Debbie Macomber - Hannah's List

“I see. If someone encouraged you to date…say, someone like me, would you be inclined to do so?” I asked. What I really wanted to find out was whether Hannah had written her a letter condoning—or even suggesting—a relationship between the two of us.

“If someone encouraged me?” She watched me curiously. “Like who?”

“You know. Someone like a friend or—” I hesitated “—or perhaps a relative.”

“You mean Ritchie?”

“Not specifically.” Obtaining the information was harder than I’d expected.

“I wouldn’t need anyone to encourage me, Michael,” she said, smiling across the table at me. “I’ve always thought the world of you.”

I smiled back, thanking her, but I had no idea what else to say. I hadn’t actually asked her out—not intentionally, anyway—but she’d assumed I was trying to initiate a relationship. This was embarrassing. I wasn’t sure how to extricate myself now that I’d brought it up.

We left it open-ended, so that she’d get in touch with me. A short time later I walked away, confused and bewildered.

With no better alternative, I drove to Ritchie’s house. My brother-in-law was in his garage; the door was open and I could see him puttering around inside.

He went out to the driveway to greet me. “Hey, this is a surprise. What’s up?”

“I just had coffee with Winter.”

“So you two finally connected.” I followed him back to the garage and leaned against his workbench.

“Where are Steph and Max?” I asked.

“Shopping. Max has a baseball game later this afternoon. I’m taking him to that. Wanna tag along?”

I didn’t need an excuse to see Max. I was fond of my nephew. He loved his Xbox and, because of that, I’d cultivated the skill; we spent hours battling each other. He had top score and it wasn’t because I wasn’t trying. The kid was a natural. “Glad to,” I told Ritchie.

We were silent for a moment. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense,” Ritchie said, crossing his arms. “How did the meeting with my cousin go?”

I shrugged. “All right, I guess.” Before I could say anything more, Ritchie started talking.

“I’ve been thinking over what you told me about Hannah’s letter.”

“What about it?”

“My sister put Winter’s name first for a reason.”

“Which is?” I was only coming to terms with this whole letter thing now, but I wasn’t convinced that I could do what Hannah had asked.

“Hannah knew Winter the best and—”

“Winter’s involved with some Frenchman,” I said, cutting him off. “They’ve been seeing each other for quite a while. It makes me wonder why Hannah would even include her. Pierre and Winter must’ve been on their first, uh, hiatus, but still…” In any event, I wasn’t up to hearing what a perfect match the other woman was for me. Not from Ritchie and not from Hannah, either.

“She’s involved with someone else?” This quickly flattened Ritchie’s enthusiasm. “You ever heard of this guy?”

“Maybe. I’m pretty sure Hannah told me about him. Also that he and Winter split up—but then they got back together. After Hannah died, I guess.”

He stared at me blankly and I felt compelled to continue. “Now they’re taking a break from each other. They haven’t broken up, they’re taking a break,” I repeated, trying to emphasize the difference.

“What’s that mean?” he asked.

“Hell if I know. Sounds like something a woman would think up.”

“How long is this break?”

“A few months, she said.”

“Did she mention how far they were into this…temporary break-up?” he asked.

I hadn’t thought to ask. “No. But,” I added, “she’s going to call me.”

Ritchie nodded. “What she’s telling you is that there are problems in that relationship,” Ritchie explained knowledgeably, as if he had a post-graduate degree in Understanding Women.

“That would be my guess,” I agreed amiably enough.

“So you’re free to step in.”

“No,” I said automatically. “I don’t think so.”

“How come?”

“Problems or not, she’s in love with Pierre.” At least the two of us could talk about the people we loved. And it wouldn’t be each other.

“Don’t be so willing to give up. Ask her out.”

I chortled, reluctant to admit what a mess I’d made of our meeting. “Winter more or less assumed I’d contacted her for exactly that reason. But I didn’t ask her out.”

Ritchie cocked his head to one side. “She’s interested, though, if she said she’ll get back to you. Isn’t that obvious?”

Nothing was obvious to me at the moment. “Do you think Hannah might have written more than one letter?” I needed Ritchie’s opinion on this. I suspected she hadn’t, but her brother knew her well, almost as well as I did…had.

My question apparently gave him pause. Then he shook his head. “Who would’ve delivered them?”

“Good point.” That settled it in my mind. There was only the one letter.

“Hannah might suggest dating these other women to you, but I doubt she’d discuss it with them.” Ritchie rubbed the side of his jaw. “No,” he added. “I’m fairly confident Hannah just wrote one letter. Yours.”

I nodded slowly, reassured on that count. My encounters with Winter and the other two women—if I called them—would be awkward enough without more letters from Hannah.

“If Winter’s interested, then I say go out with her,” Ritchie urged.

“No,” I said adamantly. “It’d be a waste of time for both of us.”

“Don’t be so sure. Remember, Hannah put her name first on the list, and there was a reason for that.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“It’s what she wanted, Michael. You aren’t going to ignore my sister’s last wish, are you?”

Leave it to Ritchie to hit below the belt. “I’ll think about it,” I muttered. But I already had a feeling that Winter and I would never find happiness together.

Maybe she shouldn’t have been surprised, but it’d been good to see Michael again.

Winter Adams wasn’t sure how to react when she got the message that her cousin’s husband had stopped by. She hadn’t called him right away; she’d had no idea what to say once she did. She’d always liked Michael and missed Hannah terribly. Her relationship had been with Hannah, though, and because she was usually working the dinner shift, she hadn’t socialized with them as a couple all that much. Which made the whole situation a bit uncomfortable. Nevertheless, she felt she had to return his call.

“Did he ask you out?” Alix asked when Winter carried the plate and two empty coffee mugs to the dishwasher.

She nodded.

“Are you going?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. Still mulling over the conversation, she went into her office and closed the door.

Michael might be interested, but Winter belonged with the man she loved. Pierre Dubois. The past three weeks without him had been painful. Bleak. Her life was complicated and she’d probably done Michael a disservice by not explaining the situation better. She was involved with Pierre and had been for a long while, although they’d decided to take a three-month break from each other.

As she’d told Michael, this wasn’t the first time they’d split up. Technically, this wasn’t a split; it was more of a breather while they analyzed what was wrong with their relationship. Two years earlier Pierre and Winter had broken it off for good. At the time it had seemed for the best, since they were constantly arguing, constantly at odds. They spent fifteen months apart. Winter had been miserable without him.