Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(11)

"Didn't you just tell me that if you showed up late one more time they wouldn't use you again?"

"Yup. That's what Mr. Sharman said."

Harvey closed his eyes and threw back his head. "So when you lose the house, you'll tell me I should let you live in one of my spare bedrooms."

"Could I?" she asked cheerfully.

"No," he snapped.

"All it'll take to avoid a complete upheaval of your life is a simple promise."

"That's blackmail."

"But it's for your own good." She glanced pointedly at her watch. "It'd be a real shame to lose this job, not to mention a potential career in radio commercials."

"For crying out loud," Harvey said and slammed down his pen. "All right, I'll eat some of the casserole."

Relieved, Macy grinned, leaped up from the chair and kissed his leathery cheek. "Thank you, Harvey."

The old man rubbed the side of his face, as if to wipe away her kiss. He frowned in her direction.

Macy, on the other hand, couldn't have been more delighted.

"Gotta scoot," she said as she bounded out the door. "See you later."

"Don't hurry back," he shouted after her.

Macy grinned. Harvey loved her the same as he had her grandmother. She'd figured out years ago that the louder he fussed, the deeper his affection.

Home again, Macy grabbed her purse and car keys and hurried outside. If she made every green light, she wouldn't be more than five minutes late.

Mr. Sharman might not even notice.

Chapter Five

I didn't call Winter and she didn't try to reach me again, either. The truth is, I've never been much good at this dating thing. When I first met Hannah, she made everything so easy. I was attracted to her; she was attracted to me. I like that kind of honesty and straightforwardness. You so often find it in children, less often in adults, which is one reason I chose pediatrics. I'd make more money in another specialty, but I've only ever wanted to work with kids.

Frankly, I regretted going to the French Cafe. I wasn't ready to go out into the world; life was complicated enough. Still, Winter's phone number sat on the corner of my office desk and seemed to taunt me. I lost track of time while I looked at it. Then indecision would overcome me once again and I'd glance away.

Friday nights were always the worst for me. Hannah and I had made a practice of doing something special on Fridays. She called it our date night. That didn't mean we went out for fancy dinners and dancing or stuff like that. We couldn't have afforded it in the early years. But on Friday nights we spent time together, no matter what. Our "date" could be cuddling on the sofa, watching a rented movie and ordering pizza, or--especially later on-- it might be a full-blown dinner party with three or four other couples.

Hannah loved to host parties. She enjoyed cooking and having friends over. She made everything look effortless and possessed a gift for making others feel comfortable. I'd come to enjoy these occasions far more than I'd ever expected.

Now, without Hannah, Friday nights seemed especially bleak and lonely. That was the reason I'd started volunteering Friday evenings at a health clinic in Seattle's Central District. I usually arrived around six and stayed until eight or nine and went home exhausted. Not only did working those long hours help me get through what had once been a special night for my wife and me, but afterward I could almost guarantee that I'd be able to sleep.

Aside from the benefits I received, deep down I knew Hannah would approve of my volunteering.

I sat at my desk and it seemed that pink message slip with Winter's phone number wouldn't let me be. It might as well have been a flashing neon light the way my gaze kept returning to it. I felt as though Hannah herself was reminding me that calling these three women was the last thing she'd ever ask me to do.

"Oh, all right," I muttered. I grabbed the slip and glanced at the ceiling. "I hope you're happy."

As I may have mentioned, I often spoke to Hannah. That was our secret, mine and hers. I didn't admit this to other people, even Ritchie, because I was afraid they'd suggest I stop conversing with my dead wife. They'd say it was time I got on with my life and accepted the fact that Hannah was dead. Well, I did accept it, but I wasn't about to give up talking to her when I found such comfort in it. In more ways than I could count, I felt she was still with me.

Sighing, I picked up the phone. I didn't know what I'd say when Winter answered. Apparently, she had the same problem because she hadn't contacted me again, either. I wondered if she felt as ill at ease as I did and assumed that was probably the case.

I exhaled when the call connected, and closed my eyes, praying for inspiration.

"The French Cafe," a pleasant-sounding woman announced.

"Oh, hi," I managed to say. "This is Dr. Michael Everett. May I speak to Winter Adams?"

"Hi, I'm Alix. Winter said you'd be phoning."

That was encouraging.

"Unfortunately she isn't here at the moment."

"Oh." So I was to receive a second reprieve. I smiled. I'd done my duty; Hannah couldn't fault me for not making the effort.

"Winter left instructions that if you called I was to give you her cell number."

I clenched my teeth. No reprieve, after all. It'd taken me three days to respond to her message and now the situation was going to drag on even longer. "Okay," I said. "Give me the number."