Where Shadows Meet(18)

Angie Wang, Hannah’s publicist and assistant, ticked off the items on her list. “You’ve got an interview with McCall’s Quilting magazine at nine. A camera crew from Channel 6 is coming in forty-five minutes. Tomorrow is even busier with packing to fly to New York to film FOX & Friends.” Near Hannah’s age of thirty-two, Angie looked slim and elegant in her gray pantsuit and coordinating shoes. But then, she was always put together.

Hannah nodded. The whirlwind success of her book had stunned and humbled her. And sometimes the demands on her time exhausted her. “But what about the book? And the quilt for the cover? You’ve got to slow down the publicity stuff, Angie, just for a few weeks until I can catch my breath.”

“This opportunity won’t come around again. We have to make hay while the sun shines. You’ll get it done.” Angie dismissed Hannah’s fears with an airy wave of her hand.

“Yes, I know. We have so much to be thankful for, but I’ve got work to do at the office too. I need to figure out how to work it all in without going insane.” She forced a smile in spite of her fatigue.

Angie consulted her notebook. “Interview first. The auction isn’t until eleven. We’ll go in long enough for that. I think the staff is throwing a farewell party for you as well.”

A pang pressed against Hannah’s ribs. The museum had been her family, and she’d miss them all. She’d never guessed that the success of her book, Amish Quilts: a Factual History, would catapult her to such fame. It had been on every major best-seller list for six months, and her publisher was clamoring for the new book’s publication to be moved up. It was like being hit by lightning.

“You’d better get changed.” Angie stepped to the window and glanced outside. “The mail is here. I’ll get it while you change.”

Hannah nodded and dumped Spooky, one of her four cats, off her foot. Black with a white marking at his neck, the cat loved to lay on her feet. She quickly changed into the clothes Angie had laid out, a black skirt and chunky gray sweater with tasteful pearls. Angie had tried to get her to spice up her wardrobe, but Hannah insisted on maintaining her image as an academic, and her publicist eventually quit hounding her. Hannah checked her hair and found the French twist still intact.

When she stepped back into the living room, she found Angie going through the mail. “Anything interesting?” she asked.

“Looks like a personal letter,” Angie said, holding out an envelope.

“It’s from my aunt.” She opened the envelope and discovered it held another envelope and a letter. She pulled them both out, and her gaze fell on the inside envelope—one bearing familiar bold handwriting. Reece’s writing. The envelope burned her hands, and she dropped it onto the floor as the familiar bitterness burned like bile.

The dark letters shouted at Hannah. Her limbs froze.

“What’s wrong?” Angie asked. She stepped to Hannah’s side. “Who’s it from?”

“Don’t touch it!” Hannah had hoped never to see that handwriting again. Just looking at it brought Reece’s harsh voice to her head. Her hands curled into fists. If she ever saw him again, she’d kill him. If not for him, her baby girl would be with her now.

Angie’s dark eyes widened. “Is it that bad?”

“My—my husband.” Hannah’s limbs trembled with the strength of her rage. “I don’t want to see anything he has to say. I’d hoped he’d never find me here.”

Angie gave her a speculative look. “You’re married? You’ve never told me.”

“We’ve been separated for five years. I guess it’s possible he filed for divorce and charged me with desertion.” She should be so lucky.

“You’d better read it.” Angie scooped it up off the floor. “What do you have to be afraid of?”

Hannah didn’t reply. She stared, immobile, at the letter.

“Oh, Hannah, was he abusive?”

Hannah took a step back. “I can’t talk about it.”

“Let’s make some of your fabulous meadow tea before the reporter gets here. We’ll read the letter together and it will be okay. You’ll see. He can’t hurt you now.”

“You don’t know Reece,” Hannah blurted. She took a deep breath and held out her hand. “I’ll read it now.” The paper crackled in her hand. When she removed the single sheet of paper, a picture fluttered to the ground, and Angie retrieved it. Hannah didn’t look at it. She just put it facedown on top of her desk. First things first. Reece was sure to plead for her to come back. It had taken him five years to find her, and she’d begun to hope that her hidey-hole would stay secure. Or that he’d moved on. She’d been strident about protecting her location from the media.

She unfolded the letter. He’d handwritten the note. Every day for five years he’d left her instructions for the day on the kitchen table. She’d grown to loathe the sight of his penmanship.

“Want me to read it?” Angie asked when Hannah let her hand containing the letter drop to her side.

Hannah held it out to her friend without a word.

Angie took it and began to read. “‘Hi, hon, it’s been so long and I’ve missed you so much. We need to talk. There are things to discuss. Isn’t our daughter cute? She looks just like my beautiful wife. Give us a chance to be a real family. Call me, Hannah. My cell phone number is 317-555-1212. I promise it will be different.’”