Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(74)

When I got to the office, the first thing I did was look at the mural. Macy hadn't been back since the accident, which meant she was still laid up. I'd checked in with Harvey a couple of times to see how she was doing. According to her neighbor, Macy was up and about, but still sore and miserable.

"When's Macy coming in?" Linda asked.

"I don't know," I snapped.

Linda's eyes widened and she glared at me. "There's no need to be rude," she snapped back.

"I'm sorry." I apologized rather than allow any dissension between us. "I haven't been in touch with Macy. When we spoke, I told her she could finish the mural as soon as she's up to it."

"You mean you haven't talked to her since the accident?"

"No. Not since Saturday, anyhow." My source had been her cantankerous neighbor, who seemed to take great delight in my interest.

"It's already Wednesday--I expected her back by now," Linda murmured. She shook her head and cast me a look similar to one my mother had used when I was a kid-- the one that said she was disappointed in me.

I'd assumed Macy would want to finish the mural right away. I missed seeing her at the office, although I was only now admitting it. "She'll return as soon as she's ready," I told Linda.

"By the way, Dr. O'Malley phoned," Linda said. "I left the message on your desk."

"Thanks."

I entered my office, then sat down and reached for the pink slip. But it wasn't Patrick I was thinking about. Macy was front and center in my thoughts. I didn't like it, but I couldn't ignore this curiosity.

Before I had time to reconsider, I grabbed the phone and called Harvey. I'd already talked to him twice in the past four days, and both conversations had annoyed me. Still, that wasn't enough to dissuade me from phoning a third time. I needed to know that Macy was getting better, but I was determined not to call her.

"Yes?" Harvey barked into the receiver.

"This is Dr. Everett."

"I know who it is," he returned in the same bad mood he usually displayed.

"I'm calling to see how Macy is."

"Why don't you bother her instead of me? I'm not her nurse."

"I realize that," I said, clenching my teeth, "but you're her neighbor and her friend."

"I wouldn't be if I had a choice."

"How's she healing?"

He hesitated. "Not sure."

"Why not?" It sounded as if Harvey was in pain again. I wished he'd let me help him, the stubborn old fool.

"It isn't like I'm keeping tabs on her."

I was beginning to feel concerned. "You've seen her in the past twenty-four hours, haven't you?"

"Yeah," he muttered.

"How does she look?"

"All right, I guess. Black-and-blue. She's limping a bit, but that seems to be improving. I don't understand why you keep bugging me when she's got her own phone."

"I figured you'd be honest with me," I said, and while there was some truth to that, it wasn't the real reason I'd called him. I knew if I spoke to Macy directly, I'd find an excuse to visit--and if I went to see her, I'd end up kissing her again. That was not going to happen.

"You don't want to talk to Macy because you're falling for her."

Rather than address that comment, I chose to overlook it entirely. I wasn't arguing with Harvey. "If Macy needs anything, let me know."

"She won't, and even if she did I wouldn't call you."

The line was abruptly disconnected and I sat back in my leather chair, mulling over the conversation. I agreed with Harvey; I needed to call Macy myself, although I was reluctant to do so. My reasons were too complicated to explain to anyone else, especially a cranky old man who seemed increasingly scornful of me.

My next call was to Patrick who, besides being my friend and partner, was one of the poker group. I had a patient waiting, but with Patrick I knew I'd be on and off the phone in under a minute.

"I got your message," I said.

"You going to the game tonight?"

"I haven't decided."

"What's wrong with you, Michael? Are you afraid Hannah wouldn't want you to have fun?"

"Ah..." The comment felt like a slug in the gut.

"I've got to go. Listen," Patrick continued, "you have to be there tonight. No excuses, understand?"

"Okay, okay."

The line went dead. A tingling feeling raced down my spine. Had Patrick hit on something I hadn't considered? Ritchie and Patrick were telling me essentially the same thing. It went without saying that if Hannah were alive, she'd be the first one to encourage me to rejoin my friends.

At noon, I told Ritchie I'd be at his house by six-thirty. I could tell he was pleased. The more I thought about it, the more I looked forward to being with the guys again. It would be like old times--we'd laugh, exchange stories, eat pizza and drink beer. Then we'd play cards until we ran out of quarters--or I walked away, my pockets jingling with change.

I showed up fifteen minutes early.

"Glad you're here," Ritchie said. Max came downstairs and gave me a high five before racing back up. Without asking, Ritchie handed me a beer. "Pizza's on the way."