Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)

Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7) Page 34

Once I got home I read the paper, then put on my shorts and running shoes and hit the pavement. Physical exertion always helps me sort out my problems.

This time, however, it didn't work. All I could think about was Macy. How was she doing on her own with those cats of hers and Sammy? What about the old man? I shouldn't have left her. I should phone and make sure she was all right.

Macy. Macy. Macy.

Her name reverberated in my head with every step I took.

And no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't get her out of my mind.

The first thing I did when I returned home, sweating and panting, was stumble toward the phone. I had her number written on a pad next to it and dialed, still gasping for breath.

Harvey answered.

"How's Macy?" I asked, instantly alarmed that her neighbor was at the house this early. It was barely nine.

"You took off like a bat out of hell," Harvey said. "What got into you?"

"I had an appointment," I lied. The truth was, I ran every Saturday and did consider it a standing appointment--with myself. Okay, I ran almost every Saturday. "Let me talk to Macy."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"She's taking a shower."

"Is the door open?" Harvey's hearing wasn't that great and, if Macy passed out, it could be some time before he noticed and called for help.

I immediately asked another question. "Did she remember to cover her stitches so they wouldn't get wet?" I'd gone over the instructions with her last night, but she'd been pretty much out of it and might have forgotten. I berated myself for not reviewing them this morning; I'd been in too much of a hurry.

"Don't shout at me," Harvey barked.

"I'm not shouting," I said, and I wasn't.

"Yes, you are, and furthermore I can only answer one question at a time. No, the bathroom door isn't open. I'm not a voyeur!"

"She could pass out!"

"Macy? She's not the type."

"It isn't a type," I said, doing my best to remain calm. "Macy got a hard knock to the head."

"If you're so worried about her, why did you leave?"

"I probably shouldn't have," I admitted.

To my surprise Harvey laughed. "She'll do that to you," he said.

"Say that again," I said, uncertain what he meant.

"Macy," he told me. "She wears you down. When she first moved here, I did everything I could to discourage her. I didn't need her to be my friend. I didn't want anything to do with her, wacky dame that she is. I built that fence for a reason.

"She overlooked every rebuff. I ignored her when she stopped by to visit. I didn't say a word, and you know what? I doubt she even noticed. She chattered away, talked about everything under the sun. If I told her to scat, she'd disappear for a few minutes and then come back with something for me to eat. She'd always say she got cranky when she was hungry, too. I doubt that girl's been cranky a day in her life."

I could hear the affection in his voice. This was an unusually long speech for Harvey.

"How are you feeling?" I asked him.

Harvey snorted. "Don't change the subject."

I was beginning to grow concerned about the old coot. He wanted to deal with death on his own terms, but that didn't mean it had to be painful--or happen any sooner than necessary. If I could steer him toward a physician, I would.

"Macy's wearing you down, same as me," Harvey insisted. "I can see it in your eyes. You're falling for her, and all I can say is God help you."

"Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed.

"Don't worry. I won't say anything to her about it."

"How's she doing?" I asked again.

"It's hard to keep her still."

"Do your best," I told him and didn't envy him the task.

"You coming back or not?" Harvey demanded.

I briefly toyed with the idea and quickly decided against it. "Not."

Harvey chuckled. "Thought as much. Yup, I was right. She's got you wrapped around her little finger, just like she does me. Fight it all you want, but it's not going to do you a bit of good."

Before I could tell him how wrong he was, Harvey disconnected the line.

For half a second I was tempted to call back and argue with him. Fortunately, common sense took over and I walked away from the phone.

When I stepped out of the shower, I felt refreshed. From this point forward, I was determined to avoid Macy and Harvey, too. She could finish the mural, I'd pay her what I owed and I wouldn't see her again. That decision brought me a measure of relief. No woman who wasn't Hannah was going to dominate my thoughts. Especially one as reckless and unpredictable as Macy. I meant it, too.

I'd agreed to pick up Leanne at six. Truthfully, I was grateful to have a reason to get out of the house. Two or three times during the day, despite keeping busy, I'd felt the urge to check on Macy again. The woman was becoming a habit, an addiction I had to break.

Leanne was ready when I got to her apartment. She opened the door and smiled at me. "How's your injured friend?" she asked.

"Better, thanks." I didn't want to go into details.

She smiled, and I was reminded that she was an exceptionally lovely woman. I once again considered asking her to attend that awards dinner with me, but once again held off. It wasn't for a couple of weeks. There was no rush.

"Have you picked out a movie?" I asked. I was fine with whatever she chose. When Hannah was alive, we used to take turns choosing. I actually enjoyed a few "chick flicks" and she'd sat through more than one techno-thriller.

"I thought we should do that together," Leanne said. She had the paper spread out across the kitchen counter and we stood there and reviewed the listings.

In the end we decided to watch a new movie that was being compared to last year's Academy Award winner. Neither of us had seen it and, frankly, I wasn't sure I'd like it. Still, it was getting great reviews, so others must have found it entertaining and meaningful.

She suggested we attend the movie, then figure out what we wanted to do about dinner. At the theater, I purchased our tickets, after which I stood in a long line to get us a large buttered popcorn. As we sat through the movie, which took place in India, my mind drifted frequently as I contemplated giving up my medical practice and volunteering to serve in a third world country. The need was huge, I'd tell myself, and then...then I'd be pulled right back into the plot.

I mentioned dinner as we strolled out of the multiplex.

"After all that popcorn I couldn't eat a thing."

I'd certainly gobbled my share and I wasn't hungry, either, but I didn't want the evening to end. However, spending time with Leanne wasn't the only reason. My fear was that once I got home, I wouldn't be able to resist calling Macy.

"How about if we have a cup of coffee," Leanne said. "I'd like to hear what you think."

"Think? About what?"

"The movie."

"Oh...of course." I hadn't really formed an opinion. I hadn't watched it consistently or paid very careful attention.

We found a cafe that had outdoor seating and ordered cappuccinos, then made small talk until our coffees arrived.

"I really enjoyed the film," Leanne said. "I liked how they set everything up from the very first scene. You could feel the lead character's isolation and it foreshadowed where the story was going."

I nodded, although I hadn't really been aware of that.

Leanne was quite knowledgeable about story structure and plot. She spoke for several minutes, then stopped, looking embarrassed. "Oh, Michael, I'm so sorry," she murmured, staring down into her half-filled mug.

"Sorry?" I repeated. "For what?"

"For talking on and on like that and not giving you a chance to say anything."

I smiled and squeezed her hand. "I appreciated hearing your insights. If you hadn't mentioned it, I would never have noticed how well the various plotlines were connected. And I thoroughly enjoyed seeing you this animated." Unlike me, she was a pretty sophisticated filmgoer. Come to think of it, Hannah used to have insights like that, too. She'd joked more than once that I only appreciated the gasoline explosions. Not true!

Leanne exhaled and seemed relieved that I hadn't been offended. "Mark and I used to watch a lot of movies together," she told me. "He has an incredible memory for facts about actors, directors and producers. I used to try and stump him, but he always outdid me." She grew sad and lowered her eyes. "I wonder if the army shows movies over in Afghanistan. Even if they do, I don't know if Mark would have access to them. Not that I'd find out from him."

I wasn't sure what to tell her, so I changed the subject and probably not with a lot of finesse. "Hannah loved to cry at the movies." I never understood it. If the movie had a happy-ever-after ending, she'd weep because she was happy. If some tragedy befell the protagonist, she could go through an entire wad of tissues.

Leanne smiled. "That sounds like Hannah."

"What about you?" I asked.

"No," she admitted. "I'm not much of a crier."

We talked for a while longer; after an hour or so, we decided to leave.

Because our order was small, I left a generous tip for the waiter. I was about to suggest we take a stroll along the waterfront or ride the monorail to the Seattle Center, site of the 1962 World's Fair. That event had put Seattle on the map, my father had told me. Then Leanne yawned, a clear signal that she was ready to go home. I might not be able to decipher the finer points of a movie plot, but I could tell when a woman was eager for my company and when she wasn't.

We walked back to where I'd parked the car and I opened her door. It was still light out, but at this time of year, the sun didn't set until almost nine-thirty.

When we were close to her complex, Leanne glanced at me and said, "You don't need to walk me to my apartment."

"You want me just to drop you off?"

"Sure. Don't go to any trouble."

In other words, she wanted to make a quick escape. I'd be lying if I said my ego hadn't taken a hit. It wasn't that I intended to invite myself in to spend the night, but it would've been nice if she'd shown some sign of having enjoyed our time together.

"The curb will be fine," she said next.

"Okay."

Leanne must have detected my disappointment be- cause she turned to look at me. "Michael, oh, my goodness, I'm being rude! Forgive me, please. Would you like to come up?"

"No, that's okay. I have things to do." Another lie.

"I can't believe I was so thoughtless."

"Leanne," I said, "it's okay. Really." I was sincere about that. If I'd accepted her invitation it would've been for the wrong reasons. I'd hoped to distract myself to avoid thinking about Macy. My motives weren't exactly pristine.

I pulled up to the curb.

"I had a wonderful time," Leanne said with a little too much enthusiasm.

"Me, too."

I started to get out of the car to open her door, but Leanne placed her hand on my arm and stopped me.

When I turned back she offered me a soft smile, slipped her arms around my neck and kissed me. The kiss was lengthy and passionate, as if she was trying to prove how much she'd enjoyed my company. When she finished I realized we'd both been trying too hard to find something that just wasn't there.