Debbie Macomber - The Knitting Diaries - The Twenty-First Wish / Coming Unravelled / Return to Summer Island

Then she’d added that the granddaughter Dolores had been raising had gone to live with a woman called Anne Marie.

A granddaughter, aged nine.

A chill had gone through Tim at those words. The timing was too coincidental to discount. That very minute he’d known. This granddaughter, this little girl, was his little girl.

His daughter.

Tim hadn’t slept that night or the following one. Thankfully, the neighbor knew Anne Marie’s full name, and after a couple of days to sort out his feelings and consider his options, he’d contacted her at the bookstore.

At first Anne Marie assumed Tim wanted to take Ellen away from her. The thought had actually crossed his mind. Ellen was his flesh and blood, so he should be the one to raise her. But he’d consulted an attorney and discovered he had no legal rights where Ellen was concerned.

Candy had signed away her parental rights, and the grandmother had stepped in. More shocking yet, Tim learned he wasn’t even named on the birth certificate. After the old lady’s death, Ellen became a ward of the state; when Anne Marie adopted her, he lost any chance of raising her, although a blood test proved that she was indeed his child.

It’d taken weeks of gently, carefully, proving himself to Anne Marie before she allowed him into their lives. The funny, wonderful part was that Ellen seemed to recognize almost from the first that he was her father. In fact, before he could tell her, she asked him outright.

He’d been so tongue-tied he hadn’t been able to answer.

“I knew it,” she’d said, and smiled happily. He’d nearly dissolved into tears. So much for being manly and in control of his emotions.

That night Ellen showed him her list of twenty wishes. She explained that Anne Marie and her widowed friends had each made a list, so she had, too. One of her wishes was to meet her father, and now she had. She’d thrown her arms around his neck, hugging him tight.

From then on, Tim’s relationship with Vanessa had gone steadily downhill. He realized it must’ve been hard on her to see him develop a relationship, no matter how innocent, with another woman. His sponsor had advised him to tell Anne Marie about Vanessa. He’d tried a couple of times and then, coward that he was, kept his trap shut. He couldn’t lose Ellen. By then he was completely captivated by his daughter and refused to take the risk.

Then Vanessa had gotten drunk. After three years of sobriety, this awkward situation with Anne Marie had proved to be too much for her. Vanessa’s second slip followed shortly thereafter, when Ellen broke her arm. Tim could see where this was going. Vanessa couldn’t deal with such a complex relationship. That second slip was compounded by a third.

Tim broke off the relationship entirely, and frankly, he was glad he’d done it. Once he’d made that decision, he made another. He wanted to get involved with Anne Marie—only he was too late. By then she’d started dating Mel and was no longer interested in him.

He couldn’t blame her.

Tim had met Mel a number of times and clearly the older man considered him competition. If that was the case, Tim didn’t see it. Anne Marie was always polite but distant; whatever chance he’d had with her was over.

“You brought us a gift?” Ellen asked, looking eagerly around.

“Ellen.” Anne Marie chastised her softly.

“It’s a plant,” Tim said. “On the porch.”

“Thank you.”

He heard the reserve in Anne Marie’s voice. He stuck his hands in his pockets and was about to make his excuses and leave when Ellen asked, “Do you want to see the house? I gave Mel a tour. I can give you one, too.”

Tim looked at Anne Marie, seeking her approval before he agreed. She nodded slightly.

“I’d like that very much.”

His daughter closed the screen door behind him.

He trailed her into the living room and stopped when he saw Mel standing there, arms crossed. The other man didn’t need to say anything to convey the fact that he wasn’t keen on Tim’s presence at the house.

“Hello, Mel,” he said. He offered his hand, and Mel accepted.

“Good to see you again,” Tim said, although that was an exaggeration.

“You, too.” Mel’s returning comment lacked sincerity, at least in Tim’s opinion.

“This way, Daddy,” Ellen said, grabbing his hand. “I want to show you my bedroom.”

Tim followed his daughter to one of the closed doors. Ellen opened it and spread her arms wide. “See how big my room is?”

He stood with his hands on his hips. “Where do you want your bed?” he asked, relieved that she seemed more enthusiastic about the house.

“By the window.”

Clearly she’d given the matter some thought.

“Then I can stand on it and watch Baxter play in the yard.”

“Good idea.”

“And my dresser will go over here.” She bounded to the far side of the room to show him.

“Where are you going to put all your books?” The ten-year-old had more books than any kid he knew, which made sense since Anne Marie owned a bookstore.

“Mom’s buying me my own bookcase and I want to keep it over there.” She pointed at the wall across from the window.

Ellen was a bright child who loved to read; he was pleased she enjoyed books as much as he did. Tim had been a voracious reader from the time he was old enough to hold one in his hands. That wasn’t the only interest he shared with his daughter and Anne Marie. They all seemed to love playing board games and being around the water, to name two.

He and Ellen spoke for a few more minutes and Tim knew he should leave. As it was, he’d trespassed on Mel’s time with her and Anne Marie.

“So when’s the big moving day?” he asked once he’d joined the others.

“Tomorrow,” Anne Marie said.

“Need help?”

“Not really.”

He doubted she’d be interested in any assistance from him but had wanted to ask, just in case.

“A big truck is coming for the furniture,” Ellen said, “but all our friends from Blossom Street are helping us move the boxes.”

“I’ve got muscles.” Tim bent his elbow and flexed his biceps. “See? I can lift boxes, too. Many hands make for a lighter load,” he said, misquoting a saying he didn’t quite remember. “Or something like that.”

“Can Dad help us move?” Ellen asked excitedly.

“I don’t think so, Pumpkin,” Mel answered.

Tim recognized the other man’s mistake even before Mel did. Mel apparently hadn’t realized that Anne Marie didn’t like anyone else speaking for her.

Which was no doubt why she’d changed her mind about allowing him to be involved.

“The more helpers we have, the less work,” she said.

“ I’ll be here,” Mel said, as if that would make all the difference.

Anne Marie ignored his remark. “If you’re available, Tim, Ellen and I gladly accept your offer,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Just tell me what time and I’ll be there.” He resisted the urge to gloat. It would be poor sportsmanship, so he didn’t, but he certainly felt like it.

Mel narrowed his eyes. “What might be more helpful is if you took Ellen for the day,” he suggested. “She’ll get in the way—”

“I want to be with my friends,” Ellen protested, interrupting him.

“I want Ellen with me,” Anne Marie said emphatically.

“What about Baxter?” Mel asked, a bit irritated now. “Surely you don’t want the dog underfoot? Maybe Tim could take him.”

“I’ve already arranged for someone to look after Baxter.” Anne Marie obviously wasn’t pleased with the way Mel had taken control. Tim hadn’t known her long but he was well aware of her capable nature—and her independence.