Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(46)

"I'll take you to the house and patch up your wounds," I said.

Winter hobbled toward the house while I pushed both bikes. So much for that plan. Bike riding had been a disaster. "I'm sorry, Winter."

"Why should you apologize? I'm the inept one." "I should've suggested we do something else." I put the bikes in the garage, then joined her. With my arm around her waist, I led her into the kitchen and sat her down on a kitchen chair while I went in search of Band-Aids and antibiotic cream.

When I returned I had a fresh washcloth, too. Next I ran cool water into a bowl and brought it over to the table where I'd set my supplies. I dabbed at her scraped elbow and knee, applied ointment and carefully bandaged them. "I'm not a good patient," Winter said from between clenched teeth.

"On the contrary, you're an excellent patient." She smiled and our eyes met.

Once I'd finished, I took away the water and the cloth and put everything back where it belonged. I hate to admit it, but I'm a neat freak, as Hannah rather unflatteringly described me. It's a habit I developed as a child, perhaps because my brother, with whom I shared a bedroom, was such a slob. Ever since then, I'd felt a need to have order around me.

"My mother always gave me a treat when I was hurt as a kid," Winter told me when I came back.

"What kind of treat?"

"Sometimes it was hot cocoa, other times a cookie. When I broke my arm she let me sleep in her bed and watch movies all day." Her face reddened and she immediately broke eye contact. "I wasn't asking to sleep in your bed, Michael."

I hadn't taken it that way and merely laughed. "Don't worry about it."

She thanked me with a lopsided smile.

"Would you like to watch a movie?" I offered. That was the only thing I could think of, probably because she'd just mentioned it.

"Do you have popcorn?"

"Let me check." Groceries were a hit-and-miss chore with me. I was thankful to discover an unopened box of microwave popcorn in the cupboard above the refrigerator. I didn't know how long it'd been there, but it served the purpose.

While I stood guard over it, Winter went through the stack of DVDs. I couldn't remember when I'd actually sat down and watched one, although we owned quite a few. Hannah was the movie lover, everything from black-andwhite classics to foreign films to Hollywood blockbusters. I watched them with her--mainly to be with her--but movies seemed a waste of time to me.

Winter came into the kitchen, a DVD in her hand. "The African Queen is one of my favorites."

"Hannah's, too."

"I know. I'm guessing she bought it."

She had.

The popping slowed and then stopped, and the timer buzzed. I was grateful for the distraction. I didn't want to get caught up in memories of Hannah. I didn't think it was wise to drag her name into every conversation. Winter must have felt the same way because she didn't mention Hannah again.

The TV was in the family room and I inserted the movie, then sat down on the sofa next to Winter. I left several inches between us. She had her bowl of popcorn and I had mine.

It'd been probably four years since I'd seen the Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn movie. I'd forgotten what a moving love story it is. I did recall that Hannah invariably cried at the end.

As the credits rolled, Winter glanced in my direction. Neither of us had moved during the film. The same few inches still separated us.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"I'll survive."

"I've got some aspirin." I should've thought of it earlier. If she wasn't stiff and sore now, she would be soon. She shook her head. "It hardly hurts at all."

"Well, tomorrow might be another story," I said, blaming myself regardless of her protests.

"As you might've guessed, I'm more of an inside woman," Winter announced. "I've always loved working in the kitchen and experimenting with recipes. I'm not really into sports." Hannah had enjoyed cooking, too, but as far as sports went, she was game for anything. She had the spirit of an adventurer. Never once could I remember her holding back when I suggested we try something new, whether it was biking a hundred and fifty miles on a two-day trek to Oregon or signing us up for a river rafting trip. "I might not be any good at sports, but I could whip up a dinner you'd rave about for weeks," Winter said. "I'll bet you could." I hoped she didn't hear the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. Since Hannah's charming dinner parties, I'd lost any interest in elaborate meals. Eating was just a means of fueling the body for me, not the soul. "What would you like to do?" I asked.

"Do you play cards?"

"Not anymore." I used to play poker, of course, but not since Hannah got ill. "Sorry."

"Oh." Her disappointment was obvious.

"What do you do on your days off?" I asked. "I putter around in my kitchen. I know!" Her eyes brightened. "How about if I make you dinner?" "Don't you cook all week? You shouldn't have to do it on your day off."

"But it's what I love," she said. "When I'm at the cafe I'm stuck doing the paperwork, ordering, things like that. So I seldom get a chance to experiment in the kitchen anymore. There are a few dishes I've been eager to try, but it doesn't make sense to cook for one."