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 Ms. Boyle and I can chat. Okay?” Anne Marie said.
“Okay.” With the ball of yarn under her arm, Ellen carried her wool and needles into the other room and, Anne Marie hoped, out of earshot.
Evelyn Boyle pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down as Anne Marie gathered up her notes and put them in a loose pile. Evelyn placed her briefcase on the table and opened it, then ceremoniously removed Ellen’s file.
Anne Marie sat across from her. Waiting…
“I located a copy of Ellen’s birth certificate and the father is listed—”
Anne Marie’s heart slammed hard against her ribs. She hadn’t expected this. “You have a name?” Okay, she’d deal with it. No matter what, Anne Marie would find a way to be part of Ellen’s life and she didn’t care what it cost.
Evelyn frowned. “If I’d been allowed to finish, you would’ve heard me say that Ellen’s father is listed as unknown.”
“That means…” Anne Marie was too excited to complete the question.
“It means that as far as the State of Washington is concerned, you’re free to adopt Ellen Falk.”
“Thank you,” Anne Marie whispered, her throat thickening with emotion. “Thank you so much.”
“Have you said anything to Ellen?”
Anne Marie hadn’t felt she could until she had all the facts. “Not yet.”
“Then let’s tell her now.” The social worker called out to the eight-year-old. “Ellen, would you please join us in the kitchen?”
Ellen immediately came inside and sat down in the chair next to Anne Marie.
“Hello, Ellen.”
The child regarded the social worker suspiciously. Anne Marie didn’t blame her; it was Evelyn Boyle who’d taken her out of class and uprooted her entire life with the news of her grandmother’s death.
Hoping to reassure Ellen, Anne Marie leaned over and gently touched her arm.
“What would you think if Anne Marie became your mother?” Evelyn asked. “Would you like that?”
Ellen didn’t answer right away. Then she turned and looked at Anne Marie. “Would I call you Mom?”
“If you wanted,” Anne Marie said. “Or you could call me Anne Marie. Whatever you prefer.”
“Could I have play dates with my friend Cassie if you were my mom?”
“Yes, of course.” Anne Marie remembered the day of the school concert, when she’d been approached by the mother of Ellen’s friend about a possible exchange of play dates.
Ellen looked from Anne Marie to the social worker. “Would it mean no one could ever take me away again?”
“No one, not ever,” Anne Marie promised.
Ellen shrugged. “I guess it would be all right.”
“You guess?” Anne Marie teased. “You guess?”
Ellen’s face lit up with a huge smile. “I’d like it a whole lot.”
“I would, too,” Anne Marie told her.
Ellen bounded out of her chair and threw her arms around Anne Marie’s neck.
“Wonderful,”
