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9. Attend a Broadway musical and learn all the songs by heart
She was considering a line dancing class, which was a wish she’d erased earlier. The St. Patrick’s Day performance had inspired her interest in dancing again.
“The wishes don’t need to be practical,” Anne Marie went on to explain. “That’s why they’re called wishes instead of resolutions or goals.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t necessarily expect them all to happen.”
“If you don’t expect them to happen,” Ellen asked, regarding her quizzically, “then why are you writing them down?”
“Because they’re wishes,” Anne Marie said. Finding a pen, she added a wish she’d erased two or three times.
10. Travel to Paris with someone I love
That encompassed the essence of what she sought—love, adventure, new experiences.
Ellen stared down at the recently entered wish. “Can anyone make a list like this?”
“Of course.” Anne Marie set the timer on the oven. They’d gotten into a routine, the two of them, during the past five days. It felt as if Ellen had been with her much longer. One obvious difference in her life was that Anne Marie now regularly cooked dinner.
Ever since she’d started living alone, she’d fallen into the habit of grabbing something quick and easy or skipping dinner altogether, which she could ill afford to do. But Ellen needed regular nutritious meals and a daily structure. With everything else in the girl’s life in upheaval, Anne Marie could at least offer her that.
The phone rang and Anne Marie picked it up immediately before Call Display could even register the number. She was expecting to hear from Elise, whom she’d been trying to reach all afternoon. “Hello.” She figured Elise wanted to share her news, which Anne Marie had already heard via the neighborhood grapevine. Elise had taken a part-time job working for Lydia at A Good Yarn.
“Anne Marie, it’s Brandon.”
“Brandon! It’s great to hear from you,” she said with genuine pleasure.
“I’ve been meaning to call you for a couple of weeks,” he went on. “Melissa told me what she did. I can’t believe my sister sometimes. And as for my father…”
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.” That was mostly true.
“You’re sure?” Brandon pressed. “To be fair to Melissa, I doubt she realized how hard you’d take that business about Dad. And she was pretty devastated herself.”
“Really, it’s okay,” Anne Marie lied, brushing off his concern. The last thing she wanted was to talk about her husband’s indiscretion—or even think about it. She felt a rush of pain whenever she remembered and constantly guarded herself against the image of Robert with Rebecca. In his office, on the couch…
“You’re sure?” he asked again. He didn’t seem convinced.
“Yes. Positive.” As much as possible she made light of the incident.
Her stepson hesitated a moment, then blurted out, “Let me take you to dinner tonight. I know it’s short notice, but we could talk and—”
“I can’t.” She hoped he’d take her at her word, not force her to explain.
“Why not?” Brandon’s voice fell with disappointment.
“I have a visitor.”
Her announcement was met with a short silence. “Anne Marie, are you seeing someone?” he asked somberly.
“No, of course not!” The question amused her. “Melissa asked me the same thing.”
“Of course not? Why say it like that? You’re young and beautiful and—”
“I’m with a…friend.”
“Ah, the mystery intensifies.”
“It’s not a mystery,” she said, smiling at his teasing banter. “It’s Ellen. She’s eight and she’s living with me for the next week or two.”
“You have an eight-year-old living with you? Is she a relative of yours?”
“No, I met her through a nearby school—the Lunch Buddies program. Why don’t you join us?” she said impulsively. “I just put a casserole in the oven and it won’t be ready for another forty minutes.”
“You made dinner?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. I did a lot of cooking in my time.”
“Okay, I’d like that. Thanks. Give me a few minutes to finish up here and I’ll drive straight over. You’re still living above the bookstore, right?”
“For now.” She really did hope to purchase a house, and soon. Spring, especially May and June, were the best months to look. As soon as Ellen was back with her grandmother, Anne Marie had every intention of beginning her search.
“Brandon, one thing…Melissa’s and my conversation…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to discuss it, all right?”
He hesitated. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” she told him, keeping her voice firm.
Anne Marie hung up the phone and turned around to discover Ellen perched on a chair at the kitchen table, staring blankly into space. She had the end of a pencil clamped between her teeth.
“Are you doing your homework?” Anne Marie asked.
Ellen shook her head. “I’m making a list of Twenty Wishes.”
“Oh, really?”
Ellen nodded. “Do you want to hear what I have so far?”
“I would.” Anne Marie pulled out the chair next to her and sat down.
“One,” Ellen announced with great formality. “Plant a garden.”
“What kind of garden?”
“Flowers,” Ellen said. “I read the book you gave me about that garden, remember?”
Anne Marie smiled approvingly. Of course. On Sunday she’d given her a copy of the Edwardian children’s classic, The Secret Garden. Ellen was an advanced reader and had no difficulty with comprehension. Occasionally she’d asked about the meaning of a word. She’d loved the idea of the walled garden, hidden from the world, and had instantly identified with the story’s orphaned young heroine.
“Is there any other kind of garden than flowers?”
“Vegetables.”
“You can grow tomatoes?” Ellen asked in an excited voice. “I like tomatoes a lot, especially when they’re warm from the sun. I like them with salt.”
Anne Marie looked at her curiously. “Did you ever have a garden before?”
Ellen lowered her gaze. “No… Grandma Dolores told me about warm tomatoes with salt. I’ve never had one but I know they’d be really good because my grandma said so.”
“I like tomatoes, too.” Anne Marie closed her eyes at the memory of working in her garden at the house she and Robert had owned. The smell of earth, the sun warm on her back… “Last summer I grew tomatoes right here, on my balcony.”
The child seemed thoroughly confused by that.
“It was a container garden because I didn’t have anywhere to plant an actual garden.”
“What about corn?”
“That might be a challenge, but I’ll check into it. If you like, we can plant seeds in egg cartons and then once your grandmother’s home again, I’ll help you clear a small space in her yard for your very own garden.”
“Really?” The girl’s face shone with uncomplicated joy. “A garden,” she breathed.
“Anything else on your list?”
Ellen nodded. “I want to bake cookies with Grandma Dolores.” “I bet she’d like that.”
“She always said we could, but then she’d get tired or she wouldn’t be feeling well and we never got to do it.”
Anne Marie slipped her arm around Ellen’s shoulders. “When your grandmother’s back from the hospital, she’ll be feeling much better and have a lot more energy, and I’m sure she’ll want to bake cookies with you then.”
“Oatmeal and raisin are my favorites.” Ellen set the pencil down. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”
“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.”
