Hannah's List

His hair grew over his ears and it didn't look as if he'd shaved in two or three days. He wore a faded T-shirt and jeans. His eyes were sunken and his expression was that of a man without hope.



For an instant, the tiniest moment, she was sure his gaze softened as he recognized her.



"Leanne." Her name was more breath than sound. He recovered from his shock, and his eyes hardened. "What are you doing here?"



She disregarded the lack of welcome. "I'd like to talk, if that would be possible?" Right away she realized she shouldn't have added the last part.



"Everything that needed to be said was said a long time ago."



Leanne refused to be so easily dissuaded. "Could I come inside?"



"No. I'm not receiving company." His voice was brusque. Sarcastic.



"Oh."



Mark stared at her. "Why are you here?"



At one time he'd been gentle, but it seemed that every bit of tenderness he possessed had been ground out of him. He held himself stiffly on the other side of the threshold.



"We never talked about...any of this."



"No need. It's too late now. We're divorced. Our marriage is over and the sooner you realize that, the better."



"You should've told me." This was an old argument and one he obviously didn't want to hear. She'd begged him incessantly to explain, back when he was out on bail awaiting his hearing.



"I don't want you here," he said. He looked around, then briefly closed his eyes. "You don't belong in this place. Just leave--and don't come back."



Her throat had closed up so tightly it was impossible to speak. Although he was outwardly angry, Leanne had to believe their love wasn't entirely dead. At the very least, she had to give it every chance to resuscitate itself, even if their relationship changed in the process, as it inevitably would.



"I don't think it's too late. We can talk, work this out, the way we should have in the beginning," she said urgently. Perhaps if she was willing to share her own regrets, Mark would acknowledge the role he'd played in all this.



"You did us both a favor," he said, backing away from her. "You weren't the only one who wanted out of the marriage."



"I don't believe that." It was a lie, and she refused to accept it.



"Believe whatever you like," he said coldly. He betrayed himself, however, when his eyes couldn't seem to meet hers.



For a few seconds, she thought she sensed a yielding in him. But if that was the case, it had been all too fleeting.



"Don't you get it?" he said, his voice low. "Do you honestly think it was just the money?"



She blinked in confusion.



He took a step backward. She advanced, unwilling to let him escape. If he had something else to tell her, something that had never come up before, she was going to insist on hearing it.



"What are you saying?" She hated the way her voice quavered.



"You don't want to know."



"You're wrong."



"Fine." He paused. "Frankly, I'd hoped to spare you this."



She reached out and grabbed the doorknob, instinctively knowing she'd need its support.



"Did you ever wonder why I didn't fight the divorce? I figured it was for the best for more reasons than you realize. There were other women, Leanne."



She felt the color drain from her face. It would've hurt less had he thrust a knife in her abdomen. Then she frowned, suddenly sure of one thing. His words were nothing but a ploy, a trick to convince her to forget him. "That's a lie." Another lie.



He hung his head. "I wish it was. Now you know. You saw me as this decent, honorable man and the truth is, it was all an act. You're better off without me." He looked at her. "We aren't good for each other, Leanne."



She found it difficult to breathe. "I still don't believe you." He was sacrificing himself and she wouldn't allow him to do it.



"Like I said, believe what you want, but know this." He spoke slowly and distinctly. "I don't want to see you. I don't want you here." He glanced over his shoulder, the gesture deliberate.



Leanne blanched. He was signaling that there was someone inside the apartment, waiting for him. A woman. She couldn't hear anyone, but that didn't prove a thing.



What if this wasn't a lie?



Leanne clasped her hands, because she desperately needed to hold on to something and that something had to be herself. No one else was going to shore her up. She was on her own and had been from the moment Mark was arrested.



"Get on with your life," he added. "I have."



Leanne stiffened her spine. "Funny you should say that."



He locked eyes with her, which he'd avoided doing since he'd opened the door.



"I met someone," she told him.



"Good."



"He's the husband of one of my former patients. She died.... I was her nurse."



He said nothing.



"I ran into Michael at a picnic. I've been doing a lot of volunteer work. It keeps me occupied."



He looked down at his scuffed running shoes as though bored.



She ignored his rudeness. "Michael was one of the other volunteers at the event."



"And this interests me why?"



"We talked."



"I hope he asked you out." Again he gave the impression of boredom.



"Is that what you want, Mark?"



He raised his shoulder. "Go out with the man, okay?"



She stared at him. He didn't mean what he'd said. He couldn't. "You've changed," she whispered, trying to gauge the truth about his feelings. This was what she'd feared--the man she'd fallen in love with ten years earlier no longer existed. The one who stood in front of her was a stranger.



"Trust me, a year in prison will change any man."



She swallowed hard.



"I don't want to be cruel," he went on. "I appreciate that it took a lot of courage for you to come here today, but it's too late. What we had is over. Just accept that."



Clenching her fingers so tightly they hurt, she struggled to find the right words, but he spoke first.



"Don't let yourself get bogged down in useless sentimentality. We aren't the same people we once were."



Leanne felt more confused than ever. "What you said earlier isn't true, is it? You were always faithful." She had to believe that, because the alternative was too devastating to consider.



He didn't answer.



As she blinked back tears, he stepped inside and quietly closed the door.



Stunned, Leanne stood there, rooted to the spot, while she took in what had just happened. She closed her eyes and felt in the strongest possible way that Mark was on the other side of the door, his heart beating in unison with hers, crying out in pain, the same as hers.



After several minutes, she turned away. She climbed carefully down the stairs and got into her car. She had to make several attempts before her hands stopped trembling enough to insert the key.



She had her answer. The time had come to reconcile herself to the fact that she was divorced.



If and when Michael Everett phoned to ask her out, she'd respond with an unequivocal yes.



Chapter Twelve



o anything special this weekend?" Ritchie asked as we left the gym Monday morning.



"DOnce again my brother-in-law seemed to have some kind of intuition about what was happening in my life, almost as if Hannah was whispering in his ear.



"Why do you ask?" I probably sounded more defensive than I meant to because Ritchie turned to look at me, arching his eyebrows as though surprised by my reaction-- or overreaction.



"I guess that touched a nerve," he said with a grin. "So tell me what's up."



"I volunteered at the hospital picnic for children with cancer on Saturday."



"You said you were going to."



I inhaled and held my breath, then slowly released it. "While I was there, I ran into Leanne Lancaster."



Ritchie stared blankly at me.



"Leanne is one of the women on Hannah's list."



In typical fashion, Ritchie started to laugh. "I can see my sister's fingerprints all over this."



The problem was, I could, too. I was convinced that Hannah had been directing my life, as well as Leanne's. Not that I approved or was even interested in her plan. Or so I immediately told myself.



"Did the two of you talk?" Ritchie asked.



It took me a moment to realize he was referring to Leanne. "For a few minutes. She's divorced."



Ritchie looked thoughtful. "Hannah must've known that if she put her on the list."



The timing was right. Leanne had said her divorce was final nearly two years ago. That meant Leanne had been dealing with it when Hannah was undergoing chemotherapy.



"What's she like?" Ritchie asked.



"How do you mean?"



"Physically. Is she blonde, brunette? Tall or medium height?"



"Something like that," I said, as I reviewed our time together. Brunette, but I saw no reason to tell Ritchie that. Besides, physical appearance wasn't significant; what was far more important was the emotional connection I felt with her.



Ritchie shook his head, his expression amused. "Are you going to call her?"



Actually, I hadn't decided. "We talked about it, Leanne and I. She isn't over the divorce yet and you, better than anyone, know how raw I still feel."



"Ask her out," Ritchie urged. "What can it hurt?"



"We're two wounded people."



"See?" he joked. "You already have something in common."



I had to admit Ritchie had a point. I grinned. "Maybe I will." We reached the street, ready to part company.



"You have plans for next weekend?" my brother-in-law asked.



I mentally scanned my social calendar, which took all of two seconds. "Not that I can remember. Why?"



"It's Max's birthday. Steph's throwing him a party. I thought you could keep me company."



"Count me in." I appreciated the way Ritchie and Steph included me as both family and friend.



"Great. I'll give you the details about Saturday when I have them. See you Wednesday morning."



"Wednesday," I repeated and headed for the office.



The morning was fairly typical of any Monday in a pediatrician's clinic. The phone rang constantly and I had appointments scheduled practically on top of one another. A new influenza was going around; I saw three cases first thing. The big danger when children have the flu is dehydration, and I sent one four-year-old to the hospital.



I stepped into my office at lunchtime and shut the door. I'd ordered a Greek salad from the deli across the street and it sat on my desk. I pried open the lid and pierced some lettuce with my plastic fork. As I took my first bite, Leanne came to mind. I couldn't help wondering if she'd thought about me on Sunday. She'd occupied my thoughts, and I wasn't happy about it, either.



I leaned back in my chair as I contemplated my course of action. Although I'd mentioned getting in touch, I hadn't jotted down her phone number. As I'd pointed out to Leanne, I was rusty when it came to this dating business, but I didn't realize how much until that moment.



I checked the online telephone directory and found nothing listed for Leanne Lancaster or L. Lancaster. I doubted she'd still have a phone listing under her husband, but it wouldn't hurt to look. Only I couldn't think of his name. Mack? Matt? It definitely began with an M--didn't it?