“You’ll need recuperation time.” Mentally Anne Marie tried to calculate how long that might be. A week? Two? Maybe a month. She couldn’t possibly deal with this awkward situation for a whole month.
“Yes, I’ll need time to heal,” Dolores agreed, “but it’ll go much faster if I know Ellen is well taken care of.” She gazed up at Anne Marie with wide, imploring eyes. When Anne Marie didn’t immediately respond, Dolores added, “Please. I’m asking you from my heart. I’m begging you not to let them take my granddaughter away from me.”
Anne Marie couldn’t refuse. “All right,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound begrudging—or afraid.
Dolores released a huge sigh. “Thank you, Lord.” She pointed to the side table next to her bed. “I’ve written out a statement that gives you permission to see to any medical needs Ellen might have. I also wrote a statement authorizing you to keep Ellen while I’m in the hospital.”
An orderly stepped into the room. “Ready, Mrs. Falk?” he asked far too cheerfully.
“Where are you taking her?” Anne Marie asked.
The young man raised his eyebrows. “Surgery.”
“So soon?”
“I’ll be fine,” Dolores said. “Absolutely fine.”
Anne Marie felt dreadful; she should’ve been the one consoling the other woman.
“I’ll take care of Ellen,” she promised with a sense of desperation. “Just get well.”
The young man directed Anne Marie to the nurses’ station, where she was given a phone number to check on Dolores’s progress after the surgery. Anne Marie held on to that piece of paper as if it were a winning lottery ticket. “She’ll be okay, won’t she?” she asked the male nurse.
The burly man sent her a stoic look. “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure she’s home again as soon as possible.”
That was supposed to reassure her? “Thank you,” she said lamely. “I’ll phone later this afternoon.”
“I’ll have an update for you then. Ask for Dana.”
“I will. Thank you.” She put the phone number, plus the signed papers Dolores had mentioned, in her purse and left the hospital.
By the time she got to her car, Anne Marie’s stomach was so tense she actually felt nauseous. Yesterday afternoon she’d been working out at Go Figure, the women’s gym on Blossom Street, with Barbie Foster. Less than a day later, she was responsible for the care and well-being of an eight-year-old child.
At the bookstore, Anne Marie turned over the Open sign and counted out cash for the register. She had a constant flow of customers until about one o’clock, when she called the school and spoke to Helen Mayer.
“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.”
