Twenty Wishes

“I’m sorry.” Barbie felt she had to apologize because it so clearly upset her friend.



“No, no. I mean, for heaven’s sake, it’s not your fault.” Recovering quickly, Anne Marie dismissed her concern with a quick shake of her head.



Ellen gazed up at her, frowning. “I didn’t know you can’t sing.”



“Don’t worry, Ellen,” Anne Marie murmured. “I will again.”



Because Ellen was restless and maybe because Anne Marie wanted to change the subject, the two of them went for a short walk around the park before the music started. As they left, Barbie saw that the little girl stuck close to Anne Marie’s side. Being with so many people was probably overwhelming for a child. Barbie had to credit her friend; it couldn’t have been easy to bring this child into her home, even for a short while.



In fact, Barbie thought Anne Marie seemed softer now, less cynical and more open. Being with such a vulnerable child, having to take responsibility for her, meant that Anne Marie was less focused on her own sorrows. Wasn’t that what Elise kept saying? Doing something for someone else made you feel better about yourself.



The group of Irish singers was introduced, and the crowd instantly broke into applause. Ellen and Anne Marie hurried back to the blanket just as the performance began.



The singers, the fiddlers and dancers were thrilling, and Barbie loved every minute. The music was infectious. And the dancing—it was so vigorous, yet disciplined, too. Ellen sat through the entire hour mesmerized. She seemed to absorb the music, every note of it. When the performance was over, her face glowed.



“That was so good,” she said, looking at Anne Marie and Barbie. “I want to sing like that someday. Do you think I can?” she asked plaintively.



“Yes,” Anne Marie told her in a confident voice. “I’m sure you can.”



People had started to leave the park. The exodus was slow moving, but Barbie wasn’t in any hurry. Besides, her feet hurt. That was what she got for wearing designer shoes; she’d chosen them because they were the perfect complement to her black linen pants and green silk blouse. The sun warmed the day, and she’d left her raincoat open, the belt dangling at her sides.



As she and Anne Marie waited patiently for the crowd to thin, Barbie saw a flash of chrome from the corner of her eye. She turned to look and then caught her breath. She grabbed Anne Marie’s elbow.



“It’s him….” She could barely get the words out. Feeling self-conscious, she dropped her hand.



“Who?” Anne Marie asked.



Barbie couldn’t tell her because she hadn’t told anyone about her attraction to Mark Bassett, the man in the wheelchair. She looked again, just to be sure. He was alone, or appeared to be, apparently waiting for the crowd to disperse. Maneuvering his wheelchair would be difficult with so many people pressing in around him.



“You know someone here?”



“Not really.” Barbie tried to calm the wild beating of her heart. This was an unexpected surprise, a bonus. She was pleased now that she’d taken care with her outfit and makeup.



If Mark had seen her—and she couldn’t tell either way—he refused to acknowledge her. Barbie bit down hard on her lower lip to keep from raising her hand and calling out to him.



“Do you know that guy in the wheelchair?” Anne Marie asked.



“I…not exactly. I bumped into him recently.” She didn’t mention the part about emptying her soda in his lap.



“He’s certainly a striking man.”



He was. Barbie had trouble taking her eyes off him. The crowd had mostly disappeared by then and only a few stragglers remained.



“Can we go see Grandma Dolores soon?” Ellen asked.



Anne Marie smiled at the girl. “After we visit my mom, okay?”



Her patience with Ellen impressed Barbie.



“I think I’d better head out,” Anne Marie said, glancing down at her watch. “We’re meeting my mother for a late lunch, and after that we’re going to the hospital.”



“Of course, no problem,” Barbie told her. “I’ve got plans myself.”



They left, which worked out well because now she was free to confront Mark. Barbie didn’t have a single idea as to what she’d do or say once she reached him. She’d figure that out when the time came.



He’d managed to leave Freeway Park and was moving steadily down the sidewalk. Barbie raced after him, having some difficulty with her shoes. “Hello, again,” she called out cheerfully.



He ignored her.



“Remember me?”



At her second attempt, Mark spun his wheelchair around. “What are you doing here?”



“I came to enjoy the music, just like everyone else.”



“I didn’t know there’d be a concert,” he grumbled.



“In other words, you wouldn’t have come if you had.”



“Right.”



“But you enjoyed it, didn’t you?”



“No.”



Barbie didn’t understand him—and she didn’t believe he hadn’t been affected by the music. “Why are you such a grouch?” she asked.



“I like being a grouch.”



“Yes, Oscar.”



He frowned. “What?”



“Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street.” Her sons had often watched it when they were young. She planted herself directly in front of his wheelchair, blocking him off.



He wasn’t amused.



She’d never been so rude in her life, but Barbie wasn’t about to let him escape.



“What is it you want?” he demanded.



Now that he’d asked, she wasn’t entirely sure. To get his attention, yes, but she couldn’t admit that. “To talk, I guess.”



He tried to wheel around her, but once again she hindered his progress. “I’m not interested in talking, nor am I the least bit interested in you.”



Barbie sighed deeply. “That is so refreshing.”



“I beg your pardon?”



She smiled down at him. “You wouldn’t believe how many guys constantly hit on me. Not you, though, and yet we seem to like the same movies. You know, we might actually have something in common.”



He wagged his index finger at her. “I’m on to your game. You and Tessa are in cahoots—you have to be. That’s how you knew which movie I’d be watching last week. Well, that won’t happen again.”



Barbie felt her blood surge with excitement. “I wouldn’t count on it. You can’t tell me which movie to see or not to see.”



He scowled back at her. “Don’t count on me being there.”



“That’s no guarantee we won’t bump into each other somewhere else,” Barbie said, changing tactics. “We met here, didn’t we? I think it must be fate.”



“I think it’s bad luck.”



“Oh, Mark, honestly.”



His scowl grew darker.



“Your niece seems fond of you,” Barbie said conversationally.



His hands were on the wheels of his chair. “I’d like to get out of here if you don’t mind.”



“I wanted to talk, remember?”



“I don’t.”



“Fine.” She raised both hands in a gesture of defeat. “Have it your way.”



“Thank you,” Mark said gruffly and as soon as she stepped aside, he wheeled past her.



Despite his dismissive tone, Barbie followed him. “Can I ask you something?” she began.



Mark disregarded her, apparently a habit of his. His speed was surprising and in an effort to catch up with him, Barbie was nearly trotting. Her heel caught on a crack in the sidewalk and she went flying forward, landing hard on her hands and knees.



“Damn!” she cried at the sudden sharp pain. Momentarily stunned, she sat back and brushed the grit from her hands. Blood seeped through her pants and tears smarted her eyes.



Mark stopped, then reluctantly spun around to face her. “What happened?” he asked, none too sympathetically.



“I tripped.”



“Are you hurt?”



“Yes. Look, there’s blood.”



“Should I call 911?”



He was making fun of her, but Barbie didn’t care. She peeled up her pant leg to examine her knee.



“That’s what you get for wearing those ridiculous shoes.”



She let the insult pass.



“Do you need help getting up?”



“No, I can manage.” When she scrambled to her feet, she discovered that she’d broken the heel off her left shoe. “Would you look at this?” she cried. “If you knew what I paid for these shoes, you’d be as outraged as I am.”



“Next time don’t go chasing after me,” he said. “I’m not interested, understand?”



“Okay, fine,” she snapped.



“Fine with me, too.” He started to roll away from her.



Barbie sniffled and limped off. She’d made an idiot of herself and now she was paying the price. So much for this supposed bond between them. He wanted nothing to do with her. Well, she got his message, loud and clear.



Her progress was slow with her knee aching and her broken shoe.



“Miss, Miss.”



Barbie turned to find a woman with a first aid kit in her hand. “I heard that you fell.”



“Who told you?”



“A man in a wheelchair stopped in my store and said you might need help.”



“Really.” So Mark wasn’t as hard-edged as he’d like her to believe. He was concerned about her but he didn’t want to show it. “I’m okay. My pride hurts a lot more than my knee. It was my own fault.”



“Are you sure I can’t help you?”



Barbie thanked the woman with a smile. “I think I’ll just go home.” She’d call her mother for sympathy and then have a cup of hot tea.



“The man told me you’d probably say that. If you’ll sit down, I’ll take a look at your knee.”



“I don’t suppose you have any glue, do you?” she asked, holding up her broken shoe.



“No, sorry.”



Barbie thanked her again and left, hobbling back to Blossom Street, where she’d parked her car. The injury to her knee was nothing more than a scrape but the blow to her pride would take much longer to heal.



Her one consolation was the fact that, despite everything, Mark had sent someone to check on her. It wasn’t a lot, but it was something. A tiny fracture in his resistance. It gave her hope.



By Monday evening, Barbie’s knee was healing nicely. Although she didn’t need to, she wore a huge bandage over it and a short skirt, short enough to reveal her bandaged knee.



Tessa was at the ticket window when Barbie approached.



“So, which movie should I see?” Barbie asked, the same as she had the week before.



Tessa’s dark brown eyes searched hers. “He isn’t here.”



“You mean not yet, right?”



“Uncle Mark’s not coming, period.”



“Why not?” Barbie couldn’t have disguised her disappointment if she’d wanted to.



“He figured out that I was the one feeding you information.” Tessa sounded as disgruntled as Barbie felt.