Blossom Street Bundle. Debbie Macomber
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.”
“I’m sorry.” Barbie felt she had to apologize because it so clearly upset her friend.
“No, no. I mean, for heaven’s sake, it’s not your fault.” Recovering quickly, Anne Marie dismissed her concern with a quick shake of her head.
Ellen gazed up at her, frowning. “I didn’t know you can’t sing.”
“Don’t worry, Ellen,” Anne Marie murmured. “I will again.”
Because Ellen was restless and maybe because Anne Marie wanted to change the subject, the two of them went for a short walk around the park before the music started. As they left, Barbie saw that the little girl stuck close to Anne Marie’s side. Being with so many people was probably overwhelming for a child. Barbie had to credit her friend; it couldn’t have been easy to bring this child into her home, even for a short while.
In fact, Barbie thought Anne Marie seemed softer now, less cynical and more open. Being with such a vulnerable child, having to take responsibility for her, meant that Anne Marie was less focused on her own sorrows. Wasn’t that what Elise kept saying? Doing something for someone else made you feel better about yourself.
The group of Irish singers was introduced, and the crowd instantly broke into applause. Ellen and Anne Marie hurried back to the blanket just as the performance began.
The singers, the fiddlers and dancers were thrilling, and Barbie loved every minute. The music was infectious. And the dancing—it was so vigorous, yet disciplined, too. Ellen sat through the entire hour mesmerized. She seemed to absorb the music, every note of it. When the performance was over, her face glowed.
“That was so good,” she said, looking atAnne Marie and Barbie. “I want to sing like that someday. Do you think I can?” she asked plaintively.
“Yes,” Anne Marie told her in a confident voice. “I’m sure you can.”
People had started to leave the park. The exodus was slow moving, but Barbie wasn’t in any hurry. Besides, her feet hurt. That was what she got for wearing designer shoes; she’d chosen them because they were the perfect complement to her black linen pants and green silk blouse. The sun warmed the day, and she’d left her raincoat open, the belt dangling at her sides.
As she and Anne Marie waited patiently for the crowd to thin, Barbie saw a flash of chrome from the corner of her eye. She turned to look and then caught her breath. She grabbed Anne Marie’s elbow.
“It’s him.…” She could barely get the words out. Feeling self-conscious, she dropped her hand.
“Who?” Anne Marie asked.
Barbie couldn’t tell her because she hadn’t told anyone about her attraction to Mark Bassett, the man in the wheelchair. She looked again, just to be sure. He was alone, or appeared to be, apparently waiting for the crowd to disperse. Maneuvering his wheelchair would be difficult with so many people pressing in around him.
“You