Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(52)

Sprinkling grated Parmesan on her spaghetti, Leanne reached for the stack of mail she'd brought in. The top envelope held a notice informing her that her car insurance premium was due. The next piece of mail was another bill, this time for her VISA card, and the last was a business-size envelope with a script that was achingly familiar.

Leanne's fork fell from her hand and tumbled onto the table.

For the first time since their divorce had been finalized, Mark had contacted her.

She tore open the envelope. June 7 Leanne,

He didn't say Dear Leanne. Just her name, plain and simple. Drawing in her breath, she continued reading.

She hadn't been prepared, either. I've done a lot of thinking since your visit. I want to apologize for the way I behaved. It was a shock to see you. I wasn't prepared, emotionally or mentally.

I believe I've figured out why you came here. You were looking to me for reassurance about this new relationship of yours. Leanne, it's what I've wanted for you all along. You deserve happiness, and I hope that's what he brings you. I'm the one responsible for the mess I'm in, not you. I'm deeply in debt and will pay for this error in judgment for the rest of my life. I'm the one who broke the law and was sentenced for my crimes. You did nothing wrong, so you shouldn't have to suffer. It didn't matter that she was innocent. She was involved whether she wanted to be or not. She

was suffering. Yes, Mark had stolen the funds, but she'd been affected by his actions. She wasn't behind bars and yet she felt like a prisoner all the same.

Get on with your life. What we once had was special, but it's over and there's no going back for either of us. Find a man, maybe this doctor, who'll love you and marry you and give you a family. Leanne swallowed her tears. She wanted children. The oncology center was beside the fertility clinic and every day Leanne saw couples desperate for a child, willing to do anything in order to conceive. If that meant drugs, shots, tests, embarrassment, they'd submit themselves to it. Here she was, craving a child, and her husband--the man she'd always hoped would be the father of her children--was out of her life.

Before I close, I need to clear up one thing. I need to apologize. I led you to believe there'd been other women during our marriage. That was a lie. I was trying to convince you to hate me. Instead, all I did was cause you more pain. While I might have failed in many respects and sunk to levels I never knew I was capable of reaching, not once did I look at another woman. I wasn't even tempted. You were always my one and only, my wife. Leanne smiled. She knew it; deep down she'd known he was lying. Even more than that, Mark hadn't been able to live with himself for having misled her. A great weight lifted from her heart.

That said, I hope and trust you'll be able to get past our divorce and begin a new life.

Leanne closed her eyes. She didn't know if she could do that, loving Mark the way she did.

This will be the last letter you receive from me. The last communication I will ever send you.

Mark He hadn't ended with an endearment, either. Still, every word of his letter throbbed with love. He hadn't said he loved her, but he'd shown her.

This was all the proof she needed. Mark hadn't signed those divorce papers because he no longer loved her. He'd done it to protect her. He'd sacrificed his future for

her. He'd guessed correctly. She'd come to him looking for approval, for some indication from him that she was doing the right thing in accepting a date with Michael Everett. She'd gotten that approval now, in the form of a letter.

While she still had the courage, Leanne picked up the phone. She had Michael's cell phone number and she punched it out, held the receiver to her ear and waited.

"Hello." He sounded tentative. "It's Leanne Lancaster," she said brightly. "I wanted to thank you for dinner the other night."

"I had a good time," he said.

"I did, too. Do you like crispy baked pork chops?" she asked. "Or we can have Italian food if you prefer."

"Ah...I don't know if I've ever tasted pork chops served that way," he said and seemed to find the question amusing. "I love Italian food, so either is fine by me."

"We'll probably have Italian then."

"Are you cooking?"

"I am. How about Sunday night, the twelfth, around six?"

"Works for me."

"Wonderful," she said. "I'll see you then."

"Sunday," he repeated.

"Oh," Leanne said suddenly. If Muriel phoned--or impulsively dropped in, which she'd done once or twice-- while Michael was visiting, it could be awkward. "Perhaps Monday would be better. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. Monday it is."

Leanne appreciated how accommodating he was. She hung up and resisted the urge to write Mark and let him know she'd followed his advice.

Chapter Twenty

"I might bring someone home with me tonight," Macy told Harvey Monday morning. She stood on the other side of the white picket fence that separated their yards. Typical of her neighbor, he ignored her and continued watering the vegetable seedlings coming up in neat rows.

Macy was determined not to move until he responded. Two or three minutes later she was rewarded for her patience when he deigned to acknowledge her comment.

"Male or female?" Harvey asked without looking in her direction. He kept his back to her.