Twenty Wishes (Blossom Street #5)(33)

The previous owner, Adele Morris, had a bookstore in the Fremont neighborhood, and when there was an opportunity for a second store on Blossom Street, Adele took it. Because of the renovation, she’d been offered a favorable rent and for the first couple of years she’d divided her time between the two stores. That proved to be too difficult, and Anne Marie had joined as manager soon afterward; later she purchased the business with Robert’s encouragement. In her husband’s eyes, the bookstore, like Baxter, was a solution to their dilemma. If Anne Marie was preoccupied with the store, she might forget about having a baby.

At one-thirty Theresa came in and for an instant Anne Marie couldn’t remember why she’d shown up for work on a Tuesday.

“Ellen!” She said the child’s name aloud as the memory rushed in. She was supposed to be at the school for Ellen’s performance.

Theresa nodded. “You told me your Lunch Buddy was in some function at the school that you wanted to attend.”

“Right.” Rushing into the office, she grabbed her purse and threw on her jacket. She gave Theresa some last-minute instructions for her meeting with the children’s book sales rep. Then she hurriedly left the shop via the back entrance, where she’d parked her car.

Thankfully the school was relatively close, and it only took her ten minutes to drive there. But when she arrived she discovered that the parking lot and nearby streets were jammed with vehicles and she wondered if every parent in a three-state area had decided to come for the performance. After another ten minutes she located a parking space three blocks from the school. She locked the car and ran toward Woodrow Wilson Elementary.

The music had already started by the time she entered the large gymnasium, sweaty and out of breath. The place was packed with parents and students, and if there was an available seat she couldn’t find it.

Every adult in the room seemed to be in possession of a camera. Anne Marie hadn’t even thought to bring one and wanted to kick herself. Ellen’s grandmother would’ve appreciated a photograph of her granddaughter on stage.

Muttering her excuses, Anne Marie slipped past several people until she squeezed herself into a tight space where she had a good view. Sure enough, she could see Ellen standing on a riser with the other members of the chorus. She wore her Sunday best—a dress one size too small and white patent leather shoes. The stage set consisted of two large painted trees and a castle. The artwork had apparently been done by the students, as well. If she’d been told the name of the production, Anne Marie didn’t remember. Clearly, though, it was the retelling of some classic fairy tale.

Anne Marie watched Ellen, who looked awkward and uncomfortable standing front row center, with two rows of children behind her.

As if she felt Anne Marie’s eyes on her, Ellen glanced in her direction. When she saw Anne Marie, the girl’s entire face was transformed by the beauty of her smile. Seeing how happy her presence had made Ellen, Anne Marie was glad she’d taken the trouble to show up. She sent the girl a small wave. Ellen waved back.

The music died down as the singing director stepped in front of the choir and raised both hands. The children on the risers instantly came to attention.

The performance, which turned out to be a rather inventive version of “Snow White,” lasted forty minutes. No one was going to mistake it for professional theater. But the dwarves were hilarious and the singing was lively. Anne Marie nodded her head to the beat.

When the performance was finished, the principal came forward and announced that juice and cookies would be served in the children’s rooms. Anne Marie checked her watch. She really should be getting back to the store. Then again, a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

As she started toward Ellen’s classroom, she nearly bumped into Helen Mayer, the school counselor.

“Anne Marie!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Yes, the play was very well done,” she said warmly. “Thank you for telling me about it.”

“No, thank you, thank you so much.”

With a quick smile, she hurried off in the opposite direction.

Anne Marie was standing by Ellen’s desk when the child walked into the room, her eyes bright with happiness. “Did you hear me?” she asked. “Did you hear me sing?”

Anne Marie hadn’t been able to discern Ellen’s small voice among so many others. But in this case she figured a white lie was appropriate. “I did, and you were terrific.”

Ellen blushed at the praise.

“You didn’t tell me you like to sing.”

Ellen nodded. “Mrs. Maxwell said I have a good voice. She’s the music teacher.”

“How many other second-grade students were part of the choir?” Anne Marie asked, although she already knew the answer.

“I was the only one.”

“Just you?” Anne Marie feigned surprise.

“Yup, just me. Mrs. Maxwell said maybe by the time I’m in fourth or fifth grade I might get to sing a solo.”

“Ellen, that’s wonderful. Congratulations.” Anne Marie had never seen the girl this excited.

The classroom had begun to fill up with other children and parents.

“Would you like some juice?” Ellen asked politely. The juice and cookies were set up on a table in the front.

Anne Marie noticed that the other students were delivering refreshments to their parents.