Twenty Wishes (Blossom Street #5)(61)

Lillie stood frozen, her eyes wide with horror. Then she did something she’d never done in her whole life.

She slapped her.

Stunned into silence, Barbie pressed her hand to her cheek. Tears sprang to her eyes.

When her mother spoke, her voice shook with fury. “At least Hector could take me to bed.”

Barbie gasped at the implication, grabbed her purse and shot out of the house. Over the years they’d quarreled—every mother and daughter did—but never anything like this.

A sick feeling engulfed her as she drove to her own house, less than two miles away. Pulling into the garage, she sat in her car and hid her face in both hands. The urge to break into heaving sobs of rage and pain and regret nearly overwhelmed her. But she refused to give in to the swell of grief, refused to allow the ugliness that had come between them to disintegrate her emotions any further.

Barbie didn’t sleep that night or the next.

Nor did she speak to her mother. Ten times at least she reached for the phone. Normally they spoke every day, often more than once. Now the silence was like a vast emptiness.

As far as Barbie was concerned, her mother owed her an apology. Lillie had struck her—her own daughter.

By the end of the second day, Barbie could hardly stand it. She missed her mother. She needed her.

The dinner for the widows’ group was scheduled for Thursday night. Barbie was determined to go, but as Tuesday passed and then Wednesday, that resolve weakened.

This was ridiculous, she told herself. They’d both been at fault. They’d both said things they regretted. It was time to apologize and put this behind them.

Late Thursday afternoon, a floral delivery truck parked in front of her dress shop just as Barbie was about to close for the day. The man carried in a huge floral arrangement from Susannah’s Garden. This had to be a hundred-dollar order. It took up nearly half the counter space.

The driver handed her a clipboard, and Barbie signed her name as a rush of relief came over her. She didn’t need to look at the attached card to know her mother had sent the flowers. Like her, Lillie was sorry. She was apologizing, trying to restore what they’d lost. Smiling, Barbie removed the small envelope and opened it.

She was wrong; Lillie hadn’t sent the flowers.

Only one word was written on the card.

Mark.

Chapter 19

Anne Marie and Ellen were both looking forward to dinner at Lillie’s that night. Earlier, Anne Marie had called to ask what she could contribute to the meal.

“Nothing,” her friend had insisted. “Just bring yourselves.” As she replaced the receiver, Anne Marie thought that Lillie didn’t sound like herself. Ever since they’d made their wish lists, Lillie’s spirits had been high. But following their conversation, she wondered if she’d misread Lillie’s feelings. Her voice had been flat, emotionless, devoid of her usual enthusiasm.

Anne Marie was afraid this dinner might be too much work for her. Later in the day she phoned Lillie again, to make sure everything was all right.

“Everything’s perfectly fine,” Lillie said, although her tone belied her words. “Actually, I’m really enjoying myself. It’s been a long time since I’ve cooked for a dinner party.” Anne Marie heard a timer in the distance, and Lillie told her she had to get off the phone.

Still, Anne Marie wondered. She sensed that something was off, but Lillie obviously wasn’t going to tell her. All she could do was accept her word and hope that if there was a problem, it would soon be resolved.

The school bus rolled past the shop window and Anne Marie knew Ellen would appear in a few minutes.

“It’s tonight, isn’t it?” Ellen said happily as she bolted into the store. She released one strap and allowed her backpack to slip carelessly over her shoulder.

“Tonight’s the night,” Anne Marie concurred. Being invited to someone else’s home for dinner seemed to be a new experience for the eight-year-old. Although Ellen had always displayed good manners, Anne Marie reviewed them with her, just to be on the safe side.

“I won’t talk with my mouth full or interrupt the conver…conver—” she stumbled over the word “—the conversation.”

“Excellent.” Anne Marie smiled at her. “You can bring your knitting if you want.”

At that suggestion, Ellen raced up the stairs to the apartment as if they were heading out the door that very moment. Such exuberance made Anne Marie smile again.

They were both making progress with their knitting. Anne Marie’s first official class the day before had gone well. In teaching Ellen, she’d learned more about the basic knit stitch than she’d realized. After school on Tuesday, Anne Marie had taken Ellen to A Good Yarn and allowed her to purchase yarn and needles of her own. Lydia had chatted with Ellen for quite a while; by now, as Lydia said, the two of them were old friends. That evening, after the dinner dishes and Ellen’s homework, they’d sat side by side, helping each other. Anne Marie couldn’t avoid reflecting that this was something she’d never had the chance to do with her stepdaughter. Even as a ten- or eleven-year-old, Melissa had rejected all her attempts to work on projects together, whether it was reading or baking or gathering autumn leaves for a scrapbook. Whatever Anne Marie suggested was deemed “stupid” or “boring.” The memory had produced a sadness she found hard to forget.