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“Oh—of course.” She stepped aside to let him in as Ellen held the screen door, not hiding her delight.
Two
April 22
Mom says I’ll get used to my new house, but I won’t. I keep telling her I like it right here on Blossom Street. Lydia said I’d have a big room all to myself and a closet, and that I’ll make new friends. But I like my old friends. I don’t want new ones. Baxter doesn’t want to move, either. I told my dad I’d rather stay here and he said I might not like the new house now but I will later. He said I’d still have my friends on Blossom Street. Mom said that, too…. I’m not sure she really wants to move, either, because she’s been knitting a lot and she knits real slow when she’s worried about something. She doesn’t think I pay attention but I do.
Tim decided he shouldn’t have come to the house—not yet. Ellen had said Anne Marie was signing the final papers that day, so it was probably too soon. In their visit the previous weekend, he’d spent a lot of time reassuring his daughter that the move would be a good thing. He wondered how successful he’d been.
More than anything, Tim wanted to help Ellen make a comfortable transition to her new neighborhood. He’d picked up a plant for the yard, which he’d set on the porch. But the housewarming gift was just an excuse, and Anne Marie had seen through it right away.
Anne Marie.
He’d blown it with her, handled the situation between them poorly. His AA sponsor had repeatedly emphasized the importance of honesty, but Tim had been afraid that if he told Anne Marie he was engaged to Vanessa, she wouldn’t let him see Ellen. Because his daughter meant everything to him, Tim had been afraid to take that risk. He’d have had to be blind not to see that Anne Marie was falling for him but he hadn’t acknowledged it. Instead, he’d delayed telling her the truth, which was a passive—and dishonest—way of encouraging her.
Knowing her better now, Tim understood that Anne Marie would never have used the fact that he was involved with someone else as a pretext for keeping his daughter away from him. The irony was that his engagement hadn’t lasted very long once Ellen—and Anne Marie—became part of his life.
Tim could hardly bear to think of his troubled past, his wasted years. Thank God for his family’s support. It’d been an act of tough love for his parents to step back and allow him to self-destruct. As a parent himself, he knew that couldn’t have been easy. But when he’d finally hit bottom, his family had been there, waiting. His mother and father were the first ones to offer him guidance and practical help.
They’d gotten him into a rehab center and from that moment on he hadn’t looked back. He’d been sober ten years now. It was while he was trying to make restitution to the people he’d hurt that he learned he might have a child.
The discovery had shocked him, thrown him into a tailspin. That day was the closest he’d come in all those years to taking a drink.
Just after he’d entered rehab, Candy, the woman he’d been living with, had attempted to contact him. He’d ignored her phone calls once he became aware of them. He wasn’t permitted to receive any outside calls while in rehab; the only reason he even knew she’d tried to reach him was the multiple messages she’d left on his cell phone. When he got his cell back, he deleted each one without listening. Candy belonged to his old life and he was starting fresh.
Later, she’d written him, but Tim wanted nothing to do with her, so he’d tossed out the letter, unopened and unread.
Not once did he suspect she might be pregnant.
Nine years later … he’d sought out Candy’s mother to repay the money they’d stolen from her in order to buy booze and drugs. Back then, all Candy and Tim could think about was the next hit, the next drink. Time melded together, hours, days, weeks. Often he didn’t know or care where he was or who he was with, as long as he could get drunk or high.
After rehab, Tim had wanted to repay the old woman and apologize. If he was ever going to become the man he hoped to be, that meant restitution. So he went to see Candy’s mother. What he found was the house empty and listed for sale. The next-door neighbor told him Dolores had recently passed away.
Then she’d added that the granddaughter Dolores had been raising had gone to live with a woman called Anne Marie.
A granddaughter, aged nine.
A chill had gone through Tim at those words. The timing was too coincidental to discount. That very minute he’d known. This granddaughter, this little girl, was his little girl.
His daughter.
Tim hadn’t slept that night or the following one. Thankfully, the neighbor knew Anne Marie’s full name, and after a couple of days to sort out his feelings and consider his options, he’d contacted her at the bookstore.
At first Anne Marie assumed Tim wanted to take Ellen away from her. The thought had actually crossed his mind. Ellen was his flesh and blood, so he should be the one to raise her. But he’d consulted an attorney and discovered he had no legal rights where Ellen was concerned.
Candy had signed away her parental rights, and the grandmother had stepped in. More shocking yet, Tim learned he wasn’t even named on the birth certificate. After the old lady’s death, Ellen became a ward of the state; when Anne Marie adopted her, he lost any chance of raising her, although a blood test proved that she was indeed his child.
It’d taken weeks of gently, carefully, proving himself to Anne Marie before she allowed him into their lives. The funny, wonderful part was that Ellen seemed to recognize almost from the first that he was her father. In fact, before he could tell her, she asked him outright.
He’d been so tongue-tied he hadn’t been able to answer.
“I knew it,” she’d said, and smiled happily. He’d nearly dissolved into tears. So much for being manly and in control of his emotions.
That night Ellen showed him her list of twenty wishes. She explained that Anne Marie and her widowed friends had each made a list, so she had, too. One of her wishes was to meet her father, and now she had. She’d thrown her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.
From then on, Tim’s relationship with Vanessa had gone steadily downhill. He realized it must’ve been hard on her to see him develop a relationship, no matter how innocent, with another woman. His sponsor had advised him to tell Anne Marie about Vanessa. He’d tried a couple of times and then, coward that he was, kept his trap shut. He couldn’t lose Ellen. By then he was completely captivated by his daughter and refused to take the risk.
Then Vanessa had gotten drunk. After three years of sobriety, this awkward situation with Anne Marie had proved to be too much for her. Vanessa’s second slip followed shortly thereafter, when Ellen broke her arm. Tim could see where this was going. Vanessa couldn’t deal with such a complex relationship. That second slip was compounded by a third.
Tim broke off the relationship entirely, and frankly, he was glad he’d done it. Once he’d made that decision, he made another. He wanted to get involved with Anne Marie—only he was too late. By then she’d started dating Mel and was no longer interested in him.
He couldn’t blame her.
Tim had met Mel a number of times and clearly the older man considered him competition. If that was the case, Tim didn’t see it. Anne Marie was always polite but distant; whatever chance he’d had with her was over.
“You brought us a gift?” Ellen asked, looking eagerly around.
“Ellen.” Anne Marie chastised her softly.
“It’s a plant,” Tim said. “On the porch.”
“Thank you.”
He heard the reserve in Anne Marie’s voice. He stuck his hands in his pockets and was about to make his excuses and leave when Ellen asked, “Do you want to see the house? I gave Mel a tour. I can give you one, too.”
Tim looked at Anne Marie, seeking her approval before he agreed. She nodded slightly.
“I’d like that very much.”
His daughter closed the screen door behind him.
He trailed her into the living room and stopped when he saw Mel standing there, arms crossed. The other man didn’t need to say anything to convey the fact that he wasn’t keen on Tim’s presence at the house.
“Hello, Mel,” he said. He offered his hand, and Mel accepted.
“Good to see you again,” Tim said, although that was an exaggeration.
“You, too.” Mel’s returning comment lacked sincerity, at least in Tim’s opinion.
“This way, Daddy,” Ellen said, grabbing his hand. “I want to show you my bedroom.”
Tim followed his daughter to one of the closed doors. Ellen opened it and spread her arms wide. “See how big my room is?”
He stood with his hands on his hips. “Where do you want your bed?” he asked, relieved that she seemed more enthusiastic about the house.
“By the window.”
Clearly she’d given the matter some thought.
“Then I can stand on it and watch Baxter play in the yard.”
“Good idea.”
“And my dresser will go over here.” She bounded to the far side of the room to show him.
“Where are you going to put all your books?” The ten-year-old had more books than any kid he knew, which made sense since Anne Marie owned a bookstore.
“Mom’s buying me my own bookcase and I want to keep it over there.” She pointed at the wall across from the window.
Ellen was a bright child who loved to read; he was pleased she enjoyed books as much as he did. Tim had been a voracious reader from the time he was old enough to hold one in his hands. That wasn’t the only interest he shared with his daughter and Anne Marie. They all seemed to love playing board games and being around the water, to name two.
He and Ellen spoke for a few more minutes and Tim knew he should leave. As it was, he’d trespassed on Mel’s time with her and Anne Marie.
“So when’s the big moving day?” he asked once he’d joined the others.
“Tomorrow,” Anne Marie said.
“Need help?”
“Not really.”
He doubted she’d be interested in any assistance from him but had wanted to ask, just in case.
“A big truck is coming for the furniture,” Ellen said, “but all our friends from Blossom Street are helping us move the boxes.”
“I’ve got muscles.” Tim bent his elbow and flexed his biceps. “See? I can lift boxes, too. Many hands make for a lighter load,” he said, misquoting a saying he didn’t quite remember. “Or something like that.”
“Can Dad help us move?” Ellen asked excitedly.
“I don’t think so, Pumpkin,” Mel answered.
Tim recognized the other man’s mistake even before Mel did. Mel apparently hadn’t realized that Anne Marie didn’t like anyone else speaking for her.
Which was no doubt why she’d changed her mind about allowing him to be involved.
“The more helpers we have, the less work,” she said.
“I’ll be here,” Mel said, as if that would make all the difference.
Anne Marie ignored his remark. “If you’re available, Tim, Ellen and I gladly accept your offer,” she said. “Thank you.”
“Just tell me what time and I’ll be there.” He resisted the urge to gloat. It would be poor sportsmanship, so he didn’t, but he certainly felt like it.
Mel narrowed his eyes. “What might be more helpful is if you took Ellen for the day,” he suggested. “She’ll get in the way—”
“I want to be with my friends,” Ellen protested, interrupting him.
“I want Ellen with me,” Anne Marie said emphatically.
“What about Baxter?” Mel asked, a bit irritated now. “Surely you don’t want the dog underfoot? Maybe Tim could take him.”
“I’ve already arranged for someone to look after Baxter.” Anne Marie obviously wasn’t pleased with the way Mel had taken control. Tim hadn’t known her long but he was well aware of her capable nature—and her independence.
“I should’ve known you’d be on top of things,” Mel said, apparently trying to make amends, although his compliment sounded grudging.
An awkward silence stretched between them. Ready to leave, Tim reached inside his pants pocket for his car keys. “I’d better get back to the office before my dad wonders where I am.” Tim worked as a broker at his father’s insurance agency.
“Yes, good idea,” Mel said.
“Mel,” Anne Marie whispered.
Taking the hint, Mel stepped forward. “It’s time I left, as well.”
Anne Marie and Ellen walked them both to the door. “Thank you for lunch, Mel. That was a special treat.”
“Thank you,” Ellen echoed.
“Would you like to take the leftovers home?” Anne Marie asked.
“No, you and Ellen keep them.” Then, with a sideways look at Tim, Mel announced, “Ellen’s favorite is chicken chow mein with crispy noodles.”
So that was how it was going to be. Mel was telling Tim he knew more about his daughter than Tim did. Tim felt his anger rise, but before he could respond, he inhaled a deep, calming breath and let the comment pass.
“Thank you, Tim, for the rhododendron,” Anne Marie said next. “I’ll plant it right away.”
“I’ll plant it for you,” Mel said.
Apparently, Mel was a slow learner, Tim thought. By now he should know better than to leap in and answer for Anne Marie.
He could predict her response.
“No, thank you, Mel. I’ll do it.” Anne Marie cast them both a warning look.
“Bye, Daddy. Bye, Punky,” Ellen said.
Mel’s face lit up triumphantly. He turned and started toward his car. Tim had parked behind him.
“She calls me Punky,” he said as they headed down the driveway together.
“Punky,” Tim repeated, suppressing a laugh. “Where did she come up with that?”
Mel shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
Not to be outdone, Tim said, “Ellen has a special name for me, too.”
“Oh?” Mel didn’t look as though he believed him.
“She calls me Daddy.”
