Twenty Wishes

“My pleasure.”

  They sat in the car, and he seemed as reluctant to move as she was.

  “I should get back to work,” Hector finally said.

  “Yes, of course.”

  His hand was on the door handle. “It isn’t every day I get to ride with such a beautiful woman,” he said with quiet gallantry. He climbed out and gently closed the door. His eyes avoided hers. “Goodbye, Lillie.”

  “Goodbye, Hector.”

  He was a service manager for a car dealership and she was a wealthy widow. She accepted that their paths would likely never cross again. Despite that, she could do him one good turn. When she got home, Lillie phoned the dealership, leaving a message for the owner, Steve Sullivan. She praised Hector’s efforts on her behalf and stressed to Steve that he had an outstanding employee.

  That way, at least, she could play a small, if benevolent, role in Hector’s life.

  It wasn’t enough but it would have to do.

  Chapter 9

  Monday evening, Barbie showed up at the theater a little later than she had the previous week. Tessa Bassett was selling tickets again, and when she saw Barbie, her face lit up.

  “Should I recommend another movie?” the girl asked cheerfully.

  “Please do.” The ill-tempered Mark Bassett was the sole reason Barbie had come back. In the last week she’d spent a lot of time thinking about him. She felt strangely invigorated by the challenge he offered, but it was more than that. She was attracted to him, not only because of his looks but because she saw in him the same loneliness she’d experienced since her husband’s death. Once she made it past the barrier he’d erected against the world, perhaps they could be friends. Perhaps even more. The fact that he was physically disabled didn’t bother her, nor did she find it especially daunting. She knew it didn’t define or describe the person inside, any more than her appearance did.

  Tessa mentioned a movie Barbie had never heard of and handed her the ticket, as well as her change.

  “You’re sure this is a good movie?” Barbie asked.

  Tessa’s eyes held hers. “It’s the perfect movie.”

  Barbie was willing to take the girl’s word for it. In the theater lobby, she once again purchased a small bag of popcorn and a cold soda, then walked into the dimly lit theater.

  She saw that Mark was already in one of the wheelchair spaces. Tessa had been right; this was the perfect movie.

  Without hesitation, Barbie moved around the back and entered the row from the opposite direction. She sat down, leaving one empty seat between her and Mark.

  The instant she did, he turned to glare at her. “This space is reserved for wheelchair seating.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said as she crossed her legs. She started to eat her popcorn as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Feeling both silly and daring, she tossed a kernel in the air and caught it in her mouth. Proud of herself, she grinned triumphantly at Mark.

  Clearly he wasn’t impressed with her dexterity. “Would you kindly move?”

  His voice was even less friendly than it had been the last time.

  “I have every right to sit here should I choose to do so,” she returned formally. She held out her bag of popcorn. “Here,” she said.

  He frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m offering you some of my popcorn.”

  “What makes you think I want your popcorn?”

  “You’re cranky. My boys get cranky when they’re hungry, so I figured that might be your problem.”

  He looked pointedly away.

  “If you’re not interested, the proper response is no, thank you.”

  He ignored that, and Barbie munched her popcorn, swaying her leg back and forth.

  “Stop that.”

  “What?”

  “Swinging your leg like a pendulum.”

  She crossed the opposite leg and swung it, instead.

  Mark groaned.

  The theater darkened, and the previews appeared on the screen. Barbie finished the small bag of popcorn. Her hands were greasy, but in her rush to get into the theater she’d forgotten to pick up a napkin. She’d also forgotten to replace the tissues she kept in her purse. She stood up to go back to the lobby. Rather than march all the way down the row, she leaned over to nudge Mark.

  “Excuse me.”

  “You’re leaving?” He actually seemed pleased.

  “No, I need a napkin. Can I get you anything while I’m up?”

  “No,” he muttered.

  She sighed audibly. “Are you always this rude or is it just me you don’t like?”

  “It’s you.”

  She refused to feel insulted; instead she interpreted his response as an admission that he was aware of her. Aware and interested.

  “You act as if that pleases you,” he said, sounding surprised.

  “Well, it doesn’t hurt my feelings if that was your intent. Now, can I get by? Please?”

  With exaggerated effort, he rolled back his wheelchair, allowing her to exit the row.

  Barbie pushed the sleeve of her soft cashmere sweater up her arm and hung her purse over her shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she told him. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Don’t hurry on my account.”

  “I won’t.”

  When she entered the lobby again, she saw that Tessa was working behind the concession stand. The girl looked curiously in her direction and Barbie nodded. She grabbed some napkins to wipe her hands, then walked over to wait her turn. She made an impulsive purchase, smiling as she did.

  “How’s it going?” Tessa asked, handing her the change.

  “He wants me to leave.”

  Tessa seemed worried. “You’re not going to, are you?”

  Barbie shook her head. “Not on your life.”

  Tessa nearly rubbed her hands together with glee. “This is so cool.”

  “What is?”

  The teenager shrugged. “Well, you know. You and my uncle Mark. He needs someone in his life. He doesn’t think so, but…well, it’d just be so cool if that someone was you.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up, Tessa.” Barbie felt obliged to warn her. “I’d better get back. The movie’s about to start.”

  “Don’t let him give you any crap,” the girl advised. “Oops, I mean attitude.”

  Barbie grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

  Attitude was the right word, she mused as she made her way into the theater. It wasn’t hard to figure out that his surliness was an attempt to protect himself from pain and rejection. If there was one thing she knew about, it was dealing with the insecurities of the adolescent male. And if she had her guess, he’d reverted to that kind of negative behavior after his accident. Beneath all the hostility, he was as lonely and lost as she was.

  The film was just beginning as she reached their row. She stood in the aisle, waiting for him to roll his chair back.

  “Excuse me,” she said when he pretended not to notice. “I’d like to sit down.”

  “Must you?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Yes, I must.” Taking the initiative, she raised her leg and attempted to climb over his lap. He got the message fast enough when she presented him with an excellent view of her rear. He shot back with enough force to bolt into the empty space two rows back.

  Barbie reclaimed her seat, then tossed him a chocolate bar. “Oh, here,” she said. “I thought this might sweeten your disposition.”

  He tossed it back. “My disposition is as good as it gets. Chocolate isn’t going to change it.”

  “Fine. I’ll eat it then.”

  From that point on, she ignored him and he ignored her.

  The movie, another romantic comedy, was delightful and Barbie quickly got involved in the plot. She and Mark didn’t exchange a word until the credits were rolling and the lights came back on.

  “That was really good,” she said to no one in particular.

  “It was sappy,” Mark muttered.

&nbs
p; “Naturally you’d say that,” she protested. “Don’t you believe in the power of love?”

  “No.”

  So why had he chosen this movie? “Well, I happen to believe in it,” she told him.

  “Good for you.” He wheeled back and started out of the theater, with Barbie keeping pace five steps behind him. Tessa, still at the concession stand, glanced at her eagerly. She gave the teenager another thumbs-up, and the girl returned a huge grin.

  Just outside the complex, he unexpectedly wheeled around and confronted her. “Are you going to make a habit of this?” he demanded. The corners of his mouth curled scornfully.

  “Of what?” she asked, playing dumb.

  “Monday night at the movies. The only reason you’re here is to irritate me.”

  “I didn’t realize I had to pay money to do that. Couldn’t I just sit out here and do it for free?”

  He pinched his lips tightly closed.

  “I enjoy the movies and Monday’s a good night for me.”

  “Come another night,” he said.

  “I don’t want to.”

  Frustration showed in his face. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?” she asked, again feigning innocence. “You mean coming to the movies two weeks in a row on a Monday night?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, like I said, Monday evenings are good for me and movies are my favorite form of entertainment.”

  One look told her he didn’t believe a word of it. “Then how come you picked the same movies I did?”

  She tried to pretend she was bored with the subject. “If memory serves me, I was seated first last week. You’re the one who invaded my space.”

  He frowned as if he’d forgotten that. “Maybe so, but this week was no accident.”

  “You seem to have an inflated opinion of your charms.” His mouth opened and he seemed about to launch a comeback, but she didn’t give him a chance. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home. Good night, Mark.”

  He frowned. “How do you know my name?”

  “I asked. I’m Barbie, by the way. Barbie Foster.”

  “Barbie,” he repeated and snickered. Then he laughed outright. “Barbie. It figures. You’re about as plastic as they come.”

  “And you’re about as rude as any man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”

  “Then stay away from me and we’ll both be happy.”

  “Maybe,” she said flippantly as she reached for her car keys, buried deep inside her giant purse. “And maybe not. I haven’t decided yet.” She left him then, with a decided sway to her hips. It was an image she hoped would stay with him for a long time.

  Chapter 10

  Tuesday was a good sales day at the bookstore, which wasn’t typical. Anne Marie had worked out a careful method of maintaining inventory, balancing the number of mainstay and classic books she kept on the shelf with the new ones. It was crucial to have a wide range of titles. Relatively new to the business, she was learning as she went. Past experience had come from a part-time job at the University of Washington campus bookstore. Her previous career, as a customer service rep at a national insurance company, had taught her some valuable skills, too—but she hadn’t loved it and was glad enough to give it up, at Robert’s suggestion, to work in the bookstore, with an eye to eventually buying it.

  The store was independent and needed an edge to compete with the large chains. Each bookstore, whether a chain store or an independent, was important in its own way. Blossom Street Books served the community. Over the past four years, since the renovations to the entire neighborhood, the store had developed a following and earned the loyalty of local residents. Anne Marie hadn’t wanted to specialize, like some independents did, in mystery fiction or cookbooks or children’s books; she preferred to meet all her customers’ book-buying needs. She ordered books for them, ran several reading groups, offered competitive discounts on bestsellers and provided a cozy, intimate atmosphere. She’d made the store as inviting as possible, with comfortable chairs, a gas fireplace and warm lighting.

  Her clientele depended on Anne Marie for recommendations and updates on authors and publishing houses. She’d managed the store before she bought it, to make sure she really wanted to take on her own business, and in the process familiarized herself with the industry.

  Even as a child, Anne Marie had been an inveterate reader. She’d found her adventures in the pages of a book. Never outgoing, or one to stand out in a crowd, she’d been her husband’s opposite in personality. Robert had been gregarious and sociable, and they’d complemented each other well. He was fun to be around, and that had attracted her from the beginning. Their age difference had never concerned her because he didn’t seem older. Except when it came to having another child…

  Rather than sink into depression again, Anne Marie focused on creating a fresh display for the front table. Bookstores were a low-margin business, and the real profits came from notecards, stationery, games and other accessories. She was working on a St. Patrick’s Day exhibit, featuring books like How the Irish Saved Civilization and fiction by Maeve Binchy, Marian Keyes, Edna O’Brien and other popular Irish novelists. Around the books she arranged packages of greeting cards with shamrocks on them, green candles and St. Patrick’s themed paper napkins. She stepped back, pleased with the result.

  The previous owner, Adele Morris, had a bookstore in the Fremont neighborhood, and when there was an opportunity for a second store on Blossom Street, Adele took it. Because of the renovation, she’d been offered a favorable rent and for the first couple of years she’d divided her time between the two stores. That proved to be too difficult, and Anne Marie had joined as manager soon afterward; later she purchased the business with Robert’s encouragement. In her husband’s eyes, the bookstore, like Baxter, was a solution to their dilemma. If Anne Marie was preoccupied with the store, she might forget about having a baby.

  At one-thirty Theresa came in and for an instant Anne Marie couldn’t remember why she’d shown up for work on a Tuesday.

  “Ellen!” She said the child’s name aloud as the memory rushed in. She was supposed to be at the school for Ellen’s performance.

  Theresa nodded. “You told me your Lunch Buddy was in some function at the school that you wanted to attend.”

  “Right.” Rushing into the office, she grabbed her purse and threw on her jacket. She gave Theresa some last-minute instructions for her meeting with the children’s book sales rep. Then she hurriedly left the shop via the back entrance, where she’d parked her car.

  Thankfully the school was relatively close, and it only took her ten minutes to drive there. But when she arrived she discovered that the parking lot and nearby streets were jammed with vehicles and she wondered if every parent in a three-state area had decided to come for the performance. After another ten minutes she located a parking space three blocks from the school. She locked the car and ran toward Woodrow Wilson Elementary.

  The music had already started by the time she entered the large gymnasium, sweaty and out of breath. The place was packed with parents and students, and if there was an available seat she couldn’t find it.

  Every adult in the room seemed to be in possession of a camera. Anne Marie hadn’t even thought to bring one and wanted to kick herself. Ellen’s grandmother would’ve appreciated a photograph of her granddaughter on stage.

  Muttering her excuses, Anne Marie slipped past several people until she squeezed herself into a tight space where she had a good view. Sure enough, she could see Ellen standing on a riser with the other members of the chorus. She wore her Sunday best—a dress one size too small and white patent leather shoes. The stage set consisted of two large painted trees and a castle. The artwork had apparently been done by the students, as well. If she’d been told the name of the production, Anne Marie didn’t remember. Clearly, though, it was the retelling of some classic fairy tale.

  Anne Marie watched Ellen, who looked awkward and uncomfortable sta
nding front row center, with two rows of children behind her.

  As if she felt Anne Marie’s eyes on her, Ellen glanced in her direction. When she saw Anne Marie, the girl’s entire face was transformed by the beauty of her smile. Seeing how happy her presence had made Ellen, Anne Marie was glad she’d taken the trouble to show up. She sent the girl a small wave. Ellen waved back.

  The music died down as the singing director stepped in front of the choir and raised both hands. The children on the risers instantly came to attention.

  The performance, which turned out to be a rather inventive version of “Snow White,” lasted forty minutes. No one was going to mistake it for professional theater. But the dwarves were hilarious and the singing was lively. Anne Marie nodded her head to the beat.

  When the performance was finished, the principal came forward and announced that juice and cookies would be served in the children’s rooms. Anne Marie checked her watch. She really should be getting back to the store. Then again, a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

  As she started toward Ellen’s classroom, she nearly bumped into Helen Mayer, the school counselor.

  “Anne Marie!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  “Yes, the play was very well done,” she said warmly. “Thank you for telling me about it.”

  “No, thank you, thank you so much.”

  With a quick smile, she hurried off in the opposite direction.

  Anne Marie was standing by Ellen’s desk when the child walked into the room, her eyes bright with happiness. “Did you hear me?” she asked. “Did you hear me sing?”

  Anne Marie hadn’t been able to discern Ellen’s small voice among so many others. But in this case she figured a white lie was appropriate. “I did, and you were terrific.”

  Ellen blushed at the praise.

  “You didn’t tell me you like to sing.”

  Ellen nodded. “Mrs. Maxwell said I have a good voice. She’s the music teacher.”

  “How many other second-grade students were part of the choir?” Anne Marie asked, although she already knew the answer.

  “I was the only one.”