Twenty Wishes

Chapter 2

All that next week Anne Marie continued to look at her list. The sheet of paper with TWENTY WISHES written across the top became a patchwork of scribbles and scratched-out lines. She wrote I want to sing again, then changed her mind, deciding it was unnecessary to waste a wish on something she was convinced would return in its own time.

Eventually she transferred her list, such as it was, to a yellow legal pad, which somehow made her wishes seem more official. Then on Wednesday, her day off, she walked past a craft store on her way back from the accountant’s and noticed the scrapbooking supplies in the window. She stared at the beautifully embellished pages displayed in the showcase. She used to possess a certain decorative flair. She wasn’t sure she did anymore, but the idea of creating pages like that for her meager list of wishes appealed to her. A scrapbook to compile her wishes, make her plans and document her efforts. Those wishes would encourage her to look forward, to focus on the future with an optimism that had been lacking since her separation from Robert.

With that in mind, Anne Marie bought the necessary supplies, then lugged them home. As she passed A Good Yarn, the shop just two doors down from the bookstore, she impulsively stepped inside. First, she wanted to thank Lydia for the table covering and second…she’d ask about classes.

She’d add knitting to her wish list. Anne Marie wondered why she hadn’t thought of that earlier. Elise was a consummate knitter and often encouraged the others to learn. She described the satisfactions of knitting in such a compelling way, Anne Marie had flirted more than once with the idea of taking a class. Lydia Goetz, who owned A Good Yarn, was a much-loved and admired member of the Blossom Street neighborhood. Anne Marie was friendly with her and had often gone inside the yarn store, but never with the serious intent of learning to knit. Now, the prospect of knitting filled her with unfamiliar enthusiasm.

Lydia was sitting at the table in the back of the shop with her sister, Margaret. Although Lydia was petite and graceful, her sister was rather big-boned, a little ungainly. At first glance it was hard to believe they were even related. Once the surprise of learning they were sisters wore off, the resemblance revealed itself in the shape of their eyes and the thrust of their chins.

When Anne Marie entered the store, the sisters were obviously involved in their conversation; as they spoke, Lydia was knitting, Margaret crocheting. The bell above the door jingled, startling them both.

A smile instantly broke out on Lydia’s face. “Anne Marie, how nice to see you! I’m glad you stopped by.”

Lydia had a natural warmth that made customers feel welcome.

“Good morning,” Anne Marie said, smiling at the two women. “Lydia, I came to thank you again for the gorgeous tablecloth.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. You know, it’s really a lace shawl I knit years ago. I hope you’ll have occasion to use it again.”

“Oh, I will.”

“I’ve been meaning to visit the bookstore,” Lydia told her. “I want to pick up a couple of new mysteries. By the way, how did the Valentine’s party go?”

“It was wonderful,” Anne Marie said, gazing around. Whenever she went into the yarn shop, she was astonished by the range of beautiful colors and inviting textures. She walked over to the blue, green and teal yarns that lined one area of the shelves. Putting down her packages, she reached out a hand to touch a skein of irresistibly soft wool.

“Can I help you find something?” Lydia asked.

Anne Marie nodded and, strangely, felt a bit hesitant. “I’d like to learn to knit.” This was the first positive step she’d taken toward acting on her wish list. She’d been searching for somewhere to start, and knitting would do very well. “I…saw the notice in the window for a beginners’ class last week, but there isn’t a sign now. Do you have one scheduled anytime soon?”

“As it happens, Margaret and I were just discussing a beginners’ class for Thursday afternoons.”

Anne Marie shook her head. “I work all day on Thursdays.”

“I’m also thinking about starting a new class for people who work. How about lunchtime on Tuesdays?” Lydia suggested next. “Would you like to sign up for that?”

Before Anne Marie could respond, Margaret was on her feet. “That’s too many classes,” she muttered. “Lydia’s teaching far too many classes and it exhausts her.”

“Margaret!” Lydia protested and cast a despairing look at her sister.

“Well, it’s true. You need to get someone else in here who can teach. I do as much as I can,” she said, “but there are times I’ve got more customers than I can handle and you’re involved with all those classes.”

Lydia ignored her sister. “Anne Marie, if you want to learn how to knit, I’ll teach you myself.”

It occurred to Anne Marie that what she really wanted was a class. She’d rejected line dancing because that had seemed like an overwhelming social occasion; a small knitting group was far less threatening. Other than the Valentine’s event with the widows, she hadn’t gone anywhere or done much of anything since Robert’s funeral. Until now, the mere thought of making cheerful conversation with anyone outside the bookstore was beyond her. She decided she could ease into socializing with a knitting class. A few like-minded women, all focused on the same task…

“I appreciate the offer,” Anne Marie told Lydia. “However, I think Margaret’s probably right. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Let me know if that noontime beginner class pans out.”

“Of course.”

After they’d exchanged farewells, Anne Marie picked up her shopping bags and left the yarn store. As she strolled past the shop window she noticed Whiskers, Lydia’s cat, curled up in a basket of red wool. When Anne Marie walked Baxter, he often stood on his hind legs, front paws against the window, fixated on Lydia’s cat—who wanted nothing to do with him.

Hauling the scrapbooking supplies upstairs to her apartment, Anne Marie set her bags on the kitchen table, then scooped up her dog, stroking his silky fur. “Hey, Mr. Baxter. I just saw your friend Whiskers.”

He wriggled excitedly and she put him down, collecting a biscuit from a box on the counter. “Here you go.” She smiled as he loudly crunched his cookie, licking up each and every crumb. “Maybe I’ll knit you a little coat sometime…and maybe I won’t.”

Now that a knitting class apparently wasn’t a sure thing, Anne Marie was shocked at how discouraged she felt. One roadblock, and she was ready to pack it in. Less than a year ago, hardly anything seemed to defeat her, but these days even the most mundane problems were disheartening.

At least Baxter’s needs were straightforward and easily met, and he viewed her with unwavering devotion. There was comfort in that.

Eager to start her scrapbook project, she got to work. The three-ring binder was black with a clear plastic cover. For the next thirty minutes she cut out letters, decorated them with glitter glue and pasted them on a bright pink sheet. Then she slipped it behind the cover so the front of the binder read TWENTY WISHES. In addition to the binder, Anne Marie had purchased twenty plastic folders, one for each wish.

She became so involved in her work that it was well past one before she realized she hadn’t eaten lunch. She emptied a can of soup into a bowl, and it was heating in the microwave when her phone rang.

Startled, she picked up the receiver on the first ring. The beeper went off at the same time, indicating that her meal was ready.

“Hello,” she said, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she opened the microwave. She rarely got calls at home anymore. In the weeks after Robert’s funeral, she’d heard from a number of couples they’d been friends with, but those people had gradually drifted away. Anne Marie hadn’t made the effort to keep in touch, either. It was easier to lose herself in her grief than to reach out to others.

“Anne Marie, it’s Lillie. Guess what?” her friend said breathlessly.

“What?” Hearing the excitement in Lillie’s voice lifted her own spirits.

“Remember what you said Valentine’s night?”

Anne Marie frowned. “Not exactly. I said various things. Which one do you mean?”

“Oh, you know. Elise was talking about eating something to feel better and then someone else—me, I think—brought up volunteering and you said…” She giggled. “You asked why we couldn’t just buy ourselves something.”

Anne Marie smiled. She’d been joking at the time, but it appeared that Lillie had taken her seriously. “Are you about to tell me you bought yourself something?”

“I sure did,” Lillie said gleefully.

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense. What did you get?”

Lillie giggled again. “A brand-new shiny red convertible.”

“No!” Anne Marie feigned shock.

“Yes. Can you imagine me at sixty-three buying myself a sports car?”

“What kind is it?” Anne Marie knew next to nothing about cars, which was why she belonged to Triple A. In truth, Robert had been pretty helpless, too.

“A BMW.”

It must’ve been expensive; Anne Marie knew that much. Well, Lillie could afford it. The perfume company had been more than generous to her and Barbie after the plane crash, and they were both financially secure.

“Want to go for a ride?”

Anne Marie’s first inclination was to decline. Almost immediately she changed her mind. Why not go? Lillie’s excitement was so contagious, she couldn’t resist joining in.

“I’d love to,” she said warmly.

“Great. I’ll meet you in front of the bookstore in twenty minutes.”

“Uh, what about Jacqueline?” She knew Lillie had plenty of other friends and that she and Jacqueline Donovan were especially close. They’d raised their children together, belonged to the same country club and were active members of several charitable organizations. Jacqueline, too, was a frequent customer at Blossom Street Books, not to mention all the other neighborhood stores.

“Rest assured, she’ll get her turn,” Lillie told her. “So, do you want to go for a ride or not?”

“I do. I just thought…never mind. I’d love to ride in your shiny new red convertible.”

Gulping down her soup and then grabbing her coat, Anne Marie waited outside by the curb. Lillie pulled up right on time. The car, a convertible, was certainly bright red, and it shone from fender to fender. Despite the overcast skies, her friend had the top down.

Anne Marie stepped forward, gawking at the vehicle. “Lillie, it’s fabulous!”

The older woman grinned. “I think so, too.”

“What did Barbie have to say?”

Lillie shook her head. “She doesn’t know yet. No one does. I’d just driven it off the showroom floor when I called you.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the one who inspired the idea. So it’s only fitting that you be the first one to ride in it.”

Anne Marie remembered the “eat something,” “do something” conversation, but she never would’ve guessed she’d end up riding in a brand-new BMW because of it.

“It’s the first time in my life that I’ve purchased my own car. I negotiated the deal myself,” Lillie announced proudly. “And I had all my facts straight before I even walked inside. Those salesmen take one look at me and see dollar signs. I needed to prove to them—and to myself—that I’m no pushover.”

“I’m sure you did—and then some.”

Lillie nodded. “I got on the Internet and found a Web site that showed the invoice price, and then broke out the dealer’s typical overheads and advertising costs.”

Anne Marie was more impressed by the minute. “You really did your research.”

“My dear, you can find out just about anything on the Internet.” She raised her eyebrows. “I also discovered that the dealer cost includes a holdback for profit.” Lillie smiled roguishly as she continued her story. “The salesman was a charming fellow, I will say that. He expected to walk away with a substantial commission check, but I quickly disavowed him of that notion.”

Anne Marie stared at her, astonished. “How did you do it?”

“We started negotiating and I had him at the point of accepting my offer when I remembered that dealers sometimes get incentives and rebates on cars sold.”

“You mentioned that, too?”

“Darn right I did and he agreed to my terms.”

“Lillie, congratulations.” Anne Marie had no idea the older woman had such a head for business. As far as she was aware, Lillie hadn’t worked a day in her life, or at least not outside the home. In many ways Barbie was a younger version of her mother. Both women had married young, and each had chosen a husband ten or so years her senior. That was something Anne Marie had in common with them; the fact that they were both mothers was not. They’d promptly delivered the requisite child, in Barbie’s case, twin sons. If Anne Marie recalled correctly, the Foster boys, Eric and Kurt, were enrolled in separate East Coast schools—very elite ones, naturally.

“It feels so good to drive a vehicle I negotiated for myself,” Lillie said. “And this came about because of you.”

“Really, I just made an off hand comment.”

“It’s more than purchasing my own car,” she said, as though Anne Marie hadn’t spoken, “it was managing everything myself instead of handing the task over to someone else. I’ve always felt I could be a good businesswoman if I’d been given the opportunity.” She rubbed her hand over the arc of the steering wheel. “No one seemed to consider me capable of running my own affairs. Ironically, the person I needed to convince most was me. Thanks to you, I did.”

Anne Marie felt a bit uncomfortable; Lillie was giving her far more credit than she deserved.

“Come on,” Lillie said. “Get in.”

Swinging open the passenger door, Anne Marie climbed into the convertible and fastened her seat belt.

Lillie gripped the steering wheel tightly, throwing back her head. “I have to tell you, I’m really getting into this Twenty Wishes thing.”

“I am, too,” Anne Marie said. “When you phoned I was in the middle of making a scrapbook, a page for each wish. I’m going to cut out magazine pictures to visualize them and to document the various steps.”

Lillie turned to smile at her. “What a great idea.”

The praise encouraged her andAnne Marie quickly went on to describe the craft-store supplies she’d purchased. “I don’t have much of a list as yet, but I’m working on it. How about you?”

Lillie was silent for a moment. “I’ve decided I want to fall in love.” She spoke with a determination Anne Marie had never heard from her.

“Barbie said the same thing at our Valentine’s party,” Anne Marie pointed out.

“I know.”

Anne Marie waited.

“I’ve had plenty of men ask me out,” Lillie told her. “I don’t mean to sound egotistical, but I’m not interested in most of them.”

Anne Marie nodded, not surprised that “plenty of men” would find Lillie attractive.

“I’ve learned a thing or two in the last sixty-odd years,” Lillie was saying, “and I’m not as impressed with riches or connections as I once was. When I fall in love, I want it to be with a man of integrity. Someone who’s decent and kind and—” She paused as though searching for the right word. “Honorable. I want to fall in love with an honorable man.” She seemed embarrassed at having spoken her wish aloud, and leaned forward to start the engine. “As you might’ve guessed, my marriage—unlike my daughter’s—wasn’t a particularly good one. I don’t want to repeat the mistakes I made when I was younger.” The car roared to life, then purred with the sound of a flawlessly tuned engine.

Checking behind her, Lillie backed out of the parking space on Blossom Street. From there they headed toward the freeway on-ramp. Lillie proposed a drive through the Kent Valley and along the Green River, and Anne Marie agreed.

Closing her eyes, Anne Marie let the cold February wind sweep past her. Lillie turned on the radio just as the DJ announced a hit from the late 1960s. Soon she was crooning along to The Lovin’ Spoonful’s “Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind.” Anne Marie remembered her mother singing that song as a girl. Perhaps it was unusual to find herself good friends with a woman who was her mother’s contemporary. Sadly, although Anne Marie was an only child, she and her mother weren’t close. Her parents had divorced when she was in sixth grade, and the bitterness, especially on her mother’s part, had lingered through the years. It didn’t help that Anne Marie resembled her father. She’d had little contact with him after the divorce, and he died in a boating accident on Lake Washington when she was twenty-five. Her mother had never remarried.

Because they had such an uneasy relationship, Anne Marie avoided frequent visits home. She made a point of calling her mother at least once a month. Even then, it seemed they didn’t have much to discuss. Sad as it was to admit, Anne Marie had more in common with Lillie than she did with her own mother.

As Lillie’s voice grew louder, Anne Marie stayed quiet, afraid that if she attempted to sing she’d embarrass herself. After about twenty minutes, Lillie exited the freeway and drove toward the road that ran beside the banks of the Green River.

This was about as perfect a moment as Anne Marie could remember since Robert’s death. They had the road to themselves. The sun was on her face and the wind tossed her hair in every direction and she couldn’t have cared less.

Lillie, however, had wrapped a silk scarf over her elegantly arranged hair, which held it neatly in place.

Darting around the twisting country roads, Lillie revealed her skill as a driver. Then, in the middle of a sharp turn, she let out a small cry of alarm.

“What’s wrong?” Anne Marie was instantly on edge. She grasped the passenger door as Lillie struggled to control the vehicle.

“The steering wheel,” she gasped. She pulled the car over to the side of the road and cut the engine. She looked wide-eyed at Anne Marie. “There’s something wrong with the steering.”

“This is a brand-new car!”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Lillie said through clenched teeth. She opened the car door and got out, then reached behind the seat for her purse. Taking out her cell phone, she exhaled slowly. “Fortunately I have the dealership’s number in my Calls Received.” She wrapped one arm around her waist while she waited for someone to answer.

“Hello,” she said, speaking without even a hint of irritation in her voice. “This is Lillie Higgins. I was in the dealership earlier this afternoon. Could I speak with Darryl Pierpont, please? He’s the salesman who sold me this vehicle.” She waited, and it seemed the salesman was unavailable because Lillie asked to speak with the manager, who was apparently out of the office, as well. Lillie then said, “All right, answer me this. Has the dealership deposited the check I wrote?” She turned to Anne Marie, eyes fierce. “I suggest you don’t, as I’m about to put a stop payment order on it.”

That quickly got her the attention she sought. After explaining what had happened and listening for a moment, then describing her location, Lillie closed the cell.

“The dealership’s sending a tow truck for the car. The service manager is bringing me a replacement vehicle until they can determine what’s wrong with mine.”

“As they should.”

“Until then we have to sit here and wait.”

They climbed back into the car and chatted for half an hour or so until another BMW arrived, followed by a tow truck. A Hispanic man stepped out of the car. “Ms. Higgins?” he asked with a slight Mexican accent, looking at Lillie.

“Yes.”

“I’m Hector Silva, manager of the service department. I would like to personally apologize for this inconvenience.”

“I’ve owned this car for less than two hours!”

Hector shook his head. “I give you my word that we will find out what caused the problem and repair it properly. Until then, the dealership would like you to use this loaner car.”

Anne Marie liked the man immediately. He was around Lillie’s age, she guessed, with lovely tanned skin and salt-and-pepper hair. He handed Lillie some papers to sign and then the keys to the other car.

“Would you like a ride back to the dealership, Mr. Silva?” Lillie offered, surprising Anne Marie.

“No, thank you, I’ll escort your convertible with the tow truck driver. I’ll have your car back to you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

He bowed his head. “It is my pleasure, Ms. Higgins.”

While Hector Silva and the driver of the tow truck conferred, Lillie and Anne Marie slipped into the second car, a luxury sedan.

“He was so nice,” Anne Marie commented. The service manager couldn’t have been more accommodating or polite.

“I was looking forward to giving the dealership a piece of my mind,” Lillie said with a sigh. “But how can I when everyone’s being so wonderful? Well,” she said, grinning, “after I threatened them.”

“That had nothing to do with Mr. Silva, though.”

“I agree,” Lillie said. “He struck me as genuine.”

They resumed their drive, except that this time Lillie headed straight back to the city, stopping in front of Blossom Street Books.

“Thank you, Lillie,” Anne Marie said as she climbed out. “I’ve never enjoyed a car ride more.”

“Bye.” And with a smile that shone from her eyes and her heart, Lillie drove off.