Hannah and the Hitman

Chapter 14

14

HANNAH

The next afternoon on my lunch break, Brittany and I were walking down Main Street, weaving around the influx of tourists. We’d finished our meal at our usual cafe–me a grilled cheese and soup and Brittany the chicken salad on croissant–and now had coffees in hand that we’d picked up from our favorite shop a block behind us.

It was our standing Wednesday lunch date.

“I can’t believe he showed up at the library! The guy from the plane.” She shook her head, then smiled and offered someone a quick hello. Because of our jobs, we ran into people we knew all over town. If I ever wanted to pick up condoms or get a surprise party gift, I had to order them online. “That’s insane… and it’s happening to you. I told you! This is unbelievable!”

It was that. Completely unbelievable.

“Mrs. Metcalf was all for me going out with him. ”

“Mrs. Metcalf is a smart woman,” Brittany countered, then took a sip of her drink.

“She doesn’t care that he could be a murderer.”

“If he’s as handsome as you say, I don’t care either.”

I gave her a look, although my vagina was in agreement with them.

“He went to your parents’ house,” Brittany continued. “That says a lot. God, I would have suffered through one of your family dinners to witness it.”

“He left,” I reminded. “He got a call and bolted in the middle of dinner.”

“After he told off your brother and fucked with your parents first. A mortician? Seriously?”

I’d given her a full recap over our lunch. She’d listened to the tale with the same eagerness as the little kids who came to Storytime.

“I have no idea what he does for a living. He could have been serious,” I reminded.

I scoped out the window display at the baby boutique as we went by.

She sliced her hand through the air. “If he’s as hot as you say, there’s no way he’s a mortician.”

I laughed, stopped walking and crossed my arms over my chest. “Are you saying morticians are all unattractive? I could say the same for dentists. You deal with halitosis and weak gums.”

She glared and patted her perfectly styled hair. “I’m saying his personality doesn’t match someone who embalms bodies for a living.”

She had a point. He seemed worldly and bold and dark and mysterious and not in a creepy, hearse- driving way. He smelled good, too, not like formaldehyde.

“He said he was going to call.” I started meandering down the sidewalk again.

“Then he’ll call.”

I shook my head. I didn’t have the same optimism as her. Her parents weren’t crazy and either ignored her or were constantly disappointed. When they came to visit, she and her mom–and me–went shoe shopping and got facials. She didn’t have a boyfriend who’d dumped her when she found out she had a brain tumor. Not that Brittany hadn’t had shitty moments in her life. I wasn’t stupid enough to think I cornered the market on rough times. She didn’t have plain bad luck like me. It’d been a rough year; having the tumor symptoms for a few months without knowing why, then being diagnosed, then the treatment. Physically. Mentally. I was jaded. Doubtful. Skittish. Scared, too. “No. It was his excuse to leave. Everyone was on their worst behavior. God, I was so mad!”

My voice was shrill and raised, upset even now, the next day.

“If he met Perry and didn’t throw his drink on him to see if he melted or burst into flames, then he’ll call.”

“Briana offered up her breasts for him to rest upon.” I frowned, glaring at the outdoor gear in the next shop’s window display. Hair on the back of my neck rose remembering. I was getting used to the sensation since it seemed to happen with increasing frequency.

Brittany stopped and turned to me, eyes wide in surprise. Dressed for a day of cavity filling and root canal drilling, she wore red capri pants and a multicolored sleeveless blouse. Both, against her dark skin, were striking. While Coal Springs was at eight thousand feet, it was still a warm day. “Say what?”

I waved my hand, not remembering the Bible quote exactly. Jack’s ability to spout verses on the fly was something I wanted to know more about. I wouldn’t call it a talent, but it sure had come in handy. “She pretty much offered herself up to my date.”

“She’s twenty-four, lives in your parents’ basement and jumps on a trampoline for a living. If this guy is into that, then he’s totally not the one for you.”

We walked on to the next store, which was a vacant space, the ‘for lease’ sign in the window. It was where I wanted my romance bookstore to go. We stopped in front of the dusty window to peek at an empty room with a counter and shelving along the walls. It used to be a knitting shop, but the owner’s husband had passed away and she’d relocated to Utah to be closer to her children. It’d been vacant since the beginning of the year.

Brittany and I walked past it every week. I wasn’t sure if it was cruel or me being hopeful. Before my radiation, it’d been to make plans about what I was going to do, talk leasing agreements, and what color to paint the walls. We’d been excited together. After the radiation, I didn’t talk about it at all. Getting the call that I had a brain tumor had scared me shitless. Soon after, I’d had to go through the gamma knife radiosurgery and recover. While that had stalled things, my dream had been put on hold due to hospital bills. They’d stripped away all my savings, the money I’d put aside for the new venture. I’d had health insurance through the ordeal, but it hadn’t covered everything. And no bank was going to give me a loan when I still had medical debts. I rented my apartment and had an old car that wasn’t worth much. I had no collateral.

I sighed, glad the prime spot had yet to be taken. I could picture exactly how I would arrange the books. Colorful displays in the window, Contemporary down the left wall, new releases front and center. There’d be comfortable pink chairs and couches for readers to sit.

I used to cry when we walked by, the missed opportunity and feeling of loss too keen. I’d been so close, then it all fell apart. No new business. No boyfriend. No money. A newfound panic about life and death. Over the few months since the radiation, I became resigned. Even more quiet and subdued than ever. It had felt as if the world was out to get me, and it was safer on my couch with a nose in a book. Heroine’s might struggle in a romance, but there was a guaranteed happily ever after. I needed one of those right about now.

“It’ll be yours soon enough,” Brittany said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. “And it’ll be amazing.”

I could only nod, feeling forlorn.

I’d had a few months to come to terms with the delay of my dreams, Kevin’s behavior, and the size of my bank account. Today, though, it wasn’t any of those things that made me so disappointed. I was sad about an ex-stalker. How insane was that?