steep hill toward the Seattle waterfront. Pike Place Market was a twenty-minute hike, but neither complained. Baxter didn’t, either, although this was new territory for the dog. Once they reached the market, Anne Marie picked him up and cradled him in her arms.
Ellen and Anne Marie strolled through the market, where they watched two young men toss freshly caught salmon back and forth for the tourists’ benefit. Ellen’s eyes grew huge as she gazed at the impromptu performance. When they left the market building, the little girl slipped her hand into Anne Marie’s and they walked down the Hill Climb stairs to the waterfront. Baxter was back on his feet by then, taking in all the fascinating smells around him.
“Have you ever been to the Seattle Aquarium?” Anne Marie asked when the building came into view.
“My class went.”
“Did you like it?”
Ellen nodded eagerly. “I got to touch a sea cucumber and it felt really weird and I saw a baby sea otter and a real shark.”
She’d liked it, all right, if she was willing to say this much. After investigating several stores that catered to Seattle tourists, Anne Marie located a pizza place. While they waited for their order, they sipped sodas at a picnic table near the busy waterfront. They both ate until they were stuffed and still had half the pizza left over.
“Shall we save it?” Anne Marie asked. Ellen agreed. It seemed a shame to throw it out, but she suspected that if they brought it home, it would sit in the refrigerator for a few days and end up in the garbage, anyway.
Anne Marie carried the cardboard box in one hand and held Baxter’s leash in the other. They’d just started back when Ellen noticed a homeless man sitting on a bench, his grocery cart parked close by. Tugging at Anne Marie’s arm, she whispered something.
“What is it?” Anne Marie asked. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“He looks hungry,” Ellen said a bit more loudly. “Can we give him our pizza?”
“What a lovely idea. I’ll ask if he’d like some dinner.” Impressed with Ellen’s sensitivity, Anne Marie gave her the leash and approached the man on the bench.
He stared up at her, disheveled and badly in need of a bath. Despite the afternoon sunshine, he wore a thick winter jacket.
“We have some pizza,” Anne Marie explained, “and we were wondering if you’d like it.”
The man frowned suspiciously at the box. “What kind you got?”
“Well, cheese and—”
“I don’t like them anchovies,” he broke in. “If you got anchovies on it, I’ll pass. Thanks, anyway.”
Anne Marie assured him the pizza contained no anchovies and handed him the box. He lifted the lid and frowned. “That’s all?” They’d gone about a block when the absurdity of the question struck her. She started to giggle.
Clearly puzzled, Ellen looked up at her.
That was when Anne Marie began to laugh, really laugh. Her shoulders shook and tears gathered in her eyes. “That’s all?” she repeated, laughing so hard her stomach ached. “And he didn’t want anchovies.” Why she found the man’s comments so hilarious she couldn’t even say.
Ellen continued to study her. “You’re laughing.”
“It’s funny.”
“That’s on your list, remember?”
Anne Marie’s laughter stopped. Ellen was right. She wanted to be able to laugh again and here she was, giggling hysterically like a teenage girl with her friends. This needed to be documented so she pulled out her cell phone and had Ellen take her picture.
Then she dashed back and piled all the change and small bills she had—four or five dollars’ worth—on the pizza box.
Another wish—an act of kindness. The man grinned up at her through stained teeth and rheumy eyes.
It came to her then that she was happy.
Truly happy.
Deep-down happy.
Anne Marie had felt good earlier in the day, but that was the contentment that came from a sunny day, seeing old friends, spending a relaxing hour with her knitting class.
Granted, her newly formed optimism had a lot to do with these feelings. But her unrestrained amusement was something else—the ability to respond to life’s absurdities with a healthy burst of laughter.
It meant the healing had begun, and she was well on her way back to life, back to being herself, reaching toward acceptance.
When they returned to the apartment, it was still light out. Ellen had a number of small tasks to perform. She watered the small tomato, cucumber and zucchini seedlings they’d planted in egg cartons last Sunday. Once Ellen was home at her grandmother’s, Anne Marie would help the girl plant her own small garden. They’d already planted a container garden on Anne Marie’s balcony, with easy-care flowers like impatiens and geraniums.
As soon as she’d finished the watering, Ellen phoned her grandmother. Anne Marie spoke to the older woman, too.
“I don’t know why these doctors insist on keeping me here,” Dolores grumbled. “I’m fit as a fiddle. Ready to go home.”
“It won’t be long now,” Anne Marie told her.
“I certainly hope so.” She sobered a bit. “How’s Ellen doing? Don’t whitewash the truth for me. I need to know.”
“She misses you.”
“Well, of course she does. I miss her, too.”
Anne Marie smiled. “Actually, she’s doing really well.”
Dolores Falk sighed expressively. “God love you, Anne Marie. I don’t know what Ellen and I would’ve done without you.”
The praise embarrassed her. She was the one who’d truly benefited from having the child.
When Ellen had done her homework, the two of them knit in front of the television. Ellen had completed the scarf for her grandmother and started a much more ambitious project, a pair of mitts. After an hour’s knitting, she had a bath and put on her brand-new pajamas. She crawled into her bed. Prayers were shorter than usual that night, since Ellen was especially tired, and then Anne Marie read to her. They were now on the third “Little House” book and rereading these childhood favorites gave Anne Marie great pleasure. Ellen fell asleep listening.
When Anne Marie got down from the bed, Baxter hopped up to take her place.
The small apartment was quiet now, and a feeling of peace surrounded her. As always, she kept the bedroom door partially ajar for Ellen, who was afraid of the dark.
Tiptoeing down the hallway to her own bedroom, Anne Marie opened her binder of Twenty Wishes. She wanted to document the fact that she’d laughed. As Ellen had said, that was, indeed, one of her wishes.
She
