Debbie Macomber_Blossom Street 04 (10 page)

W
ednesday 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.

“N-o-o! She-e-e mi-gh-t
d-i-e
,” the girl wailed.

“Let me talk to them,” she said and gently loosened the child’s arms. She walked Ellen back to the porch and left her sitting on the bottom step, still sobbing.

“Are you Anne Marie Roche?” an emergency medical technician asked as he stepped out of the house.

“Yes.”

“Good. The grandmother refused medical treatment until you got here.”

“Why me?”

“You’ll have to ask her that yourself.”

“Then let me talk to her.”

He shook his head. “I’d prefer if you did that at the hospital.”

“I only need a minute,” she insisted stubbornly.

“The grandmother told us you’d be taking the child,” the paramedic said as he started into the house.

“I’m her Lunch Buddy.” She wanted to explain that her entire role in this child’s life was to have lunch with her once a week. She’d met her exactly four times, if you included the brief orientation the previous month.

Lunch
. That was supposed to be the full extent of her commitment.

No one had said anything about taking Ellen home
with her. That was probably against the rules, anyway, and there seemed to be a lot of those.

“Isn’t there someone else?” she asked, following the EMT into the house.

“Apparently not.” He hurried to a bedroom in the back, Anne Marie directly behind him.

She discovered Dolores Falk on a stretcher. The woman’s complexion was sickly and gray, and every rasping breath seemed to cause her pain. Her hand rested on her heart, her eyes tightly shut. Ellen had said her grandmother was over fifty; in Anne Marie’s observation, she had to be in her mid-sixties but looked older.

“Wheel her out,” the EMT instructed the other two.

The woman’s eyes flew open. “Wait.”

“I’m here,” Anne Marie rushed to tell her.

Dolores reached out and grabbed Anne Marie’s hand in a grip that was shockingly strong. “Don’t let them put Ellen in a foster home. I’ll lose her if they do.”

“But, Mrs. Falk… Where do you want me to take her?”

The woman’s eyes closed again. “Home. Take her home with you.”

“With me? I can’t—”

“You have to…”

The EMT came in then and they rolled the stretcher down the hallway and out of the house. Anne Marie trailed behind, watching helplessly as the emergency crew loaded Ellen’s grandmother into the aid car and drove off, sirens screaming.

With her hands covering her face, Ellen sobbed as she huddled on the steps, her shoulders trembling. Her pitiful cries were drowned out by the screeching aid car.

Anne Marie crouched so they were at eye level. “Your grandmother’s going to see the doctors and they’re going
to make her well again.” She prayed with all her heart that this was true.

Ellen nodded tearfully. “When will Grandma be back?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” She was so far out of her element here that she was breaking into a cold sweat.

“Where will I go?” Ellen asked.

“For tonight,” Anne Marie said, mustering as much enthusiasm as she could, “you get to come home with me.”

Ellen dropped her hands long enough to look up at Anne Marie. “With you?”

“Yes, that’s why your grandmother called me.”

“Is Baxter there?”

Anne Marie nodded. She should’ve thought of that sooner. Ellen loved Baxter and he’d help take the child’s mind off what was happening to her grandmother.

“Baxter’s waiting for us to get back to my apartment so he can see you. Didn’t you say you wanted to teach him to roll over?”

“Yes-s-s.” For the first time since Anne Marie had arrived, the eight-year-old stopped weeping. She bit her lip and managed to control her sobs.

“We should pack a few things for you.”

“I have my backpack,” Ellen said, looking small and lost and terrified.

“Good idea. We’ll put what you need in there.” Taking the child by the hand, Anne Marie went into the house. It was an older single-story home, probably built soon after the Second World War. The floors were linoleum and the furniture shabby and dated. The hallway led to three bedrooms.

Ellen’s room was the farthest down the hall on the right-hand side.

It was furnished with a single bed, a dresser and a child-size desk and chair. The closet was narrow but more than big enough for Ellen’s few clothes.

“Just get what you’ll need for school tomorrow,” Anne Marie said. In the morning she’d drive Ellen to Woodrow Wilson Elementary, then she’d talk to Ms. Mayer and find out what could be done for the child.

“I brushed my teeth already,” Ellen said. Kneeling down on the braided rug next to her bed, she stuffed a pair of neatly ironed jeans and a pink sweater into her backpack.

“Don’t forget your shoes and socks,” Anne Marie told her. Ellen was wearing bedroom slippers and well-worn pajamas over which she’d pulled a sweatshirt. “Did you have any homework?”

Ellen nodded and hurried to the kitchen, returning with a small binder. “It’s math,” she explained as she added that to the pouch, along with her tennis shoes and a pair of socks.

“This is way past your bedtime,” Anne Marie said.

“Grandma said she wasn’t feeling well when I got home from school,” Ellen told her. “She said I could have cornflakes for dinner.”

“Did you?”

Ellen shook her head. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Most likely Ellen was too worried about her grandmother to have an appetite. “Who called for the aid car?”

“I did.”

“You?”

“Grandma didn’t look good and she didn’t answer me when I talked to her and I got scared.”

“That was a smart thing to do.” Anne Marie had to credit the child with fast thinking. “Do you know how your grandmother got my phone number?”

“No.” Ellen lowered her eyes. “But I’m glad she did.”

Now that she’d seen the situation for herself, Anne Marie was glad, too, and grateful she’d come when she had. She could only imagine how much greater the trauma of this evening would’ve been for Ellen if she’d been handed over to Child Protective Services and placed in temporary foster care.

“Are you ready?”

Ellen nodded solemnly and reached for Anne Marie’s hand. The child turned off all the lights on the way out. She stopped on the porch and took out the house key, hidden beneath a ceramic flowerpot, then locked the front door. When she’d finished, she replaced the key.

“Will I be able to visit Grandma in the hospital?” she asked, staring up at Anne Marie with huge eyes.

“I’ll find out for you in the morning, okay?”

“Please,” she whispered, and the plaintive little voice broke Anne Marie’s heart.

As they drove back to Blossom Street, Anne Marie suspected the girl would fall asleep on the silent ride there, but Ellen appeared wide-awake. When they got to the bookstore, Anne Marie pulled into the alley behind it.

“This is your house?” Ellen asked.

“I have a small apartment above the bookstore.”

“You live over a bookstore?” she whispered, as if Anne Marie resided in some enchanted castle.

“I do. I’ll bet Baxter’s standing by the door, too.” The Yorkshire terrier seemed to recognize the sound of her car and waited eagerly by the back entrance.

Sure enough, the minute Anne Marie unlocked the door Baxter rushed forward, leaping up and down with excitement.

“Baxter!” Despite the anguish of the evening, Ellen
couldn’t hide her delight at seeing the dog again. She fell to her knees and the terrier welcomed her, licking her hands and face.

“Ellen’s spending the night,” Anne Marie told him. Turning to the girl, she said, “Let me show you your bedroom.”

“Okay.” Reluctantly leaving the dog, Ellen followed Anne Marie through the apartment.

The second bedroom, which served as Anne Marie’s home office, wasn’t set up as guest quarters. But thankfully she had a sofa that folded out into a bed. Taking a set of sheets from the hall closet, she quickly made it up and added a couple of blankets and a pillow.

“Would you like some warm milk?” she asked when the bed was ready. “It might help you sleep.”

Ellen made a face and shook her head.

“Sounds dreadful, doesn’t it?” The only reason she’d offered was that her own mother used to give it to her. She hadn’t liked it, either.

“Would it be okay…” Ellen hesitated.

“What is it, Ellen?”

“Could Baxter sleep with me?”

Anne Marie smiled. She should’ve suggested it herself. “That would be just fine.”

“Thank you.”

Anne Marie yawned. She was exhausted and knew Ellen must be, too. “Let me tuck you into bed,” she said, “and I’ll put Baxter up there with you.”

“Thank you,” Ellen whispered. She slipped off her sweatshirt and slippers and climbed into the newly made bed.

Once she was under the covers, Anne Marie folded them around her shoulders. She set her Yorkie on the bed.
As if understanding that the child needed a friend, Baxter immediately curled up next to her.

“Good night, Ellen,” Anne Marie said, about to leave the room.

“Would you say a prayer with me?” the child asked.

“A prayer?” Anne Marie couldn’t remember the last time she’d prayed.

“Grandma always does.”

“All right, but you say the words.”

“Okay.” Ellen dutifully closed her eyes and although her lips moved, she didn’t speak out loud. After a moment, she said, “Amen.”

“Amen,” Anne Marie repeated.

“I prayed for my grandma,” Ellen told her.

“I’m sure God listens to little girls’ prayers,” Anne Marie said, choosing to believe that He did. She turned off the light, then realized she didn’t know when Ellen was supposed to be at school. “Ellen,” she whispered. “What time does school start?”

“Eight-twenty.”

“I’ll set the alarm for seven. That’ll give us plenty of time.”