Hannah's List

In other words, he was telling her to get to the point and be on her way.

“I hadn’t heard from you,” she said, hoping the comment sounded casual and carefree.

“We agreed there’d be no contact. It was your suggestion, as I recall.”

“We did say that,” she said, nodding. If he wanted this to be strictly business, fine. “So you understand I wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t important.”

His gaze narrowed. “Are you pregnant?”

She stared, hardly able to believe what he’d said. “You know better than to ask such a thing.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” she flared. She was the responsible one. After the first week, it became abundantly clear that she’d have to be in charge of birth control. As a matter of fact, she’d continued with the pill, which was ridiculous since they hadn’t even touched in weeks.

“If you aren’t pregnant, what’s so important that you have to interrupt me in the middle of the day—on a Saturday, no less?”

Winter hadn’t stopped to consider that he might have two or three different banquets scheduled during a weekend.

Nonetheless, she forged ahead. “An interesting situation has come up that I felt I should discuss with you.”

“By all means,” he murmured with more than a hint of sarcasm.

“My cousin Hannah’s husband—”

“Your cousin who died?”

“Yes. Hannah’s husband’s name is Michael. He came to see me.”

“And?” Pierre prompted, obviously in a hurry to be rid of her.

“He wants to go 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.