Debbie Macomber_Blossom Street 04 (4 page)

“That’s an excellent question,” Helen Mayer said approvingly. “Ellen loves to read, and since you own Blossom Street Books…well, it seemed to be a good fit.”

“Oh.”

“Ellen is one of our top second-grade readers.”

Rather than suggest being paired with a different child, Anne Marie decided to go ahead with this arrangement. “I look forward to meeting her,” she said, wincing inwardly at the lie.

“Ellen has first lunch, which starts in a few minutes, so if you’ll come with me, I’ll introduce you.”

Anne Marie still wasn’t convinced she was ready for this. However, it was now or never. Once she walked out of Room 121, Anne Marie knew that unless she met the child immediately, she wouldn’t be back.

Ms. Mayer led her down the hallway to a row of classrooms, each door marked with the grade and the teacher’s name. Ellen was in Ms. Peterski’s class. Helen Mayer waited until a young woman—obviously Ms. Peterski—and twenty or so children had filed out, then walked inside, Anne Marie a few steps behind her.

The first thing Anne Marie noticed was how impossibly small the desks were. The second was the child sitting in the far corner all alone. Her head was lowered, and her stick-straight hair fell forward, hiding her eyes.

“Ellen,” the school counselor said, her voice full of enthusiasm. “I want you to meet your Lunch Buddy.”

The little girl, dressed in dirty tennis shoes, jeans and a red T-shirt, slid out of her chair and moved toward them, her gaze on the floor.

“Anne Marie, meet Ellen.”

“Hello, Ellen,” Anne Marie said dutifully. She kept her voice soft and modulated.

Ellen didn’t acknowledge the greeting.

After an awkward silence, Ms. Mayer spoke again. “Ellen, would you please escort your guest to the lunchroom?”

In response Ellen nodded and walked quickly out of the room. She stood outside the door until Anne Marie caught up.

“That’s a nice T-shirt you’re wearing,” Anne Marie said, testing the waters. “Red is one of my favorite colors.”

No response.

The noise from the cafeteria grew louder as they made their way down the hall. Ellen joined the other students in the lunch line and Anne Marie stood behind her.

“What’s for lunch today?” Anne Marie asked.

Ellen pointed to one of the students at a nearby table, spooning macaroni and cheese into her mouth. “That.”

At last! The eight-year-old actually had a voice.

The line started to move. “Macaroni and cheese used to be one of my favorite lunches,” Anne Marie said. “Do you like it, too?”

Ellen shrugged.

“What’s your favorite?”

She expected the universal response of pizza. Instead Ellen said, “Chili and corn bread.”

“I like that, too.” Well, she didn’t hate it, but it wasn’t one of Anne Marie’s favorites. Thus far they didn’t seem to have a lot in common.

Their lunch consisted of macaroni and cheese, a gelatin salad, carrot sticks, milk and an oatmeal cookie. Carrying her tray, Anne Marie followed the girl to a table near the back of the room. Ellen chose to sit at the far end, away from the other children.

Anne Marie set her tray across from Ellen, then pulled out her chair and sat down. Ellen bowed her head and folded her hands on her lap for a silent moment before she reached for her silverware. Apparently she was saying grace before eating her lunch.

Anne Marie took a sip of milk once Ellen had taken her first bite. “I understand you like to read,” she said conversationally.

Ellen nodded.

“I own a bookstore. Have you read any of the Harry Potter books?”

Ellen shook her head. “My grandma said they’re too advanced for me. She said I could read them in fourth grade.”

“Your grandmother’s probably right.”

Ellen crunched down on a carrot stick.

“Who’s your favorite author?” Anne Marie asked, encouraged by the girl’s response.

Ellen swallowed. “I like lots of authors.”

Again, this was progress. Of a sort.
And
the girl didn’t talk with her mouth full, which meant she’d been taught some manners.

“When I was your age, books were my best friends.” Anne Marie could recall reading in her bedroom with the door closed to drown out the sound of her parents arguing.

That comment didn’t warrant a response. Anne Marie took another bite of her lunch as she mentally sorted through potential topics of conversation. It was hard to remember what she’d liked when she was eight. She didn’t think Ellen would be interested in hearing about her widowed friends or her list of Twenty Wishes.

They continued to eat in silence until an idea struck Anne Marie. “Do you like dogs?”

Ellen nodded vigorously.

“I have a dog.”

For the first time since they’d sat at the table, Ellen looked up. “A boy dog or a girl dog?”

“A boy. His name is Baxter.”

“Baxter.” A hint of a smile flashed in her eyes.

Anne Marie felt a surge of relief. She’d hit pay dirt. Ellen liked dogs. “He’s a Yorkshire terrier. Do you know what kind of dog that is?”

Ellen shook her head.

“Baxter is small but he has the heart of a tiger. He’s not afraid of anything.”

Ellen’s eyes brightened.

“Would you like to meet him one day?”

Ellen nodded again. “What color is he?”

“Mostly he’s black but his face is sort of a tan, and he has funny-looking ears that stick straight up.”

“My ears stick out, too,” Ellen said in a solemn voice.

Anne Marie studied the child. She could see the faint outline of Ellen’s ears beneath her straight hair, which hung just below her chin. “I had ears like that when I was
your age,” Anne Marie told her. “Then I grew up and my ears stayed the same size and everything else got bigger.”

Ellen took another bite of her macaroni and cheese.

Anne Marie did, too. She finished the lunch period by telling the girl stories about Baxter. Ellen asked dozens of questions and even giggled once.

The other children gradually left the lunchroom, drifting out to the schoolyard. The muted sound of their play could be heard through the windows. Anne Marie looked out several times; when she asked if Ellen wanted to go outside, the youngster declined.

The bell finally rang, signaling the end of lunch. Ellen stood.

So did Anne Marie.

Ellen carried her dirty tray to the kitchen and showed Anne Marie where to place it.

“I guess you have to go back to class now,” Anne Marie said.

Ellen nodded. Anne Marie walked her to the classroom door and just as she was about to leave, Ellen whispered something she couldn’t quite hear.

“What did you say?” Anne Marie asked.

Ellen glanced up. “Thank you,” she said more loudly.

“You’re welcome, Ellen. I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

Ellen smiled, then quietly entered the room and walked to her desk.

As Anne Marie watched, her chest constricted with a sensation that felt alien to her. It was a good feeling, though—one that came from reaching out to someone else.

Elise was right; Anne Marie did feel better for volunteering. Little Ellen Falk needed a friend.

The ironic thing was that Anne Marie needed one even more.

A
fter leaving Woodrow Wilson Elementary, Anne Marie ran a few errands in the neighborhood. She bought groceries, went to the post office and picked up some dry cleaning. Her Wednesdays were generally crowded with appointments and chores.

When she brought the groceries up to her apartment, she noticed that the light on her answering machine was flashing. After greeting a sleepy Baxter and putting the perishables in the refrigerator, she grabbed a pen and pad and pushed the message button.

The first one was from the school counselor. “Anne Marie, this is Helen Mayer. I wanted to see how everything went with Ellen. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me at the school.” She then repeated the phone number. “See you next Wednesday.”

The second message began. “Anne Marie—” Melissa Roche’s voice stopped Anne Marie cold.

“Could you call me at your earliest convenience?” Her question was followed by a slight hesitation. “It’s important.”

The recording ended with Melissa reciting her phone number. “This is a new number. If I don’t hear from you by the end of the day, I’ll call the bookstore.”

That sounded almost like a threat.

Anne Marie wondered about Melissa’s request as she finished putting the groceries away. When she was done, she tentatively reached for the phone. If Melissa was seeking her out, it had to be something serious, although she couldn’t imagine what. The call connected and the phone rang twice. Anne Marie was hoping for a reprieve. She didn’t get one.

“Hello,” Melissa answered. Her voice seemed clipped, defensive.

“This is Anne Marie,” she said, trying to keep her own voice as unemotional as possible.

“I know who it is,” Melissa said. “I have Caller ID.”

“You left a message for me,” Anne Marie reminded her. The enmity between them remained, despite the fact that Robert was gone.

“I need to talk to you,” Melissa told her.

“I’m free now.” Anne Marie would rather get this over with.

“I mean, I need to talk to you face-to-face.”

That was exactly what Anne Marie had hoped to avoid. Naturally, she was suspicious of Melissa’s sudden need for a meeting. “Why?”

“Anne Marie, please, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”

She exhaled slowly. “All right. When?”

“What about tomorrow night? We could meet for dinner….”

“I close the store on Thursday nights. It would have to be after eight.”

“What about Friday night then?” Melissa suggested.

“Okay.” Anne Marie knew her reluctance must be evident. She could think of a dozen ways she’d rather spend Friday evening than sitting across a table from her stepdaughter.

Melissa chose a restaurant and they set the time. The conversation ended shortly thereafter, and when she put the phone back, Anne Marie felt queasy. Everything about their short conversation had unnerved her. She hated going into this meeting with Melissa so unprepared, but then it occurred to her that perhaps Brandon knew what was going on. She hadn’t spoken to her stepson in a few weeks, and this was a good excuse to catch up with him. She hoped he could clear up the mystery; if he had any idea why Melissa had contacted her after all these months, he’d certainly tell her.

Anne Marie opened a drawer in the kitchen and removed the telephone directory, then flipped through the pages until she found her stepson’s work number.

Brandon answered immediately, obviously pleased to hear from her.

“Anne Marie! How are you doing?” he asked. Although Robert had been especially close to Melissa, the relationship between father and son was often strained.

“I’m fine. How about you?”

“Good. Good. What can I do for you?”

Brandon was a claims adjuster for an insurance company and she was well aware that he didn’t have time to waste on idle chitchat.

“I heard from Melissa this afternoon.”

“Melissa called you?” That was strange enough to instantly get his attention. “What did she want?” he asked curiously.

“To talk to me, or so she says. We’re meeting for dinner. Can you tell me what that’s about?”

“Melissa called you?” Brandon repeated. He seemed completely at a loss. “I couldn’t begin to tell you what she wants.”

Anne Marie sighed. “I can’t figure it out, either. She insists we talk face-to-face.”

“Would you like me to give her a call?” he asked.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll find out soon enough.” Whatever it was didn’t appear to involve Brandon.

“Let me know what’s up, will you?”

“You haven’t heard from her?” Brandon and Melissa had always been fairly close, even though he openly disapproved of his sister’s attitude toward Anne Marie.

“Not in a couple of weeks, which isn’t like her. After Dad died, I heard from her practically every day. Lately, though, she’s been keeping to herself.”

“You haven’t called her?”

“I’ve left her a couple of messages. Apparently she’s been spending all her time with that guy she’s seeing. If I’m reading the situation right, it sounds like she and Michael are serious.”

“Is that good news or bad?” Anne Marie asked.

“I think it’s good. I like Michael and as far as I can tell, he really cares about Melissa.”

“So you’ve met him?”

“Yeah, a couple of times. He came to Dad’s funeral.”

Anne Marie had been too grief-stricken to remember who’d been there; not only that, Michael would’ve been a stranger to her, one among many.

Was Melissa planning to confide in her about this young man? Hard to believe, but Anne Marie’s curiosity was even more pronounced now.

She replaced the phone, staring out the kitchen window onto the alley behind Blossom Street. She’d just have to wait until Friday to learn the reason for Melissa’s phone call.

On Friday, Anne Marie got to the restaurant shortly before the predetermined time of seven. Based on past experience, she expected Melissa to be late; that was usually the case, especially if the event happened to include Anne Marie—like dinner at her and Robert’s house or a holiday get-together. It was yet another way she displayed her complete lack of regard for her stepmother. But when Anne Marie arrived Melissa was already there, pacing outside the restaurant. Anne Marie was shocked, to say the least.

Melissa had suggested a well-known seafood place on the waterfront close to Pike Place Market. Walking fast, it was about twenty minutes from the bookstore, and Anne Marie had worn an extra sweater against the cold wind coming off Elliot Bay.

Her stepdaughter abruptly stopped her pacing the moment she saw her. Because of their long, unfortunate history, Anne Marie didn’t—couldn’t—lower her guard. She’d been sucker punched too many times by some slyly cruel comment or unmistakable slight.

“Hello, Melissa,” she said, maintaining a cool facade. “You’re looking well.” Her stepdaughter was an attractive woman, tall and willowy in stature. Her hair was dark and fell in soft natural curls about her face. She was wearing black jeans and an expensive three-quarter-length khaki raincoat. Even as a girl, she’d been almost obsessed with fashion and appearances, an obsession her father had indulged.

“You look good, too,” Melissa said carelessly. “Are you dating anyone?”

Anne Marie bit her tongue. “No. If that’s what you want to talk about, I think I should leave now.”

“Calm down, would you?” Melissa snapped. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you dating.”

The derisive, scornful attitude was there in full display, and Anne Marie wondered why she still tried. Her stepdaughter seemed unreachable—by her, anyway—and had been from the day they met.

“I…I shouldn’t have asked,” Melissa murmured in what might have passed for an apology if her voice hadn’t held the same level of hostility. “It isn’t really any of my business.”

“Shall we go inside?” Anne Marie said. The wind was growing stronger, and the rain seemed about to start any minute.

“Yes,” Melissa agreed, moving quickly to the door.

Melissa had made a reservation, and they were soon seated at a table by the window. The water was as dark as the sky but Anne Marie gazed out at the lights, dimly visible in the fog. Then she turned to her menu. She and Melissa both seemed determined to make a thorough study of it. With her nerves on edge, Anne Marie didn’t have much of an appetite. She decided on clam chowder in a bread bowl and when the server came, she was surprised to hear Melissa order the same thing.

“I’d like some coffee, too,” Melissa told him.

“I would, as well.”

Once the waiter had left, Melissa nervously reached for her linen napkin, which she spread carefully across her lap. Then she rearranged her silverware.

“Are you ready to tell me what this is about?” Anne Marie asked. Any exchange of pleasantries was pointless.

There was a pause. “It’s probably unfair to come to you
about this,” Melissa finally said, “but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Anne Marie closed her eyes briefly. “Rather than hint at what you want to say, why don’t you just say it?”

Melissa placed her hands in her lap and lowered her head. “I…I haven’t been doing well since Dad died.”

Anne Marie nodded. “I haven’t, either.”

Melissa looked up and bit her lip. “I miss him so much.”

Anne Marie tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. “Me, too.”

“I thought if I went into his office and talked to his friends I’d feel better.”

The waiter brought their coffee, and Anne Marie welcomed the distraction. She could feel tears welling up and she didn’t want the embarrassment of crying in front of Melissa.

When they were alone again, Melissa dumped sugar in her coffee. “Like I said, I decided to stop by the office,” she muttered, scooping up three tiny half-and-half cups and peeling away the tops. “Dad was always so proud of his role in the business.”

Robert had every right to be proud. He’d worked for the data storage business almost from its inception and much of the company’s success could be attributed to his efforts. He enjoyed his job, although the demands on his time had increased constantly. For three consecutive years, Robert had planned to take Anne Marie to Paris for their wedding anniversary. Each year he’d been forced to cancel their vacation plans because of business.

“Everyone must’ve been happy to see you,” Anne Marie commented politely.

Melissa shrugged. “Even in this short amount of time, there’ve been a lot of changes.”

That was understandable. Robert had died almost ten months ago, and life had a way of creeping forward, no matter what the circumstances.

“Do you remember Rebecca Gilroy?” Melissa asked.

“Of course.” The young woman had been Robert’s personal assistant. As Anne Marie recalled, Rebecca had started working for the company a year or so before Robert’s heart attack.

“She had a baby.”

“I didn’t know she was pregnant.” Had she learned of it, Anne Marie would’ve sent her a gift. She’d only met Rebecca on a few occasions, but she’d liked her.

“She isn’t married.” Melissa’s gaze held hers.

Anne Marie didn’t consider that significant. “It’s hardly a prerequisite these days.”

Melissa picked up her coffee and Anne Marie noticed that her hands were trembling.

“Do you remember exactly when you and my dad separated?”

Anne Marie expelled her breath. “It’s not something I’m likely to forget, Melissa. Of course I remember. He…left on September 18th the year before last.” She lifted her shoulders as she took in a deep breath, feeling raw and vulnerable. “I was miserable without your father. I still am.” She wasn’t sure where this conversation was leading and strained to hold on to her patience. Exhaling, she added, “Despite the fact that you dislike me, we’ve always had something very important in common. We both loved your father.”

Melissa didn’t acknowledge the comment; instead she stared down at the table. “One night a couple of months
after you and Dad separated, I decided to treat him to dinner. He was working too hard and he often stayed late at the office.”

That was a fairly typical occurrence throughout their marriage. As a company executive, Robert put in long hours.

“I picked up a couple of sandwiches and some of his favorite soup and went over there to surprise him.”

Anne Marie nodded patiently, wondering when her stepdaughter would get to the point.

“The security guard let me in and when I walked into the office…”

The waiter approached the table with their order; Melissa stopped talking and even seemed grateful for the intrusion.

Anne Marie took her first taste, delicious despite her lack of appetite. Realizing Melissa hadn’t continued, she gestured with her spoon. “Go on. You walked into the office and?”

Melissa nodded and reluctantly picked up her own spoon. “Rebecca was there, too.”

“Mandatory overtime was one of the job requirements.”

“She wasn’t exactly…working.”

Anne Marie frowned. “What do you mean?”

Melissa glared at her then. “Do I have to spell it out for you?” she demanded. “If you’re going to make me say it, then fine. Rebecca and my father were…they were having sex.”

Anne Marie’s spoon clattered to the floor as the shock overwhelmed her. Her body felt mercifully numb, and her mind refused to accept what she’d heard. It was like the day the company president had come to the bookstore to
personally tell her Robert had died. The same kind of dazed unbelief.

“I’m sorry, Anne Marie,” Melissa whispered. “I…I shouldn’t have been so straightforward, but I didn’t know how else to say it.”

Melissa’s words had begun to fall together in her mind. Robert and Rebecca sexually involved. Rebecca pregnant and unmarried.
Rebecca had a child
.

Anne Marie could no longer breathe.

“Rebecca’s baby…”

Melissa’s eyes held hers. “I’m not positive…but I think so. You know her better than I do. I only saw her the one time…with Dad, and then when I stopped by the office recently. I…I had the impression that she isn’t the type to sleep around. Oh, and she was at the funeral.”

Anne Marie closed her eyes and shook her head. All of a sudden, the few spoonfuls of soup she’d managed to swallow came back up her throat. Grabbing her napkin, she held it over her mouth and leaped from her chair. She weaved unsteadily around the tables, then bolted for the ladies’ room and made it inside just in time. Stumbling into a vacant stall, Anne Marie was violently ill. When she finished, she was so weak she couldn’t immediately get up.