Hannah's List (Blossom Street #7)(89)

"Do you want to go home?" I asked.

"Yes," she said in a high-pitched squeak.

Reluctantly, I nodded. I put my arms around her again, hoping to comfort and reassure her.

We stood entwined that way for perhaps a minute-- until we were interrupted by Ritchie, rushing out of the ballroom. "Michael! They're getting ready to announce the awards."

"Okay. I'll be there."

Macy broke the embrace and smiled up at me. "I'm fine. Go back inside."

Ritchie looked at Macy and then at me, then back at Macy. He pulled me aside. "This is Macy?" he asked as though he couldn't believe his eyes.

"She came directly from the commercial shoot," I told him.

"Oh." He regarded me thoughtfully. Then in a lower voice, he asked, "Hannah's Macy?"

"No," I said, "my Macy."

"Oh."

I'd rarely seen my brother-in-law at a loss for words, but Ritchie clearly wasn't sure what to say. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then turned away, disappearing inside the ballroom.

"That was my brother-in-law," I said. "I didn't think you wanted me to introduce you just yet."

She nodded mutely.

"I'll stop by the house when I'm finished here," I promised her. My proposal could wait for another time.

Macy stared up at me, her eyes bright with unshed tears, then flung her arms around my neck and kissed me hard. The tears were flowing in earnest when she released me. Before I could say anything she fled down the hallway.

Her tears, and the desperate way she'd kissed me, alerted me to the fact that something was wrong. I would have followed her if I hadn't heard my name over the speakers. When I stepped back into the ballroom, I saw people glancing in my direction and discovered I'd won the award.

The rest of the evening was like a bad dream. I kept looking for an excuse to leave, but I was thwarted at every turn. Because I was the winner, I had to remain after the banquet for a short interview with the Seattle Times. Then the photographer showed up. When I left the hotel, it was almost eleven.

But I didn't care how late it was. I was going to Macy's house.

Despite the positive events of the evening, I had an anxious feeling about Macy. As soon as I pulled up in front of her fairy-tale house, I noticed that all the lights were off. Only the porch was illuminated.

Undaunted, I climbed out of the car and hurried up the sidewalk. As I neared the front door, I saw an envelope taped to the screen door, addressed to me.

I couldn't forget that my relationship with Macy had begun with another letter. The one from Hannah.

Standing directly under the porch light, I ripped open the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of paper. July 2

Michael,

I can't do it. I'm so sorry.

Can't do what? I wondered.

Hannah made a mistake. I'm not the right kind of woman for you. I'll embarrass and humiliate you the way I did tonight. She hadn't embarrassed me. When I discovered I'd fallen in love with Macy, I'd accepted that she was herself, her quirky, madcap, independent self. Those were the very qualities I now found so attractive, so appealing. So different from me.

Best for whom? Not me. My initial reaction was to argue, except that I didn't have anyone to argue with. I don't want to see you again. I know you probably think I'm being emotional and that this is an impulsive decision on my part. It isn't. I'm taking the cats and leaving for a while. This is for the best.

I don't know when I'll be back but I can assure you it won't be soon. Put me out of your mind and look for a woman more suited to your world. And thank you, oh, thank you for loving me. I just wish I could be different. Macy

P.S. Sammy's with Harvey. I hope you'll keep an eye on them both. I read the letter a second time, crumpled it and dropped it on the porch before I turned and walked away.

Macy wanted to get out of my life. It was what I suspected she'd do after disappearing from my office that day--was it only two weeks ago? This was a pattern of hers. Uncompleted paintings and unfinished relationships.

Hannah had gotten it all wrong.

Chapter Thirty-Three

M ark's sister sat across from Leanne in the Lancasters' kitchen. It was after midnight and, while his parents had gone to their bedroom, Leanne doubted that either of them slept.

Mark had been missing in Afghanistan for a week--the longest week of Leanne's life. A day earlier, the country had celebrated the Fourth of July and the fireworks display had lit up the evening sky. The Lancaster family felt they had little to celebrate, and yet they'd stood with Denise's daughters and made a small display of patriotism for the sake of the children, who didn't fully understand what had taken place.

So far, the disappearance of two Americans in Afghanistan had been kept out of the news. For that Leanne was grateful, although she wasn't sure whether McPherson would be able to keep the incident under wraps much longer. She feared that in short order the information would be uncovered by the press. Then any privacy would be destroyed and the men's safety might well be compromised.

In contrast to last evening's loud fireworks, now there was only silence in the darkness of the summer night. The kitchen seemed to vibrate with stress as the two women sat there.

Denise had come to Spokane the Friday before the holiday. She and her daughters slept in the spare bedroom. Until they'd arrived, Leanne had slept there, but she'd given it up for her sister-in-law and nieces. For the past three nights she'd bunked down on the living room sofa.