Blossom Street Bundle

“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 standing 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.”

“Just you?” Anne Marie feigned surprise.

“Yup, just me. Mrs. Maxwell said maybe by the time I’m in fourth or fifth grade I might get to sing a solo.”

“Ellen, that’s wonderful. Congratulations.” Anne Marie had never seen the girl this excited.

The classroom had begun to fill up with other children and parents.

“Would you like some juice?” Ellen asked politely. The juice and cookies were set up on a table in the front.

Anne Marie noticed that the other students were delivering refreshments to their parents.

“That would be very nice. Thank you, Ellen.”

The child waited for her turn and poured Anne Marie a small paper cup full of juice, which appeared to be some watered-down fruit punch. She also brought her two small cookies, definitely a store-bought variety.

“You didn’t get anything for yourself,” Anne Marie said.

“That’s because you’re supposed to serve your guests first,” Ellen informed her solemnly.

“Of course,” Anne Marie murmured. “I must’ve forgotten my manners.”

Silently Ellen stood next to her.

Anne Marie bent down and whispered, “What’s going to happen next?”

“Nothing,” Ellen said. “You’re supposed to drink your juice and eat your cookies.”

“Okay.” Anne Marie sampled a cookie, which crumbled in her mouth at the first bite. She washed it down with a gulp of juice that was far too sweet. Ellen waited until Anne Marie had finished before she returned to the refreshment table and poured a second cup of juice and took two small cookies for herself.

“Baxter wanted me to tell you hello,” Anne Marie said when she came back.

Ellen swallowed the cookie she was chewing and nodded. “He’s a good dog.”

“A little spoiled, though.”

“I’ll teach him how to roll over the next time you bring him to school,” Ellen promised. “I got a book from the library and I read about teaching dogs tricks. Baxter’s smart and I know how to get him to roll over.”

“I hope you can show me how to teach him, too.”

“I will,” Ellen said.

“I’ve tried to teach Baxter new tricks, but he doesn’t seem to understand the concept.” Anne Marie felt it only fair to warn Ellen; she didn’t want to discourage the girl, nor did she want her to think it would be an easy task.

One of the other mothers glanced speculatively at Anne Marie and Ellen and moved toward them. “Are you Ellen’s mom?” she asked Anne Marie.

“Actually, no, I’m her friend.”

“Anne Marie is my Lunch Buddy,” Ellen explained proudly. “She brought her dog for me to meet.”

“Oh.” The other woman drew a tiny long-haired girl close to her side. “I’m Shelly Lombard and this is my daughter, Cassie. She’s friends with Ellen.”

“Hi, Shelly, Cassie,” Anne Marie said, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I wanted to ask if Ellen could come over for a play date one afternoon. Would that be possible?”

This wasn’t something Anne Marie could answer. “You’ll have to ask her grandmother.”

“Ellen lives with her grandmother, then?”

Anne Marie nodded.

“Oh…well, I don’t know if that would work. I was actually hoping we could exchange play dates once in a while.”

“I see.”

“It’s just that occasionally I have an appointment after school and it’s difficult to find someone to look after Cassie for just an hour or two.”

“You could always ask her grandmother,” Anne Marie said a second time.

“Yes, of course, but if she couldn’t arrange to come for Ellen’s performance, it’s unlikely she’d be up to looking after an extra child.”

Shelly had a point. Anne Marie remembered Ellen’s saying that her grandmother slept a lot, which made her wonder if the woman was ill.

Shelly drifted away to chat with another parent. Anne Marie wanted to leave but she could tell that Ellen was desperate for her to stay. She searched for a topic of conversation.

“Would you like to show me your schoolwork?” Anne Marie asked. She remembered that during her brief orientation, this was an option suggested for Lunch Buddies.

“Okay.” Ellen sat in her small chair and opened her desk to retrieve a notebook. Everything inside was impeccably organized.

Ellen set the notebook on top and flipped it open for Anne Marie to examine. On nearly every page the teacher had written a comment praising Ellen’s work.

“You’re an excellent student,” Anne Marie said.

“Grandma Dolores makes me study every night.” Ellen didn’t seem happy about this.

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” Ellen shrugged.

“Then you get to watch TV, right? That’s what you told me before.”

She bobbed her head. “We watch shows on the religion channel.”

“What about cartoons?”

“Grandma Dolores doesn’t think cartoons are good for kids. She saw South Park once and got upset. She hid my face in her apron and started praying to Jesus.”

Anne Marie bit her lip, trying not to smile.

A buzzer rang, announcing the end of the school day. In short order, children and parents began to vacate the classroom. Ellen looked up atAnne Marie. “I need to catch my bus.”

“Would you like me to walk outside with you?”

“Yes, please.”

While Ellen put on her coat and gathered her things, Anne Marie went to introduce herself to the teacher. Ms. Peterski smiled at Anne Marie. “I’m so pleased you could come.”

“I am, too,” she said and she meant it.

She and Ellen walked out to the schoolyard, negotiating their way through the laughing, shouting throngs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at lunchtime,” Anne Marie said as they neared the area where the children lined up for their buses.

“You’re coming tomorrow, too?”

“It’s our lunch date, remember?”

Ellen blinked hard, apparently overwhelmed that Anne Marie would come to see her two days in a row.

“I can’t bring Baxter, though,” Anne Marie reminded her.

“That’s okay.” They approached the bus stop, and suddenly Ellen slipped her hand into Anne Marie’s.

It felt as if the warmth of that small hand reached all the way to her heart.

Chapter 11

Wednesday evening as Anne Marie prepared for bed, her phone rang. At the time she was brushing her teeth. Frowning, she turned off the tap and spit into the sink, then wiped her mouth before she went into the kitchen.

She couldn’t even guess who’d be phoning after eleven o’clock. Caller ID told her nothing. It said Private Caller, which meant it was probably one of the widows. If Elise, Lillie or Barbie was calling her this late, that meant trouble of some kind, although she couldn’t imagine what.

“Hello,” Anne Marie answered cautiously. Nighttime phone calls usually brought bad news, and she’d had enough of that.

“This is Anne Marie?” The voice, that of an older woman, was barely audible.

“Yes.”

“Anne Marie Roche?”

“Yes.”

“I need…help.” The woman, this stranger on the other end of the line, was close to panicking.

“Who is this, please?”

“Dolores. Dolores Falk.”

“Who?”

“Ellen’s grandmother.”

Anne Marie sucked in her breath as a dozen disturbing possibilities ran through her mind. “Is Ellen all right?” she asked, fighting down a sense of panic.

“Yes…no. It’s me who needs help… I wouldn’t call you if there was anyone else.” Each word seemed labored.

Anne Marie didn’t know what she could possibly do. “Do you want me to call someone?” she asked, wondering how she might assist the older woman. Surely she had a neighbor or a friend she could contact. Anne Marie was a stranger.

“No, the aid car is on its way.” The woman’s breathing became harsh and irregular. “Just come…please. Hurry.”

Anne Marie didn’t understand. “Are you saying you want me to come to your house?”

“Please. Just…hurry.”

“But…” How did Ellen’s grandmother get her phone number? And what did she want? She was clearly in distress, but how could Anne Marie help?

“I don’t have anyone else to take Ellen,” Dolores gasped.

“Me? You want me to take Ellen? But I can’t—” It was out of the question. Anne Marie didn’t have room for a child.

“They’re going to bring me to the hospital. Please. I’ll refuse to let them unless you come.”

Talk about emotional blackmail! In just the few minutes Anne Marie had been on the phone with Ellen’s grandmother, she’d realized the older woman was badly in need of medical attention. As much as she resented this, Anne Marie didn’t have a choice. She’d have to go and then try to sort out the situation later.

“What’s the address?”

Dolores gave it to her with the added pressure of, “Hurry, please hurry.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Exasperated, she replaced the phone and exhaled sharply. How had she ended up in this predicament? She’d volunteered to be a Lunch Buddy, not a…she didn’t know what.

Pulling on jeans and a shirt, Anne Marie complained to Baxter, then promised to return as quickly as possible. With the address scribbled on a grocery-store receipt, she headed for her car. All she needed right now was to get attacked in the alley.

The alley was actually well lit, not that it would help her any if someone decided to leap out of the dark and mug her. Unlocking her car with shaking fingers, she climbed inside and started the engine.

Anne Marie considered herself the least capable person to deal with someone else’s problems. If she’d had the school counselor’s home number, she would’ve called Ms. Mayer and handed the whole mess over to her. Rescuing her Lunch Buddy in the middle of the night was not what she’d signed up for.

Dolores Falk’s house was only about four miles away, but the neighborhood, an older working-class area, was unfamiliar. By the time Anne Marie arrived, the aid car was parked out front. A fire truck was there, too, plus paramedics. Several neighbors stood on their porches watching all the activity.

Anne Marie parked across the street, well away from the emergency vehicles. Purposefully she trudged over to the house.

The instant Ellen saw her, she bolted down the porch steps, then raced across the yard and threw her arms around Anne Marie’s waist.

“What’s going on?” Anne Marie asked, placing her hands on the child’s shoulders.

“These men are taking Grandma to the hospital,” Ellen sobbed, clinging to Anne Marie.

“But they’re going to help her. Isn’t that what we want?” she asked softly.

“N-o-o! She-e-e mi-gh-t d-i-e,” the girl wailed.

“Let me talk to them,” she said and gently loosened the child’s arms. She walked Ellen back to the porch and left her sitting on the bottom step, still sobbing.

“Are you Anne Marie Roche?” an emergency medical technician asked as he stepped out of the house.

“Yes.”

“Good. The grandmother refused medical treatment until you got here.”

“Why me?”

“You’ll have to ask her that yourself.”

“Then let me talk to her.”

He shook his head. “I’d prefer if you did that at the hospital.”

“I only need a minute,” she insisted stubbornly.

“The grandmother told us you’d be taking the child,” the paramedic said as he started into the house.

“I’m her Lunch Buddy.” She wanted to explain that her entire role in this child’s life was to have lunch with her once a week. She’d met her exactly four times, if you included the brief orientation the previous month.

Lunch. That was supposed to be the full extent of her commitment.

No one had said anything about taking Ellen home with her. That was probably against the rules, anyway, and there seemed to be a lot of those.

“Isn’t there someone else?” she asked, following the EMT into the house.

“Apparently not.” He hurried to a bedroom in the back, Anne Marie directly behind him.

She discovered Dolores Falk on a stretcher. The woman’s complexion was sickly and gray, and every rasping breath seemed to cause her pain. Her hand rested on her heart, her eyes tightly shut. Ellen had said her grandmother was over fifty; in Anne Marie’s observation, she had to be in her mid-sixties but looked older.

“Wheel her out,” the EMT instructed the other two.

The woman’s eyes flew open. “Wait.”

“I’m here,” Anne Marie rushed to tell her.

Dolores reached out and grabbed Anne Marie’s hand in a grip that was shockingly strong. “Don’t let them put Ellen in a foster home. I’ll lose her if they do.”

“But, Mrs. Falk… Where do you want me to take her?”

The woman’s eyes closed again. “Home. Take her home with you.”

“With me? I can’t—”

“You have to…”

The EMT came in then and they rolled the stretcher down the hallway and out of the house. Anne Marie trailed behind, watching helplessly as the emergency crew loaded Ellen’s grandmother into the aid car and drove off, sirens screaming.

With her hands covering her face, Ellen sobbed as she huddled on the steps, her shoulders trembling. Her pitiful cries were drowned out by the screeching aid car.

Anne Marie crouched so they were at eye level. “Your grandmother’s going to see the doctors and they’re going to make her well again.” She prayed with all her heart that this was true.

Ellen nodded tearfully. “When will Grandma be back?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” She was so far out of her element here that she was breaking into a cold sweat.

“Where will I go?” Ellen asked.

“For tonight,” Anne Marie said, mustering as much enthusiasm as she could, “you get to come home with me.”

Ellen dropped her hands long enough to look up at Anne Marie. “With you?”

“Yes, that’s why your grandmother called me.”

“Is Baxter there?”

Anne Marie nodded. She should’ve thought of that sooner. Ellen loved Baxter and he’d help take the child’s mind off what was happening to her grandmother.

“Baxter’s waiting for us to get back to my apartment so he can see you. Didn’t you say you wanted to teach him to roll over?”

“Yes-s-s.” For the first time since Anne Marie had arrived, the eight-year-old stopped weeping. She bit her lip and managed to control her sobs.

“We should pack a few things for you.”

“I have my backpack,” Ellen said, looking small and lost and terrified.

“Good idea. We’ll put what you need in there.” Taking the child by the hand, Anne Marie went into the house. It was an older single-story home, probably built soon after the Second World War. The floors were linoleum and the furniture shabby and dated. The hallway led to three bedrooms.

Ellen’s room was the farthest down the hall on the right-hand side.

It was furnished with a single bed, a dresser and a child-size desk and chair. The closet was narrow but more than big enough for Ellen’s few clothes.

“Just get what you’ll need for school tomorrow,” Anne Marie said. In the morning she’d drive Ellen to Woodrow Wilson Elementary, then she’d talk to Ms. Mayer and find out what could be done for the child.

“I brushed my teeth already,” Ellen said. Kneeling down on the braided rug next to her bed, she stuffed a pair of neatly ironed jeans and a pink sweater into her backpack.

“Don’t forget your shoes and socks,” Anne Marie told her. Ellen was wearing bedroom slippers and well-worn pajamas over which she’d pulled a sweatshirt. “Did you have any homework?”

Ellen nodded and hurried to the kitchen, returning with a small binder. “It’s math,” she explained as she added that to the pouch, along with her tennis shoes and a pair of socks.