Hannah's List

by Debbie Macomber

  “When’s Macy coming in?” Linda asked.

  “I don’t know,” I snapped.

  Linda’s eyes widened and she glared at me. “There’s no need to be rude,” she snapped back.

  “I’m sorry.” I apologized rather than allow any dissension between us. “I haven’t been in touch with Macy.

  When we spoke, I told her she could finish the mural as soon as she’s up to it.”

  “You mean you haven’t talked to her since the accident?”

  “No. Not since Saturday, anyhow.” My source had been her cantankerous neighbor, who seemed to take great delight in my interest.

  “It’s already Wednesday—I expected her back by now,”

  Linda murmured. She shook her head and cast me a look similar to one my mother had used when I was a kid—the one that said she was disappointed in me. I’d assumed Macy would want to finish the mural right away. I missed seeing her at the office, although I was only now admitting it. “She’ll return as soon as she’s ready,” I told Linda.

  “By the way, Dr. O’Malley phoned,” Linda said. “I left the message on your desk.”

  “Thanks.”

  I entered my office, then sat down and reached for the pink slip. But it wasn’t Patrick I was thinking about. Macy was front and center in my thoughts. I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t ignore this curiosity.

  Before I had time to reconsider, I grabbed the phone and called Harvey. I’d already talked to him twice in the past four days, and both conversations had annoyed me. Still, that wasn’t enough to dissuade me from phoning a third time. I needed to know that Macy was getting better, but I was determined not to call her.

  “Yes?” Harvey barked into the receiver.

  “This is Dr. Everett.”

  “I know who it is,” he returned in the same bad mood he usually displayed.

  “I’m calling to see how Macy is.”

  “Why don’t you bother her instead of me? I’m not her nurse.”

  “I realize that,” I said, clenching my teeth, “but you’re her neighbor and her friend.”

  “I wouldn’t be if I had a choice.”

  “How’s she healing?”

  He hesitated. “Not sure.”

  “Why not?” It sounded as if Harvey was in pain again. I wished he’d let me help him, the stubborn old fool.

  “It isn’t like I’m keeping tabs on her.”

  I was beginning to feel concerned. “You’ve seen her in the past twenty-four hours, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered.

  “How does she look?”

  “All right, I guess. Black-and-blue. She’s limping a bit, but that seems to be improving. I don’t understand why you keep bugging me when she’s got her own phone.”

  “I figured you’d be honest with me,” I said, and while there was some truth to that, it wasn’t the real reason I’d called him. I knew if I spoke to Macy directly, I’d find an excuse to visit—and if I went to see her, I’d end up kissing her again. That was not going to happen.

  “You don’t want to talk to Macy because you’re falling for her.”

  Rather than address that comment, I chose to overlook it entirely. I wasn’t arguing with Harvey. “If Macy needs anything, let me know.”

  “She won’t, and even if she did I wouldn’t call you.”

  The line was abruptly disconnected and I sat back in my leather chair, mulling over the conversation. I agreed with Harvey; I needed to call Macy myself, although I was reluctant to do so. My reasons were too complicated to explain to anyone else, especially a cranky old man who seemed increasingly scornful of me.

  My next call was to Patrick who, besides being my friend and partner, was one of the poker group. I had a patient waiting, but with Patrick I knew I’d be on and off the phone in under a minute.

  “I got your message,” I said.

  “You going to the game tonight?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Michael? Are you afraid Hannah wouldn’t want you to have fun?”

  “Ah…” The comment felt like a slug in the gut.

  “I’ve got to go. Listen,” Patrick continued, “you have to be there tonight. No excuses, understand?”

  “Okay, okay.”

  The line went dead. A tingling feeling raced down my spine. Had Patrick hit on something I hadn’t considered?

  Ritchie and Patrick were telling me essentially the same thing. It went without saying that if Hannah were alive, she’d be the first one to encourage me to rejoin my friends. At noon, I told Ritchie I’d be at his house by six-thirty. I could tell he was pleased. The more I thought about it, the more I looked forward to being with the guys again. It would be like old times—we’d laugh, exchange stories, eat pizza and drink beer. Then we’d play cards until we ran out of quarters—or I walked away, my pockets jingling with change.

  I showed up fifteen minutes early.

  “Glad you’re here,” Ritchie said. Max came downstairs and gave me a high five before racing back up. Without asking, Ritchie handed me a beer. “Pizza’s on the way.”

  “With anchovies?”

  “Would I order one without?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d say.”

  Hannah and Steph detested anchovies, and whenever the four of us ordered pizza, Ritchie and I made sure we shared one with double anchovies, just to prove that we were real men. We told little Max that the fish put hair on our chests, which was why the women refused to eat them. The joke was inane, but it always made us laugh. Patrick got there next, and when he saw me he grinned.

  “About time,” he said.

  Steve was the last to arrive. He pulled into the driveway and the pizza delivery kid pulled in right behind him. Five minutes later, we each had a cold beer and a slice of pizza. The stories started and before long I was laughing so hard my sides hurt.

  I felt almost as if I’d never been away. It’d been nearly two years since I’d played poker. Two years. That seemed impossible now that I realized how much I’d missed it. We played until eleven. Steve won, and all I could say was that I’d gotten rusty and I’d get my money back the following week.

  Just before we were ready to call it quits, Steve said, “I brought a welcome-back gift for Michael.” He spoke in formal tones, and everyone looked in his direction. My friend, an internal medicine specialist, was smiling from ear to ear.

  “For me?” I asked in a falsetto voice, hoping it wasn’t a practical joke.

  “I was at a medical conference in Miami last weekend,”

  Steve said, “and I picked these up while I was there.” He opened a plain brown paper bag and with considerable ceremony laid out four fat cigars. “They’re Cuban,” he said proudly.

  “You sure about that?” Patrick had always been the skeptic of the group.

  “Smoke one and then you tell me,” was Steve’s comeback.

  “Cuban?” I repeated. “Aren’t they illegal?”

  “Don’t ask, brother, just enjoy.”

  “Yeah, Everett, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  This came from Ritchie, who already had the cigar clamped between his teeth.

  I agreed. Who was I to question when and how Steve had procured these cigars? I bit off the end and lit up, too. The aroma from Ritchie’s cigar wafted toward me. I closed my eyes as the sheer pleasure of it overtook me.

  “Even if this isn’t Cuban, it’s still the best cigar I’ve ever had,” Ritchie said appreciatively.

  The four of us sat back, and although none of us smoked, once or twice a year we indulged in a cigar. Apparently, the tradition had continued without me.

  “It’s good to have you back,” Steve said. He held out the cigar as if toasting me with the finest whiskey.

  “Hear, hear,” Patrick said.

  “I’ll second that,” Ritchie added.

  I looked around the room at my friends and felt their welcome. “It’s good to be back,” I told th
em and I meant it.

  We sat there talking for another thirty minutes and then, because we all had to be at the office or hospital early the next morning, we called it a night.

  On the drive home, I turned up the radio and sang golden oldies at the top of my voice. Once I got to the house, I was too keyed up and happy to sleep. Happy.

  I hadn’t been truly happy since before Hannah died. The feeling now left me light-headed. I wandered from room to room and put in a CD—Neil Young’s Harvest Moon, which Hannah had loved. If there’d been a woman nearby I would’ve asked her to dance.

  As she did far too often, Macy drifted into my mind. I had the strongest urge to phone her. High on everything that had happened this evening, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was…happy, and I experienced a compelling need to tell someone how I felt.

  Macy was the only person I could think of. I knew I’d regret this come morning. However, that wasn’t enough to dissuade me.

  I reached for the phone, then sank down onto the sofa and dialed. The phone rang four times before she answered.

  “Hello.”

  She sounded groggy. I’d obviously awakened her. Now that she was on the line, I couldn’t seem to speak. My first instinct was to hang up. But that would’ve been childish and I couldn’t make myself do it.

  “Macy,” I croaked.

  “Michael, is that you?”

  “I’m afraid so,” I admitted.

  “Is anything wrong?” she asked. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “I know.”

  “Is it Harvey?”

  I snickered and said, “That old man’s too mean to die.”

  “Michael, that isn’t true! Not once you get to know him.”

  I didn’t want to argue.

  “Why are you calling me so late?”

  “I’m happy.” That was probably the most irrational reply I could’ve given her and yet it was the truth.

  “Happy?”

  “I played poker with my friends.”

  “I assume there’s some significance to this.”

  “It’s the first time I’ve been with the guys since…since Hannah was diagnosed with cancer.”

  “Ah,” she said, as if she automatically understood what this meant. “You had a good time, didn’t you?”

  “Steve brought us Cuban cigars.” I closed my eyes and was forced to confront a truth that shook me to the very core of my being. If Macy had been in the same room with me I would’ve made love to her. To Macy. Not Hannah. Macy.

  My eyes flew open. “I didn’t mean that,” I said, fearing I’d spoken out loud.

  “Mean what? That you smoked the cigar?”

  “Not that…something else.”

  She giggled as though she found my chatter amusing.

  “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Not enough,” I said. “Go back to bed, Macy, and forget I called.”

  “Are you sure that’s what you want me to do?”

  “Very sure.”

  “In a minute,” she insisted. “In the morning, I want you to remember that you called me tonight.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I’m happy, too.”

  My smile disappeared. I was in trouble here and sinking fast.

  “I’ll be in tomorrow to work on the mural.”

  “There’s no need to rush—especially if you’re still feeling sore.”

  “I was feeling terrible earlier this evening,” Macy said,

  “but I’m not anymore. I’m so glad you phoned, Michael. I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Although I had difficulty admitting it, I was looking forward to seeing Macy in the morning. Still high from the poker game with my friends, I walked into the office with a bounce to my step. Linda immediately noticed my good mood. She raised her head and stared at me.

  “Is Macy here yet?” I asked.

  “She’s coming in today?”

  “That’s what she said,” I told her.

  “Well, she hasn’t shown up yet.”

  I nodded and continued down the hallway, pausing long enough to take a fresh look at the half-finished mural. I appreciated Macy’s talent anew, and wondered why I’d ever thought she was merely an adequate artist. As my staff kept marveling, she’d done a splendid job. I’d seen how well children and adults alike responded to the painting.

  I’d watched the kids glow with delight and point to various animals among the vibrant jungle foliage.

  The painting had a curious effect on everyone, from my staff whose mood had brightened perceptibly to my patients who seemed livelier, less apprehensive. Or maybe the change had been in me.

  I was different, I realized. And it was because of Macy. That made me question whether I was falling in love with her, as her neighbor claimed. A protest reverberated instantly in my head. A relationship with Macy would never work. By her own admission, she wasn’t good at relationships. Besides, Macy and I were worlds apart in every possible way. I liked things orderly while she seemed to thrive on chaos. I was probably ten years older than she was. I tended to be self-contained and she…well, Macy shared everything. No, I couldn’t ever see this working, regardless of Hannah’s opinion.

  Okay, okay, I was willing to admit the attraction was there; neither of us could deny it. We’d kissed once and I’d felt that kiss in every cell of my being.

  I moved on to my office; Linda came over to hand me Cody Goetz’s file. The boy needed a health form filled in for an overnight summer camp he’d be attending. Linda didn’t say anything but scrutinized me so intently, I grew uncomfortable.

  I reached briskly for my stethoscope and jacket and headed toward the exam room where Cody, my first patient of the day, was waiting.

  By ten o’clock, when Macy still hadn’t appeared, I was beginning to feel concerned.

  Despite knowing how unsuited we were, I wanted to see her. I even wanted to hear her infernal humming. I just wanted her with me, close to me. Because she made me feel alive. It wasn’t simply about attraction in a sexual sense; it was bigger than that—the attraction of one life to another.

  Hannah had been so right. In her letter she’d said that her life had ended, but that mine would go on. In the fourteen months since I’d laid her to rest, I’d lived in a state of limbo, shuffling from one day to the next, doing my utmost to hang on to the past, clinging to memories, to Hannah. How well she knew me, how well she’d known how I’d react once she left this world. But for the first time since I’d lost her, I felt not only alive, but—to my complete surprise—happy. I saw now that her letter had freed me; it’d given me permission to live. The letter, with her list, was a testament of her love. I would always cherish the years I had with Hannah. But now I could find love again, find happiness, experience everything life had to offer. Without guilt and without regrets.

  At eleven I took a short break between patients and phoned Macy’s house. No one answered, which most likely meant she was on her way. Joyful expectation spread through me. I knew my staff would welcome her back with enthusiasm—

  and chocolate. I’d seen her name on a box of Mount Rainier mint truffles.

  By lunchtime my patience had worn thin. Where was Macy? I’d assumed she’d meant to start work in the morning. Had I misunderstood her? No, I clearly recalled her telling me she’d show up first thing. I also remembered my excitement at the prospect of seeing her so soon. As it turned out Macy didn’t arrive until almost two. She burst into the office, wearing a rainbow of colors. Linda and the others gathered around her, acting as if she’d been away for months instead of days, bombarding her with questions. She was like sunshine exploding across a dark horizon, flooding the earth with light and life and laughter. While she answered their questions and hugged each person, I noticed that her gaze sought me out. Her eyes were warm and full of unspoken affection.

  The best I could offer her was a faint grin. After a respectable length of time, the s
taff drifted back to their jobs, and I finally approached her. “I thought you said you’d be here this morning,” I said. I immediately felt that remark had been too miserly, but she didn’t react.

  “Oh, Michael,” she said, still smiling. “I had the most fabulous morning. I can’t wait to tell you about it.”

  “You’ll have to tell him later,” Linda said, placing her hands on my shoulders and steering me away. “Right now, Dr. Everett has to get back to his patients.”

  “Okay, okay.” I glanced over my shoulder and nearly drowned in Macy’s smile. It was all I could do to focus on my work.

  Our eyes stayed connected for a moment and then she picked up her paintbrush and I went into the exam room to check on Ted Malcom, a five-year-old who’d broken his right leg falling off a swing set. He’d destroyed three casts in less than a month, which was something of a feat. The poor kid wanted to play with his friends, run and swim in the summer sunshine. He tried to do all those things despite the cast, which was repeatedly ruined by water and rough treatment.

  His mother was frustrated with her son and worried about his recovery.

  “Hi, Lucy,” I said as I knelt down in front of the boy. His mom smiled tightly.

  “Ted,” I began.

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “I think I see the problem here.”

  Ted looked at the floor. “I don’t want to wear a cast.”

  “I wouldn’t, either. You can have a lot more fun without a cast weighing down your leg, can’t you?”

  With his head so low his chin was practically on his chest, Ted asked, “Are you mad at me? My mom is.” He squinted up at her through his lashes.

  “I’m not mad,” I told him, “because as I said, I think I understand the problem. This cast is boring. You need it decorated.”

  “Decorated?”

  I got up and opened the door. “Macy, could you step in here for a moment?”

  She looked confused, but did as I asked. I explained the situation to her and, as I spoke, I saw her eyes light up. “I have just the solution,” she declared.

  “You do?” Ted asked.

  “Let me get my supplies.”

  I left the three of them and went into the adjoining exam room. I saw three patients, one after another, and when I returned to the first room, Macy was nearly finished. She’d painted dinosaurs of different kinds all around the cast, cleverly positioning them.