Hannah's List, Page 2

  I know this letter will come as a shock to you and I apologize for that. It’s been a year now and I imagine it’s been a difficult one for you, as well as our parents and Ritchie. I would’ve given anything to have spared you this grief.

  Even on the verge of death, Hannah didn’t think of herself. Instead, she was thinking of me, our parents and her brother and how terribly we missed her and how deeply we’d loved her.

  For the past few weeks I’ve been giving serious thought to what I wanted to say and what my last words to you would be. Please bear with me as I have quite a lot on my mind.

  I know people laugh when they hear about love at first sight. I was only eighteen when we met, and young as I was, I knew in stantly that you were the man I was going to love…and I have, from that moment forward. I will love you until the day I die and beyond. And in my heart I know you’ll love me, too. I want to thank you for loving me. Your devotion to me through everything I’ve undergone since the cancer was diagnosed has been the greatest gift of my life. You have made me so happy, Michael.

  I closed my eyes again, fearing I didn’t have the emotional strength to continue. I knew when Ritchie handed me this letter that reading it would be hard, but I didn’t know how hard it was going to be. I dragged in a deep breath and went on.

  The early years of our marriage were some of the mostwonderful days of my life. We had so little, and yet allwe needed was each other. I loved you so much andwas…am so proud of you, of the caring pediatricianyou’ve become. You were born to be a physician, Michael.And I was born to love you. Thank you for loving me back, for giving so much of yourself to me, especially during these past few months. You made them the very best months of my life.

  I don’t want to die, Michael. I fought this, I honestly did. I gave it everything in me. Nothing would have made me happier than to grow old with you. I’m so sorry that, for me, the end has to come so soon. Please don’t ever believe I had a defeatist attitude. When we first got the diagnosis, I was determined to fight this and win. It’s just in the past week that I’ve come to realize that this cancer is bigger than I am. There’s no use pretending otherwise.

  I had to stop reading a second time, regretting once more my insistence that Hannah travel to Europe for the experimental treatment I’d wanted her to receive. It’d been far too late by then. I took a moment to compose myself, then went back to her letter.

  I’ve asked Ritchie to give you this a year after my death. Knowing you as well as I do, I suspect you’ve buried yourself in work. My guess is that you spend twelve hours a day at the office, eating on the run. That isn’t a healthy lifestyle, my darling. I do hope you’re still meeting Ritchie at the gym three times a week. I smiled. Yes, Hannah knew everything about me. Right down to the long hours and skipped meals. I’d tried to quit my exercise regime, too, just like I’d dropped Thursday-night poker with the guys. But Ritchie wouldn’t let me. It became easier to show up than to find an excuse.

  Two weeks after Hannah’s funeral he arrived on my doorstep in his workout clothes and dragged me back to the gym. A couple of early-morning calls from my brother in-law, and I decided I couldn’t fend him off anymore, so our workout became part of my routine once again. This next section of my letter is the most painful for me to write. Although it hurts, I have to accept that there’s no hope now. I suppose it’s only natural when facing one’s mortality that regrets surface, along with the knowledge that the end is close. The greatest of those regrets is my inability to have children. This is harder for me than even the discovery that my cancer is terminal. I so badly wanted your baby, Michael. A child for my sake, yes, but yours, too. You should be a father. You will be a wonderful father. Oh, Michael, I so wanted a child. Once more I was forced to stop reading as a lump formed in my throat. “I wanted a child, too,” I whispered. I rested the letter on my knee and wondered if I could finish without giving in to the weakness of tears. And yet I had to read on. I had to know Hannah’s last words to me.

  I have one final request of you, my darling, and I hope you will honor it.

  “Anything.” I would do anything for Hannah. What I want, what I need from you, is this, my dearest love. I want you to marry again.

  I gasped. No way! I’d already thought about this, and I couldn’t do it. I’d had the love of my life and I’d be foolish to believe it could happen twice. If I did remarry, I’d be cheating the new woman I pledged to love. I’d be cheating us both because my heart would always belong to Hannah and only to Hannah.

  I can see you shaking your head, insisting it isn’t possible. Michael, I know you. I can almost hear your pro-tests. But this is important, so please, please listen. Loving another woman won’t diminish the love we had. Nor does it mean you’ll love me any less. I will always be a part of you and you will remain a part of me. The thing you must remember is that my life’s journey is over.

  Yours isn’t.

  You have a lot of living left to do and I don’t want you to waste another moment grieving for me. You made me completely happy, and you’ll make another woman equally so.

  I wasn’t sure I agreed with Hannah, wasn’t sure I was capable of loving another woman, not with the same intensity, the same depth. She didn’t understand what she was asking of me. I had no desire for another woman, no desire to share my life with anyone else ever again. Knowing how stubborn you are, I realize you’re going to require a bit of help, so I’ve compiled a short list of candidates for you to consider.

  What? A list? Hannah had supplied me with a list of possible replacements? If it wasn’t so shocking I would’ve laughed. Still, curiosity got the better of me. Remember Winter Adams, my cousin? She was a bridesmaid in our wedding. Winter has a big heart and she loves children. She’d make you an excellent wife. She’s also a chef and will cook you incredible meals. In addition to being my cousin, she’s been a good friend. I want you to seriously consider her.

  Of course I remembered Winter. She and Hannah had been close. We hadn’t seen as much of Winter after she opened her restaurant, the French Café on Blossom Street, not far from my office. Hannah and I had visited the café a few times and enjoyed coffee and croissants. I recalled her keeping in touch with Hannah, mostly by phone. If I remembered correctly, Winter had been going through some relationship crisis shortly before Hannah was diagnosed, and, Hannah, being Hannah, had offered her comfort and encouragement.

  Winter had been at the funeral and had doubled over in tears at the cemetery. I hadn’t heard from her since, although I vaguely recalled a sympathy card she’d sent me after we buried Hannah.

  I liked Winter, but I wasn’t interested. Despite Hannah’s confidence in her cousin as a potential wife, I had no intention of remarrying. Besides, all Winter and I had in common was our memories of Hannah.

  The second woman I want you to consider is Leanne Lancaster.

  The name was somewhat familiar, but I couldn’t immediately figure out why. She wasn’t a friend of Hannah’s that I could remember.

  Leanne was my oncology nurse. She was always kind to me and so caring. As a nurse she’d have a special understanding of the stresses you face as a physician. Leanne and I talked quite a bit and if I’d…if I’d had the chance, I feel Leanne and I would’ve become good friends. I admire her emotional strength. She’s divorced and had a rough time of it. I don’t know her as well as I do Winter, but my heart tells me she’d suit you. Meet with her, Michael, get to know her. That’s all I ask. Meet with Leanne…get to know her. I doubt Hannah had an inkling of what she was really asking. I had no interest whatsoever in seeking out this woman. As I thought about it, I realized I did remember the oncology nurse. And Hannah was right. Leanne was a kind and caring person—but that didn’t mean I had any desire to know her better!

  The third person on my list is Macy Roth. I don’t think you’ve met her. She’s a part-time model I became friends with while I was still able to work. We met because of some fashion shows I was involved in and some catalog-work she did for
the store. When Macy learned I was in the hospital she sent me notes of encouragement—cards she made herself with adorable sketches of her cats. Remember? And she knit me socks and a shawl I wore during my chemo. She’s funny and clever and multitalented; she models and paints murals and has two or three other jobs. As I was thinking over this list, her name came to me because I know she’ll make you smile. She’ll bring balance to your life, Michael. I’m afraid that when I’m gone, you’ll become far too serious. I want you to laugh and enjoy life. The same unrestrained way Macy does. Once again, Hannah was right; I hadn’t laughed much in the past two years. The fact is, I couldn’t remember the last good belly laugh I’d had. Life was serious. I’d lost my wife and, frankly, I didn’t have much reason to smile, let alone laugh.

  I didn’t remember this Macy, although no doubt she’d featured in some of Hannah’s stories. As for those gifts— the sketches and socks—they’d be among Hannah’s things, the stuff I’d brought home from the hospital. I’d thrown everything into a box and shoved it in the back of a closet. And I’d never looked at it again.

  I’ve given you three names, Michael. Each is someone I know and trust. Any of them would make you a goodwife and companion; with any one you could have the children you were meant to father.

  I’ll be watching and waiting from heaven’s gate, looking down at you. Choose well.

  Your loving wife,

  Hannah

  I folded the sheets and set them on the coffee table while I tried to absorb what I’d read. That Hannah had written this letter when she did was shocking enough.

  Then for her to suggest I remarry—and go so far as to name three women—was almost more than I could take in. If she was watching over me, then she had to know what hell this first year without her had been. I’m not much of a drinking man. A few beers with the guys at a sporting event is generally my limit. All at once I felt a need for something stronger.

  I remembered a bottle of Scotch stashed in a cupboard somewhere in the kitchen. My father gave it to me when I graduated, claiming it was for “medicinal” purposes. If ever there was an occasion for a medicinal drink, it was now. I spent nearly fifteen minutes searching for it. Hannah had stored it in the pantry, the last place I thought to look. Not surprisingly, it turned out to be single malt, since that was what my father drank. His favorite brand, too—

  The Glenlivet.

  Reading the label, I saw that it had been aged eighteen years and I’d had it for at least a decade. None of that ten year stuff for dear ol’ Dad. I got a clean glass out of the dishwasher, added ice cubes and poured two fingers of my twenty-eight-year old Scotch before I settled back down on the sofa. Kicking off my shoes, I rested my feet on the coffee table and reached for Hannah’s letter. I would read it again with an open mind and see if I could possibly respond to her last request. I didn’t think so. Hannah was all the woman I’d ever need. The only woman I’d ever love. I already knew I’d find anyone else sadly lacking—even the three women my wife had so carefully selected for me.

  Chapter Three

  Wednesday morning I was at the gym by six. Ritchie was on the treadmill, his iPod plugged into his ears, when I stepped onto the machine beside his. He looked over, saw it was me and stared expectantly. I knew I was in for an inquisition as soon as we entered the locker room. I hadn’t shown up on Monday morning and ignored his phone calls for the past two days. I wasn’t ready to talk about Hannah’s letter, not even to my best friend. Ritchie finished his routine first. Just as I’d suspected, he was waiting for me in the locker room, sitting on the bench with a towel draped around his neck. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. When I appeared, he glanced up.

  “You didn’t return my phone calls,” he said, as if I needed to be reminded.

  “I was busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  I was reluctant to tell him, although I knew that he of all people would understand. “I got drunk on Sunday after I got home,” I admitted. The hangover on Monday had been a killer. From this point forward I was sticking to beer. Maybe my father could handle the strong stuff, but not me.

  “Because of Hannah’s letter?”

  I nodded and lowered myself onto the bench. I leaned forward, sitting in the same position as my brother-in-law.

  “Hannah wants me to remarry.”

  Ritchie’s eyes widened. “Get outta here.”

  My sentiments exactly. “She went so far as to give me a list.”

  Ritchie’s mouth sagged open. “A list? You mean of women? ”

  I nodded again.

  “Why would she do that?”

  Explaining Hannah’s reason was beyond me. I didn’t understand it, although I’d read the letter a dozen times.

  “Hannah seems to think I won’t do well on my own and that I need a wife.” I avoided mentioning that she wanted me to be a father, too.

  “She actually gave you a list?” He seemed as shocked as I’d been when I first read the letter.

  I didn’t respond.

  “Who’s on it? Anyone I know?”

  I looked away. “Your cousin, Winter.”

  “My cousin?” he repeated.

  “Do you know someone else named Winter?” I snapped, sorry now that I’d said anything.

  “No,” he said sheepishly. “Who else?”

  “Leanne Lancaster. She was Hannah’s oncology nurse.”

  “Don’t remember her. What’s she like?”

  I wasn’t sure what to tell him. “Quiet. Gentle. A good nurse. Hannah really liked her.”

  “No kidding.”

  I ignored that.

  “Anyone else?”

  “Someone I’ve never met. A model she worked with by the name of Macy Roth.”

  Ritchie released a low whistle. “A model, you say?”

  “Hannah says Macy will give me a reason to laugh again,” I told him, unable to disguise my sarcasm. “And that’s practically a quote.”

  My brother-in-law chuckled. “I bet Steph wouldn’t tell me to marry a model if anything happened to her.”

  I knew Ritchie was joking; still, I couldn’t let the comment pass. “Just pray to God nothing does.”

  My brother-in-law frowned. “It was a joke, Michael. Lighten up, would you?”

  He was right; I didn’t need to take every little comment so seriously. “Sorry,” I muttered.

  Ritchie nudged me. “You going to do it?”

  I shook my head. “I doubt it.”

  “Why not?”

  The answer should’ve been obvious. “I’m not ready.”

  “Will you ever be?”

  Good question. “Probably not,” I said honestly. I’d lost my wife, my soul mate. I couldn’t ever forget that or blithely “move on” with my life, as various friends and acquaintances were so fond of telling me I should.

  “I thought you’d say that,” Ritchie said. “Hannah knew you’d hibernate for the rest of your life, which is why she forced the issue. My sister loved you and—”

  “Listen, Ritchie, I don’t need a lecture.”

  “I don’t intend to give you one. Answer one simple question and then I’ll shut up.”

  “Okay, fine. Ask away,” I said, resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t leave me alone until he’d said what he wanted to say.

  He stared at me for a long intense moment. “Do you suppose it was easy for her to write that letter?”

  I sat up straighter.

  “What woman wants to think of her husband with someone else?”

  “That’s two questions,” I said.

  “They’re one and the same,” he argued.

  I closed my eyes. Insensitive jerk that I was, I hadn’t given a single thought to what Hannah must’ve been feeling when she wrote the letter.

  “If the situation had been reversed, could you have offered up the names of men you’d trust to be her husband?”

  I didn’t need any time to think about that one. “No.”

  “Me, neither,”
Ritchie confessed. “That said, the least you can do is take her letter to heart and get in touch with these women.” He chuckled. “If it was me, I’d start with the model.”

  Very funny. It’d been years since I’d asked a woman out. I wouldn’t even know how to go about it. “Dating…me?”

  “Dating—you. Sure, why not? You’re young and you’ve got a lot of years left.”

  Hannah had said almost the same thing.

  “You already know Winter. If you’re more comfortable with her, then give her a call.”

  “And say what?” I asked. My fear was that the only subject we had in common was Hannah. If we went to dinner, Hannah was all we’d have to discuss, and we’d both be crying in our soup before the main course was served.

  “Hell, I don’t know.”

  “I’d want to talk about Hannah.”

  Ritchie didn’t seem to think that was so terrible. “So would Winter. They were good friends, even as kids, trading clothes, spending the night at each other’s houses.” He smiled. “Once when we were all in our early teens, our two families went camping. The restroom was clear on the other side of the campground.

  “In the middle of the night, I could hear Hannah and Winter whispering that they had to go to the bathroom really bad.” Ritchie’s eyes gleamed with a look of remembered mischief. “Neither of them wanted to make the long trek across the campground so they decided to walk into the woods close to our campsite.”

  I knew what was coming.

  “I waited until they had their drawers down, then turned my flashlight on them.”

  I grinned. Ritchie had always been a practical joker.

  “You wouldn’t believe how loud they screamed,” he said, laughing. “I swear they woke up half the campground.