“What did you find out?”
“Ellen’s grandmother had heart surgery this morning.”
“How’s she doing?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to anyone at the hospital yet. I wanted to update you, though—Ellen will be staying with me while her grandmother recuperates.”
“With you? What about her aunt Clarisse?”
“Apparently she…she’s moved and can’t be reached.” That was reasonably close to the truth and should spare Dolores some humiliation.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Not nearly as sorry as Anne Marie.
“It’s good of you to look after the child. I’m surprised you agreed to it.”
As much as she’d like to see Ellen with someone else, Anne Marie couldn’t tell a sick woman that she preferred not to take care of her only granddaughter.
“I’ll be picking Ellen up from school this afternoon and making arrangements for her to catch the bus on Blossom Street.”
“I can do that for you,” Helen Mayer told her. “If you need me to do anything else, just let me know. I think it’s wonderful that you’re willing to help out like this.”
Anne Marie ended the conversation and then called the hospital. Dolores had made it through surgery without a problem, Dana informed her. She was currently in recovery, and if there were any changes, he’d call. Anne Marie gave him her phone numbers.
Fortunately Steve Handley, who worked on Thursday afternoons, was able to come in an hour early despite the short notice, which freed Anne Marie to drive to the elementary school and get Ellen. The child’s face brightened when she saw her.
“How’s my grandma?” she asked.
“She’s in the hospital, and the doctors and nurses are taking good care of her.”
“When will she be home?”
“Soon.” Anne Marie bent down to look into the little girl’s eyes. “Until your grandmother’s home again, would you like to stay with me?”
Ellen didn’t answer right away. “I guess that would be okay.”
It wasn’t exactly an overwhelming affirmation, but it was good enough. “We’ll need to stop by your house this evening and pack a bigger suitcase.”
“Can Baxter come with us?”
“I think he’d like that.”
“I brought the book from the school library,” Ellen announced.
It took Anne Marie a moment to realize the book she meant was the one about dog tricks.
They drove back to Blossom Street in silence, Ellen staring straight ahead. After dinner, they’d return to the house and collect her things.
Dinner.
Anne Marie hadn’t given it a moment’s thought. No more skipping meals. No more pity parties, either. She had to be strong for Ellen’s sake. She had to hold her life together for a couple of weeks. Anne Marie figured she could manage that.
Two weeks. Maybe three.
Four at the most.
The time would pass quickly. She hoped.
Chapter 13
Thanks to her list of Twenty Wishes, Barbie Foster was thinking harder, doing more and experiencing life with greater excitement. Her list was nearly complete, and she loved the way it helped her analyze what she really wanted. For years, her focus had been on Gary and the twins. But with her sons away at school, she’d been at loose ends, never quite adjusting to the change in her routine. She missed her husband so much, even now. He’d always be a part of her—and yet she was only forty, with a lot of life yet to be lived.
Instead of working at the dress shop this Saturday, Barbie decided to take a day off and go to the St. Patrick’s Day concert in Freeway Park. Anne Marie Roche had arranged for the afternoon off, as well, and the two of them planned to make an occasion of it. They’d met a couple of times at Go Figure, and she’d enjoyed getting to know her better.
Her friendship with Anne Marie had deepened since their Valentine’s gathering. Until that night, Barbie had viewed Anne Marie as reserved, a bit standoffish. All of that had changed when they started talking about their Twenty Wishes.
She’d begun to see Anne Marie as a kindred spirit and discovered a wry sense of humor. Her liking had turned to respect when she learned that Anne Marie was looking after eight-year-old Ellen Falk while her grandmother recuperated from heart surgery.
Barbie had met Ellen at the bookstore the day before, when she’d come in to buy a couple of romances. The child was sweet and unpretentious; she obviously idolized Anne Marie and was completely in love with her dog, Baxter. Barbie had watched with some amusement as Ellen struggled to teach the Yorkie to roll over, with no success.
Ellen was joining them for the St. Patrick’s Day concert that afternoon. When Barbie met her and Anne Marie at the bookstore shortly after twelve, they were ready and waiting.
“Where are we going?” the little girl asked, fastening the buttons on her light green coat, which looked brand-new. Thankfully it wasn’t raining; that was good news, since March was notorious for drizzle in the Pacific Northwest.
“We’re attending a concert with Irish music,” Anne Marie explained to the youngster. “Then afterward we’re visiting my mother in Ballard.”
“Will we visit Grandma Dolores, too?”
“Sure thing.” Anne Marie buttoned up her own jacket. “Right after we see my mother.”
The child nodded thoughtfully. “What’s Irish music sound like?”
Anne Marie hesitated. “Well, it’s usually pretty fast and…” She shrugged, and Barbie laughed as she gave up trying to describe it. “Just wait. You’ll hear it soon enough.”
“Will I like it?” Ellen asked, tilting her head curiously.
“I do,” Anne Marie told her. “I like it a lot.”
Ellen nodded firmly. “Then I will, too.”
Because Freeway Park was relatively close to Blossom Street, they decided to walk. The air was crisp, the sky clear and bright. They moved at a slow pace to accommodate Ellen’s shorter steps. Barbie noticed that the child took in everything around her with huge inquisitive eyes.
When they reached Freeway Park, above Interstate 5, it was already crowded. Finding a spot to sit was difficult, although they eventually did when a couple of teenagers were kind enough to share their space. Anne Marie had remembered to bring a blanket, which she smoothed out on the grass. A platform had been built for the performance, and they had a good view of the stage.
Ellen sat cross-legged on the blanket. Barbie and Anne Marie arranged themselves close to her. Barbie hadn’t done anything like this since before she’d lost Gary. It reminded her of family expeditions when the kids were little, and she felt a quiet joy, an awareness that she could be happy again.
After the accident, her primary concern had been for her children. Now that they were away at school, she was no longer insulated from the pain and the loss. It was this same loss she sensed in Mark Bassett, and one reason she was so drawn to him.
For her mother, widowhood had been a different story. They’d never really discussed it, but Barbie knew about her father’s indiscretions. Lillie had chosen to ignore them. And because her mother said nothing, Barbie didn’t, either. She knew that Lillie grieved for David. She’d loved him, but in some ways Barbie thought his death might have been a release for her mother—although she’d never so much as hint at such a thing.
“When will it start?” Ellen asked after sitting quietly for several minutes.
“Soon.”
“Are you hungry?” Barbie asked.
The girl shook her head and tucked her hands beneath her thighs.
There was festive chatter all around them; everyone seemed to be in a cheerful mood, exchanging greetings, laughing, talking.
“Ellen likes to sing,” Anne Marie told her.
“Do you?” Barbie asked, turning to the child.
At the question, Ellen’s face grew red. “Anne Marie says I’m a good singer. She heard me sing in the school play.” The child obviously put great stock in
the compliment.
“Maybe Anne Marie can teach you a few Irish songs,” Barbie suggested.
A look of such profound sadness flashed into her friend’s eyes that Barbie instantly placed her hand on Anne Marie’s forearm.
“I used to sing, but I don’t anymore. I…can’t,” Anne Marie mumbled, staring down at the blanket. “I lost my voice after Robert died…. I thought it would return, but it hasn’t yet.”
“I’m sorry.” Barbie felt she had to apologize because it so clearly upset her friend.
“No, no. I mean, for heaven’s sake, it’s not your fault.” Recovering quickly, Anne Marie dismissed her concern with a quick shake of her head.
Ellen gazed up at her, frowning. “I didn’t know you can’t sing.”
“Don’t worry, Ellen,” Anne Marie murmured. “I will again.”
Because Ellen was restless and maybe because Anne Marie wanted to change the subject, the two of them went for a short walk around the park before the music started. As they left, Barbie saw that the little girl stuck close to Anne Marie’s side. Being with so many people was probably overwhelming for a child. Barbie had to credit her friend; it couldn’t have been easy to bring this child into her home, even for a short while.
In fact, Barbie thought Anne Marie seemed softer now, less cynical and more open. Being with such a vulnerable child, having to take responsibility for her, meant that Anne Marie was less focused on her own sorrows. Wasn’t that what Elise kept saying? Doing something for someone else made you feel better about yourself.
The group of Irish singers was introduced, and the crowd instantly broke into applause. Ellen and Anne Marie hurried back to the blanket just as the performance began.
The singers, the fiddlers and dancers were thrilling, and Barbie loved every minute. The music was infectious. And the dancing—it was so vigorous, yet disciplined, too. Ellen sat through the entire hour mesmerized. She seemed to absorb the music, every note of it. When the performance was over, her face glowed.
“That was so good,” she said, looking at Anne Marie and Barbie. “I want to sing like that someday. Do you think I can?” she asked plaintively.
“Yes,” Anne Marie told her in a confident voice. “I’m sure you can.”
People had started to leave the park. The exodus was slow moving, but Barbie wasn’t in any hurry. Besides, her feet hurt. That was what she got for wearing designer shoes; she’d chosen them because they were the perfect complement to her black linen pants and green silk blouse. The sun warmed the day, and she’d left her raincoat open, the belt dangling at her sides.
As she and Anne Marie waited patiently for the crowd to thin, Barbie saw a flash of chrome from the corner of her eye. She turned to look and then caught her breath. She grabbed Anne Marie’s elbow.
“It’s him….” She could barely get the words out. Feeling self-conscious, she dropped her hand.
“Who?” Anne Marie asked.
Barbie couldn’t tell her because she hadn’t told anyone about her attraction to Mark Bassett, the man in the wheelchair. She looked again, just to be sure. He was alone, or appeared to be, apparently waiting for the crowd to disperse. Maneuvering his wheelchair would be difficult with so many people pressing in around him.
“You know someone here?”
“Not really.” Barbie tried to calm the wild beating of her heart. This was an unexpected surprise, a bonus. She was pleased now that she’d taken care with her outfit and makeup.
If Mark had seen her—and she couldn’t tell either way—he refused to acknowledge her. Barbie bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from raising her hand and calling out to him.
“Do you know that guy in the wheelchair?” Anne Marie asked.
“I…not exactly. I bumped into him recently.” She didn’t mention the part about emptying her soda in his lap.
“He’s certainly a striking man.”
He was. Barbie had trouble taking her eyes off him. The crowd had mostly disappeared by then and only a few stragglers remained.
“Can we go see Grandma Dolores soon?” Ellen asked.
Anne Marie smiled at the girl. “After we visit my mom, okay?”
Her patience with Ellen impressed Barbie.
“I think I’d better head out,” Anne Marie said, glancing down at her watch. “We’re meeting my mother for a late lunch, and after that we’re going to the hospital.”
“Of course, no problem,” Barbie told her. “I’ve got plans myself.”
They left, which worked out well because now she was free to confront Mark. Barbie didn’t have a single idea as to what she’d do or say once she reached him. She’d figure that out when the time came.
He’d managed to leave Freeway Park and was moving steadily down the sidewalk. Barbie raced after him, having some difficulty with her shoes. “Hello, again,” she called out cheerfully.
He ignored her.
“Remember me?”
At her second attempt, Mark spun his wheelchair around. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to enjoy the music, just like everyone else.”
“I didn’t know there’d be a concert,” he grumbled.
“In other words, you wouldn’t have come if you had.”
“Right.”
“But you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
“No.”
Barbie didn’t understand him—and she didn’t believe he hadn’t been affected by the music. “Why are you such a grouch?” she asked.
“I like being a grouch.”
“Yes, Oscar.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street.” Her sons had often watched it when they were young. She planted herself directly in front of his wheelchair, blocking him off.
He wasn’t amused.
She’d never been so rude in her life, but Barbie wasn’t about to let him escape.
“What is it you want?” he demanded.
Now that he’d asked, she wasn’t entirely sure. To get his attention, yes, but she couldn’t admit that. “To talk, I guess.”
He tried to wheel around her, but once again she hindered his progress. “I’m not interested in talking, nor am I the least bit interested in you.”
Barbie sighed deeply. “That is so refreshing.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She smiled down at him. “You wouldn’t believe how many guys constantly hit on me. Not you, though, and yet we seem to like the same movies. You know, we might actually have something in common.”
He wagged his index finger at her. “I’m on to your game. You and Tessa are in cahoots—you have to be. That’s how you knew which movie I’d be watching last week. Well, that won’t happen again.”
Barbie felt her blood surge with excitement. “I wouldn’t count on it. You can’t tell me which movie to see or not to see.”
He scowled back at her. “Don’t count on me being there.”
“That’s no guarantee we won’t bump into each other somewhere else,” Barbie said, changing tactics. “We met here, didn’t we? I think it must be fate.”
“I think it’s bad luck.”
“Oh, Mark, honestly.”
His scowl grew darker.
“Your niece seems fond of you,” Barbie said conversationally.
His hands were on the wheels of his chair. “I’d like to get out of here if you don’t mind.”
“I wanted to talk, remember?”
“I don’t.”
“Fine.” She raised both hands in a gesture of defeat. “Have it your way.”
“Thank you,” Mark said gruffly and as soon as she stepped aside, he wheeled past her.
Despite his dismissive tone, Barbie followed him. “Can I ask you something?” she began.
Mark disregarded her, apparently a habit of his. His speed was surprising and in an effort to catch up with him, Barbie was nearly trotting. Her heel caught on a crack in the sidewalk and she went flying forward, landing hard on her hands an
d knees.
“Damn!” she cried at the sudden sharp pain. Momentarily stunned, she sat back and brushed the grit from her hands. Blood seeped through her pants and tears smarted her eyes.
Mark stopped, then reluctantly spun around to face her. “What happened?” he asked, none too sympathetically.
“I tripped.”
“Are you hurt?”
“Yes. Look, there’s blood.”
“Should I call 911?”
He was making fun of her, but Barbie didn’t care. She peeled up her pant leg to examine her knee.
“That’s what you get for wearing those ridiculous shoes.”
She let the insult pass.
“Do you need help getting up?”
“No, I can manage.” When she scrambled to her feet, she discovered that she’d broken the heel off her left shoe. “Would you look at this?” she cried. “If you knew what I paid for these shoes, you’d be as outraged as I am.”
“Next time don’t go chasing after me,” he said. “I’m not interested, understand?”
“Okay, fine,” she snapped.
“Fine with me, too.” He started to roll away from her.
Barbie sniffled and limped off. She’d made an idiot of herself and now she was paying the price. So much for this supposed bond between them. He wanted nothing to do with her. Well, she got his message, loud and clear.
Her progress was slow with her knee aching and her broken shoe.
“Miss, Miss.”
Barbie turned to find a woman with a first aid kit in her hand. “I heard that you fell.”
“Who told you?”
“A man in a wheelchair stopped in my store and said you might need help.”
“Really.” So Mark wasn’t as hard-edged as he’d like her to believe. He was concerned about her but he didn’t want to show it. “I’m okay. My pride hurts a lot more than my knee. It was my own fault.”
“Are you sure I can’t help you?”
Barbie thanked the woman with a smile. “I think I’ll just go home.” She’d call her mother for sympathy and then have a cup of hot tea.