Page 39 of The Pink House

Guests clustered around a brightly decorated stage, where a reed-thin older man with flowing dark hair belted out a big-band number on a tenor saxophone.

Charlie turned to Hannah. “We can find a seat and listen to music, or I can show you around first. I think you’ll be amazed by all the improvements Jace and his family have made.”

“I’d love to check out the improvements.” She smiled. “The music is loud enough that we should be able to hear it from wherever we are on the property.”

He chuckled as the wail of the sax filled the air. “You’re right about that.”

They bypassed the stage area and food trucks and headed straight for the barn. The doors to the structure were open wide with a constant flow of patrons in and out.

“The barn was in poor repair when Jace and his family took over. Instead of building new, they had a structural engineer come out and look it over.” Admiration filled Charlie’s eyes. “It’s good to see it regain its former glory.”

While the outside was pretty, with all that yellow paint and white trim, the inside was striking. Large windows cut into the back wall flooded the area with natural light. The floor, now a glossy hardwood, shone as if it had been freshly polished that morning.

Along the walls on this level, booths had been set up, offering everything from IPA beer gift packs to craft-a-brew kits and T-shirts.

As each booth appeared to be experiencing a surge of business, Hannah and Charlie returned to the bright sunshine.

Hannah thought how Lisa would have enjoyed the activity and festive atmosphere. “I’m sorry your mother couldn’t join us tonight.”

“If she hadn’t already had plans with friends, she’d be here. She takes advantage of every opportunity to socialize.” Satisfaction filled Charlie’s voice. “My mom is not about to let MS define her. She finds a way to do what she wants and isn’t too proud to ask for help when she needs it.”

“She’s a remarkable woman.” Hannah thought of the other patients and families she’d met while Brian was going through treatment. “Everyone responds differently when life takes a hard turn.”

“Brian appeared to handle it well. Each time we spoke, he was upbeat and positive.” Charlie paused. “Unless that was what he wanted to convey?”

Hannah hesitated.

Charlie immediately held up his hands. “Forget it. That’s personal.”

“You were his best friend, Charlie,” Hannah reminded him. “If you don’t have a right to know, I’m not sure who would.”

“Though we spoke frequently on the phone, I only made it up there once after his diagnosis.” Charlie’s eyes turned dark with memories. “It was still early days, and he had that ‘I’m going to fight and win this battle’ mentality.”

Hannah recalled that day. Brian had still been good enough to be home alone, and she’d been at work. By the time she’d arrived home, Charlie had left to return to GraceTown.

“The diagnosis came as a complete shock to both of us. Brian had always been so healthy, and he took such good care of himself.”

“A lot better than I do,” Charlie agreed.

“A lot better than I do, too.” Hannah expelled a breath. “Do you know that the first question everyone asked when they found out he had lung cancer was if he smoked? He never did, but what if hehad?” Hannah ran a shaky hand through her hair. “I’m sorry. It upsets me to remember how those questions added stress to an already stressful time.”

“It had to be difficult for you.”

“It was worse for him,” she said simply.

Charlie’s gaze grew thoughtful. “I know your father came up a few times. I assume Brian’s parents did, too.”

“They stopped in frequently to visit.” Hannah kept her voice even. “It was difficult for them and for Brian. He had his pride. As he got worse, he didn’t want to see anyone. He said he didn’t want them to remember him that way.”

Then, afraid that sounded critical, she added, “I encouraged him to at least let his sister and parents visit.”

Enough talk about illness and death,Hannah thought. She opened her mouth to suggest they sit and enjoy a beer when Charlie lifted a hand.

“Mr. Jessup.” Charlie’s greeting, warm and friendly, had the grizzled old man responding with an answering grin.

“Well, if it isn’t Charlie Rogan.” Merle Jessup turned to Hannah and grinned. “What’s a pretty woman like you doing with this scallywag?”

Hannah didn’t think she’d ever heard that term spoken outside of old pirate movies. But hearing it coming from a man whose face boasted deep lines and bristly silver and black whiskers somehow fit.

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