Twenty Wishes

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.”