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 likeminded 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