Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)

Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7) Page 3

I liked Winter, but I wasn't interested. Despite Hannah's confidence in her cousin as a potential wife, I had no intention of remarrying. Besides, all Winter and I had in common was our memories of Hannah.

The second woman I want you to consider is Leanne Lancaster. The name was somewhat familiar, but I couldn't immediately figure out why. She wasn't a friend of Hannah's that I could remember.

Leanne was my oncology nurse. She was always kind to me and so caring. As a nurse she'd have a special understanding of the stresses you face as a physician. Leanne and I talked quite a bit and if I'd...if I'd had the chance, I feel Leanne and I would've become good friends. I admire her emotional strength. She's divorced and had a rough time of it. I don't know her as well as I do Winter, but my heart tells me she'd suit you. Meet with her, Michael, get to know her. That's all I ask. Meet with Leanne...get to know her. I doubt Hannah had an inkling of what she was really asking. I had no interest whatsoever in seeking out this woman. As I thought about it, I realized I did remember the oncology nurse. And Hannah was right. Leanne was a kind and caring person--but that didn't mean I had any desire to know her better!

The third person on my list is Macy Roth. I don't think you've met her. She's a part-time model I became friends with while I was still able to work. We met because of some fashion shows I was involved in and some catalog work she did for the store. When Macy learned I was in the hospital she sent me notes of encouragement--cards she made herself with adorable sketches of her cats. Remember? And she knit me socks and a shawl I wore during my chemo. She's funny and clever and multitalented; she models and paints murals and has two or three other jobs. As I was thinking over this list, her name came to me because I know she'll make you smile. She'll bring balance to your life, Michael. I'm afraid that when I'm gone, you'll become far too serious. I want you to laugh and enjoy life. The same unrestrained way Macy does. Once again, Hannah was right; I hadn't laughed much in the past two years. The fact is, I couldn't remember the last good belly laugh I'd had. Life

was serious. I'd lost my wife and, frankly, I didn't have much reason to smile, let alone laugh. I didn't remember this Macy, although no doubt she'd featured in some of Hannah's stories. As for those gifts-- the sketches and socks--they'd be among Hannah's things, the stuff I'd brought home from the hospital. I'd thrown everything into a box and shoved it in the back of a closet. And I'd never looked at it again.

I've given you three names, Michael. Each is someone I know and trust. Any of them would make you a good wife and companion; with any one you could have the children you were meant to father.

I'll be watching and waiting from heaven's gate, looking down at you. Choose well.

Your loving wife,

Hannah I folded the sheets and set them on the coffee table while I tried to absorb what I'd read. That Hannah had written this letter when she did was shocking enough. Then for her to suggest I remarry--and go so far as to name three women--was almost more than I could take in.

If she was watching over me, then she had to know what hell this first year without her had been.

I'm not much of a drinking man. A few beers with the guys at a sporting event is generally my limit. All at once I felt a need for something stronger.

I remembered a bottle of Scotch stashed in a cupboard somewhere in the kitchen. My father gave it to me when I graduated, claiming it was for "medicinal" purposes. If ever there was an occasion for a medicinal drink, it was now.

I spent nearly fifteen minutes searching for it. Hannah had stored it in the pantry, the last place I thought to look. Not surprisingly, it turned out to be single malt, since that was what my father drank. His favorite brand, too-- The Glenlivet.

Reading the label, I saw that it had been aged eighteen years and I'd had it for at least a decade. None of that tenyear stuff for dear ol' Dad.

I got a clean glass out of the dishwasher, added ice cubes and poured two fingers of my twenty-eight-yearold Scotch before I settled back down on the sofa. Kicking off my shoes, I rested my feet on the coffee table and reached for Hannah's letter. I would read it again with an open mind and see if I could possibly respond to her last request. I didn't think so. Hannah was all the woman I'd ever need. The only woman I'd ever love. I already knew I'd find anyone else sadly lacking--even the three women my wife had so carefully selected for me.

Chapter Three

W

ednesday morning I was at the gym by six. Ritchie was on the treadmill, his iPod plugged into his ears, when I stepped onto the machine beside his. He looked over, saw it was me and stared expectantly. I knew I was in for an inquisition as soon as we entered the locker room. I hadn't shown up on Monday morning and ignored his phone calls for the past two days. I wasn't ready to talk about Hannah's letter, not even to my best friend.

Ritchie finished his routine first. Just as I'd suspected, he was waiting for me in the locker room, sitting on the bench with a towel draped around his neck. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. When I appeared, he glanced up.

"You didn't return my phone calls," he said, as if I needed to be reminded.

"I was busy."

"Doing what?"

I was reluctant to tell him, although I knew that he of all people would understand. "I got drunk on Sunday after I got home," I admitted. The hangover on Monday had been a killer. From this point forward I was sticking to beer. Maybe my father could handle the strong stuff, but not me.

"Because of Hannah's letter?"

I nodded and lowered myself onto the bench. I leaned forward, sitting in the same position as my brother-in-law. "Hannah wants me to remarry."

Ritchie's eyes widened. "Get outta here."

My sentiments exactly. "She went so far as to give me a list."

Ritchie's mouth sagged open. "A list? You mean of women?"

I nodded again.

"Why would she do that?"

Explaining Hannah's reason was beyond me. I didn't understand it, although I'd read the letter a dozen times.

"Hannah seems to think I won't do well on my own and that I need a wife." I avoided mentioning that she wanted me to be a father, too.

"She actually gave you a list?" He seemed as shocked as I'd been when I first read the letter.

I didn't respond.

"Who's on it? Anyone I know?"

I looked away. "Your cousin, Winter."

"My cousin?" he repeated.

"Do you know someone else named Winter?" I snapped, sorry now that I'd said anything.

"No," he said sheepishly. "Who else?"

"Leanne Lancaster. She was Hannah's oncology nurse." "Don't remember her. What's she like?"

I wasn't sure what to tell him. "Quiet. Gentle. A good nurse. Hannah really liked her."

"No kidding."

I ignored that.

"Anyone else?"

"Someone I've never met. A model she worked with by the name of Macy Roth."

Ritchie released a low whistle. "A model, you say?"

"Hannah says Macy will give me a reason to laugh again," I told him, unable to disguise my sarcasm. "And that's practically a quote."

My brother-in-law chuckled. "I bet Steph wouldn't tell me to marry a model if anything happened to her."

I knew Ritchie was joking; still, I couldn't let the comment pass. "Just pray to God nothing does."

My brother-in-law frowned. "It was a joke, Michael. Lighten up, would you?"

He was right; I didn't need to take every little comment so seriously. "Sorry," I muttered.

Ritchie nudged me. "You going to do it?"

I shook my head. "I doubt it."

"Why not?"

The answer should've been obvious. "I'm not ready."

"Will you ever be?"

Good question. "Probably not," I said honestly. I'd lost my wife, my soul mate. I couldn't ever forget that or blithely "move on" with my life, as various friends and acquaintances were so fond of telling me I should.

"I thought you'd say that," Ritchie said. "Hannah knew you'd hibernate for the rest of your life, which is why she forced the issue. My sister loved you and--"

"Listen, Ritchie, I don't need a lecture."

"I don't intend to give you one. Answer one simple question and then I'll shut up."

"Okay, fine. Ask away," I said, resigned to the fact that he wouldn't leave me alone until he'd said what he wanted to say.

He stared at me for a long intense moment. "Do you suppose it was easy for her to write that letter?"

I sat up straighter.

"What woman wants to think of her husband with someone else?"

"That's two questions," I said.

"They're one and the same," he argued.

I closed my eyes. Insensitive jerk that I was, I hadn't given a single thought to what Hannah must've been feeling when she wrote the letter.

"If the situation had been reversed, could you have offered up the names of men you'd trust to be her husband?"

I didn't need any time to think about that one. "No."

"Me, neither," Ritchie confessed. "That said, the least you can do is take her letter to heart and get in touch with these women." He chuckled. "If it was me, I'd start with the model."

Very funny. It'd been years since I'd asked a woman out. I wouldn't even know how to go about it. "Dating...me?"

"Dating--you. Sure, why not? You're young and you've got a lot of years left."

Hannah had said almost the same thing.

"You already know Winter. If you're more comfortable with her, then give her a call."

"And say what?" I asked. My fear was that the only subject we had in common was Hannah. If we went to dinner, Hannah was all we'd have to discuss, and we'd both be crying in our soup before the main course was served.

"Hell, I don't know."

"I'd want to talk about Hannah."

Ritchie didn't seem to think that was so terrible. "So would Winter. They were good friends, even as kids, trading clothes, spending the night at each other's houses." He smiled. "Once when we were all in our early teens, our two families went camping. The restroom was clear on the other side of the campground.

"In the middle of the night, I could hear Hannah and Winter whispering that they had to go to the bathroom really bad." Ritchie's eyes gleamed with a look of remembered mischief. "Neither of them wanted to make the long trek across the campground so they decided to walk into the woods close to our campsite."

I knew what was coming.

"I waited until they had their drawers down, then turned my flashlight on them."

I grinned. Ritchie had always been a practical joker.

"You wouldn't believe how loud they screamed," he said, laughing. "I swear they woke up half the campground. People thought there was a black bear on the loose. Those two girls single-handedly caused a panic."

Years earlier, when we were first dating, Hannah had told me the story. I had to admit it was funny. But the most I could manage now was a weak smile. Maybe she had a point; maybe it was time I found a reason to laugh again.

"Call Winter," Ritchie urged.

He made it sound easy, but it wouldn't be. I had no idea what to say, how to approach her. "Do you see her often?"