritchie had been on the receiving end of my bad mood for much of that time. Fortunately, however, he’s a good friend and he put up with me.

“Yeah, you apologized, but it wasn’t enough.”

“What more do you want?” I asked. This was probably going to cost me.

“One thing.”

“Okay, name it.”

“Ask yourself what Hannah would want you to do.”

I stopped running and nearly lost my balance as the treadmill shot me backward. At least I had the presence of mind to grab the handlebars.

“That was below the belt,” I muttered.

“Think about it,” Ritchie said.

What
would
Hannah want me to do? Good question.

Well, she’d just have to tell me.

W
inter and Pierre were sprawled at opposite ends of the leather sofa in her condo. Their feet met in the middle and they both had cookbooks propped on their laps.

Winter dropped her book on the floor with a thud. “What about a cold avocado soup for lunch?” It was early Sunday afternoon, a lazy summer Sunday with flawless August weather.

“Blended with buttermilk?”

“And fresh lime juice,” Winter suggested. “Add a little salt, and ooh-la-la!”

“Sounds
délicieux.
But—” he raised his eyebrows”—the soup might be too thick, depending on how much avocado you use.”

“Ah.” Winter nodded. “I have a secret ingredient.”

Pierre’s cell phone rang and he reached inside his pocket.

Winter could tell from the way he stiffened that it was bad news. He listened for a few minutes, then stood and walked over to the window. He started pacing, back and forth, back and forth.

She sat up and watched him.

Frowning, Pierre swore and snapped his cell phone shut before shoving it in his pocket.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I work with a group of
imbéciles,
” he shouted. “Where do they find these people? I would assume I could have one day off, but, oh, no.” He stormed into the kitchen. “Where is my book?” he demanded.
“Mon cahier?”

“What book?”

“The one I had with me earlier, of course. My
book
.”

Winter didn’t think it was her responsibility to keep track of his book. Besides, it wasn’t really a book, but a notebook, one he always carried with him.

“Pierre.”

“Can’t you see I’m in a rush?”

She inhaled and closed her eyes. This was a telling moment. She could respond with anger or she could remain calm. Her instinct was to return tit for tat, but experience told her that would only exacerbate the problem.

She walked into the kitchen, where he was tossing papers to and fro, searching for his “book.”

“Let me help,” she offered.

“Did you hide it from me?”

Normally she’d be infuriated by his ridiculous accusation. Instead, she laughed.

He turned and regarded her suspiciously.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” she asked, holding up his notebook. He’d left it on the table in plain sight.

He grinned and put out his hand. She held the notebook out of reach. “It’s going to cost you.”

A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and then faded. “Our Sunday afternoon is ruined.”

“There’ll be other afternoons.”

Pierre threw his arms around her. “Thank you.”

“No, thank Alix’s mother-in-law.”

“Her mother-in-law?”

“Never mind,” she said, touching her lips to his.

He left shortly afterward, and Winter settled back on the sofa. For the past six weeks, she and Pierre had been dating. This time, they hadn’t made the mistake of moving ahead too quickly.

During the initial meeting after their three-month break, Pierre had been guarded and brusque. He seemed determined to end their relationship until Winter had coerced him into trying the exercise Alix had taught her. When Pierre saw how he reacted to things that bothered him about Winter, his eyes, too, had been opened. Now, a month later, their relationship wasn’t without problems, and breaking old habits required constant effort, but it was working. Winter was happier than she’d been all year.

She fell asleep on the sofa and was awakened by Pierre’s kiss an hour later. She wrapped her arms around his neck and savored everything about him—his strong, solid body, his warm clean scent, the steady beating of his heart.

“Mmm. This is a lovely way to wake up.”

Pierre chuckled.

Winter’s phone pealed in the background.

“Not again,” Pierre moaned. “Don’t answer it.”

“Pierre, I have to. It could be important.” She didn’t remind him that she hadn’t asked him not to answer
his
phone earlier.

He released her with obvious reluctance, and she grabbed the phone just before it went to voice mail.

“Alix is having her baby!” Lydia from A Good Yarn said excitedly. “She called a few minutes ago and she’s in labor.”

“I thought Jordan was supposed to call.”

“He didn’t, but you know Jordan when it comes to this baby—he can’t think straight. Alix sounded a lot calmer than he did.” Lydia laughed. “I could hear him in the background insisting she get off the phone, that they had to get to the hospital.”

“Their baby’s going to be one spoiled infant.” Winter intended to do a fair amount of that spoiling herself.

“Right now Jordan’s a nervous wreck,” Lydia said.

“Of course he is. He’s a first-time father and with what happened before—well, it’s understandable.” They talked a while longer and then Winter ended the conversation. “Thanks for letting me know. Call me if you hear anything and I’ll do the same.”

Pierre and Winter made the avocado soup, and it was as delicious as Winter had known it would be. Pierre laughed at her “secret ingredient,” which was ice cubes. She added ten to the recipe, using the ice to both cool and thin out
the avocado and buttermilk blend. She also added an extra cup of milk and served the soup with crumbled blue cheese.

Pierre made chicken curry sandwiches to complement it. Halfway through lunch, Winter set down her spoon and lowered her half-eaten sandwich to her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Pierre asked. “Too much curry in the chicken?”

“No, it’s perfect.” Pierre was a master at gauging spices.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m worried about Alix,” Winter murmured.

“Women have babies every day. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Winter hoped that was true. “It’s just…a feeling I have.” She stood and walked aimlessly around the kitchen. A moment later, she’d made a decision. “I want to go to the hospital.”

“
Mais, ce temps
—
c’est pour la famille.
A time like this is for family,” he translated.

“I
am
Alix’s family. She doesn’t have anyone except us—the people of Blossom Street who love her.”

Pierre considered her words, then slowly nodded. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

She nodded with relief. “I was hoping you’d offer.”

“For you, my love, anything.”

Winter put their dirty dishes in the sink while Pierre dealt with the leftovers. She collected her purse and they headed out together.

For some reason she felt less worried when they arrived
at the hospital. Perhaps that was simply because she was
doing
something now, even if that something was just waiting in a different place. To her surprise she discovered the waiting room was full. She recognized Larry and Susan Turner, who were sitting across from Lydia Goetz and Casey, her thirteen-year-old daughter.

“Hi, Winter.” Lydia smiled when she saw her. She was a lovely woman, a two-time cancer survivor whose petite, delicate beauty belied her emotional strength. “I told Casey you wouldn’t be able to stay away, either, and I was right.”

“Mom’s always right,” Casey said teasingly.

“And don’t you forget it.”

Winter knew that Lydia and her husband, Brad, had adopted the girl the year before. She’d started off as a foster child and, over the summer, the family had grown to love her. The girl had become close to Alix and often stopped at the café to chat with her. Casey must be anxious for news of the baby’s birth.

“You all know Pierre, don’t you?” Winter asked, stepping over to where the Turners had gathered.

Larry stood, and Pierre shook hands with Jordan’s father. “We met at the wedding,” Larry said. “This is our first grandchild,” he added nervously.

“
Bonne chance
,” Pierre said. “I’m wishing you the best.”

“Would you two stop?” Susan said with a laugh. “Everything’s going to be fine.” She had a crochet project on her lap, and Winter could see that Casey had brought her knitting.

Following Winter’s gaze, Casey said, “I’m making the baby a blanket. Mom’s helping me.” Then under her breath, she muttered, “I’m better at crochet than knitting. Aunt Margaret even said so.”

“How’s it going with Alix?” Winter asked, directing the question to Susan.

“Jordan was back to give us a report about half an hour ago. Alix is well—and the baby should be born soon.”

Just then, as if he’d been summoned, Jordan burst through the swinging doors and threw his arms in the air. “We have a son!”

“A son,” Susan echoed. She pressed both hands to her mouth and her eyes instantly filled with tears.

“A grandson,” Larry said as though in shock.

“Healthy as a horse, too, if his bellow is anything to go by,” Jordan said, his voice elated. “He weighed in at seven pounds, nine ounces.”

“August eighth is a great day to be born,” Casey said.

“You know anyone born on that day?” Winter asked.

“Alix’s baby.”

Winter grinned. “Right.”

“Do you have a name picked out yet?” Susan asked. Winter remembered that Alix and Jordan had kept their choices a secret, not wanting any pressure from even the people they loved.

Jordan smiled. “Thomas Lawrence.”

“Thomas Lawrence,” Winter repeated.

“After her brother,” Lydia said quietly.

Winter looked at her for an explanation

“Alix had an older brother who died,” Lydia told her. “She named her son after her brother.”

Jordan nodded. “And after my father.”

“I’m deeply honored,” Larry whispered. He seemed very emotional and close to tears.

“When can we see Alix and the baby?” Casey asked, sitting on the edge of her seat. “I want to show her the blanket.”

“It’ll probably be a while yet,” Lydia said. “They need to wash the baby and do some tests.”

“Oh.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to visit Alix later,” Lydia promised.

The two of them stood, and Winter did, as well. Susan and Larry hugged Jordan, and Casey and Lydia did, too.

Jordan turned toward Winter, his arms outstretched. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“I love Alix,” Winter said.

“I know, and you’ve been wonderful to her. She loves you right back,” Jordan said, pulling her toward him. “Thank you all for being here. I’ll be sure to tell Alix.”

“Please do, and give her my love.” She kissed his cheek, then turned and joined Pierre.

Pierre reached for her hand and they walked to the elevator.

It was difficult to leave. Winter glanced over her shoulder and saw Larry and Susan still congratulating their son.

On the way out of the hospital Winter felt euphoric. Pierre slipped his arm around her waist as they strolled toward the parking complex.

“I’m so happy for Alix and Jordan,” she said. “Just so happy.”

“I am, too.” Pierre stopped suddenly and drew her to a halt. “We should have a baby,” he said.

“What?” Winter chuckled. “Pierre, we’d want to be married first, wouldn’t we?”

“But of course.”

“And we’d want to be absolutely certain we were bringing a child into a healthy relationship. A loving one.”

“Naturally,” he agreed.

Winter looked up at this man she so desperately loved. “Just a minute…Pierre, are you asking me to marry you?”

“
Oui.
Which means yes,
mon amour américaine.
”

She nudged him. “That much French I know. But Pierre, is this what you want?”

“More than I realized. I want to have children with you, Winter, and to love you with the same love I saw in that young father’s eyes. We have some distance to go, but you and me—well, I believe we can do this. Six months ago, six weeks, I could not have said that, but I can now.”

Winter flung her arms around his neck. “Yes,
mon amour français,
I believe we can.”

“
S
he’s here!” Linda Barclay said, stepping into my office a week after Harvey had told me about Macy’s return. Seven long days. My nurse shut the door behind her, and as if I needed to be informed who
she
was, added, “Macy’s here.”

“Oh?” I looked up from my half-eaten lunch. I pretended not to be interested. “What does she want?”

The question appeared to confuse Linda. “I don’t think she
wants
anything.”

“Then what’s she doing here?”

Linda motioned helplessly. “She’s here to finish the mural. She’s got her paints. Right now she’s saying hello to everyone. I…I thought you’d want to know.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” I said coldly. As for the mural, I’d grown accustomed to seeing it unfinished. It even had a certain appeal that way. I’d come to accept that it would
probably stay exactly as it was, and that was fine by me. I no longer expected Macy to finish anything she started. That included the mural
and
me. This was a pattern; when situations grew too intense or uncomfortable, she simply walked away.

That left a question as to why she’d returned and then the answer came to me. Instinctively, I realized she wasn’t back out of any desire to see me. After all these weeks she probably needed the money to catch up on her bills. Accepting that as the most likely explanation, I opened my top desk drawer and pulled out my checkbook.

“What are you doing?” Linda asked suspiciously.

“What does it look like? I’m writing a check for the remainder of what I owe her.” I signed my name with a great deal of flair, ripped off the check and set it on the desk. “I’d appreciate it if you’d see that she gets paid when she’s finished the mural.”

“Michael!” Linda cried, hands on her hips.

She hardly ever addressed me in that tone, and I automatically glanced up. “What?” I asked. Paying a supplier for services rendered wasn’t an unusual request.

“You need to give it to her yourself.”

“No can do. I have a busy afternoon.”

“No busier than usual.”

“Fine, have it your way,” I said, unwilling to fight about this. “If you won’t give her the check, I’ll ask one of the others to do it.” I refused to be thwarted. I refused to see Macy. I didn’t want to speak to her, either.

“She isn’t here because of the mural,” Linda told me.

I knew otherwise. Remembering how close Macy lived to the edge financially, I was well aware that six weeks without income must have played havoc with her bank account. That check was the sole reason she’d swallowed her pride and walked in here today. If she expected me to make a scene, then she’d be disappointed. Or relieved. I didn’t care which. As far as I was concerned, she was invisible.

Rather than continue the argument, I walked out from behind my desk and found the receptionist. “Would you kindly see that Ms. Roth receives this check before she leaves?”

“Ah…sure.” Her eyes connected with someone behind me. Linda, no doubt.

I chose to ignore them both. Without another word, I went back to my office, walking directly past Macy. From her position on the floor, paintbrush in hand, she looked up at me. I felt her gaze as powerfully as a caress. It took a great deal of strength to pretend she meant nothing. Once back in my office I closed the door.

My first appointment of the afternoon was with Ryan Clawson, who had an infected big toe. I cleaned it and wrote out a prescription for antibiotics, then wrapped his foot. Taking my pen I drew smiley faces on his other four toes and made up a story about the “Toed” family to keep the boy entertained. Ryan at six had been frightened and nervous, but he’d held up bravely, even giggling at my nonsense. After giving his mother instructions on how to care for his foot, I helped Ryan down from the exam table.

“Who’s the lady outside?” he asked, looking up at me.

“Nurse Linda?”

“No, the lady painting the wall.”

“That’s Macy,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth. Was there no escaping her? “She’s nice.”

Rather than respond verbally, I managed a smile.

“She said you’d help my foot feel better. She said I should be brave and I was, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, you were.” I was sure this was Macy’s way of sending me a message. Well, she could send all the cryptic messages she wanted, but I wasn’t responding. I had nothing to say.

“Can I tell her how brave I was?”

“By all means.” I held open the door for Ryan and his mother. Without glancing in Macy’s direction, I went to the next room, where I was to examine a suspected case of poison ivy.

By the time I’d finished my afternoon appointments, Macy had completed the painting and disappeared, which was exactly what I’d expected. I’d certainly called that one. She’d taken the money and run. No surprise there.

Rather than risk an unintentional meeting, I returned to my office and shut the door once again. It was after five and I was looking over lab results when I heard someone knocking. Assuming it was Linda, I called out, “Come in.”

The door opened and Macy stepped inside.

So she hadn’t hightailed it out of the office, after all. Leaning back in my chair I feigned irritation. “Yes?” I said shortly. I wanted it known that I wasn’t pleased to see her.

She stepped forward and set the check on my desk. “You don’t owe me anything.”

I wasn’t going to be drawn into an argument, and yet I felt obliged to pay her. Picking up the check, I handed it back. “Did I not agree to pay you seven hundred dollars for the mural?”

“You did.”

“Then what’s the problem?” I wanted her out of my office as quickly as possible. I continued to hold out the check, which she ignored.

“I didn’t finish the mural in a timely manner.”

“But you did finish it.”

“Besides, you made a house call to see Harvey, remember?”

“It wasn’t a house call,” I insisted. The last thing I needed was my insurance company getting wind of the fact that I’d broken a cardinal rule. My malpractice premiums were already more than my college loan payments had been. I didn’t need a rate hike because Macy couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“You held up your end of the bargain. I’m doing the same.”

I gestured toward her dismissively, the check still in my hand. “It was nothing. Take this and cash it in good conscience.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Fine, then,” I said as though bored. I tore it up and let the pieces flutter into the wastebasket.

Still, Macy didn’t leave. She stood awkwardly on the other side of my desk, shuffling her feet nervously while I acted as if she wasn’t there. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Was there something else?” I asked, making my voice as flat as I could.

“Ah…Harvey said you stopped by every day for the first week.”

I didn’t bother denying it. “More fool me.”

“Would it help if I told you I was sorry?” She bit her lower lip, something I’d seen her do any number of times. It always made me want to kiss her, to ease away her anxiety. Instead, I looked down at the lab reports on my desk.

“Michael, I really am sorry.”

I glanced up then and saw her big eyes staring back at me, silently pleading. I exhaled slowly. “I’m sure you are,” I said.

“Does an apology help?” she asked.

“No.”

“Oh.”

This had gone on long enough. I walked over to the door and opened it. To my shock Linda, the receptionist and two other staff members stood on the other side, listening in on our conversation. They each wore a stunned look and instantly scattered. If I hadn’t been so unprepared, I would have laughed. Well, maybe not.

“I remember Hannah,” Macy said.

My hand remained on the knob, my back to Macy. I felt a surge of anger. It wasn’t fair to bring up Hannah’s name! “I think it would be best if you left now.”

But Macy didn’t leave. “I don’t have a lot of friends.” She hesitated, then amended the statement. “That isn’t what I meant—I have lots of friends, but most of them are more…acquaintances. I considered Hannah a friend, a
true friend. I loved everything about her. The way she laughed wasn’t like anyone else I ever knew. I enjoyed the sound of it so much I’d do just about anything to hear it.”

“It really is time for you to go,” I said again, my voice gaining conviction.

“I know. I probably should, but I can’t make myself do it.”

“Do you want me to call security?”

“You could, but I should remind you that Larry likes me.”

She was quickly gaining the upper hand and I resented it. I opened my mouth to tell her I’d request someone else, when she interrupted me.

“No one’s ever loved me the way you do…did.”

That
was her reason for abandoning me? It didn’t make sense. Not for a moment.

“Oh, my grandmother. And maybe Harvey, although he’d never admit it.”

“You’re telling me this…why?”

“Because your love frightened me. I didn’t know what to do or how to act. It overwhelmed me, just like Hannah’s friendship did.”

“You ran away from her, too?”

“No.”

Liar. Other than at Hannah’s funeral, I’d never seen Macy, never even met her. “I don’t remember you coming to visit her.”

“I didn’t,” she confessed.

That said it all.

“I couldn’t bear to see her so gravely ill, not Hannah. So I sent her things.”

“Things?”

“I wrote her poems and mailed her letters and pictures of Snowball and Lovie. And I knit her socks. And a shawl.”

I frowned. I suddenly remembered those multicolored socks and the letters; they’d made Hannah smile, when it didn’t seem possible I’d ever see her smile again. Without my knowing it, Macy had given me a gift I’d never expected.

I swallowed hard and turned to face her. “Thank you.”

She shrugged off my appreciation. “If you don’t want to see me anymore, I’ll accept that, I really will, but I’m hoping you’ll give me another chance.”

“So you can walk out on me again? So you can disappear at the first sign of trouble? So you can leave one more issue in your life unresolved? No thanks, Macy. I’ve learned my lesson.”

She nodded sadly. “Thank you for loving me for that little while, Michael,” she said. “It means more than you’ll ever realize.”

She walked past me, over to the door.

Without even knowing that I intended to do it, I reached out and touched her hand. I had the sinking sensation that if I let Macy walk away from me again, I’d always regret it, always wonder what we might’ve had together.

After a moment, she turned back to face me, her eyes alight with hope. She must have read the love in my eyes because she sobbed and then walked into my arms as if that was where she belonged, where she was meant to be.

I grabbed her blouse and bunched it up in the back as I
held her against me and breathed in the scent and feel of her. I closed my eyes and savored just having her in my arms.

“I need you, Macy.”
What would Hannah want?
Ritchie had asked me that. Now I had an answer. Hannah had known I’d fall in love with Macy. Knew she’d be the perfect balance for me. Knew that Macy would teach me to laugh again.

“I need you, too,” she whispered.

We kissed then, with a hunger that threatened to consume us both. Her hands were in my hair, roving over my neck and down my back, restless in their movements. It would’ve been so easy to lead her to the sofa and make love to her right there in my office. Thankfully common sense prevailed.

Once I’d regained control, I felt it was important to clear up a few things. “When we’re married, I’m not living in that fairy-tale house. I’ve got a very nice place and—”

“Uh-uh. We can’t leave Harvey,” she said firmly. She broke away and leaned back just far enough to study me. “I’ll paint the house any color you want except white.”

“I like white,” I protested. “But you’re right about Harvey.”

“Green, then.”

“I am not living in a green house.”

“You really should give red and yellow a chance. You’d get used to it.”

“No, I won’t.” I wanted her to understand that I had my limits.

“Okay, I’ll paint it white, but I won’t like it and neither will my cats. They missed you, by the way.”

“Sure they did.” If they missed anything it was sleeping on my chest and digging their claws into me in the middle of the night just to see how loud I’d yelp.

“I want babies,” Macy said. “Lots of babies.”

“We’ll negotiate that.”

“Girls first. Two, I think, and then boys.”

“We generally don’t have a say in which comes first—boys or girls.”

“Oh, right.”

I smiled. Hannah’s list had led me here. To Macy and the life we’d have together.

Hannah must be looking down on us right now, laughing that delighted laugh of hers and giving us her blessing.