What Happened to Hannah (33 page)

She nodded her thanks to the waiter who poured sparkling water into her glass and stepped away. “She convinced him to let the girls go shopping with me and her, in Charlottesville next weekend, which is cutting it too close to prom; and it’s where everyone else will be shopping for their dresses . . . but . . . well, I’ll take what I can get.”

She’d run out of steam and, at last, took note of the fact that Joe was staring at her.

“What?”

“Hello. How are you? I’m fine, too. You’re looking very . . . alive tonight.”

She grinned sheepishly. “I forgot to say hello.” Not a question, yet he raised his bushy white brows in assent. “I’m sorry. But do you see how crazy he makes me?”

“I do. And the crazy color in your cheeks and that fire in your eyes . . . it becomes you.”

“Fire pun intended?”

“Of course.” He smiled at her fondly and she started to relax, as she always did in his company. She was safe with Joe, and as the heavy armor she wore behind the shields inside the thick protective walls all began to melt away, she realized how exhausting it was to maintain it all.

“It’s good to be home. I’ve missed you.”

His smile came jolly and his dark brown eyes twinkled, like always. This man was her anchor in a sea of confusion and doubt, like always.

“Joe, I’m so mad I could spit. I want to take him to court but that’s likely to take the full two years that she has any real need for me. Once she’s eighteen . . . plus, I wouldn’t win. I’m her aunt but I don’t have any experience with kids and Grady’s . . . Grady. He always has been. He’s one of those people, you know? The ones who always have all the right answers, to everything. How do I fight that?”

He took a fortifying sip of his wine before he answered. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“What?” Hurt overwhelmed surprise. “Give up on Anna?”

“No. Give him what he wants. All he’s asking for is truth.”

She glowered at him, mulish and petulant—a little like a thwarted child who wants everyone to do things her way. A time-to-time attitude he’d enjoyed and been proud to watch her develop in the years since he met her.

“Bekl,”
he murmured as he reached across the table for her hand. It was a Yiddish endearment said to a small child, but in moments when he was feeling particularly caring and in need of gentleness, he used it on her. The smooth, thin skin of his palm was warm and accepting . . . as always. “I am on your side, you know that. No matter what. I am so proud of the woman you have become.” She smiled and remained silent as she could hear the but coming from a mile off. “I know some of your past. The stories still break my heart . . . those you’ve told me, but more, the ones you haven’t.”

“But I—”

“No.” He squeezed her hand to stop her. “The stories are yours to tell or not. But I can tell that some are . . . not meant to be told. Maybe not yet. Maybe not ever. That’s up to you. And if you ever wish to tell me, I will listen. But your past is in the past to me. It is not important to me. I care about what I have seen and felt and learned about you since I met you, which is nothing but good and kind and honorable. You are my friend. My daughter. I love you. But”— he emphasized each word by lightly bumping their clasped hands on the table—“it’s important to your sheriff. He needs to put the past to rest as well. And I’m afraid that if you want Anna, you’re going to have to tell him this truth he’s asking to hear.”

“He’s imagining–”

“No.” Again he squeezed her hand. “Do not pretend. You know it’s there. I know it’s there. He knows it’s there and he’s concerned for you . . . for the girl, too, I suspect. You must tell him.”

“And if it costs me Anna . . . permanently?”

His bushy white brows almost touched when he frowned. “If that is the case, and the worst comes to be, then at the very least your heart will at last be free.” And when he saw how little this consoled her, he smiled. “Although, I’ve never known anything but good to come from telling the truth.”

There’s a first time for everything,
she thought to say, but she didn’t want to be the one to burst Joe’s delusional bubble. She gave him a considering nod and channeled their conversation to work and her new schedule since preparing the old farmhouse for sale was now moot.

She was happy to be able to cut his hours back. He would never complain, but he was beginning to look a little ragged around the edges.

And sitting across from him a short time later, watching him eat Italian with his usual gusto, she realized that telling Grady the truth was a can of worms that involved more than just her and Anna. It could tip over onto the insurance business Joe built from scratch—and the five other people who made their livelihoods there.

“You’re not eating,” Joe pointed out with his usual astuteness. “You don’t like it. Is Marcos trying new recipes in the kitchen again, do you think?”

“No. The linguini is great. I’m not very hungry.”

He studied her face, read it easily, as only a father could. “You’re exhausted. You should go home. We can talk at the office tomorrow.”

She shook her head and leaned back in her comfortable chair. “I’m going to sit here and watch you eat. It’s very . . . normal and relaxing. And tomorrow I’ll bring Chinese takeout over to your place for dinner. I can handle most things at the office by computer. In fact, I think for the next couple of months, until I bring Anna home, I’ll cut back to half-weeks and spend long weekends in Clearfield. I can leave at lunchtime on Thursday to catch her track meets and spend Friday night and Saturday with her and leave about lunchtime on Sunday—that’s when she goes to mass anyway. And then phone calls all week . . . we should be fine and you can take up retirement again.”

“So that’s it. You have a plan and now you’re done with me.” He used a crust of bread to push pasta onto his fork and attempted to look forlorn. He missed it by a long shot.

She chuckled and took a sip of water. “Hardly. Not for a long, long time yet.”

Fun makes time fly. Being busy makes time fly. Together, plus the dread of an upcoming confrontation, puts time in warp speed.

The weekend trip to Charlottesville with Janice Steadman and the girls was more fun than she’d ever had shopping before.

One quick jaunt through the large college town’s downtown mall, with its quaint shops and rather unique boutiques, it soon became evident that—thanks to Grady’s pigheadedness—their selection was limited. So they all piled back into Hannah’s car; and while she drove them on to Richmond, a little further east of Clearfield than Charlottesville was north, Janice called Grady to inform him that Hannah was hijacking them to Nordstrom’s. She smirked at the angry squawking leaking from Janice’s cell phone, and when the dear lady flipped her phone closed, sighed, and said, “Oh my,” Hannah laughed out loud.

“I think he’s being silly now, and I told him so in no uncertain terms. Not taking the girls all the way to Baltimore is one thing—though I’m not completely clear on that either—but what difference does it make where we shop for the dresses . . . we’re still so close to home?” Hannah shrugged and gave her a quick, ambiguous glance—she liked that his mother thought him nuts. “He said I’m to remind you that he has GPS tracking and to not push your luck.”

Hannah rolled her eyes as if she found his threats boring, and then her gaze settled on the rearview mirror and her niece’s keen blue eyes watching her with interest. She winked and Anna sent her a small but true smile.

She was careful to take Janice’s lead in a price range appropriate for this stage of young female formal wear, and was grateful the dear lady was open to visiting some of the other more upscale stores in town if for nothing else than to get a feel for the trendier styles. She talked, of course, relentlessly but she was also an excellent source of motherly know-how in regard to hems and bustlines. A little conservative for Lucy’s tastes, but that was okay with Hannah.

Eventually, they found a saleswoman eager to help them. The girls giggled and scooted off to the dressing rooms with handfuls of lovely dresses to try on.

Janice stood, clutching her handbag, her arms across her chest. She sighed and went silent for a moment, peacefully waiting . . . and Hannah looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time in . . . probably ever.

She was old, like Joe. Signs of fatigue were etched deeper in her face than earlier in the day and Hannah realized that, without complaint, she’d let herself be hauled all over the Piedmont region of Virginia looking for prom dresses—she had to be exhausted.

With the clerk’s help Hannah found padded folding chairs and they settled in, making themselves comfortable for the fashion show to come.

“You’re a good sport, Janice Steadman,” Hannah said before turning her head to look at her. “In my book you are exactly what a mother ought to be and I think you’re a remarkable woman.”

Stunned silent and a bit confused, Janice stared back, her eyes old and watery behind big round glasses. “Thank you, dear. That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me.” She nodded. “I do my best.” She took a deep breath and turned in her chair to face Hannah more head-on. “I usually do what I think is best but . . . I never should have tried to keep your secret that night. I should have dragged you into the house—you were so weak, it would have taken no effort at all. And then I should have called the police, and an ambulance. Calvin and I should have driven over to get your mother and sister and taken them to safety as well. If it weren’t for me that night, the next night might have turned out so differently—”

“Janice.” Hannah took her hands and held them, shook them a bit to get her to stop talking; to stop her from painting a picture that struck terror in her heart just thinking about it. Had Janice Steadman done anything differently—had Mama or Ruth or she done anything differently—Karl Benson might still be alive today. “Janice. Please.” She used the scenario everyone believed to ease the old woman’s mind. “My friend Joe is a very smart man and he says there’s a reason that things happen the way they do—we might not see the pattern at first, he says, but eventually everything turns out the way it’s meant to. What I asked you to do that night was unfair, but by keeping my secret you gave me enough time to hide. You saved my life. And probably Mama and Ruth’s as well because if that night and the next hadn’t happened exactly the way they did, he would have . . . eventually he would have killed one or all of us. You know that. So, thank you. Thank you for my life.”

Weeping now, Janice threw her beefy arms around Hannah and pulled her tight against her big, soft bosom. She smiled and relaxed and faced a pang of jealousy for anyone who got such a hug on a regular basis. Mother-hugs were a precious thing that couldn’t be bottled or boxed or given away by anyone with a cold heart.

As fashion shows went, the girls hit all the highs and lows gracefully and in good spirits, trying on a couple of dresses.
Just to see you in one before I die
or to answer a plea to
Just trust me on this one.
But in the end they picked two gowns that couldn’t have been more in sync with the girls’ personalities than if they’d been made by fairy godmothers.

Thirty minutes before the store closed for the night, Hannah hurried everyone off to lingerie with Janice while she settled the dresses and made a short phone call.

“Where the hell are you?”

“You know where we are. And I just sent the girls and your mother across the way to buy pajamas—on me—because we’re spending the night here—also on me. Your mother, possibly the kindest woman I’ve ever known, is exhausted. Plus we still need shoes. I’ll have Lucy call you back after we’ve checked in somewhere. And . . . and please don’t say anything mean to her because we’re having a wonderful time—save it for me when we get back tomorrow. That’s all. Over and out.”

She waited with a grimace on her face, phone in hand, holding her breath, for him to call her right back. And when he didn’t she gave him a victorious nod, smirked, and dropped him into her purse—forgotten . . . for the most part.

The salesclerk accompanied Hannah to the next department to get Janice’s signature on the sales slip for Lucy’s dress. The nightwear paid for, the four of them straggled out of the store with their feet and lower backs aching; minds numbed by too many choices; hearts light from a critical mission accomplished.

They watched a movie and ate room service in their pajamas, giggling and laughing—another one of those pure girl things so alien to Hannah, she had no idea it was a pure girl thing.

“This was a good idea.” She leaned back against the pillows at the head of her bead and grinned at the girls sprawled at her feet. “Even if I do say so myself.”

Janice nodded. “It’s one of my all-time favorite things to do. Shopping with the girls. That one”—she motioned to Lucy—“hates department store shopping, but there’s a wonderful Goodwill here in town and Anna’s a good shopper when her . . . well, when her Gran, your mama, would allow her to come with us.” She laughed. “You know, I never thought of it before but maybe we should have swapped girls. Anna could have shopped with me and Lucy could have gone Goodwill Hunting, as she calls it, with Ellen. Bargain hunters, both of them. But I also have a group of gal-pals, ladies I’ve known for years and years, and we often get away from Clearfield for an overnight to shop.” She took her voice down three octaves. “Mostly we like to eat and gossip, but I always manage to spend more money than I mean to.”

“I love room service. No dishes.” Lucy scratched her head through her bright blue hair and grinned.

“I can’t believe the sheriff agreed to it since he sounded so angry this morning when we changed our minds about Charlottesville.” The worried glance Anna sent her aunt asked what sort of bargain was struck; what price had Hannah agreed to?

“He didn’t say a word when I called him from the store. Was he upset when you called him to tell him where we were, Lucy?”

“Nope. He said thanks for calling, sleep tight, and call again when we head for home tomorrow.” She rolled off the bed and disappeared into the adjoining double room to use the restroom.