Authors: Debbie Macomber
Hannah's List (20 page)
“I wouldn’t eat that one if I were you,” Macy said in a muted voice.
“Why not?”
“I think Snowball licked it before I had a chance to shoo him away.”
“Snowball is a he?” I probably should’ve asked why she hadn’t just removed that piece of cheese from the plate. Instead, I was struck by the fact that the white puffball was male.
Macy stretched out her legs and leaned back on her hands. “He’s never forgiven me for naming him that, either.”
“Then change his name.” The solution seemed simple.
“Can’t. I tried, but I see him as Snowball, and nothing else seems to suit him now. Besides, all his medical records are in that name. It’s too confusing to make the switch.”
Harvey sighed. “Just accept what she says without asking a lot of questions. It’s easier that way.”
I could see his point.
Macy joined the conversation, telling us about the mural and the patients she’d seen coming in and out during the
day. Sammy lay next to her, as close as he could get without sitting right on her.
It soon became apparent that Harvey had tired himself out and needed to go inside. I started to help him up, which he didn’t appreciate, slapping my hand away. “Leave me alone,” he snapped, “and allow an old man his pride.”
Macy stood beside me and watched as her friend and neighbor walked slowly toward his house. The instant he was out of earshot, she bombarded me with questions.
“Well?” she asked, sounding nearly breathless. “Can you tell what’s making him so weak? He’s sick, isn’t he? I mean, really sick? Were you able to convince him to make a doctor’s appointment? You led into that subtly, I hope.”
“Let’s go inside and talk,” I said, dreading this conversation. I hadn’t been eager to meet Harvey, but to my surprise I liked the old man.
I followed her lead, climbing over the low fence, Sammy by our side, accompanying us every step of the way.
“It’s bad, isn’t it? You don’t need to mince words with me. I just want the truth. Don’t be afraid to tell me.” She was walking backward as we crossed her yard. We entered her small house through the back porch.
I gestured to a chair in the breakfast nook and, once she’d sat down, I pulled out the adjacent chair, turning so that I faced her directly.
She blinked at me. “He’s dying, isn’t he?”
I nodded rather than speak the words aloud.
“We’ve got to do something,” she insisted, half rising out of her chair.
I gently placed my hands on her shoulders and pushed her down. “Macy, he knows he’s dying and it’s all right with him.”
“It isn’t with me!”
“Harvey’s ready to die.”
“He might be, but I’m not ready to lose him.” Big tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.
“It’s not really up to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“At the end of her life, Hannah refused further chemotherapy,” I told her, my voice low and to my embarrassment riddled with remembered pain. “She knew it was useless and asked me to let her die. I wanted to keep her with me as long as I could, but that would’ve been selfish. I had to accede to her wishes. Harvey is asking the same of you.”
Macy sniffled and the cats gathered around her feet as if to offer comfort. Sammy stood guard and eyed me, his message clear—if I made one wrong move I’d pay.
“I’m sorry,” I said and instinctively put my arms around her. Then for reasons I may never understand, I bent down, moving my head toward hers, and sought out her lips. We kissed. This wasn’t a peck on the cheek or the friendly kiss I’d exchanged with Winter and Leanne. This was a Kiss with a capital
K,
a real kiss that shocked me to the very marrow of my bones.
We broke apart as if we’d suddenly realized what we were doing. Macy looked, if anything, even more unsettled than I felt.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?” She couldn’t possibly be thanking me for the kiss.
“For spending time with Harvey and for telling me about Hannah’s request.”
“Sure,” I said, striving for levity. “Happy to help.”
I left shortly afterward, confused about what had made me kiss Macy and, more importantly, why I’d enjoyed it so much.
I
didn’t sleep well that night. I wasn’t surprised when Macy didn’t show up on Thursday. By her own admission she wasn’t good at completing projects. But this mysterious absence was due to more than that. I knew it in my gut, the same way I knew the kiss we shared was special.
“Have you heard from Macy today?” I asked Linda. I didn’t want to say too much but I was curious. She might have called with a plausible excuse that Linda hadn’t bothered to pass on.
“No. You mean you haven’t, either?” Linda’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You didn’t say anything to upset her, did you?”
“Me?” I asked. I shot Linda a hard look, but not because I was angry. I might be her employer, but every so often she slipped into the role of substitute mother. I was astonished at how willing Linda was to come to Macy’s defense.
I tried to minimize my interest by saying in a calmer
voice, “I’m sure Macy will be in later this afternoon. If not, she’ll be here tomorrow.”
“I’m sure she will,” Linda said, then added, “We just love her.”
I looked to my trusted nurse for an explanation. I didn’t quite understand how this had happened. Had they
all
fallen for Macy? In less than two weeks?
Linda’s mouth quirked with the beginnings of a smile. “Well, first, I don’t suppose you’ve noticed, but she chats with all the children before and after their visits.”
Linda was right; I hadn’t noticed.
“It’s like watching you with the kids. They take to Macy immediately.”
That made sense now that she’d mentioned it. As I’d observed before, Macy was like a child in her whimsies and enthusiasms. “What does she talk to them about?”
“All sorts of things. With the Branson boy, she showed him the lion hiding in the grass, and with the Farinelli girl she chatted about hair clips. She and Ellen Roche discussed dogs at great length. The children relax and laugh, and it makes their visits here less stressful. I haven’t figured Macy out, but I like her.”
I liked her, too, and it was starting to concern me.
“She’s funny. And generous.” Apparently, Linda wasn’t finished singing Macy’s praises. “The other morning she brought in homemade granola bars for everyone. Did you try one?” When I shook my head, she went on. “Too bad. Anyway, Macy said the recipe began as a treat for her bird feeder and she just kept throwing stuff in. It tasted so
good, she turned it into granola bars and bought birdseed for the feeder.”
I grinned, although I was determined not to let Linda—or anyone else—know what was happening between Macy and me. Not that anything
was
happening. But I’d actually kissed a woman I professed to dislike. To complicate the situation, I hadn’t stopped thinking about that kiss. Correction, I
couldn’t
stop thinking about it. An even bigger mystery was the fact that it had felt so…I’ll admit it—kissing Macy felt
right.
Everything about the two of us together was so wrong, it simply hadn’t occurred to me that I’d enjoy holding her in my arms. Kissing her…
The rest of the day I felt a sense of expectation. No one needed to spell out what caused this feeling. I was waiting for Macy, and that just plain annoyed me.
She never did show up.
Friday morning I arrived at the gym in a bad mood. It didn’t take Ritchie long to comment.
“What’s with you, man?”
I mumbled something noncommittal about lack of sleep, which was true enough. I did my regular three-mile jog on the treadmill, speeding up the pace so I finished a minute earlier than usual.
I was in the shower by the time Ritchie appeared in the change room. He made some remark I didn’t catch and I ignored him. To my surprise he was smiling when we met at the lockers. I’d assumed he’d give me a wide berth, which was what I wanted. Instead, he was chortling away, acting as if he knew something I didn’t.
“I’ve seen that look before,” Ritchie said.
“What look?” I asked, letting my impatience show.
“The one you’re wearing. You’ve got a woman on your mind, and I’ll bet I know who it is.”
I could see there was no use trying to keep this to myself, so I blurted it out. “I kissed Macy.”
My brother-in-law hooted. “I
knew
it.” He aimed his index finger at me. “Didn’t I say so? Didn’t I tell you that you’ve got a thing for her? Would you admit it? Oh, no, not you. Not the great Dr. E.”
“You haven’t even met her,” I reminded him. “True.”
“Then how can you claim you’ve known all along that I have this so-called thing for her?”
“Easy,” Ritchie said, opening his locker door and turning his back to me. “You talk about her constantly.”
“Because she irritates me.”
Ritchie threw me a knowing look over his shoulder. “Irritates you enough to kiss her.”
True. But I’d rather not discuss it anymore.
“So, you kissed her,” Ritchie went on. “Why is that such a big deal?”
“This was a real kiss,” I muttered. “Not a friendly little peck on the cheek.”
“In other words, you sucked face.”
I cast him a pained look. “How old are you? Fourteen?”
Ritchie shrugged off my censure. “Why are you so shaken up? You kissed her. You’ve kissed other women since Hannah died. Right?”
I sat down on the bench and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Those weren’t real kisses. That kiss with Macy was hot.” I paused for a moment, trying to explain. “I always thought I’d feel guilty if I ever kissed another woman.
Really
kissed her, I mean.”
“And you didn’t?”
“No, and that bothers me.” There was a whole lot that bothered me about that kiss. The fact that I wasn’t consumed by guilt was merely the first of a long list.
“You
want
to feel guilty?” Ritchie demanded. “Do you think Hannah’s looking down on you in disapproval? Is that it?”
“No.” I shook my head for emphasis. “I don’t know what I feel.” That was a big part of the problem. What I’d expected to feel was regret and it hadn’t happened.
“I guessed all along that Macy was the one,” he crowed again.
“She isn’t.” I stood and reached for my jacket. I was sorry I’d said anything because Ritchie just wouldn’t drop it.
“You enjoyed kissing her, didn’t you?”
I could feel it coming. I decided then and there not to answer.
“Kissing her has you all twisted up inside and now you’re confused.”
He got that right. I was more than confused, I was completely bewildered by what had taken place between Macy and me. “I’m not even sure I like her,” I said.
“Oh, you like her,” Ritchie insisted in that annoying way of his.
I refuse to believe I’m that easily read. Ritchie’s my closest friend, but there are times he can be a real pain in the butt.
“Do you have plans for tonight?” Ritchie asked as we left the gym.
Today was Friday, when I used to volunteer at the free medical clinic until the incident with Shamika and her abuser. A replacement had been found and in some ways that was probably best.
“I’m going to call Leanne,” I said, and instantly felt relieved at having made a decision. No, at having made
that
decision. We were supposed to talk about seeing a movie this weekend, anyway.
Ritchie scratched his chin. “Leanne?” he repeated. “Not Macy.”
“Definitely not Macy.” I needed time to clear my head and half hoped she wouldn’t be at the office today, either.
Uncharacteristically, Ritchie refrained from launching into another series of questions and comments.
“See you Monday,” he said once we were outside. He began walking toward his office.
“Catch up with you then.” I took off in the opposite direction.
I hoofed it the few blocks to my office building and glared at Larry the security guard as I went in. I wanted him to know I didn’t appreciate the fact that he’d let Macy into the clinic before office hours. With everyone else Larry was inflexible; with Macy he’d been prepared to bend the rules. As far as I was concerned, Macy got her own way far too often. She wouldn’t with me again.
Just as I’d feared, she was at the clinic when I got there. She had her earphones plugged in and if she noticed my arrival she gave no indication. That suited me; the less contact I had with her the better.
“What time did Macy deign to show up?” I asked Linda.
“About ten minutes ago. What makes you ask?”
I wasn’t accustomed to having Linda question my questions. “Nothing,” I murmured and hurried toward my office where I put on my white jacket and slipped the stethoscope around my neck before going to the first exam room.
By noon it was apparent that Macy had made substantial progress on the mural. The sketch was completely finished now and she’d started painting. The colors she’d chosen were bright and bold, acrylics rather than oils. The entire office seemed enthralled with her work, judging by all the chatter about what a wonderful job she was doing.
I should’ve been pleased but in my present frame of mind, I was only interested in finding fault with her. She was impeding me, not physically, but emotionally. Having her so close made me uncomfortable.
I wanted her out of my proximity and, even more, out of my head. What troubled me most was how much I thought about that kiss and the way it’d made me feel alive again. I couldn’t get past the idea that, regardless of what Hannah had said in her letter, I didn’t have any right to feel like that. Alive, when Hannah wasn’t.
Every time I fantasized about kissing Macy again, I felt as if I was losing control of who I was. I hated that sensation and I wanted to shake it off.
At lunchtime, I left my office door open and reached for the phone. I knew Macy was within earshot because she was sitting with Linda. The other staff members had gathered around her like those jungle creatures she’d painted converging at a water hole. I could hear their banter and high spirits.
I usually close my office door during our lunch break. I value the peace and use that hour to make phone calls, many of which have to be done in private. However, I wanted,
needed,
Macy to hear me talking to Leanne.