Summer on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #6)(41)

Anne Marie wasn’t sure if this was a ploy. “I doubt that’ll be necessary.”

“At some point there might be a medical issue,” he countered.

“What do you mean?” she asked anxiously. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No, not at all. I just want you to realize you can call me if anything like that ever surfaces.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t contact you again. I’d like to leave my phone numbers with you, though. If at any time, for any reason, you have a change of heart, I’d appreciate it if you’d call me.”

He slowly recited three numbers: his home, off ice and cell, which she dutifully copied down and repeated, although she didn’t plan to use any of them except in the direst of circumstances. A silence followed before he said, “I guess there’s nothing more to say.” There was no denying the misery in his voice.

“No, there isn’t,” Anne Marie agreed. As far as she was concerned, the conversation was over.

“If Ellen—” He didn’t f inish what he’d started to say.

“What about Ellen?”

“If she ever needs anything or if you’d ever consider letting me into her life…”

“We’ve already discussed this, Mr. Carlsen. You have my answer.”

“Yes,” he said. He sounded utterly defeated. “Thank you, Ms. Roche.”

Anne Marie replaced the telephone, although her hand lingered on the receiver. She was grateful Tim Carlsen wasn’t going to fight her on this, and the tension in her chest slowly dissipated. She hoped, for Ellen’s sake, that she’d made the right decision. That very evening, Anne Marie had reason to doubt she had. Ellen returned from day camp full of enthusiasm, chattering about the games she’d played and the song she’d learned. She collected Baxter and took him for a walk along Blossom Street, skipping down the sidewalk with boundless energy, greeting her friends along the way.

Standing in the doorway of the bookstore, Anne Marie watched her daughter. Ellen was a happy child now. She remembered how reticent and quiet Ellen had been when they f irst met. Where was Tim Carlsen then? Where was Ellen’s father when she’d needed him most?

Anne Marie recognized immediately how unfair she was being to Tim. He’d had no idea Candy Falk had given birth to a child. Even with the little she knew about Candy’s history, Anne Marie was well aware that any one of a number of men could have fathered Ellen.

That night, when Anne Marie went to check on her daughter, she found Ellen sitting cross-legged on her bed holding a pencil and pad. Baxter lay curled on the bed beside her. Ellen appeared to be deep in thought.

“What have you got there?” Anne Marie asked, sitting beside her.

“My list of twenty wishes.”

“Are you adding to it?”

Ellen chewed on the end of her pencil. “No. I’m looking at all the wishes I already wrote down.”

“A lot of them have come true, haven’t they?” Anne Marie asked. The girl had wanted to learn how to knit, which she’d done. She had her own bedroom furniture now and a friend from school had recently spent the night.

“Not every wish has come true,” Ellen said. “Not this one.”

“Which one is that?”

“The one about f inding my father.”

What was going on? It was almost as if Ellen had heard her phone conversation with Tim Carlsen earlier that day.

“What do you think my father looks like?” Ellen asked. To hide her discomfort, Anne Marie grimaced. “I bet he has warts.”

“Warts?”

“Yup, big ones. All over his face.”

Setting aside her pad and pen, Ellen giggled and got up on her knees.

“And really big feet. Size thirty-six shoes,” Anne Marie added.

“As big as those shoes clowns wear.”

Ellen giggled again.

“I bet his arms are really long and drag on the ground.” Anne Marie stood up and walked around the bed, hunching her shoulders, apelike, and letting her arms dangle so they brushed against the carpeted f loor.

Her antics got Baxter’s attention and he started barking frantically until Anne Marie stopped, sat down again and petted him. Mollif ied, Baxter returned to his nap.

Ellen petted him, too. “No, he doesn’t,” she said. “Not my father.”

“Well, what do you suppose he looks like?” Anne Marie asked. Ellen’s eyes shone with excitement. “I bet he’s really handsome.”

Her daughter wasn’t far off the mark there, Anne Marie mused. Tim Carlsen was attractive. Of course, there was always the possibility that he wasn’t Ellen’s father, but that was likely wishful thinking on her part.

“I wonder if he has hair like mine.”

That, he did. Anne Marie realized how much Ellen resembled him. She had Tim’s coloring, his dark, straight hair and the same deep, brown eyes. This conversation was becoming more diff icult by the minute.

“I bet he likes animals, too.”

Anne Marie couldn’t venture a guess about that.

“My f irst mom didn’t. She said she’d get me a dog but she never did.”

“You certainly love animals,” Anne Marie commented. Ellen stroked the Yorkie’s side. “Especially Baxter.”