Hannah's List

At noon I found a message from my brother-in-law and returned Ritchie's call while I ate lunch.



"It's me," I said when he answered the phone. "You called?"



"Yeah, I wanted to give you the details for Max's party."



"Go ahead." I reached for a pen and a pad.



"Saturday at eleven. Steph's taking Max and five of his friends to the arcade and out for pizza afterward."



"Are we expected to tag along?" I asked, grinning, knowing Ritchie was a kid at heart.



"You mean you don't want to accompany me and six highly active screaming boys to the arcade, where they'll go through quarters faster than a slot machine?"



"I wouldn't miss it."



"I didn't think so."



"I'll make a point of arriving early this Saturday," I told him.



Then that radar of Ritchie's seemed to kick in. "Anything new with you?"



"How do you mean new?" I asked, stalling for time.



"With you and that oncology nurse."



I hesitated, then decided I'd tell him about meeting Leanne. "I went to dinner with her last night." "Dinner? You actually asked her out?"



"Yeah."



"How'd that go?"



"Good." I didn't elaborate.



I felt more than heard Ritchie's uncertainty. "Define good." I should've realized he wouldn't be satisfied with a oneword response. "Okay, if you must know, we spent three hours together."



Ritchie released a sharp whistle. "Sounds like the two of you hit it off."



I wasn't convinced I should be discussing this with my brother-in-law. Sure as anything, on Wednesday when we met at the gym he'd besiege me with questions. Questions I had no intention of answering.



"Leanne and I have a lot in common," was all I was willing to tell him.



"That's a great start," he said enthusiastically. "You've met with Winter and now with Leanne."



Apparently, he was keeping tabs.



"Of the two of them, who has the strongest appeal?" he asked.



"Leanne," I said. "Not that I don't like Winter," I added quickly, remembering they were cousins.



"What's the name of the third woman again?"



"Macy Roth." I had no connection with her at all, no way of casually running into her as I had with Leanne. And it wasn't as if I could stop by her restaurant for coffee and a croissant.



"What do you know about her?"



"Practically nothing."



"No, wait. She's the model." Ritchie wasn't giving up. "What else did Hannah say about her?"



"I don't remember." A lie. In her letter Hannah had mentioned the fact that Macy held several jobs. She'd also written that she thought Macy would make me smile.



"Are you going to call her?" Ritchie asked.



"Macy? I wouldn't even know how to get in touch with her."



"Come on, buddy, you're smarter than that."



I wasn't interested in meeting the third woman on Hannah's list. I liked Winter, but I had more of a connection with Leanne. Adding a third woman to the mix would confuse me, especially if I felt any kind of affinity with her, the way I did with Leanne.



"Hannah wanted you to meet her," Ritchie pointed out--as if I'd forgotten.



"Then I'll let Hannah arrange it."



"You know what? She just might."



"I can handle that," I said, not altogether sure I could. I looked down at my lunch of broccoli soup and a hard roll. I realized I'd spent most of my break talking to Ritchie. "I've got to run."



"See you in the morning."



"See you." With that I disconnected.



I wondered why Hannah had chosen three candidates. Why not two? Or four? Maybe because three's a magic number, the number that always appears in fairy tales. If I was going to complete all my tasks like a fairy-tale hero, I had to meet this third woman.



"Okay," I muttered, sensing her dissatisfaction with me. If not hers, then Ritchie's. "I'll meet Macy. Somehow." I wasn't happy about it. I was astonished by how susceptible I was to guilt. And both Hannah and Ritchie were piling it on.



When I'd finished my lunch, Linda came by, all smiles. She tended to be a sober woman and her amusement caught my attention.



I asked her about it.



"Have you seen Dr. O'Malley's office?" Linda asked me.



"Not recently." I saw Patrick two or three times a week but rarely visited his office at the opposite end of the floor.



"He had a mural painted for the children. It covers the entire hallway, both sides. It's the cutest scene with fire trucks and bulldozers on one side for the boys, and on the other is a castle with a coach and horse-drawn carriage for the girls."



"A mural," I repeated slowly.



"I was thinking this is something we might want to consider, too."



Hannah had done it again. She'd given me the perfect excuse to contact Macy Roth. In her letter she'd mentioned that one of Macy's many professions was that of artist. She painted murals. Therefore I'd hire her to paint the office wall; that would allow me to meet her without any expectations. Well, other than for the job I was hiring her to do.



"A mural's an excellent idea," I said.



"Would you like me to ask Susan in Dr. O'Malley's office for the artist's name?"



"No...ah, sure. But I already know the name of a woman who could do this."



"I'll get the phone number of the one who painted Dr. O'Malley's mural, as well," Linda told me. "Then if the artist you know doesn't work out, we'll have another option."



"Great." This was what I appreciated most about Linda. She thought of everything.



I waited until the end of the day to call Macy. I found her phone listing in the online directory and punched out the number.



The phone rang four times and I was preparing to leave a message when a breathless voice greeted me. "Hello?"



"Macy Roth?"



"That's me." She sounded as if she'd run a long distance.



"This is Dr. Michael Everett."



"Is it about Harvey?" she demanded, panic in her voice. "I asked him to give my name as an emergency contact. He's terribly ill, isn't he? I've been so worried! He didn't tell me he made a doctor's appointment, but there's a lot Harvey doesn't tell me."



I had to wait for her to take a breath. As soon as she did, I jumped in and assured her this had nothing to do with Harvey, whoever that might be. "Actually, I'm phoning on an entirely different matter."



The line went quiet. "This isn't about Harvey?"



"No," I told her again. "This is about a job. I understand you paint murals."



"I do," she said brightly. "I'm good at it, too." And modest about her talent, I noted.



"Would you like me to paint a wall for you? I charge reasonable rates and I'm creative and dependable."



I chose to ignore the finer qualities she felt obliged to enumerate. "I'm thinking of having a mural painted in my office." I wasn't willing to commit myself until I'd had an opportunity to meet Macy.



"I'd be happy to paint a mural for you."



"Do you have pictures of what you've done?" I asked.



"I do...somewhere. I'm not sure exactly where they are, but I do have photographs of my work."



"Can I see them?" It seemed a logical request.



"I'll have to hunt them up. I'm afraid that might take a while."



The woman clearly didn't possess much of a business mind, let alone any organizational skills. "Would you like to know what I want painted?" I asked, half amused and half irritated.



"It's a wall, right? That's where most people want their murals."



"A hallway."



"Okay. Have you chosen a subject? Like...like goldfish in a pond. Or a farm scene. Or--"



"I'd like to hear your ideas. When would it be convenient for you to stop by?"



"I'm not doing anything right now," she volunteered. "If you want, I could drop in tonight."



It would be nice to deal with this matter after hours, rather than between patients. "How soon can you be here?" I asked after giving her the office address. "Oh, you're close. I could make it in twenty minutes." "I'll alert the security guard to let you into the building."



"Thanks." She hesitated, then asked, "If I'm a few minutes late, it's not a problem, right?"



"Well..."



"I'll do my best," she promised and the line went dead.



"A few minutes late," as Macy called it, turned out to be thirty-five minutes past the time she'd mentioned. I paced the office, disgruntled and annoyed. I insist on promptness, especially in business situations; when I tell someone I'll arrive in twenty minutes, I keep my word. If I'm held up for some unforeseen reason, I contact the person in question and explain.



Almost an hour after our phone call, I heard the office door open and came out to meet Macy Roth. To my surprise, I did know her. When Leanne had apologized for not attending the funeral, I'd said I hadn't been aware of who was there and who wasn't.



With one exception.



The woman in red. The woman who'd worn a bright red outfit and a wide-brimmed hat with curls of carroty hair poking out beneath. She'd stood out like a lone apple tree in the middle of a meadow. Everyone else had worn black or dark clothes for mourning. Not Macy. Just seeing her there as though dressed for a party had set my teeth on edge. Obviously the woman had no discretion. No common sense, either, since she'd chosen to wear such cheerful clothes to a funeral. Today she had on a pair of yellow leggings, a leopard-print tunic and ballet-style shoes. Her long, red hair was pulled into a ponytail high on her head. Macy Roth must have been thirty, but in that get-up she looked about eighteen. She certainly didn't exhibit the professional appearance I would've expected at an interview.



She stopped abruptly when she saw me and her eyes met mine in sudden recognition. "You're Hannah's husband," she whispered.



I nodded.



Macy's eyes went soft with pain. "I loved Hannah."



"Thank you," I said curtly. I wasn't going to discuss my wife with this woman I'd disliked on sight.



"I remember the time she--"



"You're late." I knew I was being rude, but I couldn't help it. I was astonished that Hannah had seen this woman as a suitable wife for me.



She snapped to attention like a raw recruit. "Oh, yes. Sorry about that."



"You said twenty minutes."



"I had to get the shoe box down from the closet and then Lovie got trapped inside when I closed the door, except I didn't know that. All I could hear were these frantic cries. It took me five minutes to discover that she was still in the closet."



I had no idea who Lovie was and could only assume she was either an animal or, God forbid, a toddler.



"I found the photos you wanted to see. They were in the shoe box, the one in the closet. I have them in my purse." She fumbled with the zipper and chattered away nonstop. "You see, Sammy wanted to be friends with Lovie, and Lovie wasn't interested. Normally Sammy's over at Harvey's place." She paused. "I really am worried about Harvey. He just isn't himself lately."



"The mural?" I said. "For the hallway?"