Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(75)

"With anchovies?"

"Would I order one without?"

"That's what I was hoping you'd say."

Hannah and Steph detested anchovies, and whenever the four of us ordered pizza, Ritchie and I made sure we shared one with double anchovies, just to prove that we were real men. We told little Max that the fish put hair on our chests, which was why the women refused to eat them. The joke was inane, but it always made us laugh.

Patrick got there next, and when he saw me he grinned. "About time," he said.

Steve was the last to arrive. He pulled into the driveway and the pizza delivery kid pulled in right behind him. Five minutes later, we each had a cold beer and a slice of pizza. The stories started and before long I was laughing so hard my sides hurt.

I felt almost as if I'd never been away. It'd been nearly two years since I'd played poker. Two years. That seemed impossible now that I realized how much I'd missed it.

We played until eleven. Steve won, and all I could say was that I'd gotten rusty and I'd get my money back the following week.

Just before we were ready to call it quits, Steve said, "I brought a welcome-back gift for Michael." He spoke in formal tones, and everyone looked in his direction.

My friend, an internal medicine specialist, was smiling from ear to ear.

"For me?" I asked in a falsetto voice, hoping it wasn't a practical joke.

"I was at a medical conference in Miami last weekend," Steve said, "and I picked these up while I was there." He opened a plain brown paper bag and with considerable ceremony laid out four fat cigars. "They're Cuban," he said proudly.

"You sure about that?" Patrick had always been the skeptic of the group.

"Smoke one and then you tell me," was Steve's comeback.

"Cuban?" I repeated. "Aren't they illegal?"

"Don't ask, brother, just enjoy."

"Yeah, Everett, don't look a gift horse in the mouth." This came from Ritchie, who already had the cigar clamped between his teeth.

I agreed. Who was I to question when and how Steve had procured these cigars? I bit off the end and lit up, too. The aroma from Ritchie's cigar wafted toward me. I closed my eyes as the sheer pleasure of it overtook me.

"Even if this isn't Cuban, it's still the best cigar I've ever had," Ritchie said appreciatively.

The four of us sat back, and although none of us smoked, once or twice a year we indulged in a cigar. Apparently, the tradition had continued without me.

"It's good to have you back," Steve said. He held out the cigar as if toasting me with the finest whiskey.

"Hear, hear," Patrick said.

"I'll second that," Ritchie added.

I looked around the room at my friends and felt their welcome. "It's good to be back," I told them and I meant it.

We sat there talking for another thirty minutes and then, because we all had to be at the office or hospital early the next morning, we called it a night.

On the drive home, I turned up the radio and sang golden oldies at the top of my voice. Once I got to the house, I was too keyed up and happy to sleep.

Happy.

I hadn't been truly happy since before Hannah died. The feeling now left me light-headed. I wandered from room to room and put in a CD--Neil Young's Harvest Moon, which Hannah had loved. If there'd been a woman nearby I would've asked her to dance.

As she did far too often, Macy drifted into my mind. I had the strongest urge to phone her. High on everything that had happened this evening, I wasn't thinking clearly. I was...happy, and I experienced a compelling need to tell someone how I felt.

Macy was the only person I could think of. I knew I'd regret this come morning. However, that wasn't enough to dissuade me.

I reached for the phone, then sank down onto the sofa and dialed. The phone rang four times before she answered.

"Hello."

She sounded groggy. I'd obviously awakened her.

Now that she was on the line, I couldn't seem to speak. My first instinct was to hang up. But that would've been childish and I couldn't make myself do it.

"Macy," I croaked.

"Michael, is that you?"

"I'm afraid so," I admitted.

"Is anything wrong?" she asked. "It's the middle of the night."

"I know."

"Is it Harvey?"

I snickered and said, "That old man's too mean to die."

"Michael, that isn't true! Not once you get to know him."

I didn't want to argue.

"Why are you calling me so late?"

"I'm happy." That was probably the most irrational reply I could've given her and yet it was the truth.

"Happy?"

"I played poker with my friends."

"I assume there's some significance to this."

"It's the first time I've been with the guys since...since Hannah was diagnosed with cancer."

"Ah," she said, as if she automatically understood what this meant. "You had a good time, didn't you?"

"Steve brought us Cuban cigars." I closed my eyes and was forced to confront a truth that shook me to the very core of my being. If Macy had been in the same room with me I would've made love to her. To Macy. Not Hannah. Macy.