Hannah's List. Debbie Macomber
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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. People thought there was a black bear on the loose. Those two girls single-handedly caused a panic.”
Years earlier, when we were first dating, Hannah had told me the story. I had to admit it was funny. But the most I could manage now was a weak smile. Maybe she had a point; maybe it was time I found a reason to laugh again.
“Call Winter,” Ritchie urged.
He made it sound easy, but it wouldn’t be. I had no idea what to say, how to approach her. “Do you see her often?”
“Hardly