Blossom Street Bundle

“What about something whimsical?”

Ellen turned to her, expression blank.

“Whimsical means fanciful—a wish that’s not…serious, I suppose you could say. Something lighthearted, just for fun.”

The end of the pencil returned to Ellen’s mouth. “Do you have anything whi-whimsical on your list?” she asked.

Good question. “Not yet. Let’s think about it.” She stood to get three plates from the cupboard.

“Like what?”

“Well…” Anne Marie murmured. She looked at the child, then walked over to her own list.

11. Dance in the rain in my bare feet

“What did you write?” Ellen asked.

Anne Marie told her.

Ellen started to giggle. “That’s silly. Aren’t you afraid your clothes will get wet? Or you’ll get mud between your toes?”

“I wouldn’t care, especially if I was dancing with someone I loved.” She opened the refrigerator and removed a bag of romaine lettuce and other salad ingredients. Anne Marie occasionally made salad for dinner; she wasn’t afraid to add unusual ingredients, like walnut bits, cranberries, raw green beans, Chinese noodles, sunflower seeds, pickle slices, beets… Her inventions weren’t always successful—the chopped anchovies came to mind—but they were usually interesting.

For Ellen’s sake, she chose more conventional makings of cherry tomato, shredded carrots, cucumber and green pepper. Then, because she couldn’t resist, she added crushed pretzels, guessing Ellen would enjoy that.

As she and Ellen set the table with a white cloth and some leftover St. Patrick’s Day napkins, Anne Marie explained who Brandon was and said he’d be coming over for dinner. Ellen seemed a little nervous about meeting him and, perhaps, about sharing their private time together.

There was a knock at the back door just as Anne Marie put the salad in the middle of the table. “That’s Brandon,” she said, walking to the door as Baxter barked excitedly.

Her stepson entered the small apartment, both hands behind his back. With a sweeping gesture, he produced a bottle of her favorite wine and a bouquet of flowers. He kissed Anne Marie on the cheek, then presented the flowers to Ellen. “You must be the lovely Ellen. These are for you,” he said.

Ellen gave Brandon a tentative smile. “I like flowers.”

“Are you going to thank Brandon?” Anne Marie asked.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Ellen.”

Anne Marie found a vase and helped Ellen arrange her bouquet. Then, without being asked, Ellen opened the silverware drawer and counted out what they needed, while Anne Marie got two wineglasses and one for juice. When they sat down to dinner, Ellen said grace.

Brandon’s eyes met Anne Marie’s as he bowed his head, and he murmured “Amen.” Ellen insisted on saying a prayer before all their meals. Her grandmother had taught her that and it always made Anne Marie wonder how the woman’s two daughters, presumably raised the same way, had turned out so badly.

Brandon raved about the casserole. “This is really good.”

“Secret family recipe,” Anne Marie told him with a smirk.

“Will you give it to my grandma?” Ellen asked, scraping up the last of the casserole from her plate.

“If you want me to.”

“I’d like it, too,” Brandon added. “Hey, I’ll give it to one of my girlfriends to make.”

“Hey, make it yourself.”

“Fine,” he laughed. “I will.”

They finished their wine; then Brandon and Ellen cleared the table, while she made a pot of coffee.

“May I go to my room and read?” Ellen asked. She’d just started the Laura Ingalls Wilder series and Anne Marie knew she was eager to return to Little House in the Big Woods.

“Yes, Ellen, you may.”

They watched as Ellen retreated to her bedroom, Baxter close behind. Brandon turned to Anne Marie, leaning casually back in his chair. “You’d make a good mother,” he said thoughtfully.

“Thanks,” she said, but it was a moot point. If she was going to have a child, there had to be a father, and she was nowhere near ready for another relationship. In a few months she’d be thirty-nine and soon after that it would simply be too late. She had no intention of doing what a few women she’d heard of had done—get pregnant via a willing “sperm donor,” a man who would play no role in their babies’ lives.

When the coffee had brewed she filled a mug for Brandon and one for herself before joining him at the table.

“Have you talked to Rebecca yet? My dad’s assistant?” he asked.

He certainly hadn’t delayed in getting to the point, even though she’d explicitly said she’d prefer not to discuss it. Anne Marie let the question slide for a moment as she busied herself with the cream and sugar.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Brandon said with teasing sarcasm.

She sighed, giving up. “The short answer is no. The long answer is I’m not sure I ever will. If she comes forward and acknowledges the child is Robert’s…then I’ll deal with it. Not before.”

“I can understand that,” Brandon said after a long moment. “I want you to know that Mel genuinely regrets what happened.”

Anne Marie shrugged it off. “How is your sister?”

“We talk every now and then. I have to say she seems a lot more serious now. More mature, you know?” He frowned. “When I called her last week, she told me she’s on the outs with Mom.”

That surprised Anne Marie. As far as she knew, Melissa and Pamela were close. Robert’s ex-wife lived in England, where she worked for an international hotel chain. According to Robert, her devotion to her career had led directly to their divorce. Pamela had accepted a position that involved frequent travel, even though Robert had asked her to wait until the children were out of school. She’d refused and left him and their family for months on end.

“What’s wrong between Melissa and her mother?”

Brandon shrugged. “She wouldn’t tell me. When I pressed the issue, she changed the subject. She obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, but she made it sound like she’s busy with school and she probably is.”

“She’s graduating this year, isn’t she?”

Melissa was completing an MBA program; she then planned to follow in her mother’s footsteps, moving into hotel management.

Robert had always been proud of his children, and he’d often said they were the only good thing to come out of his marriage to Pamela.

“Yeah, she should be done in June.”

“Is she still seeing Michael?”

“As far as I know. He’s a good guy. I like him better than any of the other guys my sister’s gone out with. Some of them were…well, put it this way.” He reached for his coffee again. “Melissa’s made some strange choices.”

Before Anne Marie could respond, Ellen stepped into the room, a pad and pencil in her hand. “Is having a goldfish a wish or a goal?”

“Well, it’s a little of both, I’d say.”

“Okay.”

“I thought you were reading,” she said.

Ellen looked down, a tendency she had when she was afraid she might be in trouble. “I was reading, but then I thought of another wish. I want twenty, the same as you.”

“I only have eleven written down so far.”

Ellen nodded. “Can I put dancing in the rain with bare feet on my list, too?”

“Sure.” Anne Marie grinned. “Just remember, there’s no need to rush. Think carefully about each wish.”

“Okay.” Ellen returned to the bedroom, muttering quietly to herself.

That interruption generated a series of questions about Anne Marie’s Twenty Wishes. She didn’t mind Brandon’s interest; in fact she was grateful for the change of subject and explained in detail what she and the other widows were doing.

A half hour later, after Brandon had finished his coffee, he left. It was eight-thirty, time to get Ellen ready for bed.

“Grandma sounded tired when I talked to her this afternoon,” Ellen said, sliding her nightgown over her head, thin arms raised.

“She’ll be tired for a long time. Heart surgery takes a lot out of a person. She’s going to need plenty of rest.”

Ellen seemed distressed by that. “But—”

“You’ll be able to go home to your grandmother soon,” Anne Marie promised quickly. She received daily updates on Dolores’s condition and everything was progressing exactly as it should. In two or at most three weeks, she’d be back in her own home, with a visiting nurse to look in on her. Ellen would be returning to the only stable life she’d ever known.

Pulling back the sheets, Anne Marie tucked the child into bed.

“Can we say our prayers?” Ellen asked sleepily.

“Of course.”

“Should I say the words out loud or should I just say them in my heart?” Ellen murmured. Most nights she’d prayed in silence, mouthing the words as Anne Marie watched.

“What do you usually do with your grandmother?”

“She likes me to say them out loud.”

“Then do it like that,” Anne Marie said. The child’s simple faith touched her, reminding her of a time when she, too, had prayed. Anne Marie couldn’t remember when she’d stopped or why. She’d just…gotten out of the habit, she supposed.

Ellen studied her. “You’re supposed to hold my hands and close your eyes. That’s what Grandma Dolores does.”

“All right.” She clasped Ellen’s hands in hers and shut her eyes.

Apparently she’d satisfied Ellen, because the youngster began to speak. “God, it’s me, Ellen, again.” She prayed for her grandmother and thanked God for her teacher and her friends and went through a long list of subjects, from hoping she’d do well on tomorrow’s spelling test to thanking God for her new green raincoat.

Anne Marie didn’t want to interrupt, but she was the one who’d supplied the coat, not God.

“And thank you most of all for Anne Marie, so I didn’t have to go to a foster home and amen,” Ellen whispered.

“Amen,” Anne Marie echoed. Her knees had started to hurt and she rose awkwardly to her feet. On impulse she bent over and kissed Ellen’s forehead. “Good night, sweetie.”

“Good night.”

About ten, she took Baxter for a five-minute walk, keeping the apartment in sight. When she got back, the phone rang; it was Elise Beaumont. “I wondered when we’d connect,” Anne Marie said after her initial greeting.

“Sorry to call so late.”

“That’s okay.”

“The last couple of times I stopped by the bookstore, you were busy.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to ask how the conversation with Rebecca Gilroy went.”

“Oh.” That question just didn’t seem to go away. “I heard you’re working for Lydia now,” she said instead.

“Don’t try to distract me. Have you spoken to Rebecca?”

Anne Marie didn’t understand why everyone seemed to think it was her responsibility to confront the other woman.

“You have spoken to her, haven’t you?”

“No.” She had good reasons for not contacting the woman who’d been sleeping with her husband—reasons that were no one’s business but her own.

Why would she want to talk to this woman, who’d likely given birth to Robert’s child?

Chapter 15

Anne Marie tossed and turned all that night, and when she got up at seven, she doubted she’d had even two hours’ sleep. Whenever she started to drift off, she’d jerk awake, unable to escape the image of Robert and his assistant together, arms and legs entwined. Anne Marie had only met Rebecca Gilroy a few times but remembered her well. Tall and curvy, auburn-haired and in her twenties. As she struggled to sleep, all she could see was the other woman with her swollen belly. Pregnant.

With Robert’s child.

Ever since the dinner with Melissa, Anne Marie had tried hard to keep busy, not to think, not to dwell on the pain that threatened to swallow her whole. But then it would come back, refusing to leave until she acknowledged it.

No, she wouldn’t confront Rebecca Gilroy. She couldn’t see the purpose of exposing herself to that reality if she could avoid it.

With Baxter on his leash, Anne Marie walked Ellen to the bus stop, where a small group of youngsters waited, her eyes smarting from lack of sleep. She took her dog home and did a few household chores before going down to the bookstore at ten and officially opening it.

Lillie was there at five after. As soon as she saw Anne Marie, she frowned. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Anne Marie said wryly. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Is something wrong?” Lillie asked.

“I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“No, but thanks for offering.” She wasn’t going to discuss this with one more person, even a friend as caring and sympathetic as Lillie.

Anne Marie turned on her computer to do an inventory check while Lillie roamed the shelves. A little while later, she brought an armload of books to the counter; she was a voracious reader and usually purchased hardcovers. Anne Marie could count on Lillie to buy as many as ten books a month. Her most recent selection included a couple of romances. This was a switch; her friend tended to read mysteries and thrillers. Anne Marie added up her purchases, which Lillie paid for with a debit card.

“Have you spoken to Elise lately?” Lillie asked as she slipped her card back into her wallet.

“She called last night.”

“Did she mention her Twenty Wishes?”

Elise and Anne Marie had chatted about a number of things; however no topic had stayed in her mind beyond the first one Elise had brought up. “Not really.”

Lillie shook her head. “We really need to meet again and update one another. I’ve taken action and I know you have, too. Sharing our lists would be an encouragement, don’t you think?”

Anne Marie wasn’t convinced of that, but arguing about it required more energy than she had. Lillie suggested a day and time, and Anne Marie agreed. “We’ll meet at my house next Thursday, the twenty-seventh,” Lillie said, consulting an elegant little calendar she pulled out of her purse.

Anne Marie agreed to that, too.

“Barbie told me you’re looking after a young girl,” Lillie said next. “That’s wonderful!”

Anne Marie was beginning to feel guilty accepting all this praise. The fact was, had there been any other alternative for Ellen, she would’ve been grateful.

“My wishes are coming along nicely,” Lillie said, continuing the conversation. “I’m taking this very seriously, you know. It was exactly what I needed.” She sighed. “I find myself thinking more and more about the things I’d like to do, to experience.” She placed one hand over her heart. “I have a sense of…of expectation that I haven’t felt in years. It’s like I’ve finally given myself permission to do what I want.”

Anne Marie hadn’t felt any of that. Most of her wishes had to do with recovering from Robert’s death. To sing, to laugh, to dance. None of those had come to pass yet and in her current frame of mind, she wasn’t sure they would.

Feeling obliged to say something, she said, “Did I tell you I bought scrapbooking supplies and a binder for my wish list?”

Lillie straightened. “You did, and I like the idea very much. I’ve been planning to do it myself.”

“You should,” Anne Marie urged. She didn’t hold an exclusive on the idea.

“I think we’d all profit from making a Twenty Wishes binder, don’t you?”

Anne Marie nodded with a tired smile.

Lillie left a few minutes later, carrying two large bags, and the day crawled from that point on. Anne Marie could hardly make the effort to smile. She could’ve phoned Theresa to fill in for her but didn’t. Ever since Ellen had come to live with her, she’d called on her three part-time employees again and again. Since her other two were college students, they were in class on and off during the day. She didn’t want to take advantage of Theresa’s kindness, although she would gladly have gone upstairs and crept into bed, craving the oblivion of sleep.

When the school bus dropped Ellen on Blossom Street, the girl dashed into the bookstore, her eyes sparkling. “I got an A on my spelling test!”

Anne Marie tried to show her how pleased she was and wondered if she’d succeeded.

Ellen didn’t seem to notice her exhaustion. “Can I show my grandma?” she asked eagerly.

“I…”

“You said we could visit her again on Tuesday, remember?”

Unfortunately Anne Marie did. “Sure,” she said, taking a deep breath. Too many promises made to Ellen had been broken, and she refused to be guilty of that herself. Robert had promised to take her to Paris one day. And he hadn’t. He’d promised to love her and be faithful. He hadn’t done that, either.

She allowed Ellen to bring Baxter down to the store, and the two of them curled up in one of the big chairs. Ellen spelled each of the words from her test for the Yorkie, who appeared to listen intently.

At four Steve Handley arrived. He usually worked from four to six Monday to Wednesday and four to eight on Thursday and Friday. He often closed for her, and Anne Marie trusted him implicitly.

As soon as she’d handed everything over to Steve, she, Ellen and Baxter retreated to the apartment. Not up to making dinner, Anne Marie heated yesterday’s leftover casserole for Ellen, adding an apple and a store-bought oatmeal cookie. Her own appetite was nonexistent.

The child ate silently, then placed her dishes in the sink.

“Are you ready to go?” Anne Marie asked.

Ellen turned to face her, eyes wide and hopeful. “I can visit Grandma Dolores?”

“You certainly can.” God would bless her for this, Anne Marie told herself.

Ellen raced into her room and hurried back with her spelling test clutched in one hand. All the way to the hospital Ellen talked excitedly, about Baxter’s progress with his new tricks and how she’d almost spelled puzzle with one z and a hundred other things she planned to tell Dolores. Anne Marie felt wretched. She’d been so consumed by her own troubles that she’d failed to realize how desperately the child missed her grandmother.

Ellen needed reassurance that Dolores was on the mend and that everything would soon return to normal. Anne Marie wasn’t the only one whose life had been disrupted. The child must feel so lost and adrift without her grandmother’s love and guidance.

Anne Marie had kept in touch with Dolores Falk by phone, and she’d called the hospital every day for information on the older woman’s condition. Dolores was improving at a steady rate. The last time she’d spoken with the head nurse, Anne Marie had learned that Dolores would be transferred from the hospital to a nursing facility for at least a week before she went home.

Anne Marie was fortunate enough to find a parking space on the street and decided to view that as a reward for thinking of Ellen’s needs rather than her own. Holding the child’s hand, she walked briskly toward the hospital’s main entrance.

“Will Grandma be able to talk more?” Ellen asked.

On their first visit the previous Saturday Dolores had a tube in her throat that prevented her from speaking in anything other than a hoarse whisper. “The tube’s out, so she should be able to talk normally again,” Anne Marie explained.

Dolores had slept through most of that visit, and afterward Ellen had seemed quieter than usual. The contrast between the child who’d listened to the Irish singers and the child who’d walked out of the hospital later that afternoon was striking. Anne Marie had tried to tell her that Dolores was doing well, but all Ellen saw was a very sick woman.

“Your grandmother’s going to be so proud of you for getting an A,” Anne Marie told her now.

“I know,” Ellen said solemnly.

They passed the gift shop.

“Should we bring her flowers again?” Ellen asked, looking at the floral arrangements displayed in the window.

“I’m sure the ones we brought on Saturday are still fresh.” After the concert on Saturday, they’d purchased white tulips and yellow daffodils from Susannah’s Garden, the flower shop next to the bookstore. Dolores had hardly seemed aware of the bouquet, which, given the circumstances, was understandable.

They walked directly to the elevator and Ellen pushed the button for the fifth floor, which was reserved for surgical patients. The doors opened in front of the nurses’ station.

When they entered the room, Dolores was sitting up in bed, watching the television mounted on the wall. The flowers in their vase rested on the stand beside her bed. Although the room was a semi-private, she was the only patient. The moment she saw Ellen, Dolores’s expression changed to one of rapture. “Oh, my little Ellen, my little love.”

“Grandma! Grandma!” Ellen rushed toward the hospital bed with such enthusiasm she bounded into the mattress.

“Oh, Ellen, it’s so good to see you.” Dolores turned off the TV, focusing on her visitors, and held out both arms.

Anne Marie lifted Ellen up for a moment so she could gently hug her grandmother. She was moved almost to tears by the deep affection between them. This was love in its purest form. A child and her grandmother.

“I got an A on my spelling test,” Ellen said, thrusting the paper at Dolores.

“Oh, Ellen! I’m so pleased.”

“She studied hard,” Anne Marie said.

“This was all the spelling words since Christmas, too.”

“All the words?” Dolores’s eyes widened with appreciation.

“Yup, and Stevie Logue and me were the only kids who got an A.”

“That’s excellent, honey.” Dolores reached for her pitcher of water. “Ellen,” she said, “could you do me a favor? Would you please go to the nurses’ station and ask if I can have some more ice?”

The little girl nodded and took the pitcher, obviously gratified to be performing this important task for her grandmother.

“How’s she doing?” Dolores asked urgently.

Anne Marie smiled at her. “Really well.”

“I knew I could trust you,” Dolores said as tears filled her eyes. “I hadn’t even met you, but I knew you were the one from everything Ellen had to say about you.”

“I’m happy to help.” Anne Marie discovered this was the truth, that it had become the truth.

“Ellen likes you.”

“I like her, too.”

“If anything happens to me…” Dolores continued, leaning forward to clasp Anne Marie’s arm.

Shock bolted through her. “You haven’t had bad news, have you?” Surely the medical staff would’ve told her if that was the case. Still, she wasn’t family, and she didn’t know how liberal the hospital’s policies were in regard to non-relatives.

“No, no, I’m doing well, according to the doctor,” Dolores said.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Anne Marie couldn’t hide her relief.

“But I’m not a new dishwasher.” Dolores smiled, releasing her grip on Anne Marie. “That’s what the young woman who operated on me said. I don’t come with a guarantee that all my parts are going to work perfectly for the next five years.”

“Of course not. No one does.”

“But…I feel better than I have in months.”

That definitely boded well.

“Still,” Dolores said thoughtfully, “one never knows.”

Anne Marie swallowed. She wondered if Robert had any premonition when he woke up that it would be the last day of his life. She wondered if he’d experienced any warning signs. Had there been any pain? Nausea? Tingling in his fingertips? Had his left arm ached? Did he assume the pressure in his chest was just heartburn? If she’d been living with him at the time, would she have recognized what was happening and been able to help?

Anne Marie didn’t have the answers to any of those questions and they would forever haunt her.

“One never knows,” she echoed bleakly.

“I gave birth to two daughters,” Dolores told her.

“I know.”

“I tried to be a good mother after their father left me.”

“I know,” Anne Marie said again.

Once more there were tears in the older woman’s eyes. “I have no idea where I failed and there’s no going back. Candace and Clarisse,” she whispered. “Such beautiful girls. And now…”