Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(72)

"You coming back or not?" Harvey demanded.

I briefly toyed with the idea and quickly decided against it. "Not."

Harvey chuckled. "Thought as much. Yup, I was right. She's got you wrapped around her little finger, just like she does me. Fight it all you want, but it's not going to do you a bit of good."

Before I could tell him how wrong he was, Harvey disconnected the line.

For half a second I was tempted to call back and argue with him. Fortunately, common sense took over and I walked away from the phone.

When I stepped out of the shower, I felt refreshed. From this point forward, I was determined to avoid Macy and Harvey, too. She could finish the mural, I'd pay her what I owed and I wouldn't see her again. That decision brought me a measure of relief. No woman who wasn't Hannah was going to dominate my thoughts. Especially one as reckless and unpredictable as Macy. I meant it, too.

I'd agreed to pick up Leanne at six. Truthfully, I was grateful to have a reason to get out of the house. Two or three times during the day, despite keeping busy, I'd felt the urge to check on Macy again. The woman was becoming a habit, an addiction I had to break.

Leanne was ready when I got to her apartment. She opened the door and smiled at me. "How's your injured friend?" she asked.

"Better, thanks." I didn't want to go into details.

She smiled, and I was reminded that she was an exceptionally lovely woman. I once again considered asking her to attend that awards dinner with me, but once again held off. It wasn't for a couple of weeks. There was no rush.

"Have you picked out a movie?" I asked. I was fine with whatever she chose. When Hannah was alive, we used to take turns choosing. I actually enjoyed a few "chick flicks" and she'd sat through more than one techno-thriller.

"I thought we should do that together," Leanne said. She had the paper spread out across the kitchen counter and we stood there and reviewed the listings.

In the end we decided to watch a new movie that was being compared to last year's Academy Award winner. Neither of us had seen it and, frankly, I wasn't sure I'd like it. Still, it was getting great reviews, so others must have found it entertaining and meaningful.

She suggested we attend the movie, then figure out what we wanted to do about dinner. At the theater, I purchased our tickets, after which I stood in a long line to get us a large buttered popcorn. As we sat through the movie, which took place in India, my mind drifted frequently as I contemplated giving up my medical practice and volunteering to serve in a third world country. The need was huge, I'd tell myself, and then...then I'd be pulled right back into the plot.

I mentioned dinner as we strolled out of the multiplex.

"After all that popcorn I couldn't eat a thing."

I'd certainly gobbled my share and I wasn't hungry, either, but I didn't want the evening to end. However, spending time with Leanne wasn't the only reason. My fear was that once I got home, I wouldn't be able to resist calling Macy.

"How about if we have a cup of coffee," Leanne said. "I'd like to hear what you think."

"Think? About what?"

"The movie."

"Oh...of course." I hadn't really formed an opinion. I hadn't watched it consistently or paid very careful attention.

We found a cafe that had outdoor seating and ordered cappuccinos, then made small talk until our coffees arrived.

"I really enjoyed the film," Leanne said. "I liked how they set everything up from the very first scene. You could feel the lead character's isolation and it foreshadowed where the story was going."

I nodded, although I hadn't really been aware of that.

Leanne was quite knowledgeable about story structure and plot. She spoke for several minutes, then stopped, looking embarrassed. "Oh, Michael, I'm so sorry," she murmured, staring down into her half-filled mug.

"Sorry?" I repeated. "For what?"

"For talking on and on like that and not giving you a chance to say anything."

I smiled and squeezed her hand. "I appreciated hearing your insights. If you hadn't mentioned it, I would never have noticed how well the various plotlines were connected. And I thoroughly enjoyed seeing you this animated." Unlike me, she was a pretty sophisticated filmgoer. Come to think of it, Hannah used to have insights like that, too. She'd joked more than once that I only appreciated the gasoline explosions. Not true!

Leanne exhaled and seemed relieved that I hadn't been offended. "Mark and I used to watch a lot of movies together," she told me. "He has an incredible memory for facts about actors, directors and producers. I used to try and stump him, but he always outdid me." She grew sad and lowered her eyes. "I wonder if the army shows movies over in Afghanistan. Even if they do, I don't know if Mark would have access to them. Not that I'd find out from him."

I wasn't sure what to tell her, so I changed the subject and probably not with a lot of finesse. "Hannah loved to cry at the movies." I never understood it. If the movie had a happy-ever-after ending, she'd weep because she was happy. If some tragedy befell the protagonist, she could go through an entire wad of tissues.

Leanne smiled. "That sounds like Hannah."

"What about you?" I asked.

"No," she admitted. "I'm not much of a crier."