Summer on Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

      CHAPTER

      5

       Anne Marie Roche

      Anne Marie and Ellen Roche hauled their suitcases up the stairs to the small apartment above Blossom Street Books. The flight from Paris had landed them back in Seattle midafternoon but it felt like the middle of the night to Anne Marie.

      Nine-year-old Ellen had slept for most of the flight, but not Anne Marie. Instead, she’d cradled her daughter with one arm and reveled in each and every precious memory of their two-week vacation.

      Even after nearly eight months it seemed unbelievable that she was now legally Ellen’s mother. A few words in front of a judge had made it so. In truth, the judge’s proclamation had been a mere formality. Anne Marie had become Ellen’s mother in her mind, in her heart, long before anything was official.

      Almost a year and a half earlier, on Valentine’s Day, Anne Marie, together with three other widows, had made a list of twenty wishes. One of her wishes was to travel to Paris with someone she loved. That someone had turned out to be Ellen. A number of her wishes had come to pass, and some, like the Paris trip, had taken place in unexpected ways.

      “Can we get Baxter now?” Ellen asked, racing out of her small bedroom, where she’d deposited her suitcase.

      “In a little while.”

      Anne Marie missed her Yorkie, too. Her friend Elise Beaumont—one of the group of Valentine widows—had looked after Baxter these past two weeks. Anne Marie had predicted that by the time they got back, Elise would recognize the benefits of canine companionship.

      “I want to teach Baxter French,” Ellen said.

      The girl had picked up phrases with surprising ease and was determined not to forget a single word.

      “J’aime la France,” Ellen said.

      “Moi, aussi.” Anne Marie remembered that much French, despite her exhaustion.

      “S’il vous plaît, donne moi quelques bon-bons?” Ellen asked next.

      “No, you can’t have any candy!”

      “Ah, Mom…”

      Anne Marie returned to her unpacking. “Let me put in a load of wash and then we’ll go get Baxter.”

      Ellen went back to her bedroom and finished unpacking her own suitcase. Then she stored it beneath her bed, which was littered with souvenirs she’d purchased in Paris for herself and special friends.

      Anne Marie was touched by the girl’s generosity. Ellen had spent all the money she’d saved from her allowance on trinkets for her school friends as well as Melissa, Anne Marie’s stepdaughter, and her baby boy.

      After dumping a load of clothes in the washer and setting the dial, Anne Marie called Elise and asked if it would be convenient to collect Baxter. She was told they could come anytime. While she was on the phone she decided to check her voice mail. With pen and pad in hand, she prepared to listen to two weeks’ worth of messages. Among them, as she expected, were a number of calls from real estate agents.

      The time had come to search for a home. The apartment above the bookstore had been fine when it was just her, but she had a daughter to consider now. Anne Marie had started looking and hoped to find a place this summer. With Ellen’s circumstances so changed, she’d delayed the move, wanting the child to feel secure in her new life.

      There were four or five calls regarding houses in the neighborhood Anne Marie had chosen. She wanted Ellen to be able to attend the same school. Unfortunately, the homes in that neighborhood were older, and many were badly in need of updating and repairs. Anne Marie would have to pay for the work, and that added extensively to the cost.

      To her surprise there were a number of hang-ups, as well. She generally didn’t get more than one or two a month, if that. After the third, she began counting and tallied seven. Someone seemed to be trying hard to get hold of her, although she had no idea who it might be.

      Well, no point in worrying about it. Anyone this persistent was bound to try again. However, the fact that this person hadn’t left a message was a bit disconcerting.

      “Is anything wrong?” Ellen murmured as she entered the kitchen.

      “No, of course not. Why do you ask?”

      “You’re frowning,” Ellen said, studying her, sensitive as always to her moods.

      It meant that Anne Marie had to be careful not to overdramatize her emotions. “Everything’s fine. Now let’s go pick up Baxter,” she said, grabbing Ellen about the waist and tickling her.

      The girl squealed delightedly.

      Reaching for her purse, Anne Marie followed Ellen, who bounced down the stairs ahead of her.

      Teresa, her full-time employee, looked up when Ellen burst into the bookstore. “I didn’t expect you guys to go out so soon,” she commented. She stood behind the cash register, opening the latest order from Ingram’s, a distributor. Cartons of books were stacked behind her, a good indication that business hadn’t slacked off while Anne Marie was away.

      “We’re going to get Baxter,” Anne Marie explained. “We probably won’t be long.”

      “Aren’t you tired?”

      “Exhausted,” Anne Marie told her.

      “Ellen seems raring to go.”

      That wasn’t unusual. But Anne Marie suspected jet lag would catch up with her soon.

      “Can we say hello to Susannah?” Ellen asked.

      “Of course, but remember if she’s with a customer we’ll have to wait.”

      “Okay.” Ellen held the shop door open for her.

      Susannah had two customers, but when