Twenty Wishes Page 0,2

her head in mock astonishment. "First wine and now chocolate. Life is good."

Leading the way to the back room, Anne Marie dimmed the lights in the front of the shop. Beside the champagne and flutes, she'd arranged a crystal vase of red roses; they'd been a gift from Susannah's Garden, the flower shop next door. All the retailers on Blossom Street were friends. Hearing about the small party, Alix Turner from the French Cafe had dropped off a tray of cheese, crackers and seedless green grapes, which Anne Marie had placed on her work table, now covered with a lacy cloth. Lydia had insisted they use it for their celebration. It was so beautiful it reawakened Anne Marie's desire to learn to knit.

She wished she could see her friends' gifts as more than expressions of sympathy, but her state of mind made that impossible. Still, because of the other widows, for their sake as well as her own, she was determined to try.

"This is going to be fun," Elise said, telling them why Anne Marie had spread out the bubble wrap.

"What a wonderful idea!" Barbie exclaimed.

"Shall I pour?" Anne Marie asked, ignoring the sense of oppression she couldn't seem to escape. It had been present for months and she'd thought life would be better by now. Perhaps she needed counseling. One thing was certain; she needed something.

"By all means," Lillie said, motioning toward the champagne.

Anne Marie opened the bottle and filled the four glasses and then they toasted one another, clicking the rims of the flutes.

"To love," Elise said. "To Maverick." Her voice broke.

"To chocolate!" Barbie made a silly face, perhaps to draw attention away from Elise's tears.

"And the Widow's champagne," Lillie threw in.

Anne Marie remained silent.

Although it'd been nine months, her grief didn't seem to diminish or become any easier to bear. She worked too much, ate too little and grieved for all the might-have-beens. It was more than the fact that the man she'd loved was dead. With his death, she was forced to give up the dream of all she'd hoped her marriage would be. A true companionship - and the foundation of a family. Even if she were to fall in love again, which seemed unlikely, a pregnancy past the age of forty was risky. The dream of having her own child had died with Robert.

The four sipped their champagne in silence, each caught up in her own memories. Anne Marie saw the sorrow on Elise's face, the contemplative look on Lillie's, Barbie's half smile.

"Will we be removing our shoes in order to pop the bubble wrap?" Lillie asked a moment later.

"Mom has this thing about walking around in stocking feet," Barbie said, glancing at her mother. "She doesn't approve."

"It just wasn't done in our household," Lillie murmured.

"There's no reason to take our shoes off," Anne Marie said. "The whole idea is to have fun. Make a bit of noise, celebrate our friendship and our memories."

"Then I say, let 'er rip," Elise said. She raised her sensibly shod foot and stomped on a bubble. A popping sound exploded in the room.

Barbie went next, her step firm. Her high heels effectively demolished a series of bubbles.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Pop.

Lillie followed. Her movements were tentative, almost apologetic.

Pop.

Anne Marie went last. It felt...good. Really good, and the noise only added to the unexpected sense of fun and exhilaration. For the first time since the party had begun, she smiled.

By then they were all flushed with excitement and champagne. The others were laughing giddily; Anne Marie couldn't quite manage that but she could almost laugh. The ability to express joy had left her when Robert died. That wasn't all she'd lost. She used to sing, freely and without self-consciousness. But after Robert's funeral Anne Marie discovered she couldn't sing anymore. She just couldn't. Her throat closed up whenever she tried. What came out were strangled sounds that barely resembled music, and after a while she gave up. It'd been months since she'd even attempted a song.

The popping continued as they paraded around on the bubble wrap, pausing now and then to sip champagne. They marched with all the pomp and ceremony of soldiers in procession, saluting one another with their champagne flutes.

Thanks to her friends, Anne Marie found that her mood had begun to lift.

Soon all the bubbles were popped. Bringing their champagne, they sat in the chairs where the reader groups met and toasted each other again in the dimly lit store.

Leaning back, Anne Marie tried to relax. Despite her