Twenty Wishes (Blossom Street #5)(64)

“I’m not sure.”

“Will they be okay?”

Anne Marie placed her arm around Ellen’s shoulders. “I think so,” she said.

As quickly as Lillie and Barbie had burst into tears, they started to laugh, dabbing their eyes with the linen napkins, smearing their mascara and giggling like teenagers.

Ellen began to giggle, too. Soon Elise joined in. After a while she got up and carried her dinner dishes into the kitchen and set them on the counter.

Anne Marie collected her plates and Ellen’s and did the same thing. This evening had been cathartic for all of them in some way. Except for Ellen, but Anne Marie knew the experience had been valuable for her, too.

Before she left she picked up her binder and as she shut it, her gaze fell on the Paris postcard she’d glued next to the cut-out picture of the Eiffel Tower.

One day she would go to Paris—and she wouldn’t go alone. Because the love of her life would be with her.

Chapter 20

When the official-looking woman in the no-nonsense suit walked into Blossom Street Books, Anne Marie knew she was the same one who’d called earlier in the day. She’d introduced herself as Evelyn Boyle, a social worker from Washington State Child Protective Services. She’d sounded calm, professional and reassuring; otherwise Anne Marie might have been alarmed. She had the paperwork Dolores Falk had given her before the surgery, and Ellen and Anne Marie spoke with Dolores frequently.

She didn’t understand why a social worker was involved now. In a few days, Dolores would be released from the care facility and Ellen would return to her. If the state was concerned about Ellen, it was too little, too late.

“You must be Ms. Boyle,” Anne Marie said as she stepped around the counter. Thankfully Theresa, who worked Friday afternoons, had arrived a few minutes earlier.

“And you must be Anne Marie.” The social worker came forward and thrust out her hand. “Please call me Evelyn.”

Despite the woman’s tranquil demeanor, Anne Marie was nervous.

“Is there someplace private where we could visit?” Evelyn asked.

“Sure.” Anne Marie momentarily left her and walked over to Theresa, who eyed her speculatively.

“Is everything all right?” Theresa whispered.

“It’s fine,” she whispered back. In slightly louder tones, she added, “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

Theresa nodded.

Anne Marie led Evelyn up the narrow stairway to the apartment. Now that Ellen was more comfortable living with Anne Marie, she’d left a pair of rubber boots on the steps. Anne Marie grabbed them on her way up the stairs.

Baxter stood there waiting for her, tail wagging wildly. He cocked his head to one side, as though curious about her unexpected appearance. After she’d paid Baxter the required amount of attention, he sniffed the social worker’s shoes, then returned to his bed in a corner of the kitchen.

Without asking, Anne Marie walked to the stove and put on water for tea. Evelyn pulled out a chair at the table, then set her briefcase on it and withdrew a yellow legal pad.

“How did you know Ellen was staying with me?” Anne Marie asked. She assumed Dolores hadn’t told Social Services, which meant it was either the hospital or someone from Woodrow Wilson Elementary, probably Helen Mayer.

“I received a call from Ellen’s school,” Evelyn said, confirming Anne Marie’s guess as she dug around the bottom of her purse for a pen.

Anne Marie stood with her back to the kitchen counter, hands behind her. “Ellen’s grandmother wrote a statement that gives me full guardianship of Ellen while Dolores is recuperating.” How legally binding that scribbled, almost illegible document was remained uncertain. Considering how desperate the poor woman had been for someone, anyone, to look after Ellen, she would’ve signed the girl’s care over to practically anyone.

“I gather you were originally supposed to have Ellen for only a few days.”

“Yes.” Anne Marie wanted to say more but restrained herself. In instances such as this, the less said the better. “Dolores made me promise Ellen wouldn’t go into a foster home.”

Evelyn Boyle glanced up. “There are many excellent foster homes in this area.”

“I’m sure there are….”

“But in essence, Anne Marie, Ellen is already in one.”

“I’m someone Ellen knows and trusts,” Anne Marie said quickly.

“That’s true. It’s exactly what I mean. You are her foster mother.” Evelyn waited a moment. “I do understand the situation correctly, don’t I? You and Ellen are not related in any way?”

“That’s correct,” she responded. But the question hovered in the air, swirling up doubts and fears.

The teakettle’s whistle offered a welcome respite. Anne Marie concentrated on pouring water into the pot. She covered it with a cozy and set it in the middle of the table to steep while she got two matching cups and saucers.

Her good dishes were packed away in the storage unit, and the apartment cupboard was filled with mismatched place settings. It had never bothered her before, but it did now. Logically she knew that Social Services wouldn’t pull Ellen from her care because her dishes didn’t match. Still, Anne Marie discovered that she didn’t want to take any chances.

She poured two mugs of tea, hating the way her hand trembled.