Hannah's List. Debbie Macomber
out with me.” There, she’d said it. If she was looking for a reaction from Pierre, she didn’t get one; his expression didn’t so much as flicker. It was as if she’d pointed out that this spring was cooler than normal for the Pacific Northwest.
Pierre held her gaze. “We never discussed anything like this,” she felt obliged to remind him.
“How foolish of us,” he returned, his words heavy with scorn.
She didn’t respond to his unpleasant tone. “Well?” she pressed.
He shrugged. “I don’t see the problem.”
“You don’t mind?” she blurted out, unable to hide the hurt she felt.
“Why should I?”
“But…” Pain and disillusionment gathered in her chest. Rather than explain, rather than reveal how deeply his total disregard and lack of concern had cut her, Winter bounded to her feet and headed out the door.
“Winter…”
“I thought we could have a decent conversation for once,” she said, struggling to hold back her own anger.
“You come to me after weeks of silence because you want my permission to date another man?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“As a matter of fact, you did.”
“Are we going to argue about semantics?” she asked. How quickly they’d fallen back into the same old patterns. A few minutes earlier, Winter had been nearly breathless with anticipation. Now she was close to tears.
“If you want to date this other man, don’t let me stand in your way.”
“I won’t,” she said and smiled sweetly. “He’s a doctor, you know.”
“Who cares?”
“Oh, that was mature.”
“About as mature as telling me you’re dating a doctor. Just leave, Winter, before I say something I regret.”
“I’m the one with regrets, Pierre. I never should’ve come here, never should’ve assumed that being apart would make any difference. I can see nothing’s changed. I thought I loved you…I thought you loved me, too, but I can see how wrong I was.” She rushed through the kitchen, blinded by anger and sorrow, and almost ran to the exit.
Pierre didn’t follow, and that was just as well. She’d learned the answer to her unspoken question. Pierre was completely and utterly indifferent to her. His one concern was whether she might be pregnant. He was no more ready to be a husband and father than…than the man in the moon.
Hurrying into the street, Winter paused, her pulse beating in her ear like a sledgehammer. Breathless, she leaned against the building and placed both hands over her heart.
The meeting had gone so much worse than she’d expected. Pierre didn’t need three months to decide about their relationship. Apparently, he didn’t even need three weeks. His decision had been made. Which meant hers was, too.
It was over.
Her life with Pierre had come to an end.
If Dr. Michael Everett was interested in pursuing a relationship, then Winter needed to open her heart to the possibility.
Chapter Eight
Monday morning I met Ritchie at the gym. The Saturday afternoon we’d spent together had lifted my spirits. Max’s softball game had gone well—his team had won—and it felt good to sit in the bleachers with the other parents and cheer on my nephew. Max, at almost nine, was a terrific kid. Afterward, the two of us played Xbox until Steph called us down for dinner. As soon as we’d finished, we both went upstairs again, eager to get back to our game. Ritchie eventually joined us, but his expertise was on a level with mine. Max beat us both.
The boy had been a great favorite of Hannah’s. She’d loved spending time with him; she used to buy him books, take him to movies and attend his Little League games whenever she could. Losing his adored aunt was hard for Max, and he hardly ever mentioned Hannah anymore. That didn’t bother me. I knew Max treasured his memories of Hannah the same as I did. I saw her picture in his bedroom when he showed me the latest addition to his baseball card collection. My gaze fell on the photograph, and Max, ever sensitive and kind, had simply walked over and hugged me. I hugged him back. We didn’t need to talk; his gentle embrace said far more than words.
“Did you hear from Winter?” Ritchie asked as we walked out of the gym.
I’d wondered when he’d get around to asking me that. I’d just about made a clean escape, but I should’ve known my brother-in-law wouldn’t let it pass.
“She left a message on Sunday afternoon.”
“You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” Ritchie chastised.
“Nope.” No point in lying.
“That’s what I thought.” We walked toward the parking garage, and I hoped that would be the end of the subject. Wishful thinking on my part.
“You didn’t pick up, did you?” Ritchie said when I didn’t elaborate.
I was continually surprised by how well Ritchie could predict my behavior. It was almost as if he’d been sitting in the same room with me. “No,” I admitted reluctantly.
“What did she say?”
I shrugged. “Nothing much. She asked me to return the call when it was convenient.”
“How long do you suppose it’ll be before you find it convenient?”
My delaying tactic wasn’t working as successfully as I’d hoped. “I thought I’d give her a call later this afternoon.” Maybe. I wasn’t convinced Winter and I were a good match, despite what Hannah seemed to believe.
“Don’t disappoint me,” Ritchie warned.
I was grateful when I reached my car, eager to bring this awkward conversation to a close.
“How about poker on Thursday night?” Ritchie asked.
Sometimes I swore he had radar and knew exactly how hard to push before backing off.
“Steve’s got a meeting,” he went on, “and can’t make it.”
I shook my head. I used to play with Ritchie and the other guys every Thursday. In fact, I’d been the one to instigate the poker game. Patrick O’Malley, one of my partners, Steve Ciletti, an internal-medicine specialist, Ritchie and I used to get together for poker every week. At first we took turns hosting and then we settled on Ritchie and Steph’s place because it’s centrally located and easily accessible to all of us. We never played past midnight and the wagers were friendly. I’d given up poker and all other unnecessary distractions after Hannah was diagnosed with cancer.
“I don’t think so,” I said automatically.
“Bill’s been substituting for you for two years now. Isn’t it time you rejoined the group?”
“Maybe I will,” I said. I wasn’t sure why I hesitated. I used to enjoy our poker nights, and I didn’t understand my own reluctance.
I had hospital rounds that morning. We did it on a rotation basis and this was my week. Because Hannah had spent so much time in this hospital, I’d had the opportunity to see the situation from two different perspectives—first, as a physician, and secondly, as the spouse of a patient. I could write a book on what I’d learned.
When I arrived at the hospital, I noticed signs everywhere for the annual picnic. The children’s ward put on a huge charity function each year, one specially designed for children with cancer. This wasn’t a fund-raising event. The sole purpose was to let them be kids and forget about chemo and surgery for an afternoon. Hannah and I had volunteered at the picnic for several years and