Debbie Macomber_Blossom Street 04 (23 page)

L
illie was as nervous as a bride the night before her wedding. Hector was coming to pick her up and bring her to his place for dinner. They’d seen each other a number of times, but this was different.

Hector had invited her to his
home
.

Lillie felt as if she’d passed some test, and that the invitation to visit his home was Hector’s way of saying he trusted her and was willing to reveal more of his life.

When the doorbell rang, she pressed her hand over her heart and took a deep breath before walking to the front door and opening it. As always Hector was punctual.

“Good evening, Lillie,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I hope you had a pleasant afternoon.”

“No. I mean, yes, I had a lovely afternoon.” Rather than explain her initial response, she gathered up her sweater, made of silver-blue cashmere, and her purse.

She’d agonized over whether to ask him in, self-conscious about her wealth and her luxurious house. But it wasn’t an issue, since he immediately asked if she was ready to leave.

After she’d locked her door and set the alarm, he led her to his car, parked in her driveway. His manners were impeccable as he escorted her and made sure she was comfortably seated. His courtesies came from a soul-deep regard for others, a true considerateness; she knew that with absolute certainty. This was nothing as superficial as charm. It was a mark of respect.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he was saying once he’d joined her in the vehicle.

Lillie was far too nervous to be hungry. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” she told him.

He glanced over at her, his dark eyes intense. “I have, too.”

Her stomach pitched. From the first moment they’d met, he’d had an unprecedented effect on her. She felt things with him that she hadn’t felt before. David had never shared much with her; he’d been what her women’s magazines now referred to as “emotionally inaccessible.” His affairs were part of that, of course. It wasn’t until after his death that she’d recognized how withdrawn she’d become through the years. There had been a price to pay for ignoring his betrayals, for turning a blind eye to his shortcomings as a husband and lover. The price had been much higher than she’d realized. Only now was she beginning to understand how repressed her feelings had become. She’d learned to subdue her own emotions as well as her expectations.

Hector was talking about dinner, and she shook off her pensiveness.

“You made everything yourself?” she asked.

“My daughter offered advice.”

Hector and his daughter seemed to be especially close. Like everything else about this man, she found that en
dearing—and she couldn’t help comparing it to David’s relationship with Barbie. At first he’d been disappointed not to have a son, but Barbie had quickly wrapped him around her little finger. He’d accepted Lillie’s inability to have other children and lavished his attention on his daughter. David could be generous and loving; he’d certainly shown Barbie that side of himself. But Lillie considered him both uncommitted and morally weak in his emotional life. Yet he’d been a scrupulously honest businessman…. She supposed that was a result of his skill at “compartmentalizing,” which men were said to be good at, again according to her magazines.

“I need to mention something about my home,” Hector said, looking straight ahead as he concentrated on traffic. “I don’t live in a fancy neighborhood.”

“I understand that.”

“Your home is beautiful, Lillie.”

“Hector, are you telling me you’re ashamed of your home?” she asked bluntly.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then please don’t apologize for it.”

“You apologized for yours, remember?”

She had. She’d feared that once Hector saw her opulent home, the differences between their financial situations would discourage him. She’d been wrong. He wasn’t easily intimidated. At least, she didn’t think so until he’d brought up the subject of his own neighborhood.

“People might talk about us, Lillie,” Hector added. “However, Rita’s aware that I’m seeing you and has been most supportive.”

“My daughter has been, too.” Lillie didn’t mention their initial conflict and the painful few days that had followed their disagreement.

“I haven’t told my sons about you yet.”

“Oh?”

“They might not be as understanding as Rita.”

Lillie glanced at him. “Will their opinion make a difference?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away. “I would like to tell you it wouldn’t. The truth is, I don’t know. My family is important and I trust that my children love me enough to want to see me happy. And you, Lillie, make me happy.”

“Oh, Hector.” His sincerity touched her heart. “You make me happy, too,” she whispered in return.

Hector reached for her hand.

As soon as they turned onto Walnut Street, Lillie knew instantly which home was his. The yard was beautifully maintained, the flower beds splashed with brilliant color. When he pulled into the driveway of the house she’d guessed was his, it was all Lillie could do not to congratulate herself.

Hector helped her out of the car and led her to the front door of the white-painted two-story house. The first thing she saw inside was a multitude of family pictures. They covered the walls and the top of the piano. The wall next to the stairs was another gallery of photographs. Lillie’s gaze went to a portrait of Hector and his deceased wife. Angelina, maybe fifty in the picture, had been a slender, elegant woman.

“These are my children,” he said, pointing to college graduation photos of his daughter and his two sons. “This is Manuel,” he said, tapping the picture of his oldest son.

“The attorney,” Lillie murmured. The young man in the cap and gown, proudly displaying his diploma, had serious eyes and a fierce look. Lillie could picture him in a courtroom vanquishing his opponent.

“Luis,” he continued, tapping one finger on the next photograph.

“The doctor.” Unlike his brother, Lillie observed, Luis had gentle eyes that reminded her of Hector’s. “He looks the most like you.”

“Yes,” Hector said. “Angelina and I always knew he’d work in the health field. From the time he was a little boy, he wanted to help anyone in pain.”

Yes, this son was most like his father.

“And Rita,” Hector said, going down the line of photographs.

His daughter was a true beauty who resembled her mother. There was an engaging warmth in her smile.

“She’s lovely,” Lillie whispered. “I’m sure she’s a popular teacher.”

The smells coming from the kitchen were enticing, and suddenly Lillie felt ravenous. Once she’d torn her gaze from the photographs, she noticed that Hector had set the dining table with his best dishes; a small floral centerpiece sat in the middle.

“What’s for dinner?” she asked.

“You’ll see.” He escorted her into the dining room.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. You’re my guest.”

“Hector, I
want
to help.”

He hesitated but finally agreed. “If you insist. You can cut the bread.”

“You never did tell me what you’re serving.”

“It’s a classic Mexican dish,” Hector teased as he opened a drawer and pulled out a bread knife. “It’s spaghetti. My daughter gave me the recipe. She even went to the store with me and chose the ingredients.”

“You didn’t need to go to all that trouble,” Lillie said,
although she was flattered that he had. “We could eat potato chips and it would taste like ambrosia to me because I’m here with you.”

Hector grinned, then took a step closer. “I have been lonely for a long time,” he said in a low voice.

Lillie had spent most of her marriage being lonely. “I have, too,” she told him.

For just a moment it seemed that he was about to kiss her. Their first kiss had been the evening they’d attended the Frida Kahlo lecture at the Seattle Art Museum. At the end of the evening, he’d dropped her at home; he’d declined coffee but walked her to the door. It’d been an awkward moment and by unspoken agreement they’d each leaned forward and kissed. Lillie was eager to repeat the experience. Their kiss had been polite, almost chaste, but very satisfying….

“I’m just reheating the sauce,” he said, wielding a large wooden spoon.

“Hector?” Lillie drew in a deep breath before plunging ahead.

The way she said his name seemed to alert him to the fact that she had something important to say.

“Yes?”

“I want you to know…”

“Yes, Lillie?”

“When it feels right to you, I hope you’ll kiss me again.” She didn’t want him wondering—or worrying—about what her response might be.

“Thank you.” His eyes sparkled with delight. “I shall keep that in mind.”

She picked up the bread knife and carefully sliced the loaf of French bread, arranging the pieces neatly on a serving plate.

After stirring the sauce, Hector boiled the spaghetti noodles; when they were ready, he placed them inside a beautiful hand-painted ceramic dish. Next he poured the meat-and-tomato sauce over the noodles. The salad, waiting in the refrigerator, was already mixed. Lillie put it on the table, along with the bread.

Hector opened a bottle of red wine that he told her Rita had recommended. Then he seated her at the table and sat across from her.

They toasted each other, touching glasses, and began the meal. She discovered that Hector preferred his food spicier than she did but he’d made the sauce fairly mild, adding chili peppers to his own. Another example of his thoughtfulness.

In the beginning their conversation was tentative. But it wasn’t long before the hesitation dissolved and they found any number of topics to discuss. They agreed on political issues and surprisingly had enjoyed some of the same films and novels. Hector bragged about his grandchildren and she told stories about her grandsons. The conversation flowed naturally from one subject to the next as they lingered over their wine. Afterward, despite Hector’s protests, Lillie helped with the dishes. Her shoes hurt her feet, so she took them off and tucked a dishtowel into her waistband as she moved effortlessly around his kitchen.

Hector put on some easy-listening music from the ’70s, and soon they were dancing about the room, twirling and laughing. He kissed her once, twice, and it was as natural as breathing. His touch left her with the most inexplicable urge to weep. Rather than allow him to see the effect his kisses had on her, she buried her face in his shoulder.

Hector released her and they both went back to cleaning the kitchen, dancing around each other as they did.

He was about to kiss her again when the back door opened and Manuel walked inside. Lillie recognized him from his photograph. “Dad, I need to borrow your—” He stopped abruptly. “Dad!” he barked, shouting to be heard above the music.

Instinctively Lillie stepped closer to Hector. He leaned over to turn off the CD player on the counter, and the resulting silence was almost shocking.

Hector straightened, putting his arm around Lillie’s waist. “Son, this is my friend, Lillie Higgins. Lillie, this is Manuel.”

Manuel nodded politely in her direction but addressed his father. “I didn’t realize you had a woman friend.”

“Your father’s told me quite a bit about you,” Lillie said, feeling guilty although she wasn’t sure why.

“Funny, he hasn’t said a word about you.” Manuel gave her a cold look.

Hector placed one hand on her shoulder and spoke gently. “If you’ll excuse me, I will talk to my son privately.” He ushered Manuel out of the room.

She nodded and finished wiping the kitchen counter. She rinsed and wrung out the cloth, then draped it over the faucet and removed her makeshift apron. Slipping on her shoes, she stood in the kitchen and waited for Hector.

Manuel left without saying anything else to Lillie and she could see from the look in Hector’s eyes that the conversation hadn’t gone well. “I’m sorry,” she whispered and walked into his arms.

“I’m the one who owes you an apology,” he murmured, holding her close. “My son was inexcusably rude.”

“What did he say?” she asked.

Hector shook his head, obviously unwilling to repeat what his son had said. Lillie closed her eyes and remem
bered Barbie’s immediate response when she’d told her she was interested in a man who worked for a car dealership.

“Give him time to adjust to the idea,” she urged.

“Perhaps that’s the best thing to do.”

He took Lillie home soon after that; they were both quiet during the drive. When they reached her house, Hector walked her to the door. She thanked him for dinner, they kissed goodnight and then he left. Not until she was inside did she realize that he hadn’t asked to see her again.

Lillie felt sick.

This was the end; she was sure of it. His family and their opinion mattered more to Hector than his own happiness. Even if he was torn, and she knew he was, Hector would appease his children rather than fight for a relationship with her.

When she didn’t hear from him the next day or the day after that, Lillie decided to make this as painless as possible for them both. She wrote him a letter.

She’d only intended to write a brief note but by the time she finished she’d written three full pages. She described her list of Twenty Wishes and said that one of her wishes had been to meet an honorable man. She’d found that man in him.

In the last paragraph she explained that she had no desire to damage his relationship with his children and felt it was best that they not see each other again.

With tears in her eyes, she dropped the letter off at the post office. After a quick phone call to Barbie, she booked a trip to the coast.

A
nne Marie was fortunate enough to nab a spot in the Woodrow Wilson parking lot. She was back to the routine of Lunch Buddy dates and had brought Baxter with her for this visit.

Yesterday, when Ellen and Anne Marie had spoken, the eight-year-old had told her how much she missed her canine friend.

Bringing Baxter today was a surprise, and Anne Marie could hardly wait to see the child’s face light up.

The transition from Anne Marie’s home to her grandmother’s had gone smoothly. Anne Marie wished she could say Ellen’s departure had been as straightforward for her. The apartment just wasn’t the same without Ellen; it was still too quiet, too empty. Her life felt that way, too. The child had found a vulnerable space in her heart, and Anne Marie had discovered how much she craved love. She wanted to give it as well as receive it.

Of course, she was in regular touch with Ellen and would continue to be so. She’d already arranged a trip to
Woodland Park Zoo for that Saturday. Anne Marie was looking forward to it and she knew Ellen was, too. Dolores needed the break and seemed to appreciate Anne Marie’s interest in the girl.

Ellen’s grandmother was a pitiable woman. She blamed herself for what had become of her two daughters, and all the love in her heart was reserved for her only granddaughter. Dolores lived for Ellen. Since she’d been released from the hospital, Dolores had told Anne Marie that she’d searched for more than a year before she’d found Ellen. Once she did locate the child in the California foster care program, it had taken nearly another year to convince Child Protective Services to grant her custody of the little girl. Ellen had been with her grandmother for three years now, and the older woman had given her the security she so desperately needed.

As Anne Marie headed into the school, with Baxter on his leash, she saw Helen Mayer, the counselor, hurrying toward her.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re here,” Helen said. “The woman who answered the phone at the bookstore told me you were on your way.”

“Is something wrong? Is Ellen okay?”

“Please—come into my office.”

With a growing sense of panic, Anne Marie picked up Baxter and followed Helen into the building. She couldn’t imagine what had happened, but all her instincts said it was bad.

The counselor waited until Anne Marie was inside her office, then closed the door and walked slowly to her desk. She sat down and turned to look at Anne Marie.

Tension twisted Anne Marie’s stomach as she lowered
herself into a chair. “What is it?” she asked, placing Baxter on the floor near her feet.

“We received word this morning that Dolores Falk died sometime last night.”

Anne Marie gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Did…Ellen find her?”

“Apparently she overslept because her grandmother didn’t wake her for school. According to what I learned, she made her own breakfast and decided to let her grandmother sleep. On her way to school she met a neighbor who inquired about Dolores. Ellen explained that her grandmother wasn’t feeling well and that she was still in bed. A short while later, the neighbor went to check on her and when she couldn’t rouse Dolores, she called 911.”

At least the child was spared the trauma of discovering the body. Anne Marie thanked God for that. But this probably meant Ellen didn’t know yet.

“Is she here?” Anne Marie knew how hard Ellen would take the news. Although she dreaded telling her, Anne Marie thought she was the best person to do so. Poor Ellen.

“I’m afraid not,” Helen Mayer said.

Anne Marie barely heard her. “I’ll make arrangements to get her things and bring her home with me.” She wondered if Dolores had made funeral arrangements; she’d have to find out.

After burying Robert, Anne Marie had some experience in such matters. The staff at the funeral home had been both kind and respectful. Anne Marie would like them to handle the arrangements for Dolores, too, if that was possible.

“I don’t think you heard me,” the other woman said. “Ellen isn’t at school.”

Anne Marie stared at her, uncomprehending. “Where is she then?”

Helen Mayer placed her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “About an hour ago, Child Protective Services took her away.”

The words hardly made sense. “What? What do you mean they took her away?”

“I mean they came to the school, told us Ellen’s grandmother had died and that they had to find a home for her.”

“But…”

Helen Mayer gestured helplessly. “The only other relatives Ellen has are her mother, who has relinquished all parental rights, and her aunt, who is apparently incarcerated.”

Anne Marie was well aware that Ellen had no one else. That was the very reason the child had come to live with her while Dolores was hospitalized.

“She’s been placed in a foster home.”

Anne Marie couldn’t believe it. “Already?”

“Yes. I realize it’s a shock. I tried to contact you but you didn’t answer your cell. The woman at the bookstore said you’d be here soon.”

Anne Marie felt disoriented but she had to focus on Ellen. The girl must be terrified. She had to get to her, reassure her that everything would be all right. “I have the name of the social worker assigned to her. She gave me her business card.”

“What are you going to do?” Helen asked.

“I’ll bring Ellen back to live with me.” There was no question about that.

The counselor sighed with relief. “I’m so glad to hear it.”

Anne Marie was on her feet, ready to take action. She
committed half a dozen traffic violations in her rush to get back to the bookstore. She prayed she hadn’t thrown out the social worker’s card. In her agitation she couldn’t even recall the woman’s name.

With Baxter at her heels, Anne Marie ran up the stairs. Heart pounding, she stood in the middle of her kitchen while she tried to remember where she’d put the woman’s card.

Suddenly she remembered. She hurried into her bedroom and jerked open the top drawer of her nightstand. Yes—it was there, and the woman’s name was Evelyn Boyle. She collapsed onto her bed and grabbed the phone.

Her hand trembled as she punched out the number. She listened to an automated system that requested the extension, which Anne Marie dutifully supplied. The phone rang five times before Evelyn’s voice mail came on.

“This is Anne Marie Roche,” she said. “I’m calling about Ellen Falk. Please contact me at your earliest convenience.” She gave three phone numbers—home, work and cell—afraid the woman would give up too easily if she couldn’t reach her on the first try.

The waiting was intolerable.

Anne Marie paced, she cleaned out drawers, then paced some more. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she drove to Dolores’s house. The place was locked up. The neighbor who’d found her said the coroner’s office had already removed the body. No one knew anything about Ellen or where she might be. Anne Marie gave the woman her numbers, desperate to learn whatever she could.

When her cell phone finally did ring, it was after four and Anne Marie nearly ripped it out of her purse in her haste.

“This is Anne Marie Roche,” she said, the words tumbling over each other.

“Anne Marie, this is Evelyn Boyle returning your call.”

“Where’s Ellen?” she cried. The child must be frantic. Anne Marie was close to panic herself. Ellen needed her and Anne Marie needed to be with Ellen.

“It’s unfortunate, but the only thing I could do was place her in a temporary foster home. It’s a short-term solution until I can find a permanent home for her.”

“I’ll take her,” Anne Marie blurted out. “Bring her to me.”

“I wish I could. If you recall, when I visited the bookstore I suggested you apply for a license to become Ellen’s foster parent. I didn’t hear from you after that.”

Anne Marie wanted to kick herself for not following through. Had she been able to look into the future, of course, she would’ve started the paperwork that very day. How was she to know? Dolores had been doing so well.

“I promised Dolores Falk that Ellen would never go back into the foster care system. What can I do now? How long will it take to be approved?” Her fear was that the paperwork would still take months. By then, Ellen might have been moved any number of times. Ms. Boyle had said the home where she was currently placed was temporary, which implied that Ellen would be transferred soon.

She remembered Dolores Falk telling her it had taken a year to find Ellen once she’d learned she had a granddaughter, although Anne Marie didn’t know how much of that time had been spent searching in other states.

“We can have a background check done on you in twenty-four hours.”

“Then Ellen can come and live with me?”

“Yes. We want what’s best for Ellen and I feel that’s you.”

The relief was enough to flood her eyes with tears. “Thank you. Thank you.”

The social worker explained the process. Anne Marie tried to pay attention but her mind kept darting off in different directions. One thing that did register was that there’d be a home study, which hadn’t been scheduled yet. The apartment, small as it was, hardly seemed suitable. That would mean an immediate move. Anne Marie didn’t care. She’d do whatever was necessary.

“If everything checks out, I should be able to deliver Ellen to you sometime tomorrow afternoon.”

Anne Marie tried to recall any possible blemish on her record. She had a speeding ticket, but thankfully, nothing of any real importance.

All the next day, Anne Marie waited. The tension was almost more than she could bear. She left three messages for Evelyn Boyle, wanting to make sure there weren’t any problems with her background clearance. The social worker didn’t return any of the calls.

Had Anne Marie known where Ellen was staying, she would’ve driven there and parked outside the house.

When she hadn’t heard anything by five o’clock on Thursday afternoon, Anne Marie was positive something had gone wrong. She’d been useless the entire day, too nervous and jittery to concentrate.

Just as she was about to give up in despair, the door to the bookstore opened and Evelyn Boyle came in with Ellen at her side.

Ellen looked at Anne Marie and burst into tears as she bolted toward her.

Anne Marie fell to her knees, her arms open for Ellen.

They clung tearfully to each other. “You promised, you promised,” Ellen sobbed against her shoulder. “You said—you said…”

“It’s all right,” Anne Marie whispered, brushing Ellen’s
hair. “You’re here now, and no one’s going to take you away from me.”

Ellen sniffled. “Grandma Dolores went to live with Jesus.”

“I know.”

“I don’t have anyone who loves me.”

“I love you, Ellen,” Anne Marie whispered, tears streaking her face. “You’re going to be my little girl from now on.”

“I can live with you?”

Anne Marie couldn’t speak, so she just nodded.

“I don’t have to go back to the foster house?”

“No, not ever again.”

Still sobbing, Ellen tightened her arms around Anne Marie’s neck. “Everyone I love goes away.”

“Not anymore, Ellen,” she promised. “Not if I can help it.”

“I loved my mommy and she…she did bad things and she left me and then Grandma Dolores d-died and then you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you,” Anne Marie insisted. “I would never leave you.”

They continued to hold each other until Baxter started to bark at the foot of the stairs. Anne Marie released Ellen who ran to open the door. The dog immediately did a dance of joy at the sight of his friend.

Wiping the tears from her face, Anne Marie stood to find Evelyn Boyle watching her.

“I believe we have a good placement for Ellen,” she said, her own eyes moist.

Anne Marie wasn’t going to make another mistake. “I’ve decided I don’t want to be Ellen’s foster parent.”

A look of shock broke out across the other woman’s face. “I beg your pardon?”

“I want to adopt her,” she said. “I want to make Ellen my legal daughter.” The child was already her daughter in every way that mattered. It was time to make that official.