Hannah's List

Snowball jumped down and left the room. Macy assumed he'd gone to investigate whether Sammy was still in the house. A couple of minutes later she heard him voice his opinion of their houseguest and then race back, yowling a long list of complaints.



"He isn't staying," she promised. "He's lost. How would you feel if you were lost?"



In response, Snowball turned his back and ignored her completely.



"Fine, if that's how you're going to be."



Macy dressed in white jeans and an olive-green sweater, then ran a brush--not the one she'd used on Sammy-- through her tangle of red curls. The makeup people would see to her hair and face later. This assignment, a photo shoot for a yarn company catalog, was scheduled for eleven. Radio was more fun, but the money she made from modeling put food in the cats' dishes.



She let Sammy into the yard, where he relieved himself against the fence--good thing Harvey wasn't out yet. A moment later he came back in and she refilled bowls and made a pot of coffee. Taking her cup, she wandered outside, which was part of her morning ritual. Sammy was busy wolfing down his breakfast.



Harvey had come into the backyard by now, a hoe in his hands, weeding his garden. She sat down on the step, savoring the cool spring air.



"Good morning, Harvey," she greeted him cheerfully.



He ignored her and continued hoeing. After a minute or two he muttered, "Don't see anything good about it. Seems like every other morning to me."



"I had company last night," she told him.



"Anybody I know?"



"Don't think so. He's a real sweetheart, though."



Harvey straightened and leaned against the hoe. He frowned. "You hiding a man inside your little house?"



"Definitely a male."



"I suppose you took in another stray. How many cats are you feeding, anyway? Your grandmother would be shocked if she knew you've turned her home into a cat house." He grumbled some other remark that she couldn't quite hear.



"I need a favor."



"Can't do it," he said and returned to weeding his garden. He lowered his hat over his eyes as if to shut her out completely.



"It's not a cat," she said as she walked to the fence and sipped her coffee. Sammy needed a place to stay until she could locate his owner or find a new one, and Harvey needed a friend. As far as she was concerned, it was meant to be. A perfect match.



"I'll bet it isn't a man, either," Harvey said. "Now that's something you could use. I don't understand what's wrong with you."



Admittedly, she had problems with relationships. She'd dated lots of men and even fallen in love a time or two. But eventually the men in her life seemed to grow disenchanted with her. They found her too disorganized, too eccentric, too impulsive. Initially her unconventional nature appealed to them, but then they decided they wanted a more "nine-tofive kind of woman," as one of them had put it.



"There's nothing wrong with me."



He snorted.



"Are you going to help me or not?"



"Not."



"I'm counting on you, Harvey."



"Don't care, I'm not doing it. You aren't getting me involved in one of your schemes, so don't even ask."



Sammy poked his head out the back door and padded carefully down the four back steps.



"Harvey, meet Sammy," she said, gesturing toward the dog.



Harvey glanced in her direction, then rolled his eyes. "It isn't bad enough that you're feeding cats. Now you've added a dog to your menagerie."



"He's a stray. Look at him. Doesn't he just melt your heart?" "Are you the one who gave him that ridiculous haircut?" "I didn't have a choice, his hair was so matted." "You bathed him, too?"



"I had to. He was filthy."



"Probably infested with fleas."



"Probably, but I got rid of them last night."



"So you say."



"Listen, I have to leave in a few minutes. I'm doing a photo shoot for that yarn company I was telling you about. They need me for hair and makeup at ten."



"Don't let me hold you up. Go." He waved her away.



"I can't leave Sammy here alone."



"Why not?"



Macy edged her way along the fence line, following him as he hoed. "Snowball's taken a dislike to him."



"At least one of your cats shows some intelligence."



"Harvey, will you watch him while I'm gone? Please?"



He shook his head emphatically. "Not me."



"It'll only be for a couple of hours."



"Tie him up in your backyard."



Macy had already considered that option. "How would you like a rope around your neck?" Unfortunately the yard wasn't fully enclosed.



Harvey didn't respond.



"Sammy's lost and frightened."



"I'd be frightened, too, if I had Snowball giving me the evil eye."



"Two hours," she murmured pleadingly. "Three at the most."



"Ten."



"Ten what?"



"Hours. I know how you operate, Macy Roth. You have no concept of time. One hour or six--it's all the same to you. I am not looking after that dog, so you might as well accept it right now."



Sammy ambled over to the fence and stared up at Harvey.



"Don't you start." He pointed an accusing finger at the dog, then turned to Macy. "Did you teach him to look at me like I'm his last friend in the world?"



"When would I have had time for that?"



"Go back inside because you're wasting your breath. I'm no babysitter to a flea-infested mutt."



She bent down and whispered to Sammy.



"What did you just tell that mangy dog?"



"Nothing."



"Yes, you did," he insisted. "I saw your lips move."



"If you must know, I told him not to pay any attention and to just go on over and visit."



Harvey buried the hoe in the freshly turned dirt. "Why is it you ignore everything I say? I don't know why I even bother to talk to you."



"Because you love me."



"No, I don't. Now kindly leave an old man alone."



"Can't do that. Sorry. I guess I'll call and cancel my part in the photo shoot."



Harvey removed his hat and wiped his brow. "That trick isn't going to work this time, so you can forget it. I don't care if you lose your job." He wagged his index finger at her. "And you aren't moving in with me if you lose your grandmother's house, either. I refuse to let you blackmail me."



"Not to worry, I told Sammy to stay here and keep an eye on you."



Harvey scowled. "If he's on your side of the fence, it's fine. But I don't want him digging in my garden."



"I'll make sure he knows to wait right here and I'll tell him to look after you, too."



"You do that, because if he sets one paw on my land, I'm calling the dogcatcher."



"Harvey, you wouldn't."



"Don't tempt me."



Macy rolled her eyes. "I'll be back in a few hours."



"Whatever."



"Look after him for me, Harvey."



"I said I wouldn't, and I won't."



Nevertheless, Macy figured it wouldn't be long before Sammy won over her neighbor. She'd let the two of them sort it out.



She put out fresh water for her animals and threw the dirty towels in the washer before grabbing her backpack and heading out the door. She left Sammy in the backyard, confident in Harvey's kindness despite all disclaimers to the contrary. Her cats were inside the house.



When she went to start the car, she saw that she was desperately low on gas. Considering what a nice day it was, she decided to ride her bicycle.



She got it out of the garage and pedaled down the street. It really was a lovely morning.



Chapter Ten



I've always been fascinated by how wise children often are, especially those with cancer. Despite the fact that they've been dealt a crummy hand in life, these kids are impressive. In my observation, children, by their very nature, are optimistic and in most cases far more realistic than their parents. I hadn't been looking forward to this picnic, but my reasons had nothing to do with the kids. My fear had to do with my colleagues. I was afraid some of them--like Patrick--would use the opportunity to set me up with one of their friends. My concerns were wellfounded, judging by the way they'd reacted to the news that I planned to attend.



Saturday morning I arrived at the park around tenthirty. The weather had cooperated, although there was a huge gazebo for shelter in case of rain. The rhododendrons and azaleas were in full bloom, just as they were in Hannah's garden at home. Splashes of soft color all around reminded me of a Monet painting. Children raced around, some with hair and others without. Today was a day for fun and laughter, games and prizes, food and friends. For this short period they could forget about everything associated with cancer. Their parents, too, could put aside their worries and fears and simply enjoy the day.



As I walked to the picnic area I saw Patrick O'Malley strolling toward me. He grinned and held up his hand in greeting. Although we worked in the same practice, we didn't often get a chance to talk. I owed Patrick. He'd covered for me so I could be with Hannah, especially toward the end. That had made turning down his request nearly impossible. Patrick had asked me to help and I could do nothing less.



"Glad to see you made it," Patrick said when we met. "And congratulations. I heard you've been nominated for Fischer-Newhart's Pediatrician of the Year. That's huge!"



I shrugged off his praise. The pharmaceutical company, which specialized in medication for children, gave a major award once a year in four regions of the country. This was my first nomination and it



was a big deal. Of course, Linda knew and my parents, too, but I hadn't mentioned it to anyone else. Being singled out sort of embarrasses me. Always has. My goal is to be a good doctor and to make children well. That's it. I don't need any public acknowledgment. The award was to be presented at a large banquet, the type of event everyone hates but feels obligated to attend. The thought of sitting through the evening alone held no appeal. I could invite someone; I just didn't know who.



I rubbed my hands together, eager to mingle with the kids. "Where do you need me most?"



"We could use some help with the games," Patrick said, reminding me of his original request.



"Perfect."



"Then later you can flip burgers." He slapped me affectionately on the back.



Within minutes I was laughing and horsing around with the kids. I regretted my bad mood earlier in the week. I blamed Hannah's letter for that. I wanted to argue with her, tell her I'd rather forget the outside world as much as possible, and she seemed to know that. I resented, at least a little, that a woman who'd been gone a year still had the power to manipulate me into something I had no interest in doing. Yet how could I refuse her?



A couple of hours later I was exhausted. I'd participated in the three-legged race, teaming up with James, a tenyear-old boy who probably wouldn't see his eleventh birthday. We crossed the finish line first and James wore his blue ribbon proudly.



Somehow or other, I got conned into being a partner with Kellie, a six-year-old with leukemia, for the egg toss. We lost--the egg broke in my hands, much to Kellie's delight. I wasn't any luckier with the water-balloon toss, but managed to jump far enough back to avoid getting soaked. After that, I put on an apron that read The Cook Is King and stood in front of the barbecue, grilling hamburgers. I noticed James wolfing his down and saw tears in his mother's eyes as she watched her son eat. I suspected it'd been a long time since he'd had this much of an appetite.