Unlikely Friends

by Sahar Abdulaziz

  “Well? Spill the beans. What does it say?” Harper leaned forward, trying to peer over the top. “Is it about me?”

  “No, Miss Nosey. Hate to break the news, but not everything is about you.” Olivia smiled, fanning her face with the card.

  “Ma!”

  “Oh, fine. It’s an invitation for us to come for dinner.”

  “At Cornelia’s?”

  “No. Not exactly. Apparently, Cornelia is inviting us over to Irwin’s.”

  “When?”

  “This Saturday.”

  “Can she do that? I mean, invite us to Irwin’s?”

  Olivia waved the card in Harper’s face, and they both laughed.

  “We’re going, right?”

  “I can’t see why not.” Olivia plastered a fake smile on her face. “It’ll be fun.”

  Harper bit into the next shrimp roll, beaming. Reaching out with greasy fingers, she asked, “Can I see it now?”

  “Wipe your hands first.” Then Olivia handed Harper the card.

  “Wow, pretty fancy, but why send a card just to ask us for dinner?”

  “I don’t know, but I kind of like it.”

  “I guess.” Harper leaned back in her chair. “I wonder if we’ll need to dress up?”

  “I don’t think so.” Olivia shrugged, then re-read the invitation. “It doesn’t say anything about dress code.” Olivia frowned. “You know what? Ask Irwin tomorrow, just in case. I’d hate to go and feel out of place.”

  Harper nodded and swallowed. “I’ll make brownies for dessert,” she said, remembering the two boxes of mix she’d purchased on sale the last time she’d gone shopping.

  “Sounds good.” Olivia glanced towards three bananas on the counter. “I’ll whip up a loaf of banana bread.”

  “Can you add the walnuts to it?”

  Olivia laughed. “Do we have walnuts?”

  “I’ll go check.” Harper sprinted to the cabinet. She pulled out a small plastic bag and shook it. “Not much left.” She frowned.

  “Let me see.” Olivia held the bag up to the light. “It’s enough for a crumb topping. I’ll make it work.”

  “I wonder what she’s up to now?”

  “Who? Cornelia?” asked Olivia. “Why?” She peered at the card in Harper’s hand. “It’s only a dinner invitation.”

  Harper sniffed the paper. “If you say so, but don’t you get the feeling that Cornelia never does anything just because?”

  “Hmmm.” Olivia grinned. “You know, you may be right.”

  When did my daughter become so intuitive?

  Harper handed Cornelia’s card back to her mother. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Olivia returned it to the envelope, folded it in half, and stuck it in her sweater’s other pocket. “What’s today? Wednesday?”

  “Thursday.”

  “Ah, well…we will find out soon enough.”

  Harper leaned back in her chair and rubbed her palms together. “Showtime in two days. I can’t wait.”

  ***

  That evening, with thoughts of eviction bombarding her awake, Olivia tossed and turned, too wound up trying to figure out her next move and frustrated that nothing seemed remotely feasible. She dreaded breaking more lousy news to Harper, but she didn’t have long. Perhaps Sunday—after dinner at Irwin’s. Olivia didn’t have the heart to ruin that for Harper too.

  Olivia punched her pillow and flipped it over a few times searching for a comfortable spot to lay her face down. Squeezing her eyes closed, she did her best to prevent another round of tears from falling, but once one renegade escaped, the rest of the water squad soon followed.

  No. This is my problem. Not Harper’s.

  Olivia buried her face in the pillow to muffle her sobs.

  I have to fix this.

  ***

  Harper

  The next morning came too soon. Feeling lazy, Harper wished school would end already. It had been a stressful week of tests and projects. She especially looked forward to tomorrow night’s dinner at Irwin’s.

  The card?

  She didn’t want to forget to ask Irwin about the dress code.

  Where’d Mom put it?

  She wanted to bring it with her.

  Harper, barely awake, padded her way into the kitchen for a cup of water when she spotted her mother’s sweater still hanging from the back of the chair. Remembering that her mother had stuffed the card into the pocket, Harper slipped her hand inside to retrieve it, but instead of the invitation, she held a long, official-looking envelope in her fist, all scrunched up.

  What’s this?

  Before attempting to open it, she listened for any movement or footsteps coming from upstairs, but the house remained perfectly still. As quietly as she could, Harper slipped the letter out, unfolded the crumpled paper, and began to read.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  No, no. Damn it. No! This can’t happen.

  Moments later, the sound of footsteps and doors opening upstairs alerted Harper that her mother was awake and on the move. Harper quickly stuffed the letter in the envelope and back into the sweater pocket, completely forgetting to grab Cornelia’s card. She zipped back to her bedroom and closed the door. A confused mixture of anger and fear bubbled up within her as she leaned on the door, panting, out of breath, and furious.

  How could she do this? Evicted?

  Harper wanted to toss everything within her reach.

  How could she hide this from me?

  “Harper!” yelled her mother from the kitchen. “Hurry up. You’re going to be late.”

  There’s always something with her.

  “Harper!”

  “I know!” she screamed back.

  When did she plan on springing this latest fuck-up on me?

  “Harper!”

  “Stop yelling at me.” Harper so wanted to add, “you lying bitch,” but didn’t.

  On autopilot, Harper readied herself for school. Unable to control her tongue, she wanted to avoid crossing paths with her mother, so she washed, dressed, and hightailed it out of the house in record time, slamming the front door behind her.

  Ditching school again was out of the question, but nobody said she couldn’t be late. Harper jogged straight past the bus stop and down a lane behind a row of older houses and then back out onto the Main Street. She kept walking, taking long, determined strides one after the next. Her eyes darted back and forth as if being followed, but she just kept going, weaving through parked cars, snaking around slow walkers, and crossing the road at the light.

  Overnight, the air had turned much brisker, but Harper, wearing nothing but a light jacket and no hat, didn’t feel a thing, nor did she notice the people passing her all bundled up in heavy coats, some already wearing winter hats and scarves. She just kept walking faster, in an angry daze, building up a sweat underneath her shirt with every determined step she took closer towards her destination. Without giving it any thought, Harper turned down one side street and ran the last of the way, leaping up the porch steps two at a time as if her life depended on it. Out of breath and legs trembling, she banged on the door. “It’s me, Harper,” she sobbed and pounded again.

  “Harper?” called the voice through the door, followed by sounds of bolts promptly unlatching. “What’s the matter, honey?” asked Cornelia, appearing shocked to see the sobbing child standing on her stoop. “What happened?” she asked as she shooed her inside. “Come in, come in.” Cornelia guided Harper by the elbow inside. “Are you hurt? Did somebody hurt you?”

  Harper dropped her backpack on the floor and threw her arms around Cornelia’s neck, crying. “I’m going to be homeless,” she barely choked out.

  “What?” Cornelia barely understood. “What are you saying?”

  “The let-ter,” wept Harper, choking back air. “She didn’t pay, and now we’re going to be homeless.”

  “Oh, honey,” soothed Cornelia, rubbing Harper’s back. She locked the front door. “Follow me.”

  Harper r
ubbed her wet face with the back of her hand and followed Cornelia into a large, warm space filled from floor to ceiling with books of every conceivable size. Piles of papers covered a heavily ornate wooden desk. Gold-trimmed paintings depicting seasonal landscapes christened the walls, and a big round clock hung over the mantle.

  “Sit,” instructed Cornelia, tenderly. “I’ll get you some water.”

  Harper sniffled and plucked a tissue from the box on Cornelia’s desk then sat down on the couch. As she leaned back, she caught movement from the corner of her eye and gasped. She froze, eyes darting, ready to bolt until she realized what, or rather, who, just came in to join her.

  “Bones!” Harper exclaimed, patting her chest with her palm. “You little creeper. You scared me half to death.”

  Unaffected, Bones sashayed over to the couch. He stretched his furry neck and nuzzled his cheek against Harper’s calf before leaping onto her lap to claim his rightful space.

  “You’re so bad, Bones,” teased Harper, more than happy to accommodate. Something about the vibrations emitted from Bones’s purring soothed Harper so much that by the time Cornelia returned, Harper no longer had tears running down her cheeks.

  “Ah ha! There you are, Bones,” teased Cornelia. “You bad kitty.” Cornelia handed Harper a bottle of water. “I must apologize for my furry friend’s lack of manners.”

  Harper smiled. “I don’t mind,” she said, scratching the cat’s belly. “He’s got such a beautiful coat.”

  Cornelia grinned. “That’s thanks to the double meal plan he’s on between my place and Irwin’s.”

  Harper continued to massage the cat’s back. “Is Bones your cat or Irwin’s?”

  Cornelia lowered herself on the couch next to Harper and gave the girl a half-smile. “This insufferable but quite lovable animal happened to have been Gilly’s companion,” she said, giving Bones a gentle scratch behind his ear.

  “Oh,” Harper said, lowering her gaze, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I should learn to mind my business.”

  “Don’t be silly. You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. Besides, to tell you the truth, Irwin and I belong to Bones more than the other way around.”

  “I think he’s sweet.”

  “Well, he sure has taken a liking to you.”

  Harper beamed, caressing the cat’s exposed belly. “The feeling is mutual.”

  Cornelia propped a couch pillow behind her back. “So. What’s all this about being homeless?”

  Harper frowned. “This morning I found a letter hidden in her sweater from the court saying that because we didn’t pay the rent, they’re going to kick us out. They worded it differently, but you know what I mean.”

  “I see.” Cornelia clasped her hands on her lap. “Did they give you a specific date?”

  “Yeah, but I can’t remember what it was now, but it’s definitely this month. I remember seeing that.”

  Cornelia nodded, her face drawn into a frown.

  “I know money’s been tight, and my mom does what she can, but I thought she was at least paying the rent.”

  “She probably has been, but rent is outrageously high in this area. It’s hard for most people to keep up these days.” While Cornelia had paid her mortgage off years ago, she still found herself struggling to make ends meet.

  “I guess.” Harper shrugged, not entirely convinced.

  “What did your mother say?”

  “She didn’t,” Harper sighed. “We’ve been arguing about everything lately. I was too angry when I found it and didn’t want to get into it with her about this too, so I put the letter back and left.”

  “I can understand that.” Cornelia’s lips remained pursed in a grimace.

  Bones slid off Harper’s lap. “I should go. This isn’t even your problem.”

  “I’m not upset at all,” said Cornelia. “This is my thinking face. Irwin says I look constipated.”

  Harper giggled. “Irwin’s funny.”

  “Yes. He’s a regular riot.”

  “Still, I better get going. My mom’s gonna lose it bigtime if she finds out I skipped out on school again.”

  Cornelia nodded. “Well, here’s where your mother and I are in total agreement. This skipping school thing needs to stop.”

  Harper glanced around the room. “You sure have a lot of books. Have you read them all?”

  “Most of them cover to cover.”

  “I love reading.”

  “Do you? Well, feel free to borrow whatever piques your interest.”

  Harper walked over to the bookcase, bent over, and slid a book from the bottom shelf. Her eyes lit up when she realized whose name was plastered on the cover.

  “Hold up. You’re a writer?” she asked, waving the paperback in the air. “I mean an author?”

  “I am. Mysteries. Cozy mysteries to be exact. I write some of my books under a nom de plume. That series is called—”

  “Wait, don’t tell me.” Harper wandered over to another small shelf nearer to Cornelia’s desk. “Hmm,” she purred before choosing a book with a drawing of a furry cat, who could have easily been mistaken as Bone’s evil twin displayed on the cover. “Yours?”

  “Very good. You found it. I’m impressed.”

  “The Cornelia Bones Mystery Series. I should have known.” Harper turned the book over. “I’ve always wanted to be a writer.”

  “Which is why we need to get you back to school straightaway. Speaking of which, how late are you?”

  Harper glanced at the clock. “Is that accurate?” she asked, pointing.

  “Give or take five minutes.”

  “Then I’d say second period will end in about fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Oh gosh, we better hurry up. I’ll get my keys, but before we take off, I need you to listen to me for a minute.”

  Harper put Cornelia’s book down. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “First off, do you trust me?” asked Cornelia, stone-faced serious.

  “I do,” answered Harper with no hint of a waver in her voice.

  Cornelia stared into Harper’s eyes for a good five seconds. “Good. I believe you.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “You can ask, but I won’t tell. Not yet, but let’s just say I’ve got an idea that could possibly, not promising, but possibly, settle this whole sordid mess out once and for all, but for now, no questions. Can you live with that?”

  “I can.”

  “Good. And I need you not to worry. What I can promise you is this—you will not be homeless.”

  Harper gave Cornelia the biggest, warmest, happiest smile then threw her arms around Cornelia’s shoulders, hugging her tightly.

  “Remember,” whispered Cornelia. “Not a single word about this to anybody else.”

  “My lips are sealed,” pledged Harper, pressing her finger to her lips.

  “Not your mother, not Irwin, nobody.”

  “I promise.”

  “I’ll take you at your word.” Cornelia turned the knob and waved Harper through the front door. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone, Bones,” she hollered over her shoulder at the purring feline actively kneading his front claws on her couch cushion.

  “I don’t think he’s paying attention,” said Harper.

  “Who? Bones? Sheesh, don’t let that old cat fool you. He sees and understands everything.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Olivia

  Olivia grabbed her keys, her wallet, but most importantly, the letter from the court, and stuffed everything in her handbag. Then she slipped on her sneakers and groaned. Her ankle felt tender. Although the swelling had gone down quite a bit, it still felt slightly inflamed. With little time to lament, she grabbed her coat and pulled open the front door.

  “Ah! What the—” she screeched, leaping back. She pressed her fingers on her throat, gasping. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Darren lowered the hand he was about to knock with. “Sorry, Liv. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “A
rgh, well, you did!” Olivia grumbled, shoving her second arm into her jacket.

  “I wondered if I could talk to you for a minute?” he asked.

  Darren’s lack of haughty demeanor didn’t go unnoticed.

  What knocked the wind out of his sails?

  “About what?”

  “Us. You and me. Harper. All of it.”

  “Oh.” Olivia tugged the front door shut, zipped her jacket closed, and talked while she walked. Darren trailed behind. “Well, today’s your lucky day because this is going to be the quickest conversation you ever had, so pay attention. One, there is no ‘us’ or ‘you and me.’ Secondly, Harper is no longer your concern, not like she ever was. And thirdly, but just as importantly, I’m late for work, so any soul-searching tête-à-tête you want to have now is about, hmmm, I’d say six years too little, too late.” Olivia pushed forward.

  Darren had little difficulty keeping pace next to Olivia’s long, angry strides. “Granted, you have no reason to trust me, Liv. I get that. I haven’t exactly given you much of a reason, but that’s in the past. I’m clean now and trying to get my life together. I’m working hard to make something of myself.”

  What “us” is this guy talking about?

  Olivia side-eyed him, measuring her response in her head as he spoke. She and Darren were fire and water together. Nothing more than former drug buddies. Casual sex partners. Maybe at one time she would have said she loved him, but now? “What does any of this have to do with me?”

  Darren sniffled.

  “Are you crying?” Olivia couldn’t help but glower. In all the years she’d known this man, not once had she seen him cry. Throw temper tantrums—too many to recount. Toss seedy motel rooms—a standard. Land the occasional cutting remark—most assuredly. But a tear? Never.

  “No, runny nose,” he lied. “My allergies. Do you have a tissue?”

  Olivia dug in her bag. “Here,” she said, offering him a small travel packet.

  Darren plucked a single tissue and handed it back. “Thanks.”

  Olivia stuffed the packet in her bag, continuing to walk while she talked.