Blossom Street Bundle. Debbie Macomber
Melissa shook her head. “No one knows, other than you and my mother. I just couldn’t face anyone else.”
“How can I help you?” Anne Marie asked, wondering why Melissa had turned to her. But the reasons for her stepdaughter’s change of heart didn’t matter, Anne Marie told herself. She would do whatever she could.
“I need…I need someone who can help me decide.”
Melissa had difficulty making decisions; that was clear, since she’d made a number of spectacularly bad ones. But perhaps some of them could be reversed.
“Okay,” Anne Marie began, taking a deep breath. “First, I don’t see that there’s any reason to drop out of school, especially this close to graduation.”
“I know. That was just as stupid as breaking up with Michael, wasn’t it?”
“Do what you can to get back on course for graduation. Your father would’ve wanted you to complete your education.”
Melissa nodded; she seemed to appreciate the advice. “Several of my professors have asked to talk to me, so I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”
“Good.”
“What about my mother?” Melissa asked, looking anxiously at Anne Marie.
“This is your decision, not hers.”
She nodded again, as if she needed to be reminded of that. “If I don’t go to England…”
“Why can’t you go?”
“Mom said I couldn’t have the job unless I aborted the baby.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t mean that,” Anne Marie said. “The news shocked her, that’s all.” She remembered Robert confessing that he’d gotten Pamela pregnant before they were married. Apparently she was afraid her daughter would repeat her own mistakes by marrying too young—and in Pamela’s view, marrying the wrong man.
“I should tell Michael right away, shouldn’t I?”
“That would be a good idea.” Anne Marie could see this was something Melissa wanted to do. “The two of you can talk it over together. Do you love him?”
“Yes, but… A friend told me she saw him with someone else.” She paused, tears running unchecked down her face. “If he loved me, he wouldn’t be dating again so soon, would he?”
“Who knows why men do anything?” Anne Marie asked, hoping to inject a bit of humor into the conversation.
Melissa responded with a wobbly smile. A moment later, she whispered, “Thank you, Anne Marie. I never thought I’d turn to you for anything and now I feel you’re the only person I can talk to.”
There’d been a time, a long time, when Anne Marie would’ve done anything to win her stepdaughter’s approval. Little did she realize it would come after Robert’s death.
They hugged and arranged to meet for lunch the following week. As they broke apart, Anne Marie recognized that Melissa wanted to say something else. She looked away and then back at Anne Marie, her eyes intent.
“I am sorry about the last time we met—you know that, right?”
Anne Marie nodded.
“Have you…?” She didn’t complete the thought, almost as though she was weighing the advisability of even asking.
“Have I what?”
Melissa shrugged. “Contacted Rebecca? Have you asked her about the…baby?”
“No.” Anne Marie kept her voice as flat as possible.
Her stepdaughter accepted that without further comment. With a wave and a “See you next week,” she headed for the door.
Anne Marie waited until Melissa had left the bookstore before she collapsed onto the overstuffed chair and pressed one hand over her eyes. This nightmare that had become her life just wasn’t going away. She was the one who wanted a child.
Not Rebecca.
Not Melissa.
Anne Marie.
Her longing for a baby had led to her separation from Robert—a desperate attempt to impress on him how serious she was. Not that it had done her any good. Instead, Robert’s personal assistant now had a baby, most likely his, and his daughter had turned to Anne Marie for advice about an unwanted pregnancy.
But there was no baby for her.
No love, either.
She sensed someone at her side and opening her eyes, found Theresa standing there. Her employee rested one hand on Anne Marie’s shoulder.
“Bad news?” she asked.
Forcing a smile, Anne Marie shook her head. “That was Robert’s daughter.”
Knowing the history between them, Theresa stared at her. “Melissa? Is she okay? Are you?”
“She…she misses her father.”
So did Anne Marie, even more than she’d thought possible.
Chapter 22
On Monday evening Barbie purposely stayed away from the movies. It wasn’t easy, but she felt she had no option. Last week she’d left her business card with Tessa; now Barbie felt the next move had to come from him.
In a way Mark had made the next move by having flowers delivered, although she considered that an indirect, even cowardly approach. The flowers were a lovely gesture, but she’d been looking for more—like an apology or an invitation to meet again. By ordering the floral arrangement he’d managed to communicate his interest, yet keep his pride intact.
Maybe…the gesture was enough. For the moment.
She recognized what he was trying to tell her. He’d made a move in this elaborate game of theirs; the next one was hers.
She knew a little more about him after a Google search. He was an architect with an independent practice and lived in a downtown condo he’d designed himself.
Barbie felt encouraged by his interest. No, she was ecstatic. Still, she had to restrain herself, not let him have the upper hand. She decided she’d return to the movies again, but not right away.
Tuesday afternoon, she thought she’d register for the belly dancing class being held at the Seattle Fitness Center. This was her first trip here, and she was surprised to find an Olympic-size pool, along with a huge gymnasium and several activity rooms. As she walked down the hallway to the office, she passed a shop that sold workout clothes, swimsuits and other exercise paraphernalia.
After filling out the paperwork and paying her fee, Barbie began to leave the building, feeling positive and determined. She was making her wishes come true. Smiling to herself, she rounded the corner and stopped abruptly as a man in a wheelchair moved toward the pool.
Mark Bassett.
Coincidence? Fate? Barbie wasn’t about to question it. Her heart felt as if it had shot all the way up into her throat. Without conscious thought she did an about-face and headed back, toward the shop. Within five minutes, she’d purchased a swimsuit and towel. Gaining entrance to the pool was a bit more difficult; before she was allowed to swim, she had to buy a six-month fitness membership. She slapped her credit card down on the counter, impatient to get into the water before Mark.
He had to believe this meeting wasn’t staged—which, in truth, it wasn’t. Okay, so her showing up at the pool might be a bit manipulative, but when life presented you with an advantage, you had to grab it with both hands.
Barbie changed into the swimsuit, a sleek blue one-piece, in the women’s dressing room and walked out as though she was strolling along a Caribbean shore. The suit, thankfully, was a perfect fit. She squared her shoulders and silently