What Happened to Hannah

by Mary Kay McComas

  Her heart slammed against her ribs in sudden panic.

  Pulling his hand from her face she took a step back and shook her head. This man was still the kind, honest, trustworthy boy she’d fallen in love with. She was sure of it. That’s why he’d been voted into his job. Everyone trusted him. They believed in him and relied on him to know and do what was lawful and right. They depended on him to find the bad guys and throw them in jail.

  Her crime, her sin—her mother had been so adamant it was a punishable offense, and she’d believed it for so long that when she finally thought to question it, she couldn’t bring herself to risk substantiating it—it was safer as a secret. And by then, of course, she’d kept it hidden so long that she was sure that would weigh as well. She couldn’t risk going to jail. Especially not now.

  “Grady. Please. I’m sorry. It never would have worked back then . . . and it’s more complicated now.”

  Nothing in his demeanor changed as he asked, “Because of what you’re hiding?”

  “What makes you think I’m hiding something?” Unconsciously she took another, more telling step backward. “I’m not hiding anything. I’ve told you. My life is all about my business . . . and now Anna. There isn’t anything else to tell.”

  He nodded, unbelieving. “Try not to forget who you’re talking to, Hannah. I know you. And I know when I’m being lied to. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll give you a little while longer to remember that I’m not the bad guy here and to figure out that no matter how many obstacles you throw up between us, I will have the truth.”

  With that he covered her two steps backward with one forward, took her firmly by the upper arms and kissed her smartly on the lips. “That’s for being as stubborn and pigheaded as ever.”

  He turned and opened the door to his truck. She was flustered and frustrated . . . and some other things, too.

  “Yeah, well, some cop you are, Grady Steadman. Punishing someone with a kiss sends mixed signals, you know. I wouldn’t recommend that you make a practice of it.”

  He grinned at her, enjoying that fact that she was upset and sounding like a petulant child.

  “Who said I was punishing anyone?” He got in, took his time getting comfortable and buckling up. He closed the door, rolled down the window, and looked her straight in the eye. “And you got the signal straight.”

  They scrutinized each other as he pulled off the front lawn onto the gravel and dirt—calculating and challenging each other like a couple of sumo wrestlers circling face-to-face on the mat. She shook her head to tell him there was nothing to win, nothing worth fighting for between them. His smile broadened, then he winked at her and drove away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The female Steadmans declared May James to be the most qualified candidate to board Anna with for the last two months of school. Along with her husband, she owned a big yellow square-framed house with green shutters and a wide white porch that wrapped around three sides of it just two blocks from the Steadmans. Not only was she a notable member of the Altar Society, but she proctored the study hall in the high school library and knew Anna very well.

  Best of all, in Hannah’s opinion, she and her husband were relatively new to the area. Once military retirees looking for a quiet life in Little Town, USA, they’d discovered Clearfield on a holiday drive while stationed in Portsmouth at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard twenty-five years earlier. Another ten years passed before they moved to town permanently, long after the Benson murder/disappearance incident. There was no doubt they’d heard of it, of course—small towns being what they were—but they didn’t unconsciously stare at her as if she’d returned from the dead and they were polite enough not to bring it up.

  “And you wouldn’t believe how many people do,” Hannah told Joe on Sunday evening over dinner. She swirled several strands of pasta in marinara sauce around her fork, then waved it over her plate. “ ‘We thought you were dead,’ they say, and some of them actually sound angry that I’m not. Like I pulled a fast one on them and now they’re embarrassed about it. Like it ever made any difference to them if I lived or died in the first place.”

  “Maybe they are embarrassed.” He set his fork down and took a sip of his red wine. When she looked up in disbelief he smiled tolerantly. “Maybe they don’t know why. Maybe when they thought you were dead, they were ashamed for doing nothing to help you. And now that they know you’re alive, they still feel the shame plus the humiliation of knowing what you went through to save yourself while they stood by and did nothing.” He made it sound inconsequential. “In any case, how they feel now has nothing to do with you, does it?”

  She smiled. “No. And I happen to be head over heels crazy about my niece. Wait till you meet her, Joe. She’s a great kid. She’s smart. She’s pretty. She runs like a gazelle. She’s got everything going for her. So much potential. I can’t wait to get her out of that Podunk town and let her see what the rest of the world has to offer her.”

  “And knowing what you do of her fears of being left alone again, you still think it wise to bring her away from this town where she has spent so much of her life?”

  She nodded. “I’ve thought about that. Especially after her meltdown last week.” She sighed and pushed at the pasta on her plate, her appetite waning. “I’ll talk to Grady, I guess. I know I can’t live there again, but maybe we can work something out . . . shuffle the girls back and forth more often than I’d hoped, at least until she makes some new friends here . . . and gets to know me better. And trust me.”

  “It may take time.”

  “I know.”

  “It may never happen if life before coming to live with her grandmother was as sketchy as you say, and after it was one loss and then another. A child’s psyche is a tender thing, as you well know.”

  She nodded. “I’ve thought about that, too. Maybe after we’re settled in and she’s feeling comfortable I might broach the subject of Dr. Fry or someone like him. She might like somebody to talk to.”

  She looked up at her friend to find his savvy dark-brown eyes twinkling under his bushy white eyebrows; the lines in his aged face etched by uncountable smiles almost invisible as he grinned at her. “I think you’ll make this girl a fine mother.”

  She shook her head once. “I’m only her aunt.”

  “With the instincts of a good mother. Now, don’t argue with me or I’ll be forced to tell you I told you so, once again. Going after the girl was the best thing to do. You know how I hate being right all the time.”

  “Yeah right.”

  They laughed.

  “I don’t know why you left that old man in charge in the first place.” Jim Sauffle was indignant. “He’s damn near as old as God. It takes him forty-five minutes just to cross the parking lot and come in the front door. I was trying to help him out, make his life a little easier while you were gone. All he did was bitch.”

  Hannah leaned back in her office chair and took a deep, calming breath. Everything Jim said was absolutely true, and yet her first impulse was to throw her phone at him. Her second impulse: to tell him to pack up his desk and get out before she got out of her chair, crossed the room, and beat him stupid . . . if it were possible for him to be more stupid.

  “First off, Jim, that old man’s already forgotten more about the insurance industry than you’ll ever know. In fact, this would have been a fine opportunity for you to work with him, pick his brain, and learn a lot. Secondly, I asked Joe Levitz to take over for me while I was gone because I trust him more than anyone else to do as I ask, which is clearly an issue for you as I had to ask you, more than once, to route my clients through to Joe.”

  “I was trying to help out. I want. . . .” He looked frustrated.

  “What?”

  “Well, I want . . . not right away, of course . . . I know I have to earn it and I have a long way to go . . . a lot to learn and all that, but I’m hoping you’ll at least consider me, eventually, for more than an associate position here.”

  “W
hat. You want to be my partner?”

  “Well, yeah.” He said it like it made perfect sense. “I mean, I know it’s your deal to give raises and bonuses instead of promotions; that you aren’t looking for a partner right now, but I’ve been thinking that with your niece coming to live with you and you, you know, having . . . you know. . . .”

  “What, Jim? More to live for now than just this agency?”

  “Well yeah.” At last, he looked uncomfortable. “You’re going to want more time off now. You’ll want to go home and cook dinner at night instead of taking evening appointments. You’ll need more time for shopping and helping with homework and . . . and whatever else women with children do. You’re a single parent now, and there’s only so much time in a day. Believe me, my wife can tell you . . . she has a simple job, she puts in her eight hours at a 7-Eleven near our house and then goes home to do her real work. There’s no place or time in her life for a serious career. And soon enough you’ll see that, too, and either your young niece or this agency will begin to suffer. My bet’s on this agency.”

  Everything Jim said was absolutely true and yet her first impulse was, again, to throw her phone at him. She was beginning to wonder why she’d hired him the first place. Had he always been such a chauvinistic, age-bigoted jerk? Did he sincerely believe his sex alone made him a better candidate for advancement over Gwen and Caroline, both of whom had children and had been with the agency longer . . . and knew how to follow instructions?

  “Thank you for that, Jim. Having never mothered anything before, I take it as a real vote of confidence from a man with, what, three children and a wife who obviously has two full-time jobs that I would choose my niece over this agency. I hope you’re right and I’ll take everything you said under advisement.” She sat up and put her arms on her desk, laddering her fingers in front of her. “However, I should tell you that I would never take on a partner who couldn’t or wouldn’t follow my simple requests. I’m not going to ask you to leave right now because, frankly, I’m going shopping for my niece’s birthday gift and I don’t have the time to hire someone new to replace you. So, you have the next couple of months to turn yourself around, maybe check in with your wife for some sensitivity advice, learn to respect and get along with Joe Levitz, hustle your ass off to earn your pay and a few nice commissions and we’ll talk again. Okay?”

  As it happened, Anna wasn’t emotionally attached to her bedroom furniture—which consisted of a box spring and mattress on a wheeled frame with no headboard, a battered side table with matching desk, a living room lamp and a scarred five-drawer chest with one handle missing—and had no objections to Hannah replacing it as a surprise for her birthday.

  And so, later that afternoon, she met with the interior designer she’d hired to look at furniture, hand over the paint chip Anna had given her, and to discuss the girl for whom the room was being redecorated.

  “I don’t know her all that well. Yet. She’s my niece. She’s . . . ah, well, she’s tall and beautiful and smart and athletic—she runs. She’ll be sixteen a week from Thursday so that’s why we have to rush this. She’s kind of quiet so I don’t know how she came up with that emergency orange color for her room, because she swore she didn’t take Lucy, who’s more of an orange person, to pick out the paint. But she says I’ll be amazed at how many cool colors it’ll go with . . . not that it matters to me. If she wanted the room painted polka-dot, we’d be painting it polka-dot but . . . do girls nowadays still have, like, those sweet sixteen parties, do you know?”

  In the evening she called Anna.

  “Hi. It’s me again. Hannah.”

  “I know. I remember your voice from last night.” There was humor in hers.

  “You do? Am I calling too often?” She smiled, teasing back as she leaned against the doorjamb of her spare bedroom and wondered if the designer would toss the desk and recliner it held . . . and what she was going to do with all the books and boxes of . . . stuff.

  Jesus!

  “No. I can handle it. In fact I was going to call you. I have your number on speed dial in my new phone. I wanted to see if it worked.”

  “Okay. Call me back.” She turned her BlackBerry off and waited, her smile unfaltering. When it rang she answered. “Hello?”

  “It works. From now on you’re just one button away.”

  “Well, that’s nice but . . . who is this?”

  Anna laughed and Hannah cherished the sound.

  A couple nights later Anna called to check in. “Ask me what happened at school today.”

  “Anna? What happened at school today?” she asked obediently, smiling, her excitement level shooting through the roof—that’s all it took these days it seemed, a thrill in Anna’s voice.

  “Cal asked me to prom.”

  “Oh. Wow. Shock and awe here. Shock. And awe. Although, I have to tell you, I was sort of expecting this . . . weren’t you?”

  “Hoping. I was hoping. His dad . . .”

  “Right. I forgot.” Her smile widened. She was liking Cal more and more all the time—he reminded her of someone. “He decided to walk over burning coals and cross his dad for you, huh?”

  “Do you think he’ll be in much trouble? Because I’d rather not go than—”

  Hannah laughed. “Don’t you worry about Grady Steadman, sweetie. Not about this anyway. If he gives Cal any trouble at all, you let me know.”

  And while Anna related the memory permanently engraved in her heart that day, Hannah too had a burst of recollection—of standing near her locker in the hall at the high school, spring of her sophomore year, and smiling up at Grady when he leaned against the locker next to hers, whispered “hey,” and grinned into her eyes . . . and of Jake Wilson, one of Grady’s oldest and best pals, laughing and acting confused about the hold up to wherever they going. He asked why he was speaking to Goodwill Hannah about his friend’s mental stability, and then asked about something she either didn’t hear correctly or didn’t understand at the time regarding her underpants.

  Mostly she remembered the flash of Grady’s fist as it flew passed her face on its way to the middle of Jake’s and the three of them staring at one another—Jake from the floor, in appalled surprise—and the way Grady trembled when he closed her locker, took her hand, and walked away from his friend.

  She didn’t know if or how much more flack Grady took for caring about her—and she refused to let the recall endear him more now—it was eons ago—but if he didn’t empathize with Cal’s defiance, she was going to remind him.

  She popped into the office Friday morning to hug Joe goodbye and to tell the others she’d see them bright and early a week from Monday morning.

  She drove straight through to Ripley and arrived in time to buy a hot dog and a Coke at the concession stand before the first heat began.

  She easily spied Anna standing with her teammates and coach and wanted to whoop and holler and dance a jig when the girl sensed her staring at her and looked up with a smile. Instead, she waved decorously and flipped her a thumbs-up for good luck.

  “That means ‘good to go’ or ‘well done’.” Grady’s voice from behind startled her, and she jerked like an eel out of water. “That’s for after her race.”

  “What are you doing here?” She sounded as cross as she felt all at once—and he was out of uniform.

  “Supporting our youth. As you can see, track isn’t one of our big-money sports.”

  It was true. There weren’t many spectators. Less than half of the bleachers on either side were occupied, but there were also small groups of people—mostly adults—wandering the outer rim of the fenced track.

  “So what do I do, Sheriff? Whack at my leg with the side of my hand for ‘break a leg’ . . . which sounds like the worst possible thing you could wish on a runner, by the way.”

  He led her down the cement steps between the bleachers and stopped at a row that was high up and midfield. “How about crossing your fingers for good luck? But just two fingers. If you cross them all
it’s bad luck.”

  “Army Rangers again?”

  He snorted a surprised chuckle and grinned at her. “My Book of Dad. I’m not sure all kids are, but mine were very superstitious and distrustful. Their mother leaving left them . . . unsure of things for a while. And they knew my job could be hazardous once in a while, so Lucy explained how crossing her fingers for good luck and wishing me to come home safe worked.”

  Anna happened to look up again just then, so she smiled and waved her single set of crossed fingers at her. The girl nodded and grinned and she mouthed, “Thanks.”

  “Protect and serve. Want another hot dog?”

  “No, thanks. I’m too nervous to eat. I only ate that so I wouldn’t pass out.”

  “I’ll be right back, then. I see my kids over there looking like they’re waiting for my wallet to show up.”

  She watched Lucy, Biscuit, and Cal move to the back of a short line the moment they saw him stand and head up the steps toward them—they knew him so well.

  Glancing back at Anna, stretching her leg muscles, her focus solely on what she was doing, Hannah wondered if she was hungry, too, then stopped herself. If she knew nothing else about Anna, she did know the girl knew how to take care of a runner’s body . . . the exceptional bleeding ulcer notwithstanding. If her own stomach was in knots, she knew Anna’s was not so full as to give her cramps but full enough to give her plenty of fuel to win—she knew her that well.

  She squirmed in her seat feeling ridiculously like a parent. Like Grady knowing his kids were hungry and surely short on funds.

  Simply knowing, without being told. It wasn’t a big deal certainly, mostly a lot of common sense, she supposed, but the fact that she had someone other than herself to think about, to apply her vast scope of common sense to, well, that was unquestionably satisfying.