Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(3)

"Remember the night Steph and I had you and Hannah over for dinner?" Ritchie asked, breaking into my thoughts. "The last night?"

I nodded. It'd been a Friday evening, the final time we'd gone out as a couple. We'd received news that afternoon that had rocked our world. The latest test results had come in--and they showed that the chemo had done little to slow the progression of the disease.

Devastated, I'd wanted to cancel dinner, but Hannah insisted we go. She'd put on a bright smile and walked into her brother and sister-in-law's home as though nothing was wrong. I was an emotional mess and barely made it through the evening. Not Hannah. If I hadn't known, I would never have guessed.

"Yeah, I remember."

"She asked me to do something for her that night," Ritchie went on to say.

"Hannah did?" Unable to hide my surprise, I looked up from my beer.

Now Ritchie glanced away. "While you were playing a video game with Max, Hannah spoke with me privately."

I moved to the edge of my seat. The noise from the television blaring above the bar seemed to fade into the background. Every muscle in my body tensed, almost as if I knew what Ritchie was about to tell me.

"She said the doctors had delivered bad news."

I focused on an empty bar stool on the other side of the room. "I wanted to cancel dinner. Hannah wouldn't let me."

"She had a good reason for wanting to come that night," Ritchie explained. "She told me there wasn't any hope left and she'd accepted that she was going to die."

I wasn't in the mood to hear this.

Ritchie exhaled loudly. "She wasn't afraid of dying, you know."

"Why should she be? Heaven was made for people like Hannah."

Ritchie nodded, agreeing with me. "She'd made her peace with God long before that night. She never had a fatalistic attitude. She wanted to live. More than anything, she wanted to live."

At one time I'd doubted that. "I begged her to let me take her to Europe because I'd read about an experimental treatment there. She wouldn't go."

"It was too late," Ritchie said simply. His hand tightened around the beer bottle. "She knew it even if we didn't."

That was Hannah--not only was she wise, but forever practical. While she was willing to accept the inevitable, I clung to every shred of hope. I spent hours studying medical journals, calling specialists, doing online research. But my crazed efforts to cure her didn't make any difference. In the end Hannah had been right; she'd reached the point of no return. She died less than two months later.

Even now I was shocked by how quickly she slipped away. It was the only time in our marriage that I became truly angry with her. I wanted Hannah to fight the cancer. I shouted and paced and slammed my fist against the wall. Gently she took my bleeding knuckles between her own hands and kissed away the pain. What she didn't seem to understand was that no amount of tenderness would ease the ache of her leaving me.

The waitress brought our meals, but I couldn't have swallowed a single bite had my life depended on it. Ritchie apparently felt the same because his steak remained untouched for several minutes.

"Hannah asked me to give you this," my brother-in-law finally said. He pulled an envelope from his jacket.

"A letter?"

"She asked me to wait until she'd been gone a year. Then and only then was I to hand this over to you. It was the last thing my sister asked of me."

I stared up at Ritchie, hardly able to believe he'd kept this from me. We worked out at the gym three mornings a week and had for years. In all these months he'd never let on that he had this letter in his possession.

"The night of the dinner party I promised Hannah I'd give you this," Ritchie said. "I put the letter in our safetydeposit box and waited, just like she wanted me to."

Not knowing what to say or how to react, I took the letter.

We left the sports bar soon after. I don't remember driving home. One minute I was in the parking garage in downtown Seattle and the next time I was aware of anything I'd reached the house and was sitting in my driveway.

Once I'd gone inside, I dropped my keys on the kitchen counter and walked into the living room. I sat on the edge of the sofa and stared at the envelope. Hannah had written one word on the front of it.

Michael.

I looked at my name, mesmerized as grief rippled through me. Unbelievable though it seemed, it felt as if her love for me vibrated off the paper.

My hand shook as I turned over the envelope and carefully opened it.

Chapter Two

don't know how long I stared at the letter before I found the courage to unfold it. It consisted of four sheets.

I The first thing I noticed was the date. March 13. This was another date that had been burned in my memory-- the Friday of our appointment with the medical team, when we'd received the devastating news.

Hannah had written the letter that day? That was impossible. I'd been with her every minute from the appointment until dinner with Ritchie and Steph. That meant...

I fell back against the sofa cushion and closed my eyes. Hannah must have written the letter

before the appointment. She knew even before we got the final word. She'd always known. In some way I think I did, too, only I couldn't face it. I'd refused to accept what should have been evident. I returned my attention to the letter. She'd written it by hand, her cursive elegant and flowing. I felt a visceral reaction to seeing her handwriting, which had once been so familiar. I tensed as if I'd just taken a punch to the gut.