Hannah's List

by Debbie Macomber

  “Oh?” I wasn’t sure what he meant. “How so?”

  “Her divorce.” As he said that, I recalled the comment in Hannah’s letter.

  “Her husband was Mark Lancaster,” Patrick went on to explain.

  The name caught my attention. “What about him?” I asked. “Who is he?” Hannah hadn’t given me any details about the divorce.

  “He’s the guy who embezzled money from that charity benefit the hospital had a couple of years back. He’s an accountant and volunteered to collect the funds. An audit a month later showed a discrepancy of twenty-five thousand dollars. As it turned out, Mark supposedly ‘borrowed’ the money.”

  I nodded. The scandal had shocked the hospital community, but for me, of course, it had been eclipsed by our personal tragedy.

  “I don’t remember the outcome,” Patrick was saying,

  “other than the embarrassment Leanne went through and the divorce.”

  My guess was that Hannah knew all about Leanne’s troubles; she was the kind of person others confided in. My thoughts were interrupted when Melanie returned with Leanne. I stood as the two women approached.

  “You remember Michael Everett, don’t you?” Melanie asked Leanne.

  “Oh, yes. Hello again.”

  She had a nice smile, I noticed. I also realized how much she’d changed. Leanne wore her dark brown hair shorter than she had a couple of years ago and she seemed…deflated somehow. Her style was very different from Hannah’s—“careless casual,” I’d call it—and she was taller by several inches.

  My perusal came to an abrupt halt. I was doing the very thing I’d sworn not to, and that was comparing her to Hannah, at least in appearance.

  “Do you still work at the oncology center?” I asked, making conversation while I considered the last time I’d seen her. It would’ve been two weeks before Hannah’s death. Since almost everyone, Hannah included, knew there was no hope, other medical professionals had started to withdraw. This emotional detachment is a protective device common in my field. Leanne had been the exception. She had remained Hannah’s friend to the very end, chatting with her, bringing her small gifts. Flowers, a magazine, some chocolate now and then. I’d been so consumed by my own efforts to deal with the fact that I was losing her, I hadn’t paid much attention at the time. I remembered it now and was grateful.

  “I’m still at the hospital,” she confirmed.

  “Leanne organized the volunteers this year,” Patrick said. “You and I both know what a big job that is.”

  Patrick and I had done it several years ago, and it’d been a huge task. Thankfully, Hannah and Melanie had willingly lent a hand and made dozens of phone calls on our behalf.

  “I had a lot of help,” she said, dismissing his praise.

  “Patrick’s the one who coerced me into volunteering,”

  I told her.

  “Me, too.” Leanne grinned and I had to admit she was lovely. She smiled less often than she should, I felt. I sensed a sadness about her and wondered if it had to do with her divorce. After close to two years, shouldn’t she be over that by now? It occurred to me with a sudden shock that I was thinking about her the same way others had about me. That my allotment of grief had come to its end. The four of us sat and talked for a while. Not once did Leanne bring up Hannah’s name, which I appreciated. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk about her; Hannah was always on my mind and in my heart. But I preferred to reminisce about her life rather than her death. In not bringing up the subject, Leanne revealed a sensitivity I found rare among my friends. Most people seemed to feel obliged to tell me how sorry they were, especially if I hadn’t seen them since the funeral. I particularly hated being told that they understood how I felt. They didn’t; they couldn’t. I was thankful we didn’t need to travel down that troubled path. Perhaps Leanne avoided mentioning Hannah’s death because she didn’t want to discuss her own divorce. Either way, I was content to chat about the picnic, the children or just about anything else.

  When we’d finished our meals, Patrick and Melanie drifted away and I was sitting alone with Leanne. I felt a moment of panic, not knowing what we had to say to each other without the buffer of my friends.

  “This turned out to be a beautiful day,” I said and wanted to jerk back the inane words as soon as they were out of my mouth. Apparently, the weather was the most stimulating topic I could come up with.

  “I’m glad. It’s always a risk when you plan a picnic in May.”

  “Then why hold the picnic this month?” I asked. “We could count on sunshine in late August or early September.”

  “I looked into that. When the picnic first began, the only time we could book the park was in May.”

  I nodded; other organizations would have made reservations long before, seeing how popular this park was.

  “Then later, when the committee tried to book another month, they ran into all kinds of roadblocks,” Leanne explained. “So it was decided to keep the May date and to count our blessings.”

  That made sense.

  An uncomfortable silence followed. I started to speak at the same time as Leanne.

  “I—”

  “Would you—”

  We both stopped and looked at each other. I motioned for her to speak first. She was a bit flushed, as though she found this situation as awkward as I did.

  “I was about to say I’m grateful Patrick and Melanie invited me to join them.”

  “I am, too,” I echoed, then realized she might misunderstand my meaning. “I was sitting alone, too.”

  She glanced down at my wedding band. I’d never removed it. I considered myself married. That was when I noticed the slight indentation on the ring finger of her left hand.

  “I still feel…naked without my wedding ring,” she whispered as though reading my mind.

  “I would, too,” I said, as if that was explanation enough. I continued to wear mine because I wouldn’t feel like myself without it.

  “Sometimes it isn’t easy to let go of the past.” She didn’t meet my eyes.

  “It isn’t,” I agreed.

  “I loved my husband. I trusted him,” she said, gazing down at the lawn. “I never thought he was capable of doing something so wrong.”

  “You weren’t to blame.”

  “I know, but I felt responsible.”

  I didn’t remember any of the details, nothing beyond what Patrick had mentioned. The scandal took place soon after Hannah was diagnosed and I had other things on my mind. I did hear about it, but honestly I hadn’t made the connection when I heard Leanne’s name. She was Hannah’s nurse and that was it. Hannah hadn’t said anything, either, and surely she knew. It simply wasn’t important to her or, for that matter, to me.

  “Do you get tired of people telling you to get over it and move on?” Leanne asked.

  I snickered because she mirrored my own feelings so precisely. “Do I ever,” I mumbled. “I’m sick of hearing it, sick of people telling me I only have a certain number of months and then I’m supposed to be done with grieving.”

  Her eyes met mine, and understanding blossomed between us. “Yeah. And I’m sick of people trying to set me up on dates with their cousin or brother-in-law!”

  “It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date that I’d feel like a fish out of water.” That wasn’t the most original analogy, but it got my point across.

  “I know what you mean.”

  I plunged in, recognizing the irony of what I was about to do. “Do you think it’d be okay if I called you sometime?” I could hardly believe I was asking. And yet it felt…good. I wasn’t ready to date and she didn’t appear to be, either. Maybe if we met casually a few times it would help both of us ease back into the world of the living. She looked up at me and grinned. “I think that would be a nice idea.”

  “I do, too.”

  Midafternoon I headed home in a better mood than I’d been in a long while. I climbed into my car and rested my hands on the steering wheel.


  “I hope you’re happy,” I said to Hannah. “Next time you want to arrange a meeting with a woman on your list you might be a bit more subtle.”

  I started the car and I could swear I heard Hannah’s laughter over the sound of the engine.

  Chapter Eleven

  Her brief talk with Michael Everett at the picnic had been a turning point for Leanne. She’d hardly been able to sleep that night as snippets of their conversation played back in her mind. Michael was the first man who seemed to understand, and that was because he, too, was intimately aware of loss.

  Oh, the circumstances were drastically different. Mark was very much alive, whereas cancer had taken Hannah’s life. But Mark had made it abundantly clear that as far as he was concerned she might as well consider him dead. Only he was alive and Leanne couldn’t make herself pretend otherwise. Her ex-husband had embezzled twenty-five thousand dollars. As a result, Mark had spent a year in prison. Leanne still felt shocked and mortified by what he’d done. When she’d first learned of the discrepancy, the missing funds, she’d refused to believe Mark could be responsible. It made no sense that he, a respected accountant for a long-established Seattle firm, would resort to something like this. Something so underhanded. So wrong.

  In the beginning she’d defended him, put her own reputation on the line. Later she’d been humiliated when, without a single word to her, Mark had stepped forward, his attorney by his side, and admitted guilt. Two years later, she still found it difficult to comprehend. Not once had he discussed the situation with her. She hadn’t even realized he’d hired an attorney. He wouldn’t answer when she’d demanded to know why he’d taken the money. As his wife, his staunchest supporter, she felt she was entitled to more than his tight-lipped refusal to give even the most rudimentary explanation. If he was going to “borrow” funds, then why, oh, why did he have to take money from a charity event for the hospital where she worked? Where she was left to face everyone once the truth came out? Surely he understood how embarrassing this was for her. All Mark would say, all he’d confess to, was that he’d needed the money and planned to return it. He didn’t tell her, his parents or anyone she knew—not even his attorney—why he’d so desperately needed that amount.

  Shamed in front of her peers and shaken to her very core, Leanne felt she had no option but to file for divorce. Apparently, Mark wasn’t the honorable man she’d assumed. When he was presented with the divorce papers, he hadn’t offered the slightest resistance. If she wanted out of the marriage, he was willing to let her go. When the decree arrived, he signed it, worked out a plea bargain with the prosecution and served his time, which ended up being a year.

  Her marriage in ruins, her life in shreds, Leanne had floundered. She dragged her pain and disillusionment with her from one day to the next. Thankfully, in the two years following Mark’s arrest, the talk, the rumors, the unpleasantness, had mostly died down. She hadn’t spoken to him since the divorce was final, although she’d made a couple of pointless efforts to write him while he was in prison. Mark had never acknowledged her attempts to communicate or responded to her letters. All she’d wanted to know was why he’d taken the money. A short while after she’d mailed the second letter, Muriel Lancaster, Mark’s mother, had phoned at his request. It seemed he’d asked that Leanne not write to him again. They were divorced and he suggested she move on with her life, the same as he intended to do.

  Now, however, Leanne regretted the divorce. She’d filed in anger, believing it was the best thing to do under the circumstances. No matter how many times she’d pleaded with him to explain, he’d remained silent. Hindsight being what it was, she wished she hadn’t reacted as quickly as she had. Especially in light of what she’d learned since. Mark was close to his younger sister. Denise was in a bad marriage with an abusive husband. She’d been living in California, and no one in the family was aware of how dangerous the situation was until she’d tried to leave Darrin. Her husband had immediately filed for custody of the two children and Denise was forced to fight him in court. Attorneys’ fees added up and the couple had to put their house on the market.

  Thankfully, Denise won full custody of the children, but she knew she’d never be safe living in California where Darrin had access to her and the two little girls. With her half of the proceeds from the house, Denise would be able to pay off the attorney and start over in another state. She could make her escape, buy airline tickets and leave for a new life.

  Desperate, she’d called Mark at the last moment. All she needed was twenty-five thousand dollars for less than ten hours. She’d FedEx Mark a cashier’s check from the sale of the house the very next day. She couldn’t involve her parents, since her father had recently retired and their income had already been reduced. Denise was in a state of panic. Leanne and Mark had taken out a home-equity loan to remodel their kitchen and with the work in progress they were at their credit limit. Knowing how frantic Denise was to pay her bills and get out of California, Mark had sent her the funds from the charity drive at the hospital.

  Then the deal on Denise and Darrin’s house had unexpectedly fallen through. Caught up in her own drama, Denise took the money and ran, fleeing with her children and going into hiding. With the help of a women’s organization, she went underground for six months. It was only when she resurfaced that she learned what had happened to Mark. Denise had no idea Mark had “borrowed” the funds, no idea of the consequences he’d suffered as a result.

  She’d pleaded his case before the court and Mark’s sentence had been reduced from the original five years to one. By the time Denise contacted Leanne and explained, it was too late. The divorce was final. The house never did sell and eventually went into foreclosure. She ended up with nothing—except guilt over what she’d caused her brother.

  The only contact Leanne had with Mark’s family now was through his mother, Muriel. Brian and Muriel lived in Spokane, and her former mother-in-law called Leanne periodically. The entire situation had been devastating to all of them. Brian had been an anchor, supporting both of his children, but he seemed to have a hard time forgiving Leanne for walking out on his son when Mark needed her most. Leanne regretted her lack of faith in her husband—and his lack of faith in her. Mark wasn’t faultless in this. He should’ve explained, should’ve trusted her. She felt that if they’d worked together, faced this as a couple, everything might have turned out differently.

  Now here she was, two years later, divorced and miserable. The house was long gone, and she was renting a high-rise apartment. Denise, on the other hand, lived in Nebraska with her kids and was working toward repaying the money, although it was nearly impossible on what she made as a waitress.

  Leanne didn’t keep in touch with Denise. She couldn’t help blaming her, at least a little, for the disaster that had befallen Mark, although none of it was intentional. And she suspected Denise blamed her for not staying with him.

  The conversation with Michael the day before had brought Leanne a new resolve. She woke Sunday morning knowing she had to make one last effort to sort things out with her ex-husband. The divorce had happened so fast. She wanted—no, she needed—to see him. Perhaps they could assess the situation and find out if their love, along with their marriage, was completely dead. If so, she’d wish him well and move on. And “moving on” could include seeing Michael Everett….

  Leanne had found out from Mark’s mother that after his release from prison, he’d gone to Yakima, assisting migrant workers there, helping them with government forms and immigration papers. Apparently, this was part of the community-service hours he’d been ordered to serve. Muriel had reluctantly supplied his address. All she’d asked was that Leanne not tell Mark how she’d learned it. So Leanne was going to Yakima. She dressed carefully, choosing tailored pants and a silk blouse Mark had purchased for her the last Christmas they were together. She hoped it would be a reminder of happier times. He wouldn’t want to see her; returning her letters and not calling or visiting since his release made
it more than clear. Still, that didn’t deter her.

  Despite everything, she wanted him to ask her to reconsider, to give their relationship another shot. Almost two years had passed and maybe, just maybe, they could start again. But the request had to come from him, and Leanne knew there wasn’t much likelihood of that.

  He’d done nothing but shove her away from the moment he’d surrendered to the authorities. He’d let her know, through his attorney, that he didn’t want to see her at the jail or in court. Leanne had complied, out of anger and hurt feelings. Later, she decided that he’d wanted to separate her from this scandal as much as he could. It was the only explanation that made sense.

  Today she was about to confront Mark for the first time since his sentencing.

  She set off, considering the sequence of events that had brought her to this point. It seemed only minutes later that she was over Snoqualmie Pass on I-90. The next two hours passed quickly as she took the exit in Ellensburg and headed toward Yakima. Before long, thirty minutes or so from where she’d left I-90, she arrived at the freeway exit. The address she’d put into her GPS led her to a small apartment complex in a neglected part of the city. The two-story structure was badly in need of renovation. The outside railing had once been brown, but was now rusted where the paint had peeled off. Mark’s apartment was on the upper level.

  Leanne parked the car and sat inside it for several minutes, gathering her courage. Her stomach was queasy. She had to do this, she told herself. Had to know. Had to make one last effort.

  Before she lost her nerve, she slid out of the car, squared her shoulders and drew in a deep breath. As she climbed the rickety steps to the upper level, she held on to the handrail, although it was too shaky to provide much support.

  Standing outside his apartment door, she rang the bell. No response.

  Foolish though it seemed, she’d never considered that Mark might not be home. Then it occurred to her that the doorbell might be defective, as everything else at this complex seemed to be. She knocked hard. If Mark was inside, he had to know there was someone at his door.