Twenty Wishes (Blossom Street #5)(75)

Baxter certainly was. Her Yorkie pulled at the leash; apparently Anne Marie wasn’t walking briskly enough to satisfy him. The dog had places to go, territory to mark and friends to greet, especially the friends who kept special treats just for him.

“Let’s walk down to Pike Place Market and have dinner at one of the sidewalk cafés,” Anne Marie said. “Does that sound good?”

Ellen shrugged. “I guess so.”

“Or would you rather go down to the waterfront and get fish and chips?”

Ellen didn’t seem to have an opinion one way or the other. “What do you want?”

Anne Marie had to think about it. “Pizza,” she finally said. “I haven’t had it in ages.”

“What kind?”

“Thin crust with lots of cheese.”

“And pepperoni.”

“Let’s see if we can find a restaurant where we can order pizza and eat outside.”

“Okay.”

On a mission now, they trudged down the steep hill toward the Seattle waterfront. Pike Place Market was a twenty-minute hike, but neither complained. Baxter didn’t, either, although this was new territory for the dog. Once they reached the market, Anne Marie picked him up and cradled him in her arms.

Ellen and Anne Marie strolled through the market, where they watched two young men toss freshly caught salmon back and forth for the tourists’ benefit. Ellen’s eyes grew huge as she gazed at the impromptu performance. When they left the market building, the little girl slipped her hand into Anne Marie’s and they walked down the Hill Climb stairs to the waterfront. Baxter was back on his feet by then, taking in all the fascinating smells around him.

“Have you ever been to the Seattle Aquarium?” Anne Marie asked when the building came into view.

“My class went.”

“Did you like it?”

Ellen nodded eagerly. “I got to touch a sea cucumber and it felt really weird and I saw a baby sea otter and a real shark.”

She’d liked it, all right, if she was willing to say this much. After investigating several stores that catered to Seattle tourists, Anne Marie located a pizza place. While they waited for their order, they sipped sodas at a picnic table near the busy waterfront. They both ate until they were stuffed and still had half the pizza left over.

“Shall we save it?” Anne Marie asked. Ellen agreed. It seemed a shame to throw it out, but she suspected that if they brought it home, it would sit in the refrigerator for a few days and end up in the garbage, anyway.

Anne Marie carried the cardboard box in one hand and held Baxter’s leash in the other. They’d just started back when Ellen noticed a homeless man sitting on a bench, his grocery cart parked close by. Tugging at Anne Marie’s arm, she whispered something.

“What is it?” Anne Marie asked. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“He looks hungry,” Ellen said a bit more loudly. “Can we give him our pizza?”

“What a lovely idea. I’ll ask if he’d like some dinner.” Impressed with Ellen’s sensitivity, Anne Marie gave her the leash and approached the man on the bench.

He stared up at her, disheveled and badly in need of a bath. Despite the afternoon sunshine, he wore a thick winter jacket.

“We have some pizza,” Anne Marie explained, “and we were wondering if you’d like it.”

The man frowned suspiciously at the box. “What kind you got?”

“Well, cheese and—”

“I don’t like them anchovies,” he broke in. “If you got anchovies on it, I’ll pass. Thanks, anyway.”

Anne Marie assured him the pizza contained no anchovies and handed him the box. He lifted the lid and frowned. “That’s all?” They’d gone about a block when the absurdity of the question struck her. She started to giggle.

Clearly puzzled, Ellen looked up at her.

That was when Anne Marie began to laugh, really laugh. Her shoulders shook and tears gathered in her eyes. “That’s all?” she repeated, laughing so hard her stomach ached. “And he didn’t want anchovies.” Why she found the man’s comments so hilarious she couldn’t even say.

Ellen continued to study her. “You’re laughing.”

“It’s funny.”

“That’s on your list, remember?”

Anne Marie’s laughter stopped. Ellen was right. She wanted to be able to laugh again and here she was, giggling hysterically like a teenage girl with her friends. This needed to be documented so she pulled out her cell phone and had Ellen take her picture.

Then she dashed back and piled all the change and small bills she had—four or five dollars’ worth—on the pizza box.

Another wish—an act of kindness. The man grinned up at her through stained teeth and rheumy eyes.

It came to her then that she was happy.

Truly happy.

Deep-down happy.

Anne Marie had felt good earlier in the day, but that was the contentment that came from a sunny day, seeing old friends, spending a relaxing hour with her knitting class.

Granted, her newly formed optimism had a lot to do with these feelings. But her unrestrained amusement was something else—the ability to respond to life’s absurdities with a healthy burst of laughter.

It meant the healing had begun, and she was well on her way back to life, back to being herself, reaching toward acceptance.