Debbie Macomber_Blossom Street 04

by Twenty Wishes

  Still, Anne Marie wondered. She sensed that something was off, but Lillie obviously wasn’t going to tell her. All she could do was accept her word and hope that if there was a problem, it would soon be resolved.

  The school bus rolled past the shop window and Anne Marie knew Ellen would appear in a few minutes.

  “It’s tonight, isn’t it?” Ellen said happily as she bolted into the store. She released one strap and allowed her backpack to slip carelessly over her shoulder.

  “Tonight’s the night,” Anne Marie concurred. Being invited to someone else’s home for dinner seemed to be a new experience for the eight-year-old. Although Ellen had always displayed good manners, Anne Marie reviewed them with her, just to be on the safe side.

  “I won’t talk with my mouth full or interrupt the conver…conver—” she stumbled over the word “—the conversation.”

  “Excellent.” Anne Marie smiled at her. “You can bring your knitting if you want.”

  At that suggestion, Ellen raced up the stairs to the apartment as if they were heading out the door that very moment. Such exuberance made Anne Marie smile again.

  They were both making progress with their knitting. Anne Marie’s first official class the day before had gone well. In teaching Ellen, she’d learned more about the basic knit stitch than she’d realized. After school on Tuesday, Anne Marie had taken Ellen to A Good Yarn and allowed her to purchase yarn and needles of her own. Lydia had chatted with Ellen for quite a while; by now, as Lydia said, the two of them were old friends. That evening, after the dinner dishes and Ellen’s homework, they’d sat side by side, helping each other. Anne Marie couldn’t avoid reflecting that this was something she’d never had the chance to do with her stepdaughter. Even as a ten-or eleven-year-old, Melissa had rejected all her attempts to work on projects together, whether it was reading or baking or gathering autumn leaves for a scrapbook. Whatever Anne Marie suggested was deemed “stupid” or “boring.” The memory had produced a sadness she found hard to forget.

  In the knitting class, Anne Marie had learned how to purl and she had about three inches of the lap robe finished. Ellen was half done with the scarf for her grandmother; the girl had a good eye for color and had chosen a soft pink yarn and a peach. The combination was lovely. They were colors Anne Marie would never have thought to put together.

  Lydia had praised her color choice, too, and Ellen glowed with pleasure at the compliment.

  “Are you bringing your Twenty Wishes binder?” Ellen asked now.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Ellen slipped her knitting into her backpack. “Should I bring my list?”

  Anne Marie hesitated, a little worried that Ellen might inadvertently dominate the conversation. “Maybe next time, okay? For tonight I want you to sit and listen.”

  “Okay.” Running up the stairs with her backpack, Ellen collected an excited Baxter for his walk, the requisite plastic bag tucked into her jeans’ pocket.

  At four, Steve Handley came into the shop for his shift. Anne Marie didn’t have time to shower, but went upstairs to refresh her makeup. The day was overcast, so she decided to put a forest-green knit vest over her cream-colored long-sleeved blouse.

  Ellen was modeling the new denim skirt Anne Marie had bought her when the phone rang.

  “Want me to answer?” Ellen asked.

  Anne Marie hesitated. “Let me check who it is first.” She glanced at the phone as Caller ID flashed Melissa’s name and number.

  Instinctively Anne Marie backed away. She still hadn’t recovered from her last conversation with her stepdaughter. Another heart-to-heart might just finish her off.

  The phone rang again and then again. After the fourth ring, voice mail came on. Anne Marie listened to the brief message. Melissa identified herself, then said, “Call me,” without explaining why.

  “Anne Marie?” Ellen spoke tentatively, staring up at her with worried eyes.

  “Hey,” she said, forcing some enthusiasm into her voice. “I thought we had a dinner date. Are you ready?”

  Ellen nodded eagerly.

  “Me, too. Let’s go.”

  On the short drive to Lillie’s, they sang camp songs. Or rather, Ellen sang. Anne Marie tried to sing and once again her voice sounded as if someone was strangling her. After the first few lines, she stopped and simply listened. Ellen truly was gifted and she loved to sing. After the first song, she immediately started a second one—“This Little Light of Mine,” a song she told Anne Marie she’d learned in church.

  Which reminded Anne Marie that one thing she hadn’t done was take Ellen to church. It wasn’t part of her normal practice, not that she had anything against religion. Although, at the moment, she didn’t exactly feel God had dealt her a fair hand. Yet she realized that if she was going to maintain the routine Ellen had with Dolores, she should probably be taking her to Sunday-school class.

  Just as Ellen’s song came to an end, Anne Marie pulled up outside Lillie’s house. This was the first time she’d been invited here. She parked in the circular drive, gaping at the sprawling Tudor-style house, which must have seven or eight thousand square feet. The outdoor lighting revealed a sweeping, verdant lawn and, closer to the house itself, an arrangement of flower beds filled with tulips of all colors, daffodils and delicate narcissus.

  “Wow,” Anne Marie whispered.

  “Does Mrs. Higgins live in a castle?” Ellen asked in a hushed voice.

  “It seems so.”

  Barbie arrived then, pulling into the drive behind them, and they all walked into the house together, followed a moment later by Elise. As soon as Barbie greeted her mother, Anne Marie could tell that something was amiss, although both Barbie and Lillie struggled to hide it. Instead of the usual camaraderie, the teasing and joking, they were stiffly polite with each other.

  They must’ve had an argument or a falling-out. No wonder Lillie had seemed upset.

  Lillie had arranged a small buffet with everything on a sideboard in the formal dining room. The buffet started with a selection of cheeses, olives, brie-stuffed dates and three different salads—a seafood pasta, a Caesar with home-made croutons and a fruit salad. For the entrée, Lillie presented them with ricotta-filled chicken breasts and scalloped potatoes.

  Elise shook her head. “My goodness, Lillie, you must’ve been cooking for days.”

  “Mother is a tremendous cook,” Barbie said quickly.

  Lillie turned to her daughter. “Thank you. I enjoy spending time in the kitchen—it takes my mind off other concerns.”

  The comment seemed to be directed at Barbie, whose cheeks flushed as she looked away.

  Anne Marie helped Ellen prepare her plate and then served herself. The five of them assembled around the table, which seated twelve. Anne Marie noticed that Lillie didn’t have much of an appetite; for that matter, neither did Barbie. They barely seemed to touch their meals. Anne Marie, Ellen and Elise, however, savored every bite.

  Conversation was general at first, with everyone asking Ellen about school and which classes she liked best. Reading, spelling and math, she’d answered, providing examples of what she’d recently learned.

  “Speaking of classes, did you sign up for belly dancing?” Anne Marie asked Barbie.

  Barbie jerked her head up, apparently caught unawares. “Belly dancing?”

  “You said it was one of your wishes.”

  “Oh, yes. No, I haven’t. Not yet at least. I will, though…probably.” She sat straighter in her chair, chasing the food around her plate before she set her fork aside.

  “What else is on your list?” Elise asked her.

  Barbie reached down for her purse and withdrew a sheet of paper. “I started a binder like Anne Marie but left it at home this morning. I have my list here, though.”

  “I left my binder at home, too. At Anne Marie’s house,” Ellen said in a comforting voice as if to reassure Lillie’s daughter.

  “You know, I thought skinny-dipping would be fun.”

&n
bsp; “I’ve always thought that would be fun, too,” Anne Marie murmured. She’d forgotten all about it until now.

  Ellen tugged at her sleeve and when Anne Marie bent close, the girl whispered, “Is skinny-dipping a new diet? Grandma Dolores talked a lot about diets.”

  Anne Marie wasn’t sure how to answer. “It’s, uh, something like that.”

  For the first time that evening a smile tweaked the edges of Barbie’s mouth. “I am going to do it.”

  “Do what?” Elise asked as she and Lillie entered the dining room with dessert—platters of brownies, cookies and tarts.

  “Skinny-dipping.”

  “Barbie!” her mother gasped.

  “At night, Mother. In what you’d call a controlled environment.”

  “In the moonlight,” Elise added softly. “Maverick and I—” She stopped abruptly and her face turned bright pink.

  “You and Maverick went skinny-dipping?” Barbie asked.

  “It was years ago….” She paused. “Well, to be honest, it happened shortly after we reunited.” Elise shook her head fondly. “That man was full of crazy ideas.”

  “No wonder you loved him so much,” Barbie whispered.

  “Oh, I did, I did. I regret all the years we wasted. Maverick wouldn’t let me talk about my regrets, though. He said we had to make up for lost time and we did everything in our power to squeeze thirty years of life into three.” The expression on her face showed both happiness and loss and was almost painful to watch.

  Anne Marie’s eyes filled with tears, and she stared down at her binder. “What about you, Lillie?” she asked, wanting to draw attention away from Elise so the older woman could compose herself.

  “You first,” Lillie insisted, offering Ellen some dessert. The girl studied the platter carefully and chose a blueberry tart.

  Anne Marie smiled, then glanced down at her binder again. The sheet she’d turned to had a picture of the Eiffel Tower. “I want to go to Paris with someone I love.”

  “That’s so nice,” Barbie murmured.

  Anne Marie didn’t mention that this was one of Robert’s promises. She’d felt the lure of France, of Paris in particular, from her high school days, when she’d taken two years of French. Robert had spun wonderful stories of the adventures they’d have…someday. It was always in the future, always around the corner. Next month. Next season. Next year. And whenever they made tentative plans, his job interfered.

  She tried to dismiss the thought. Her life was her own now and if there was happiness to be found, it was up to her to seek it. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, rely on anyone else ever again.

  Because she’d loved and supported her husband, Anne Marie had never complained. Now it became clear that she’d lived her entire marriage based on tomorrow—on well-intentioned promises, directed toward the future.

  “I believe you talked about that one before,” Elise reminded her. “It must be important to you.”

  “It is.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “I don’t want to go alone.”

  Ever practical, Elise said, “Okay, it’s not just about seeing Paris. It’s also about falling in love.”

  “Yes, that’s true. I want to be in love again.”

  “Good.”

  “I do, too,” Lillie said quietly. Her gaze drifted down the table to her daughter.

  Anne Marie was shocked to see tears glistening in Lillie’s eyes. “I have Twenty Wishes but only one is important,” Lillie said next. “None of the others means a thing without the first.”

  “What’s that?” Elise asked. “As if I can’t guess.”

  Lillie smiled briefly at Elise’s remark. “I want to fall in love again,” she said, “with a man who’s honorable. A man respected by his peers. A man of principle who values me as a woman… A man who’ll be my friend as well as my lover.” A tear rolled down the side of her face. “I have lived most of my life trying to please others. I don’t think I can do that anymore.”

  “Nor should you,” Barbie said. “You deserve to find that man, Mom.”

  Lillie’s voice shook. “So do you.”

  “I know.”

  Then to everyone’s astonishment, Barbie burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Mom, so sorry.”

  “I am, too.”

  Lillie pushed back her chair and a moment later, mother and daughter were hugging each other, weeping together.

  Anne Marie looked at Elise, who shrugged. Once again Ellen tugged at the cuff of her blouse. “Why are they crying?” she asked in a loud whisper, leaning toward Anne Marie.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Will they be okay?”

  Anne Marie placed her arm around Ellen’s shoulders. “I think so,” she said.

  As quickly as Lillie and Barbie had burst into tears, they started to laugh, dabbing their eyes with the linen napkins, smearing their mascara and giggling like teenagers.

  Ellen began to giggle, too. Soon Elise joined in. After a while she got up and carried her dinner dishes into the kitchen and set them on the counter.

  Anne Marie collected her plates and Ellen’s and did the same thing. This evening had been cathartic for all of them in some way. Except for Ellen, but Anne Marie knew the experience had been valuable for her, too.

  Before she left she picked up her binder and as she shut it, her gaze fell on the Paris postcard she’d glued next to the cut-out picture of the Eiffel Tower.

  One day she would go to Paris—and she wouldn’t go alone. Because the love of her life would be with her.

  Chapter 20

  When the official-looking woman in the no-nonsense suit walked into Blossom Street Books, Anne Marie knew she was the same one who’d called earlier in the day. She’d introduced herself as Evelyn Boyle, a social worker from Washington State Child Protective Services. She’d sounded calm, professional and reassuring; otherwise Anne Marie might have been alarmed. She had the paperwork Dolores Falk had given her before the surgery, and Ellen and Anne Marie spoke with Dolores frequently.

  She didn’t understand why a social worker was involved now. In a few days, Dolores would be released from the care facility and Ellen would return to her. If the state was concerned about Ellen, it was too little, too late.

  “You must be Ms. Boyle,” Anne Marie said as she stepped around the counter. Thankfully Theresa, who worked Friday afternoons, had arrived a few minutes earlier.

  “And you must be Anne Marie.” The social worker came forward and thrust out her hand. “Please call me Evelyn.”

  Despite the woman’s tranquil demeanor, Anne Marie was nervous.

  “Is there someplace private where we could visit?” Evelyn asked.

  “Sure.” Anne Marie momentarily left her and walked over to Theresa, who eyed her speculatively.

  “Is everything all right?” Theresa whispered.

  “It’s fine,” she whispered back. In slightly louder tones, she added, “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

  Theresa nodded.

  Anne Marie led Evelyn up the narrow stairway to the apartment. Now that Ellen was more comfortable living with Anne Marie, she’d left a pair of rubber boots on the steps. Anne Marie grabbed them on her way up the stairs.

  Baxter stood there waiting for her, tail wagging wildly. He cocked his head to one side, as though curious about her unexpected appearance. After she’d paid Baxter the required amount of attention, he sniffed the social worker’s shoes, then returned to his bed in a corner of the kitchen.

  Without asking, Anne Marie walked to the stove and put on water for tea. Evelyn pulled out a chair at the table, then set her briefcase on it and withdrew a yellow legal pad.

  “How did you know Ellen was staying with me?” Anne Marie asked. She assumed Dolores hadn’t told Social Services, which meant it was either the hospital or someone from Woodrow Wilson Elementary, probably Helen Mayer.

  “I received a call from Ellen’s school,” Evelyn said, confirming Anne Marie’s guess as she dug around th
e bottom of her purse for a pen.

  Anne Marie stood with her back to the kitchen counter, hands behind her. “Ellen’s grandmother wrote a statement that gives me full guardianship of Ellen while Dolores is recuperating.” How legally binding that scribbled, almost illegible document was remained uncertain. Considering how desperate the poor woman had been for someone, anyone, to look after Ellen, she would’ve signed the girl’s care over to practically anyone.

  “I gather you were originally supposed to have Ellen for only a few days.”

  “Yes.” Anne Marie wanted to say more but restrained herself. In instances such as this, the less said the better. “Dolores made me promise Ellen wouldn’t go into a foster home.”

  Evelyn Boyle glanced up. “There are many excellent foster homes in this area.”

  “I’m sure there are….”

  “But in essence, Anne Marie, Ellen is already in one.”

  “I’m someone Ellen knows and trusts,” Anne Marie said quickly.

  “That’s true. It’s exactly what I mean. You are her foster mother.” Evelyn waited a moment. “I do understand the situation correctly, don’t I? You and Ellen are not related in any way?”

  “That’s correct,” she responded. But the question hovered in the air, swirling up doubts and fears.

  The teakettle’s whistle offered a welcome respite. Anne Marie concentrated on pouring water into the pot. She covered it with a cozy and set it in the middle of the table to steep while she got two matching cups and saucers.

  Her good dishes were packed away in the storage unit, and the apartment cupboard was filled with mismatched place settings. It had never bothered her before, but it did now. Logically she knew that Social Services wouldn’t pull Ellen from her care because her dishes didn’t match. Still, Anne Marie discovered that she didn’t want to take any chances.

  She poured two mugs of tea, hating the way her hand trembled.

  “I should tell you I stopped by the school before I drove over here.”