life, which is why she forced the issue. My sister loved you and—”
“Listen, Ritchie, I don’t need a lecture.”
“I don’t intend to give you one. Answer one simple question and then I’ll shut up.”
“Okay, fine. Ask away,” I said, resigned to the fact that he wouldn’t leave me alone until he’d said what he wanted to say.
He stared at me for a long intense moment. “Do you suppose it was easy for her to write that letter?”
I sat up straighter.
“What woman wants to think of her husband with someone else?”
“That’s two questions,” I said.
“They’re one and the same,” he argued.
I closed my eyes. Insensitive jerk that I was, I hadn’t given a single thought to what Hannah must’ve been feeling when she wrote the letter.
“If the situation had been reversed, could you have offered up the names of men you’d trust to be her husband?”
I didn’t need any time to think about that one. “No.”
“Me, neither,” Ritchie confessed. “That said, the least you can do is take her letter to heart and get in touch with these women.” He chuckled. “If it was me, I’d start with the model.”
Very funny. It’d been years since I’d asked a woman out. I wouldn’t even know how to go about it. “Dating…me?”
“Dating—you. Sure, why not? You’re young and you’ve got a lot of years left.”
Hannah had said almost the same thing.
“You already know Winter. If you’re more comfortable with her, then give her a call.”
“And say what?” I asked. My fear was that the only subject we had in common was Hannah. If we went to dinner, Hannah was all we’d have to discuss, and we’d both be crying in our soup before the main course was served.
“Hell, I don’t know.”
“I’d want to talk about Hannah.”
Ritchie didn’t seem to think that was so terrible. “So would Winter. They were good friends, even as kids, trading clothes, spending the night at each other’s houses.” He smiled. “Once when we were all in our early teens, our two families went camping. The restroom was clear on the other side of the campground.
“In the middle of the night, I could hear Hannah and Winter whispering that they had to go to the bathroom really bad.” Ritchie’s eyes gleamed with a look of remembered mischief. “Neither of them wanted to make the long trek across the campground so they decided to walk into the woods close to our campsite.”
I knew what was coming.
“I waited until they had their drawers down, then turned my flashlight on them.”
I grinned. Ritchie had always been a practical joker.
“You wouldn’t believe how loud they screamed,” he said, laughing. “I swear they woke up half the campground. People thought there was a black bear on the loose. Those two girls single-handedly caused a panic.”
Years earlier, when we were first dating, Hannah had told me the story. I had to admit it was funny. But the most I could manage now was a weak smile. Maybe she had a point; maybe it was time I found a reason to laugh again.
“Call Winter,” Ritchie urged.
He made it sound easy, but it wouldn’t be. I had no idea what to say, how to approach her. “Do you see her often?”
“Hardly ever,” Ritchie said. “Life’s strange, you know?”
“Tell me about it,” I groaned.
“Our families were close when we were kids and we both live and work in Seattle, but the only time we see each other is at weddings and funerals.”
He winced and I could see he instantly regretted the reminder.
“It’s the same with my cousins,” I said. We’d drifted apart through the years without any intention of doing so. Life got busy and people scattered, and those connections were hard to maintain.
“Give her a call,” Ritchie urged a second time.
If we could talk about Hannah, it might not be so bad.
“Better yet…” Ritchie looked pointedly in my direction.
“What?”
“Stop by her place.”
“Her house?” That seemed rather presumptuous.
“No…that restaurant she has. I can’t think of the name.”
“The French Café,” I told him.
“Right. I remember now. I don’t know why she called it that. Our background’s English, not French.”
My guess was that her reason had to do with the menu. “They serve great croissants.”
That got Ritchie’s notice. “You mean to say you’ve been there?”
“With Hannah. We checked it out a few times. It’s on Blossom Street.”
“Hey, man, that’s not far from here. You could stop by casually on your way to work. If you call her it becomes sort of a big deal. Going to the restaurant would be more natural.”
“You’re right,” I said, my decision made.
“Want me to walk over there with you?”
“No.” I didn’t need my brother-in-law holding my hand. If this worked out, fine—and if not, that was fine, too.
We showered and dressed for the office and headed out. Ritchie’s a chiropractor. His office is north of the downtown area, whereas mine’s just off Fifth. Blossom Street’s a few blocks from there, not that far from Pill Hill where Virginia Mason, Swedish Hospital and several other medical facilities were located.
I took off at a clipped pace. My office opens at eight, so I didn’t have a lot of time—and I wanted to get this over with. I saw the French Café as soon as I rounded the corner of Blossom Street. Two people entered the restaurant as three others came out. The place was doing a brisk morning business. I was happy to see that it was such a success; Hannah would be pleased for her cousin.
I liked the atmosphere with the striped awning and the tables set up outside. I was sure they hadn’t been there on my earlier visits with Hannah. The line was about ten people long when I joined it; I saw that we were being served by one clerk and one cashier. Impatiently, I glanced at my watch. I really didn’t have time and yet I couldn’t make myself walk away. My attention went to the glass case, which displayed a number of baked goods from croissants
