She glanced over her shoulder. It took her a moment to recognize the handsome black man behind the wheel. “Hannah?” Craig Tollman said, climbing out of the car. He left his emergency blinkers on and started across the street to her. “Hey, I was just driving down to see you again. I hope I didn’t startle you.”
Hannah quickly shook her head. “No, not at all.” She was hugging her purse to her chest.
“Glad I caught you,” he said. “I wanted to apologize if I came on a little too strong earlier. I hope it wasn’t inappropriate for me to ask you out.”
“No, not at all,” she repeated.
“Anyway,” Craig said. “If you change your mind about getting together, you have my cell-phone number on file at the store. You can call me anytime. Um, listen, can I give you a lift wherever you’re going?”
She shook her head again. “I’m fine. But thanks anyway.”
Craig backed away. “Okay, well, see you in the store.”
He turned around and almost walked into an oncoming car. The driver honked at him. Craig jumped back. He waved an apology at the car, then glanced at Hannah. “Nice, huh?” he called. “I have a lot of finesse.”
She managed to smile, and she watched him climb back inside his car. The one thing she could discern about the man in the video was his skin color. He was white. So why was she so apprehensive around this handsome black man? On the surface, Craig Tollman was just being friendly.
Still, she waited until Craig drove off in his white Taurus. Hannah wanted to make sure he wasn’t following her before she moved on.
“Mom, can I play with Trevor?” Guy asked. “I already had my snack.”
Hannah nodded. “Sure, honey, go ahead. I’ll stay here and have my lunch.”
Her lunch was a container of yogurt that she’d bought at a 7-Eleven near the day care center. She’d picked up a peach yogurt for Guy as well. But three people had been in front of her in line, with a clerk as “slow as molasses in January,” as Hannah’s father used to say. By the time she’d gotten to the play field near Alphabet Soup Day Care, the children had already finished their snacks.
The kids were playing on the swings, jungle gyms, and slides. There were three park benches, where some of the other mothers sat. But not Hannah. At the moment, she didn’t have the will or the energy to socialize.
Neighboring the playground was a baseball diamond. From her seat on the bleachers, Hannah watched Guy carefully maneuver his way down each plank. Then he made a beeline toward the jungle gym.
He didn’t look very much like his father, thank God. That would have been pretty awful, having this sweet little boy running around with that man’s face. Guy’s father wasn’t homely. In fact, he had a rather goofy-cute look to him: a long, narrow face with a prominent nose, and curly brown hair. His sleepy, dark brown eyes were very sexy. Hannah had fallen in love with his offbeat looks. He didn’t become ugly to her until later.
His name was Kenneth Muir Woodley, Jr.
When she’d first met him, five years ago, Hannah had been taking classes at Chicago’s Second City, and waitressing at a bar and grill called McNulty’s, near Wrigley Field. Her father had been a bartender there. He’d recently lost his battle with cancer. Her mom had fought the same fight and lost years ago, back when Hannah was a girl. She had no siblings, no one too close—except her friends from college and Second City. She was very much alone with a very small inheritance when she met Kenneth Muir Woodley, Jr.
That was the name on the Visa card she’d found on the floor by the corner of the bar. “Is Kenneth Woodley here?” Hannah called out over the noisy crowd. She was also competing with Bobby Darin’s rendition of “Mack the Knife,” and several customers who had decided to sing along with him. “Kenneth Woodley? Kenny? Ken?”
She saw him waving at her from near the jukebox. “Present!” he replied loudly. He sat at a small table, nursing a martini and reading a paperback version of
She fanned the credit card in front of her. “I think you lost this,” she said. “That is, if you’re Kenneth Woodley.”
He pulled out his wallet, opened it up, and frowned. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.
Hannah smiled. “No, Kenneth Woodley.”
“God, you saved my ass, thanks.” He held out his hand.
Hannah hesitated. “Not so fast. I want to make sure you’re Kenneth Woodley. What’s your middle name?”
“Muir. And please don’t tell anyone.”
She gave him the credit card. While he tucked it in his wallet, she glanced at his book on the table. “You’re reading
“I’ve already read it—a couple of times.” He stashed his wallet in his back pocket, then raised the martini glass. “It’s a chick magnet. I come across as extremely sensitive and intellectual when seen reading this. It really reels in the babes.”
“That’s amazing,” Hannah remarked. “Pretty sleazy, too.”
“Thank you,” he said, sipping his drink. “And thank you for finding my Visa card.”
“No sweat, Kenneth. Listen, can I get you another martini?”
“I’m fine. But I’ll tell you what I’d like.”
“What’s that?” she asked, one hand on her hip.
“I’d like to see your good deed rewarded. My credit card and I want to take you out to dinner some night this week.”
She sighed. “Well, I have no problem stepping out with your credit card. But I’m concerned about some potential trouble with you.”
He laughed. “Me? I’m a terrific guy. What do you take me for?”
Hannah tilted her head to one side and studied him for a moment. “I’d say you were a spoiled, rich party boy who deep down suffers from a lack of self-esteem and subsequently drinks too much. And I’d be making a big mistake if I went out with you.”
He took her to a fancy dinner at the Drake Hotel the following week. He was a perfect gentleman throughout the date. In fact, Ken didn’t even kiss her until their third date. They had sex that same night. Waiting for him to finally kiss her had been excruciating, and Hannah had a low resistance.
Within six months, Ken moved into her little studio apartment. They might have gotten a bigger place together. He certainly could have afforded it. That Visa card of his seemed like a bottomless source of cash. The closest thing he had to a job was charging people for chartered cruises on his small yacht. He spent most of his days on that boat; some nights too.
Ken fit in well with her friends—especially since he was always the first to grab a check at a group gathering. He
Hannah continued to work at McNulty’s, and her reputation was growing at Second City. She even filmed a couple of TV commercials for a local bank. It was one of the happiest times of her life, and when Ken asked her to marry him, she immediately said yes. An impromptu ceremony was held aboard a big yacht that Kenneth had chartered. About twenty friends were in attendance, and the reception went on all night.
His money ran out about five months later. He even started going through
They got the eviction notice the day after she came up positive on a home pregnancy test. They had no place to go—except to his parents’.
Kenneth came from one of the richest families in Green Bay, Wisconsin. It was old money, too, which made Woodley one of the most respected names among the rich country-club set. In fact, Kenneth’s parents lived in a huge, pristine-white stucco house with a view of Green Bay on one side and the country club’s golf course on the other.
Kenneth’s father had married into money. He also held the patent for some kind of machinery that all the airlines used to refrigerate and heat food. They had a factory just outside town. Kenneth Senior wasn’t a warm
