Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(71)

I'd set my cell phone to wake me every two hours so I could check her for signs of concussion. Thank God there hadn't been any. Thank God her injuries weren't worse.

Interesting that I'd turned to God in gratitude on this particular night.

I don't have a good relationship with Him. Hannah was big on faith. Not religion, but faith. She believed, and while I'd been raised by religious parents who dragged me to church, I'd abandoned even the vestiges of belief when Hannah got sick.

I was still angry with God. Angry with the world. Just plain angry at Hannah's death. She was the most decent human being I'd ever known. Surely there was someone else, some low-life He could easily have substituted. Oh, no, He had to take Hannah. Forgiveness for this plan of His wasn't coming anytime soon. Now here I was, thanking Him for sparing Macy.

What upset me was that I didn't actually know what I felt for Macy. For reasons I had yet to understand, I did feel some sort of...attachment to her. I wasn't happy about it. But the feelings were there and they were gaining intensity.

I sipped the coffee, which had cooled considerably, making me wonder how long I'd been sitting in the parking lot analyzing what had taken place during the night. Trying to figure out how my emotions had undergone such a transformation. How I'd moved from resistance to...acceptance of this woman in my life. From annoyance to--what? Fascination.

Once I got home I read the paper, then put on my shorts and running shoes and hit the pavement. Physical exertion always helps me sort out my problems.

This time, however, it didn't work. All I could think about was Macy. How was she doing on her own with those cats of hers and Sammy? What about the old man? I shouldn't have left her. I should phone and make sure she was all right.

Macy. Macy. Macy.

Her name reverberated in my head with every step I took.

And no matter how fast I ran, I couldn't get her out of my mind.

The first thing I did when I returned home, sweating and panting, was stumble toward the phone. I had her number written on a pad next to it and dialed, still gasping for breath.

Harvey answered.

"How's Macy?" I asked, instantly alarmed that her neighbor was at the house this early. It was barely nine.

"You took off like a bat out of hell," Harvey said. "What got into you?"

"I had an appointment," I lied. The truth was, I ran every Saturday and did consider it a standing appointment--with myself. Okay, I ran almost every Saturday. "Let me talk to Macy."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"She's taking a shower."

"Is the door open?" Harvey's hearing wasn't that great and, if Macy passed out, it could be some time before he noticed and called for help.

I immediately asked another question. "Did she remember to cover her stitches so they wouldn't get wet?" I'd gone over the instructions with her last night, but she'd been pretty much out of it and might have forgotten. I berated myself for not reviewing them this morning; I'd been in too much of a hurry.

"Don't shout at me," Harvey barked.

"I'm not shouting," I said, and I wasn't.

"Yes, you are, and furthermore I can only answer one question at a time. No, the bathroom door isn't open. I'm not a voyeur!"

"She could pass out!"

"Macy? She's not the type."

"It isn't a type," I said, doing my best to remain calm. "Macy got a hard knock to the head."

"If you're so worried about her, why did you leave?"

"I probably shouldn't have," I admitted.

To my surprise Harvey laughed. "She'll do that to you," he said.

"Say that again," I said, uncertain what he meant.

"Macy," he told me. "She wears you down. When she first moved here, I did everything I could to discourage her. I didn't need her to be my friend. I didn't want anything to do with her, wacky dame that she is. I built that fence for a reason.

"She overlooked every rebuff. I ignored her when she stopped by to visit. I didn't say a word, and you know what? I doubt she even noticed. She chattered away, talked about everything under the sun. If I told her to scat, she'd disappear for a few minutes and then come back with something for me to eat. She'd always say she got cranky when she was hungry, too. I doubt that girl's been cranky a day in her life."

I could hear the affection in his voice. This was an unusually long speech for Harvey.

"How are you feeling?" I asked him.

Harvey snorted. "Don't change the subject."

I was beginning to grow concerned about the old coot. He wanted to deal with death on his own terms, but that didn't mean it had to be painful--or happen any sooner than necessary. If I could steer him toward a physician, I would.

"Macy's wearing you down, same as me," Harvey insisted. "I can see it in your eyes. You're falling for her, and all I can say is God help you."

"Don't be ridiculous," I scoffed.

"Don't worry. I won't say anything to her about it."

"How's she doing?" I asked again.

"It's hard to keep her still."

"Do your best," I told him and didn't envy him the task.