Debbie Macomber_Blossom Street 04 (18 page)

This was as shocking as the fact that he was a mechanic. “He’s Hispanic? Is he legal?”

“Yes! Of course! Hector’s a citizen. He’s decent and hardworking and kind.” She hiccuped once, then covered her face. “This is even worse than I thought it would be,” she moaned.

“No, Mom, really, I apologize. That was a stupid question. It’s just…I don’t know what to think.” She’d assumed her mother couldn’t surprise her; she’d assumed wrong. Of all the men who’d love to date her mother, Lillie had fallen for a mechanic?

Lillie dropped her hands. “I believe I know what you’re trying to say,” she said in a cold voice. “And I’m disappointed in you.”

“I’m sorry,” Barbie mumbled. But the image of her mother with this man refused to take shape in her mind.

Her mother motioned toward her. “It’s your turn.”

“But…”

“Tell me what the problem is with this Mark. Why you didn’t want to say anything. Is he too old? Too young? Some kind of addict?”

“None of those.” Like her mother, she squared her shoulders and expelled her secret in a single breath. “He’s paralyzed from the waist down.”

Lillie closed her eyes briefly. “Oh, Barbie.”

It was just as she’d expected. Annoyed, she slid off the stool. “I knew it! I should’ve realized you’d react like this. I wish I hadn’t said anything.” Her annoyance turned to disillusionment and then just as quickly to pain. “You’re the one person in the world I trust to understand me and all you can say is
Oh, Barbie?
”

“You weren’t exactly a great encouragement to me, either,” Lillie muttered.

“Oh, please. A mechanic? You want to ask a mechanic out for a date and you expect me to
cheer?
” All the frustration and anger of the evening burst from her. She stood with her hands knotted into fists at her sides. “You didn’t tell Jacqueline who this man is, did you? What’s the appeal? Do you think he’ll be good in bed? Is that it?” Her own words shocked her, but not nearly as much as they did her mother.

Lillie stood frozen, her eyes wide with horror. Then she did something she’d never done in her whole life.

She slapped her.

Stunned into silence, Barbie pressed her hand to her cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes.

When her mother spoke, her voice shook with fury. “At least Hector could take me to bed.”

Barbie gasped at the implication, grabbed her purse and shot out of the house. Over the years they’d quarreled—every mother and daughter did—but never anything like this.

A sick feeling engulfed her as she drove to her own house, less than two miles away. Pulling into the garage, she sat in her car and hid her face in both hands. The urge to break into heaving sobs of rage and pain and regret nearly overwhelmed her. But she refused to give in to the
swell of grief, refused to allow the ugliness that had come between them to disintegrate her emotions any further.

Barbie didn’t sleep that night or the next.

Nor did she speak to her mother. Ten times at least she reached for the phone. Normally they spoke every day, often more than once. Now the silence was like a vast emptiness.

As far as Barbie was concerned, her mother owed her an apology. Lillie had struck her—her own daughter.

By the end of the second day, Barbie could hardly stand it. She missed her mother. She
needed
her.

The dinner for the widows’ group was scheduled for Thursday night. Barbie was determined to go, but as Tuesday passed and then Wednesday, that resolve weakened.

This was ridiculous, she told herself. They’d both been at fault.

They’d both said things they regretted. It was time to apologize and put this behind them.

Late Thursday afternoon, a floral delivery truck parked in front of her dress shop just as Barbie was about to close for the day. The man carried in a huge floral arrangement from Susannah’s Garden. This had to be a hundred-dollar order. It took up nearly half the counter space.

The driver handed her a clipboard, and Barbie signed her name as a rush of relief came over her. She didn’t need to look at the attached card to know her mother had sent the flowers. Like her, Lillie was sorry. She was apologizing, trying to restore what they’d lost. Smiling, Barbie removed the small envelope and opened it.

She was wrong; Lillie hadn’t sent the flowers.

Only one word was written on the card.

Mark
.

A
nne Marie and Ellen were both looking forward to dinner at Lillie’s that night. Earlier, Anne Marie had called to ask what she could contribute to the meal.

“Nothing,” her friend had insisted. “Just bring yourselves.” As she replaced the receiver, Anne Marie thought that Lillie didn’t sound like herself. Ever since they’d made their wish lists, Lillie’s spirits had been high. But following their conversation, she wondered if she’d misread Lillie’s feelings. Her voice had been flat, emotionless, devoid of her usual enthusiasm.

Anne Marie was afraid this dinner might be too much work for her. Later in the day she phoned Lillie again, to make sure everything was all right.

“Everything’s perfectly fine,” Lillie said, although her tone belied her words. “Actually, I’m really enjoying myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve cooked for a dinner party.” Anne Marie heard a timer in the distance, and Lillie told her she had to get off the phone.

Still, Anne Marie wondered. She sensed that some
thing was off, but Lillie obviously wasn’t going to tell her. All she could do was accept her word and hope that if there
was
a problem, it would soon be resolved.

The school bus rolled past the shop window and Anne Marie knew Ellen would appear in a few minutes.

“It’s tonight, isn’t it?” Ellen said happily as she bolted into the store. She released one strap and allowed her backpack to slip carelessly over her shoulder.

“Tonight’s the night,” Anne Marie concurred. Being invited to someone else’s home for dinner seemed to be a new experience for the eight-year-old. Although Ellen had always displayed good manners, Anne Marie reviewed them with her, just to be on the safe side.

“I won’t talk with my mouth full or interrupt the conver…conver—” she stumbled over the word “—the conversation.”

“Excellent.” Anne Marie smiled at her. “You can bring your knitting if you want.”

At that suggestion, Ellen raced up the stairs to the apartment as if they were heading out the door that very moment. Such exuberance made Anne Marie smile again.

They were both making progress with their knitting. Anne Marie’s first official class the day before had gone well. In teaching Ellen, she’d learned more about the basic knit stitch than she’d realized. After school on Tuesday, Anne Marie had taken Ellen to A Good Yarn and allowed her to purchase yarn and needles of her own. Lydia had chatted with Ellen for quite a while; by now, as Lydia said, the two of them were old friends. That evening, after the dinner dishes and Ellen’s homework, they’d sat side by side, helping each other. Anne Marie couldn’t avoid reflecting that this was something she’d never had the chance to do with her stepdaughter. Even as a ten-or
eleven-year-old, Melissa had rejected all her attempts to work on projects together, whether it was reading or baking or gathering autumn leaves for a scrapbook. Whatever Anne Marie suggested was deemed “stupid” or “boring.” The memory had produced a sadness she found hard to forget.

In the knitting class, Anne Marie had learned how to purl and she had about three inches of the lap robe finished. Ellen was half done with the scarf for her grandmother; the girl had a good eye for color and had chosen a soft pink yarn and a peach. The combination was lovely. They were colors Anne Marie would never have thought to put together.

Lydia had praised her color choice, too, and Ellen glowed with pleasure at the compliment.

“Are you bringing your Twenty Wishes binder?” Ellen asked now.

“Yes, I think so.”

Ellen slipped her knitting into her backpack. “Should I bring my list?”

Anne Marie hesitated, a little worried that Ellen might inadvertently dominate the conversation. “Maybe next time, okay? For tonight I want you to sit and listen.”

“Okay.” Running up the stairs with her backpack, Ellen collected an excited Baxter for his walk, the requisite plastic bag tucked into her jeans’ pocket.

At four, Steve Handley came into the shop for his shift. Anne Marie didn’t have time to shower, but went upstairs to refresh her makeup. The day was overcast, so she decided to put a forest-green knit vest over her cream-colored long-sleeved blouse.

Ellen was modeling the new denim skirt Anne Marie had bought her when the phone rang.

“Want me to answer?” Ellen asked.

Anne Marie hesitated. “Let me check who it is first.” She glanced at the phone as Caller ID flashed Melissa’s name and number.

Instinctively Anne Marie backed away. She still hadn’t recovered from her last conversation with her stepdaughter. Another heart-to-heart might just finish her off.

The phone rang again and then again. After the fourth ring, voice mail came on. Anne Marie listened to the brief message. Melissa identified herself, then said, “Call me,” without explaining why.

“Anne Marie?” Ellen spoke tentatively, staring up at her with worried eyes.

“Hey,” she said, forcing some enthusiasm into her voice. “I thought we had a dinner date. Are you ready?”

Ellen nodded eagerly.

“Me, too. Let’s go.”

On the short drive to Lillie’s, they sang camp songs. Or rather, Ellen sang. Anne Marie
tried
to sing and once again her voice sounded as if someone was strangling her. After the first few lines, she stopped and simply listened. Ellen truly was gifted and she loved to sing. After the first song, she immediately started a second one—“This Little Light of Mine,” a song she told Anne Marie she’d learned in church.

Which reminded Anne Marie that one thing she hadn’t done was take Ellen to church. It wasn’t part of her normal practice, not that she had anything against religion. Although, at the moment, she didn’t exactly feel God had dealt her a fair hand. Yet she realized that if she was going to maintain the routine Ellen had with Dolores, she should probably be taking her to Sunday-school class.

Just as Ellen’s song came to an end, Anne Marie pulled
up outside Lillie’s house. This was the first time she’d been invited here. She parked in the circular drive, gaping at the sprawling Tudor-style house, which must have seven or eight thousand square feet. The outdoor lighting revealed a sweeping, verdant lawn and, closer to the house itself, an arrangement of flower beds filled with tulips of all colors, daffodils and delicate narcissus.

“Wow,” Anne Marie whispered.

“Does Mrs. Higgins live in a castle?” Ellen asked in a hushed voice.

“It seems so.”

Barbie arrived then, pulling into the drive behind them, and they all walked into the house together, followed a moment later by Elise. As soon as Barbie greeted her mother, Anne Marie could tell that something was amiss, although both Barbie and Lillie struggled to hide it. Instead of the usual camaraderie, the teasing and joking, they were stiffly polite with each other.

They must’ve had an argument or a falling-out. No wonder Lillie had seemed upset.

Lillie had arranged a small buffet with everything on a sideboard in the formal dining room. The buffet started with a selection of cheeses, olives, brie-stuffed dates and three different salads—a seafood pasta, a Caesar with home-made croutons and a fruit salad. For the entrée, Lillie presented them with ricotta-filled chicken breasts and scalloped potatoes.

Elise shook her head. “My goodness, Lillie, you must’ve been cooking for days.”

“Mother is a tremendous cook,” Barbie said quickly.

Lillie turned to her daughter. “Thank you. I enjoy spending time in the kitchen—it takes my mind off other concerns.”

The comment seemed to be directed at Barbie, whose cheeks flushed as she looked away.

Anne Marie helped Ellen prepare her plate and then served herself. The five of them assembled around the table, which seated twelve. Anne Marie noticed that Lillie didn’t have much of an appetite; for that matter, neither did Barbie. They barely seemed to touch their meals. Anne Marie, Ellen and Elise, however, savored every bite.

Conversation was general at first, with everyone asking Ellen about school and which classes she liked best. Reading, spelling and math, she’d answered, providing examples of what she’d recently learned.

“Speaking of classes, did you sign up for belly dancing?” Anne Marie asked Barbie.

Barbie jerked her head up, apparently caught unawares. “Belly dancing?”

“You said it was one of your wishes.”

“Oh, yes. No, I haven’t. Not yet at least. I will, though…probably.” She sat straighter in her chair, chasing the food around her plate before she set her fork aside.

“What else is on your list?” Elise asked her.

Barbie reached down for her purse and withdrew a sheet of paper. “I started a binder like Anne Marie but left it at home this morning. I have my list here, though.”

“I left my binder at home, too. At Anne Marie’s house,” Ellen said in a comforting voice as if to reassure Lillie’s daughter.

“You know, I thought skinny-dipping would be fun.”

“I’ve always thought that would be fun, too,” Anne Marie murmured. She’d forgotten all about it until now.

Ellen tugged at her sleeve and when Anne Marie bent close, the girl whispered, “Is skinny-dipping a new diet? Grandma Dolores talked a lot about diets.”

Anne Marie wasn’t sure how to answer. “It’s, uh, something like that.”

For the first time that evening a smile tweaked the edges of Barbie’s mouth. “I
am
going to do it.”

“Do what?” Elise asked as she and Lillie entered the dining room with dessert—platters of brownies, cookies and tarts.

“Skinny-dipping.”

“Barbie!” her mother gasped.

“At night, Mother. In what you’d call a controlled environment.”

“In the moonlight,” Elise added softly. “Maverick and I—” She stopped abruptly and her face turned bright pink.

“You and Maverick went skinny-dipping?” Barbie asked.

“It was years ago….” She paused. “Well, to be honest, it happened shortly after we reunited.” Elise shook her head fondly. “That man was full of crazy ideas.”

“No wonder you loved him so much,” Barbie whispered.

“Oh, I did, I did. I regret all the years we wasted. Maverick wouldn’t let me talk about my regrets, though. He said we had to make up for lost time and we did everything in our power to squeeze thirty years of life into three.” The expression on her face showed both happiness and loss and was almost painful to watch.

Anne Marie’s eyes filled with tears, and she stared down at her binder. “What about you, Lillie?” she asked, wanting to draw attention away from Elise so the older woman could compose herself.

“You first,” Lillie insisted, offering Ellen some dessert. The girl studied the platter carefully and chose a blueberry tart.

Anne Marie smiled, then glanced down at her binder again. The sheet she’d turned to had a picture of the Eiffel Tower. “I want to go to Paris with someone I love.”

“That’s so nice,” Barbie murmured.

Anne Marie didn’t mention that this was one of Robert’s promises. She’d felt the lure of France, of Paris in particular, from her high school days, when she’d taken two years of French. Robert had spun wonderful stories of the adventures they’d have…someday. It was always in the future, always around the corner. Next month. Next season. Next year. And whenever they made tentative plans, his job interfered.

She tried to dismiss the thought. Her life was her own now and if there was happiness to be found, it was up to her to seek it. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, rely on anyone else ever again.

Because she’d loved and supported her husband, Anne Marie had never complained. Now it became clear that she’d lived her entire marriage based on tomorrow—on well-intentioned promises, directed toward the future.

“I believe you talked about that one before,” Elise reminded her. “It must be important to you.”

“It is.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t want to go alone.”

Ever practical, Elise said, “Okay, it’s not just about seeing Paris. It’s also about falling in love.”

“Yes, that’s true. I want to be in love again.”

“Good.”

“I do, too,” Lillie said quietly. Her gaze drifted down the table to her daughter.

Anne Marie was shocked to see tears glistening in Lillie’s eyes. “I have Twenty Wishes but only one is im
portant,” Lillie said next. “None of the others means a thing without the first.”

“What’s that?” Elise asked. “As if I can’t guess.”

Lillie smiled briefly at Elise’s remark. “I want to fall in love again,” she said, “with a man who’s honorable. A man respected by his peers. A man of principle who values me as a woman… A man who’ll be my friend as well as my lover.” A tear rolled down the side of her face. “I have lived most of my life trying to please others. I don’t think I can do that anymore.”

“Nor should you,” Barbie said. “You deserve to find that man, Mom.”

Lillie’s voice shook. “So do you.”

“I know.”

Then to everyone’s astonishment, Barbie burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Mom, so sorry.”

“I am, too.”

Lillie pushed back her chair and a moment later, mother and daughter were hugging each other, weeping together.

Anne Marie looked at Elise, who shrugged. Once again Ellen tugged at the cuff of her blouse. “Why are they crying?” she asked in a loud whisper, leaning toward Anne Marie.

“I’m not sure.”

“Will they be okay?”

Anne Marie placed her arm around Ellen’s shoulders. “I think so,” she said.

As quickly as Lillie and Barbie had burst into tears, they started to laugh, dabbing their eyes with the linen napkins, smearing their mascara and giggling like teenagers.

Ellen began to giggle, too. Soon Elise joined in. After
a while she got up and carried her dinner dishes into the kitchen and set them on the counter.

Anne Marie collected her plates and Ellen’s and did the same thing. This evening had been cathartic for all of them in some way. Except for Ellen, but Anne Marie knew the experience had been valuable for her, too.

Before she left she picked up her binder and as she shut it, her gaze fell on the Paris postcard she’d glued next to the cut-out picture of the Eiffel Tower.

One day she
would
go to Paris—and she wouldn’t go alone. Because the love of her life would be with her.