couldn’t be right. Robert would never risk getting Rebecca pregnant. Even the one night they’d spent together—She froze. They hadn’t used protection. She’d told him she was off her birth control pills and it was as if it no longer mattered to him. His lack of concern had thrilled Anne Marie. She saw it as the first crack in his stubborn unwillingness to accept her need for a baby.
“Anne Marie…” Melissa choked out her name. The tears ran down her stepdaughter’s face, mingling with the rain. Her hair hung in wet clumps but she didn’t seem to notice. “Someone needs to talk to Rebecca—to ask her…”
“Not me.”
“I can’t,” Melissa wailed.
“Why not?” she asked. “What difference does it make now?”
“If the baby’s Dad’s, then…then it’s related to me. And if that baby really is Dad’s, then…I have to know. I’ve got a right to know.”
Anne Marie wondered if Robert’s daughter would have been as tolerant toward a child she might have had. “Did Rebecca—did she have a boy or a girl?”
“A boy.”
The pain was as searing as a hot poker against her skin. It took her a moment to find her voice. “If the child is Robert’s, why hasn’t Rebecca said anything?”
“I…I don’t know,” Melissa whispered. “I shouldn’t have told you….”
“You wanted to hurt me,” Anne Marie said coldly.
“No!” Melissa’s denial was instantaneous.
“There’s no love lost between us.” Anne Marie had no illusions about her stepdaughter’s motives. “You don’t like me. You never have. All these years you’ve been trying to get back at me, to punish me, and now you have.”
Not bothering to deny the accusation, Melissa buried her face in her hands and started to weep uncontrollably. “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
Anne Marie wanted to turn her back on Robert’s daughter and walk away. But she couldn’t bear to hear Melissa weep. Even though she was the one Robert had betrayed, Anne Marie reached for his daughter and folded her arms around Melissa.
The two women clung together, hardly aware of the people scurrying by.
Anne Marie’s reserve broke apart and the pain of Robert’s betrayal came over her in an explosive, unstoppable rush. She wept as she never had before, even at Robert’s funeral. Her shoulders heaved and the noisy, racking sobs consumed her.
Then it was Melissa who was holding her, comforting her. After all the years of looking for common ground with her stepdaughter, Anne Marie had finally found it.
In her husband’s betrayal.
Chapter 5
Barbie Foster stood in line at the movie theater multiplex, waiting to purchase a ticket, preferably for a comedy. She needed a reason to laugh. Her day had started early when she opened Barbie’s, her dress shop, two blocks off Blossom Street. The shop was high-end, exclusive and very expensive. Her clientele were women who could easily afford to drop four figures on a dress. Barbie made sure they got their money’s worth, providing advice, accessories and free alterations. She had a number of regular customers who counted on her for their entire wardrobes. Her own sense of style had served her well.
She didn’t want to sound conceited, but Barbie was aware that she was an attractive woman. Since Gary’s death, she’d received no shortage of attention from the opposite sex. Men wanted a woman like her on their arm—and, she suspected, they wanted her money. Barbie, however, wasn’t easily swayed by flattery. She’d been happy in her marriage and had loved her husband. At this point in her life she wasn’t willing to settle for mere companionship or, heaven forbid, no-strings sex. She wanted love. She longed for a man who’d treat her like a princess the way Gary had. Her friends told her that was a dated attitude; Barbie didn’t care. Unfortunately there weren’t many princes around these days.
She’d married young. In retrospect she recognized how fortunate she’d been in finding Gary. She’d had no real life experience, so the fact that she’d met a really wonderful man and fallen in love with him was pure luck. He was ten years her senior; at thirty, he’d had a wisdom beyond his years and a great capacity for love, for loyalty. He’d been working for her father at the time and came to the house often. She’d had a crush on him that developed into genuine love, although it took her a few years to recognize just how genuine it was. At nineteen, she always made sure she happened to be around whenever he stopped by, and enjoyed parading through the house to the pool—in her bikini, of course. She still smiled at the way Gary had looked in every direction except hers.
They’d married when she was twenty-one, with her father’s blessing and, surprisingly perhaps, her mother’s. She got pregnant the first week of their honeymoon. When she’d delivered identical twin sons, Gary had been over the moon. The pregnancy had been difficult, however, and he’d insisted the two boys were family enough.
The twins, Eric and Kurt, filled their lives and they were idyllically happy. Not that she and Gary didn’t have their share of differences and arguments, but they forgave each other quickly and never confused disagreement with anger. Their household had been calm, orderly, contented. The plane crash ended all that. Barbie had always been close to her sons, but following the tragic deaths, of Gary and her father, the three of them were closer than ever. They helped one another through their grief, and even now they talked almost every day.
Encouraged by her mother and sons, a year after Gary’s death Barbie started her own business. The dress shop helped take her mind off her loneliness and gave her purpose. Her sons were eighteen and growing increasingly independent. They’d be on their own soon. As it happened, they were attending colleges on the opposite side of the country. Swallowing her natural instinct to hold on to her children, she flew out to Boston and New York with her sons, got them settled in their respective schools and then flew home. She’d wept like a baby throughout the entire five-hour flight back to the West Coast.
Her house seemed so empty without the boys—her house and her life. She’d never felt more alone than she had since last September when she’d accompanied Kurt and Eric to their East Coast schools. Thankfully, though, they’d both come home for Thanksgiving and Christmas.
She’d kept herself occupied with the shop, but the Valentine’s get-together with the other widows had revealed a different kind of opportunity. Barbie had begun to compose her list of Twenty Wishes, hoping to discover a new objective, some new goal to pursue. Her mother had leaped at this idea with an enthusiasm she hadn’t shown in years, and if for no other reason, Barbie had followed suit. They often did things together and, in fact, her mother was Barbie’s best friend.
The line moved. Barbie approached the teenage cashier and handed her a ten-dollar bill.
“Which movie?”
Barbie smiled at her. “You decide. Preferably a comedy.”
The girl searched her face. “There are three or four showing. You don’t care which one?”
“Not really.” All Barbie wanted to do was escape reality for the next two hours.
The teenager took her money and a single ticket shot up, which she gave Barbie, along
