announcement was met with a short silence. “Anne Marie, are you seeing someone?” he asked somberly.
“No, of course not!” The question amused her. “Melissa asked me the same thing.”
“Of course not? Why say it like that? You’re young and beautiful and—”
“I’m with a…friend.”
“Ah, the mystery intensifies.”
“It’s not a mystery,” she said, smiling at his teasing banter. “It’s Ellen. She’s eight and she’s living with me for the next week or two.”
“You have an eight-year-old living with you? Is she a relative of yours?”
“No, I met her through a nearby school—the Lunch Buddies program. Why don’t you join us?” she said impulsively. “I just put a casserole in the oven and it won’t be ready for another forty minutes.”
“You made dinner?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. I did a lot of cooking in my time.”
“Okay, I’d like that. Thanks. Give me a few minutes to finish up here and I’ll drive straight over. You’re still living above the bookstore, right?”
“For now.” She really did hope to purchase a house, and soon. Spring, especially May and June, were the best months to look. As soon as Ellen was back with her grandmother, Anne Marie had every intention of beginning her search.
“Brandon, one thing…Melissa’s and my conversation…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t want to discuss it, all right?”
He hesitated. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is,” she told him, keeping her voice firm.
Anne Marie hung up the phone and turned around to discover Ellen perched on a chair at the kitchen table, staring blankly into space. She had the end of a pencil clamped between her teeth.
“Are you doing your homework?” Anne Marie asked.
Ellen shook her head. “I’m making a list of Twenty Wishes.”
“Oh, really?”
Ellen nodded. “Do you want to hear what I have so far?”
“I would.” Anne Marie pulled out the chair next to her and sat down.
“One,” Ellen announced with great formality. “Plant a garden.”
“What kind of garden?”
“Flowers,” Ellen said. “I read the book you gave me about that garden, remember?”
Anne Marie smiled approvingly. Of course. On Sunday she’d given her a copy of the Edwardian children’s classic, The Secret Garden. Ellen was an advanced reader and had no difficulty with comprehension. Occasionally she’d asked about the meaning of a word. She’d loved the idea of the walled garden, hidden from the world, and had instantly identified with the story’s orphaned young heroine.
“Is there any other kind of garden than flowers?”
“Vegetables.”
“You can grow tomatoes?” Ellen asked in an excited voice. “I like tomatoes a lot, especially when they’re warm from the sun. I like them with salt.”
Anne Marie looked at her curiously. “Did you ever have a garden before?”
Ellen lowered her gaze. “No… Grandma Dolores told me about warm tomatoes with salt. I’ve never had one but I know they’d be really good because my grandma said so.”
“I like tomatoes, too.” Anne Marie closed her eyes at the memory of working in her garden at the house she and Robert had owned. The smell of earth, the sun warm on her back… “Last summer I grew tomatoes right here, on my balcony.”
The child seemed thoroughly confused by that.
“It was a container garden because I didn’t have anywhere to plant an actual garden.”
“What about corn?”
“That might be a challenge, but I’ll check into it. If you like, we can plant seeds in egg cartons and then once your grandmother’s home again, I’ll help you clear a small space in her yard for your very own garden.”
“Really?” The girl’s face shone with uncomplicated joy. “A garden,” she breathed.
“Anything else on your list?”
Ellen nodded. “I want to bake cookies with Grandma Dolores.” “I bet she’d like that.”
“She always said we could, but then she’d get tired or she wouldn’t be feeling well and we never got to do it.”
Anne Marie slipped her arm around Ellen’s shoulders. “When your grandmother’s back from the hospital, she’ll be feeling much better and have a lot more energy, and I’m sure she’ll want to bake cookies with you then.”
“Oatmeal and raisin are my favorites.” Ellen set the pencil down. “I couldn’t think of anything else.”
“What about something whimsical?”
Ellen turned to her, expression blank.
“Whimsical means fanciful—a wish that’s not…serious, I suppose you could say. Something lighthearted, just for fun.”
The end of the pencil returned to Ellen’s mouth. “Do you have anything whi-whimsical on your list?” she asked.
Good question. “Not yet. Let’s think about it.” She stood to get three plates from the cupboard.
“Like what?”
“Well…” Anne Marie murmured. She looked at the child, then walked over to her own list.
11. Dance in the rain in my bare feet
“What did you write?” Ellen asked.
Anne Marie told her.
Ellen started to giggle. “That’s silly. Aren’t you afraid your clothes will get wet? Or you’ll get mud between your toes?”
“I wouldn’t care, especially if I was dancing with someone I loved.” She opened the refrigerator and removed a bag of romaine lettuce and other salad ingredients. Anne Marie occasionally made salad for dinner; she wasn’t afraid to add unusual ingredients, like walnut bits, cranberries, raw green beans, Chinese noodles, sunflower seeds, pickle slices, beets… Her inventions weren’t always successful—the chopped anchovies came to mind—but they were usually interesting.
For Ellen’s sake, she chose more conventional makings
