Blossom Street Bundle. Debbie Macomber
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before St. Patrick’s Day. We had lunch with you.” Surely her mother hadn’t forgotten.
There was another silence. Then Laura said, “Let me see if I have this straight. This second-grade girl you agreed to have lunch with once a week is the one you’re going to adopt?” Her mother sounded incredulous.
“Yes, Mom. She came to stay with me, remember?”
“Well, yes, and I told you I thought it was rather nervy of that girl’s grandmother to call you in the middle of the night.”
“Dolores Falk died.”
This information appeared to unsettle Laura. “Oh…dear. That is a shame.”
“Ellen doesn’t have anyone else,” Anne Marie said.
“You’re fond of the child?”
“I love her as though I’d given birth to her myself,” Anne Marie confessed. “I’ve already talked to the social worker and asked to be considered as Ellen’s adoptive mother.” She closed her eyes, certain her mother would discourage her, as she had with every important decision Anne Marie had ever made, from the school she’d chosen to the man she’d married.
“Oh, Anne Marie…”
She waited for it.
“I think that’s a wonderful thing to do.”
Her jaw fell so fast and hard, Anne Marie was surprised she hadn’t dislocated it. “You…think I’m doing the right thing?”
“My dear girl, you’re old enough to decide what you want to do with your own life. If this child means so much to you, then by all means bring her into the family.”
As far as Anne Marie could remember, this was the first time in her adult life that her mother had supported her choices. She didn’t understand it, other than to assume the child had won over her mother’s heart in the hour or two they’d spent together.
“There won’t be any legal problems, will there?” Laura went on to ask.
“I don’t know.” Evelyn Boyle had to do a search for Ellen’s birth certificate and find out who was listed as the father. He would need to be contacted and given the opportunity to state his wishes.
Anne Marie was pretty sure Ellen’s biological father didn’t even know she existed. But if Evelyn managed to track him down… He could decide to declare his parental rights and Anne Marie would have no option but to relinquish Ellen. The thought made her feel ill.
“What about her biological mother?”
“She gave up all rights to her daughter three years ago when Ellen went to live with her grandmother.”
“Does that mean the mother can’t change her mind?”
“It’s too late for that. Anyway, if it wasn’t for Dolores, Ellen might’ve been put up for adoption years ago.”
“Oh.”
“The social worker was encouraging.” The fact that Ellen was living with Anne Marie and that they’d so obviously bonded was a hopeful sign. However, the issue of Ellen’s biological father still had to be resolved.
Anne Marie suddenly remembered something. “The wishes.”
“I beg your pardon?” her mother said. “Stop mumbling, Anne Marie. How many times do I have to tell you? Speak up.”
“Sorry, Mom. I was just thinking out loud.”
“What was that about wishes? That’s what you said, isn’t it? It certainly sounded like wishes.”
“Ellen has a list of wishes. Twenty wishes.” Anne Marie had no intention of referring to her own list or those of the other widows. Her mother would no doubt throw scorn on the idea or dismiss it as childish.
“Children do that sort of thing,” her mother said, confirming her suspicion. “I wouldn’t give it any mind. I suppose she wished for a mother and father?”
“No, no…nothing like that.” Then, because she felt she had to explain after bringing it up, she said, “Ellen wants to meet her father.”
“Every child wants that. My guess is she’s well rid of him.”
The rest of the conversation made no impact on Anne Marie. A few minutes after she ended the call, she wandered into Ellen’s tiny bedroom and watched the child as she slept, one hand flung out and resting on the dog, who was cuddled up close beside her. The poor kid was exhausted and seemed to be lost in her dreams.
Earlier, in between working at the store and looking after Ellen, Anne Marie had called the school. She’d updated Helen Mayer, who’d cheered when Anne Marie told her about adopting Ellen. She’d even offered a character reference should any be needed in the adoption process.
Anne Marie was just afraid the proceedings might not get that far.
On Saturday morning, three days after Dolores’s death, they’d visited the funeral home and arranged for a small private service. A short obituary written by Anne Marie appeared in the paper. Several neighbors stopped by on Sunday to pay their respects.
The house was a rental property and Anne Marie had until the end of the month to get it cleaned out and ready for the next tenants.
That afternoon, with a few friends gathered around, Anne Marie and Ellen had laid Dolores Falk to rest. Throughout the service, Ellen stayed by Anne Marie’s side. She didn’t weep, although her eyes filled with tears more than once. Afterward, they’d returned to the apartment alone.
“I think Grandma Dolores was ready to live with Jesus,” Ellen had said calmly as she reached for her knitting bag. She seemed to find solace in knitting.
“What makes you say that?”
She’d glanced up. “I saw it in her eyes. She told me she was tired.”
Anne Marie had thought her heart would break.
Late Tuesday afternoon, Anne Marie and Ellen were in the apartment, planning a visit to Dolores’s house to sort out what to keep and what to give away, when the phone rang. It was Cathy in the bookstore. “The social worker’s here to talk to you. Should I send her up?”
“Yes, please.” Evelyn Boyle had said she’d hoped to attend the memorial service the previous day; she’d also said she had a court date and wasn’t sure how long that would last.
Anne Marie waited anxiously for her at the top of the stairs.
“How did everything go yesterday?” Evelyn asked, taking the steps one by one.
“It was very nice.” Several of Dolores’s neighbors had attended, and Helen Mayer from the school had been there, too, along with Lydia, Elise and Lillie. Dolores had requested that her remains be cremated; Anne Marie and Ellen would receive the ashes at a later date.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there.”
Anne Marie bit her lip until it hurt. “Do you have news?”
“I do.” The middle-aged woman paused on the landing and placed her hand over her heart. “Stairs are God’s way of telling me I’m not getting any younger.”
Anne Marie resisted the urge to shake her by the shoulders and demand to know what she’d learned. “Come in, please,” she invited, doing her best to disguise her nervousness.
The social worker stepped into the kitchen. Ellen sat at the table knitting, with Anne Marie’s notes for the disbursement of Dolores’s belongings scattered about. “My goodness,” Evelyn murmured, “who taught you to knit so well?”
“Anne Marie,” Ellen said without looking up. “I’m sorry, Ms. Boyle, but I can’t talk now. I’m counting stitches.”
“Perhaps you could move into the living room so