“Of course not. No one does.”

“But…I feel better than I have in months.”

That definitely boded well.

“Still,” Dolores said thoughtfully, “one never knows.”

Anne Marie swallowed. She wondered if Robert had any premonition when he woke up that it would be the last day of his life. She wondered if he’d experienced any warning signs. Had there been any pain? Nausea? Tingling in his fingertips? Had his left arm ached? Did he assume the pressure in his chest was just heartburn? If she’d been living with him at the time, would she have recognized what was happening and been able to help?

Anne Marie didn’t have the answers to any of those questions and they would forever haunt her.

“One never knows,” she echoed bleakly.

“I gave birth to two daughters,” Dolores told her.

“I know.”

“I tried to be a good mother after their father left me.”

“I know,” Anne Marie said again.

Once more there were tears in the older woman’s eyes. “I have no idea where I failed and there’s no going back. Candace and Clarisse,” she whispered. “Such beautiful girls. And now…”

“I understand.” Anne Marie spoke soothingly, seeing how distressed Dolores was.

Dolores seemed to reach some decision. She turned to Anne Marie and took her arm again. Her eyes were fierce. “You have to promise that if anything happens to me you won’t let Ellen go back to her mother.”

“But it’s not up to—”

“She’s on meth,” Dolores broke in. “The last time I saw her was in court. Her hair was falling out and her teeth were rotting in her head and she’s barely thirty years old. My daughter is killing herself.”

“You have sole custody of Ellen?”

“Yes. Promise me you won’t let Ellen go back to her.”

“I’m sure the Child Protective Services wouldn’t—”

“Promise me,” Dolores insisted, her hand tightening on Anne Marie’s forearm.

“But I—”

“I won’t rest until I know Ellen will be with someone who loves her. Promise me.”

Anne Marie could see that it would do no good to argue. “I promise.” She suspected the state would never allow it, but she had to calm the woman down and there was no other way to do it.

Dolores relaxed her hold on Anne Marie’s arm. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“You’re the one who’s going to raise Ellen,” Anne Marie said.

“You’re going to get well and Ellen will go home….”

“Clarisse.” Dolores’s voice cracked.

Anne Marie already knew the second daughter was in prison.

“She’s as bad as her sister.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Dolores looked away. “Maybe I should’ve had tighter control of them when they were teenagers.”

“I…”

“I did my best but it wasn’t enough. They got in with a bad crowd and before I knew it, they dropped out of school and started doing drugs….”

“I’m so sorry.” Anne Marie wished she could think of something else to say. Something more useful.

“The state might try to give Ellen to Clarisse once she’s out of prison. Ellen can’t go with her, either. Understand?”

“I won’t let that happen.” Anne Marie had no idea how she was supposed to prevent it, should the state make that decision. She decided not to worry about any of this, since Dolores would probably live for years and would be taking care of Ellen herself.

As though suddenly exhausted, Dolores closed her eyes and fell back against the pillow.

Just then Ellen returned, escorted by one of the nurses, who left right afterward. Ellen held the plastic pitcher filled with ice and carefully set it on the stand next to the flowers. “Is Grandma sleeping?” she asked in a loud whisper.

When Dolores didn’t open her eyes, Anne Marie figured she’d either drifted off or was close to it. Their conversation had drained her of strength; she was, after all, recovering from surgery. And—perhaps even more of a factor—she’d been recalling the bitterest regrets of her life.

“I got ice,” Ellen said.

“She’ll thank you later,” Anne Marie told the girl. “But at least you had a chance to show her your test. Didn’t you see how proud she was of you?”

Ellen nodded reluctantly.

“We should let her sleep.”

“Okay.” Still Ellen didn’t seem ready to leave. “Would it be all right if I sat with her for a few minutes?”

There was only one chair by the bed, and Anne Marie was sitting there. Soon Ellen had climbed onto her lap. The even rise and fall of Dolores’s chest, the regular cadence of her breathing, lulled Anne Marie into closing her eyes, too.

She didn’t know how long she’d been dozing there when her head slumped forward and she realized Ellen had cuddled up in her arms with one cheek pressed against her shoulder. The child’s weight was warm and oddly comfortable, and she would’ve been content to stay that way for a while.

“Did Grandma Dolores tell you who my daddy is?” Ellen asked.

Anne Marie wondered what had prompted that question. “No…”

“Oh.” She sighed with disappointment.

“Do you remember him, Ellen?”

“No.” Ellen sounded so sad that Anne Marie wrapped her arm more securely around the girl’s thin shoulders. “He’s on my wish list.”

“Your daddy?”

“Yes, I want to see him.”

Dolores had said that Candace, Ellen’s mother, probably didn’t even know who the father was. Anne Marie didn’t want to encourage Ellen to pursue something that would bring her more unhappiness. But as Dolores had also said, you never knew. The man just might make an appearance in the child’s life when she needed him most.

“We can look on your birth certificate, I guess.” Perhaps the school had a copy, although Anne Marie wasn’t sure they’d show it to her.

“I have six wishes now,” Ellen stated proudly.

Six wishes.

Six reasons to hope.

“Are you ready to go home?” Anne Marie asked. It was nine o’clock now, and she was surprised they hadn’t been told that visiting hours were over.

“Okay.”

Ellen climbed down from her lap. “Thank you for bringing me to see Grandma Dolores.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Thank you for telling me about the wishes, too.”

Anne Marie nodded. For some reason the gloom of depression had lightened and the image of Robert and Rebecca had receded. Holding this child in her arms made everything else seem less important, less immediate.

Dolores snored softly on. Anne Marie held Ellen’s hand and flicked the switch, darkening the room, and they returned to Blossom Street.

Chapter 16

Lillie Higgins was meeting Jacqueline Donovan, her dearest friend on earth, for lunch. She wore a beige linen skirt and a jacket that showed off the pearls David had bought her in Hong Kong. Lillie was well aware that some transgression had elicited her husband’s generosity.

The three-strand necklace was a guilt offering. She didn’t know what had happened while he was in the Far East—or with whom—and she preferred it that way. Her husband generally gave her expensive gifts when he felt remorseful about something. That something always involved another woman.

Lillie had rarely worn the pearls until after David’s death. Now it didn’t seem to matter. They really were lovely and it didn’t make sense to hide them in a drawer. She had no reason to feel guilty, so she’d begun to wear them regularly.

As she fastened the matching pearl earrings the phone rang. Lillie hesitated, tempted to let it ring. But Jacqueline was usually ten or fifteen minutes late, so Lillie decided to take the call.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Higgins?”

Lillie instantly recognized the voice of Hector Silva, the service manager at the BMW dealership.

“Hello, Mr. Silva,” she said, unable to disguise her pleasure.

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m phoning you.”

“On the contrary, I’m delighted.” And that was the truth. She hadn’t expected him to contact her, and this came as a marvelous surprise.

“I’m calling to thank you for speaking to Mr. Sullivan.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Mr. Sullivan owns the dealership. You phoned and left a message about me and the good service you received.”

“Oh, yes.” Lillie remembered that now. “You went above and beyond my expectations, and I wanted Mr. Sullivan to realize what a valuable employee he has in you.”

“Thank you again.”

“Mr. Silva, please, I’m the one who’s indebted to you.”

“Hector,” he said. “We agreed to use first names,” he reminded her.

She smiled at the genuine warmth in his voice. “And I’m Lillie.”

“I wanted to inform you, Lillie, that as a direct result of your comments I was named employee of the month for February.”

“Which you deserved.”

“I…ah…” He hesitated and seemed about to say something more. “I know it’s not—” Again he paused, as if unsure how to proceed.

“Yes?” Lillie’s heart was in her throat. It might be presumptuous of her, but she had the distinct feeling that he was about to suggest they meet again.

“I hope you have a pleasant day,” he finished in a rush.

“You, too.” She didn’t bother to hide her disappointment. Then, hoping to encourage him and let him know she’d welcome an invitation, she added, “Was there anything else, Hector?”

Her question was followed by a long pause. “Not really.”

“Oh.” She swallowed.

“Calling Mr. Sullivan was very nice of you,” he said, rushing his words again. “I hope you’re enjoying your new car.”

“Very much, thank you, Hector.”

“Goodbye, Lillie.”

“Goodbye.”

He didn’t hang up right away and neither did she. Lillie closed her eyes, willing him to speak, willing him to suggest they see each other again. He didn’t, and after a short pause she heard him disconnect. Her heart sank about as far as it could go. Well, that was that, she supposed. It was probably for the best—although it didn’t feel that way—but she had to be reasonable. His social status was too different from hers and financially they were worlds apart. Hector understood that even if she didn’t.

If she had a relationship with him, her friends would think she’d lost her mind. Well, maybe she had. Maybe she was tired of all the pretense that surrounded her life. She’d loved her husband, but her marriage had been a sham. When David had his affairs, she’d politely turned her head and looked the other way. Lillie had carried the knowledge and the shame that the man she loved, and had been completely faithful to, treated his marriage vows as if they were merely suggestions.