Twenty Wishes (Blossom Street #5)(35)

She and Ellen walked out to the schoolyard, negotiating their way through the laughing, shouting throngs.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at lunchtime,” Anne Marie said as they neared the area where the children lined up for their buses.

“You’re coming tomorrow, too?”

“It’s our lunch date, remember?”

Ellen blinked hard, apparently overwhelmed that Anne Marie would come to see her two days in a row.

“I can’t bring Baxter, though,” Anne Marie reminded her.

“That’s okay.” They approached the bus stop, and suddenly Ellen slipped her hand into Anne Marie’s.

It felt as if the warmth of that small hand reached all the way to her heart.

Chapter 11

Wednesday evening as Anne Marie prepared for bed, her phone rang. At the time she was brushing her teeth. Frowning, she turned off the tap and spit into the sink, then wiped her mouth before she went into the kitchen.

She couldn’t even guess who’d be phoning after eleven o’clock. Caller ID told her nothing. It said Private Caller, which meant it was probably one of the widows. If Elise, Lillie or Barbie was calling her this late, that meant trouble of some kind, although she couldn’t imagine what.

“Hello,” Anne Marie answered cautiously. Nighttime phone calls usually brought bad news, and she’d had enough of that.

“This is Anne Marie?” The voice, that of an older woman, was barely audible.

“Yes.”

“Anne Marie Roche?”

“Yes.”

“I need…help.” The woman, this stranger on the other end of the line, was close to panicking.

“Who is this, please?”

“Dolores. Dolores Falk.”

“Who?”

“Ellen’s grandmother.”

Anne Marie sucked in her breath as a dozen disturbing possibilities ran through her mind. “Is Ellen all right?” she asked, fighting down a sense of panic.

“Yes…no. It’s me who needs help…I wouldn’t call you if there was anyone else.” Each word seemed labored.

Anne Marie didn’t know what she could possibly do. “Do you want me to call someone?” she asked, wondering how she might assist the older woman. Surely she had a neighbor or a friend she could contact. Anne Marie was a stranger.

“No, the aid car is on its way.” The woman’s breathing became harsh and irregular. “Just come…please. Hurry.”

Anne Marie didn’t understand. “Are you saying you want me to come to your house?”

“Please. Just…hurry.”

“But…” How did Ellen’s grandmother get her phone number? And what did she want? She was clearly in distress, but how could Anne Marie help?

“I don’t have anyone else to take Ellen,” Dolores gasped.

“Me? You want me to take Ellen? But I can’t—” It was out of the question. Anne Marie didn’t have room for a child.

“They’re going to bring me to the hospital. Please. I’ll refuse to let them unless you come.”

Talk about emotional blackmail! In just the few minutes Anne Marie had been on the phone with Ellen’s grandmother, she’d realized the older woman was badly in need of medical attention. As much as she resented this, Anne Marie didn’t have a choice. She’d have to go and then try to sort out the situation later.

“What’s the address?”

Dolores gave it to her with the added pressure of, “Hurry, please hurry.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Exasperated, she replaced the phone and exhaled sharply. How had she ended up in this predicament? She’d volunteered to be a Lunch Buddy, not a…she didn’t know what.

Pulling on jeans and a shirt, Anne Marie complained to Baxter, then promised to return as quickly as possible. With the address scribbled on a grocery-store receipt, she headed for her car. All she needed right now was to get attacked in the alley.

The alley was actually well lit, not that it would help her any if someone decided to leap out of the dark and mug her. Unlocking her car with shaking fingers, she climbed inside and started the engine.

Anne Marie considered herself the least capable person to deal with someone else’s problems. If she’d had the school counselor’s home number, she would’ve called Ms. Mayer and handed the whole mess over to her. Rescuing her Lunch Buddy in the middle of the night was not what she’d signed up for.

Dolores Falk’s house was only about four miles away, but the neighborhood, an older working-class area, was unfamiliar. By the time Anne Marie arrived, the aid car was parked out front. A fire truck was there, too, plus paramedics. Several neighbors stood on their porches watching all the activity.

Anne Marie parked across the street, well away from the emergency vehicles. Purposefully she trudged over to the house.

The instant Ellen saw her, she bolted down the porch steps, then raced across the yard and threw her arms around Anne Marie’s waist.

“What’s going on?” Anne Marie asked, placing her hands on the child’s shoulders.

“These men are taking Grandma to the hospital,” Ellen sobbed, clinging to Anne Marie.

“But they’re going to help her. Isn’t that what we want?” she asked softly.