by Nan Rossiter
“What’re you having?” Macey asked, looking up at the menu. “Let me guess,” she teased, knowing her sister’s favorite dish. “The Bird’s Nest.”
“How’d you know?” Maeve said, laughing. The Bird’s Nest—grits with homemade salsa, two poached eggs, a pinch of cilantro, and a ring of shredded cheddar—was the signature dish at Goose Feathers, and Maeve’s favorite.
They stepped up to the counter, and Maeve ordered while her sister tried to make up her mind. Macey shook her head indecisively. “I’ll just have a coffee and . . . a chocolate croissant,” she finally said with a smile, pushing her little sister’s wallet away.
They took their coffee outside and sat at one of the tables to wait for their food.
“Have you talked to Mom?” Maeve asked.
Macey nodded. “I stopped by yesterday. She and Dad were working in the garden. They’re pruning everything back already.” She smiled. “Dad just stands behind her with his pruning shears and rolls his eyes.”
Maeve chuckled. “She’s just like you—hardheaded and demanding.”
Macey laughed—she knew her sister was right. Their mom was the most determined woman they knew. She was also the reason her daughters had such competitive spirits.
Ruth O’Leary had married Hal Lindstrom right out of college. She’d been twenty-two years old, and Handsome Hal—as she always called him—a shy farmer’s son, had been twenty-five. Through the years, Hal always said it was Ruth’s auburn hair and green Irish eyes that stole his heart, but Macey and Maeve both knew just by the way she looked at him that their mom was equally smitten.
Macey nodded. “So, how’s Gage?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and smiling. The newest guy on Ben’s crew, Gage Tennyson, had been dating Maeve for almost a year.
“He’s fine,” Maeve replied with a half smile.
“Just fine? Have you been doing anything fun?”
“Not really—Ben works him too hard. He comes over, has one beer, and falls asleep on my couch.” She stirred a little of her grits into her eggs and scooped it up with her spoon. “When are they going to finish this job anyway?”
“Hopefully by Thanksgiving,” Macey said, sipping her coffee.
“I’ll be thankful for that,” Maeve said. She eyed her sister’s croissant. “You need to eat,” she said nodding to her plate. “You’re too skinny.”
“I am eating,” Macey said, cutting off a corner of the chocolate-oozing pastry with her fork. “I don’t have much appetite.”
Maeve nodded thoughtfully. “Hey, did you get my message about Mr. Olivetti?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“I did,” Macey said. “But I’m not adopting.”
“I didn’t say anything about adopting.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Oh, I guess I did,” Maeve said with a sigh, regretting how this conversation—which she’d hoped would be upbeat and low-pressure—had started. “Well, Mr. Olivetti and his brother were wards of the state during the Depression because their parents had too many kids and couldn’t afford to keep them all.”
“I wish that was my problem,” Macey said.
Maeve frowned. “Anyway, they were in an orphanage for two years before they were adopted by a young couple who couldn’t have kids. And that couple raised them to be wonderful, successful men. Their adoptive father was a woodworker, and he taught them the trade—that’s how they came to have their own furniture company. They also went on to have families of their own, making their adoptive parents grandparents. They ended up with eight grandkids between the two of them! What a legacy!”
Macey nodded. “Things were different back then, Maeve. We have state kids as patients, and some of them are sweet and cute, but some have real problems. Even Cora—you know, the lead case worker at DFCS—says things are different these days. There’s too much risk involved in adopting—too many kids are born to drug-addicted mothers, or have developmental issues . . . or their parents turn up years later and want them back, and then you have a huge custody battle on your hands. You just never know what you’re gonna get . . . and you could end up being very unhappy.”
“Or you could end up being very happy,” Maeve pressed.
“I know, Maeve, but we’ve been over this. I’m not interested in adopting, and you know it. Mom has been suggesting it, too, now, so I think you two must be in cahoots.”
Maeve shook her head innocently. “I haven’t said a word, but it does seem like a good option—there are so many kids who need homes. Have you even talked to Ben?” she asked, not willing to give up so easily.
Macey shook her head. “Maeve, stop. I’m pretty sure Ben feels the same way, and besides, he’s so busy he can’t think of anything but that house.”
Maeve looked stung. “I’m sorry,” she said, and when her sister didn’t reply, she glanced down at their plates and realized, except for her first bite, Macey hadn’t eaten any more. “You need to eat, Mace.”
Macey sighed and sipped her coffee. “I’m not hungry.” She pushed the plate toward her. “Want it?”
“Just a taste,” Macey said. She cut off part of the croissant, transferred it to her plate, and took a bite. “Oh my goodness—this is amazing.”
Macey laughed and slid the rest of it onto her sister’s plate. “Just take the whole thing—I’m not going to eat it.”
“Are you sure?”
Macey nodded.
“So, what do you want to do today?”
Macey pulled a list out of her pocket. “I need to run to Home Depot and see what they have for mums and pumpkins, and I’d like to stop at a couple of souvenir shops and see if I can find another shirt like this,” she said, gesturing to her shirt.
“You need a new Tybee Island T-shirt?” Maeve asked, raising her eyebrows.
“I do,” Macey said. “I like this shirt.”
Maeve laughed. “Whatever it takes to make you happy.”
“I’m afraid it’s gonna take a lot more than that.”
9
BEN PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY OF THE JACKSON HOUSE AND SAW HIS crew already hard at work. He didn’t like asking them to work on Saturdays. Except for Gage, they all had kids with weekend activities, but no one seemed to mind. They all had bills to pay.
“Hey, Gage,” Ben said, climbing out of his truck with his thermos and a brown paper sack.
Gage Tennyson looked up from measuring a piece of oak flooring. “Hey, Ben.”
“How’s it going?”
“Pretty well. You?”
“Okay,” Ben said with a half smile.
“Maeve told me about the baby. I’m really sorry, man.”
Ben nodded. “Thanks.”
“I hear the girls are going out to breakfast.”
“Yeah. I hope Maeve can cheer Macey up—I’m beginning to wonder if she’ll ever smile again.”
“If anyone can, it’s Maeve.”
Ben nodded and turned to go inside, but then looked back over his shoulder. “Where’s your pal?”
Gage looked up from measuring. “Gus? Oh, he’s around here somewhere. Probably down by the river.”
Just then, a lanky yellow Lab came tearing around the house with a heavyset man chasing him.
“What’s he got now, Jim?” Gage called.
“My bagel!” Jim hollered.
“Do you really want it back after he’s had it in his mouth?” Ben called, chuckling.
“No, I don’t want it back! I want him to stop taking my food!” Jim shouted, gasping for air and slowing down. Gus looked back, realized the fun was over, and wagged his tail as he wolfed down the bagel.
“I’ll pay you for it,” Gage offered, suppressing a smile.
“That is not the point,” Jim said, his hands on his hips, still breathing heavily. Gus wiggled over to him, but Jim shook his head. “Don’t you come over here, mister,” he scolded.
“Aw, he loves you,” Ben teased, “and he obviously thinks you need to eat less bagels and exercise more.”
&n
bsp; “Yeah, well that’s the third time this week he’s taken something.”
“And he’s wondering why you aren’t getting the message.”
Gus tried to nuzzle Jim’s hand, but he pulled it away. “Nope, we are not friends,” he said, “Go bother someone else.”
“Jim’s mad at you, Gus,” Gage said. “You’ve snatched one too many bagels.”
Gus wandered over to Gage with his tail hanging low and laid down with his head between his paws.
“Look, Jim,” Ben said, shaking his head. “You’ve made him sad.”
“He should be sad,” he said, scowling and trying to sound angry. He eyed him. “I always save you a bite, Gus . . . so you don’t need to steal.”
The very tip of Gus’s tail wagged, but his eyes were still forlorn, and Jim shook his head. Finally, he walked over, knelt down, and stroked Gus’s big head. Gus thumped his tail and licked Jim’s hand and then rolled onto his back for a belly rub. “I’ll forgive you this time,” Jim relented, “but next time, we’re through.”
“I hope you’re listening, Gus,” Ben teased. “Jim says, next time you’re through, and this time, he means it.”
Gus thumped his tail and Jim chuckled. “I honestly don’t know how anyone can stay mad at you.”
Gus thumped his tail again, and Jim stood up and turned his attention to Ben. “It’s about time you got here,” he teased. “Are ya gonna finally do some work?”
“Yup,” Ben said, holding up the paper bag in his hand. “Right after we have these bagels.”
10
“I DON’T KNOW WHY NOBODY’S ANSWERING THEIR PHONE,” CORA SAID, eyeing the list of numbers on the paper in front of her. She looked up at Harper. “Probably ’cause it’s Saturday and word’s out you been displaced . . . again.”
Harper shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have to stay with you.”
Cora sighed. “I am not supposed to take you home. My house is not a foster home.”
“Well, it should be—it’s the best one I know of . . . and trust me, I’ve seen ’em all.”
“That’s the understatement of the century,” Cora said, shaking her head.
“Rudy and Frank and Joe’ll be glad to see me,” Harper added. She’d secretly been praying no one would answer their phone.
“Let’s just go,” she said, standing up, hoping Cora wouldn’t try to call anyone else. “It’s getting late and I just wanna go to bed.”
“Go to bed?! Ha!” Cora snorted. “If I bring you to my house, you an’ Rudy’ll be up half the night!”
“No, we won’t,” Harper countered, trying to suppress a smile.
Cora looked at the clock and watched the second hand click slowly around its face, marking time. It was already seven thirty and her kids hadn’t even had supper yet. “You are going to be the death of me, child,” she said with a sigh.
She picked up the phone again, and Harper’s face fell. Still, Harper crossed her fingers and squeezed her eyes shut, praying, and then heard Cora say hello—which meant someone had answered. Her heart sank as she pulled Bear against her chest.
“I’d like to order a large pepperoni pizza . . . mm-hmm . . . for pickup . . . yes, thank you.”
Harper’s face lit up with a grin. “I love pepperoni!”
“You just ate,” Cora said, standing and pulling her threadbare coat off the back of her chair.
“I’m still hungry.”
“I thought you were tired.”
“I’m tired and hungry.”
“Well, let’s go,” Cora said, stuffing a pile of papers into her oversize, cluttered bag.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of the one-level apartment complex where balls and bikes of every shape and size were strewn across the grass. Cora started to pull into her spot and almost ran over a bike that was lying on the ground.
“Damn it, Rudy,” she muttered. “That child is always leavin’ her bike where she shouldn’t. I should take it away.”
“I’ll move it,” Harper volunteered, handing the pizza—which had been keeping her legs warm—to Cora and getting out. She steered Rudy’s bike—a bike she’d ridden many times—over to the side of the building and leaned it against the brick wall. Then she walked back to the car and took the pizza from Cora’s outstretched hands.
The outside lights blinked on and the door opened. “Mama!” eight-year-old Joe cried.
“Pizza!” fourteen-year-old Frank said, smiling.
Then, nine-year-old Rudy appeared. “Harper!” she shouted, running out in her stocking feet to give her best friend a hug.
“Hi, Rudy,” Harper said, smiling shyly.
“What’d you do now?” Rudy teased, putting her hands on her hips.
“It wasn’t my fault . . . ,” Harper said defensively.
“Ha!” Cora interjected, lifting the gallon of milk off the back seat. “That boy didn’t hit himself.”
“No, but he did make fun of me in front of everyone.”
“Okay, that’s enough. It’s water under the bridge,” Cora said, glad to be home and ready to put the long day behind her. “Who’s hungry?”
Four hands shot into the air as a chorus of voices cried, “Meee!”
Cora handed a gallon of milk to Frank and ushered everyone—including McMuffin, the family’s gray tiger cat—inside, where Harper immediately knelt down to stroke the cat’s silky fur. Harper had always wanted a pet. She had adored Tom and Mary’s dog, and whenever she stayed at Cora’s, she loved playing with McMuffin.
“How come that pile of laundry is still on that chair?” Cora asked, eyeing Frank.
“Because I’ve been doing homework,” Frank said, putting the milk on the counter.
“You have not,” Rudy tattled. “It’s Saturday and all you been doin’ is watchin’ videos on your laptop.”
Frank gave his little sister a dirty look. “You know how to fold clothes, too.”
“It’s your job this week,” Rudy said, climbing up on a chair to get a stack of white-and-blue Pyrex plates out of the cabinet.
“It’s also my job to make sure you and Joe are safe while Mama’s at work,” Frank said matter-of-factly. “Laundry’s a girl’s job.”
“Laundry is not a girl’s job,” Cora scolded as she slid four slices of pizza onto plates. “Pour the milk please.”
Frank set out five glasses. “You want some, Mama?”
“No, thanks,” Cora said. “I’ll just have water.”
Frank poured the milk and ran the tap until it was cold and filled the last glass with water. Then he set all the glasses on the table and brought the folding chair from the computer desk in for Harper.
“Thanks,” Harper said, sitting down and taking a big bite out of her pizza.
She felt a bony elbow bump into her ribs and looked over at Rudy. “What?” she asked, frowning.
“You’re supposed to wait till everyone is served . . . and we say grace,” Rudy whispered.
Harper felt her cheeks flame. “Oh, I forgot,” she whispered back, putting her pizza slice down. Cora’s house was the only one besides Tom and Mary’s where people said a prayer before they ate. It was also the only place where everyone politely waited for everyone else to be seated and served, too.
“Ay-men,” everyone—including Harper—whispered reverently when Cora finished giving thanks and asking for continued guidance in their lives.
Cora smiled and finally relaxed long enough to look around at her beloved brood. She took a sip of her water and then a small bite of her pizza. With Harper there, she’d have only one slice so all the kids could eat their fill. She knew Frank could easily eat half the pie himself!
After the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, and everyone’s teeth brushed, Cora pulled an old squeaky cot out of the closet and set it up next to Rudy’s bed. Then she found the sheets and blanket on a shelf and set them on the mattress. “I’m going to be folding the laundry, and I don’t want to hear you two talking half the night.”
“We won’t,” Rudy promised.
Harper stretched the bottom sheet over the flimsy mattress. “I wish I could live here,” she said softly.
“I wish you could, too,” Rudy agreed, shaking open the top sheet. “Then we could take the bus together and do our homework together and everythin’. It would be so great.” She looked up from fluffing the pillow. “Why don’t you ask my mom?”
“I did,” Harper said, tucking in the blanket. “She said it wouldn’t work—she doesn’t make enough money, and there isn’t enough room, and this isn’t a foster home . . . and I’m not black.”
“She said all that?” Rudy asked in surprise. “I don’t think that last part matters.”
“Matters to her,” Harper said, flopping onto the cot, and smiling when McMuffin hopped up next to her.
Rudy frowned. “Maybe she’s worried you won’t get along . . . or kids will make fun of you.”
“Maybe,” Harper said, stroking McMuffin’s fur, “but it wouldn’t be any different.”
“I thought people who took in foster kids got paid.”
“They do, but I guess it’s not enough.”
Rudy nodded. “So, what do you want to do tomorrow?”
“I don’t know . . . ride bikes? Go to the playground?”
“Okay,” Rudy said. “How about Monopoly or Clue?”
“Okay.”
“Rudy?”
“Yeah?”
“Wouldn’t it be great if we were sisters?”
“It would be,” Rudy said, pulling up her covers. “But we’ll always be best friends.”
“Cross your heart?”
Rudy smiled. “Cross my heart,” she said, crossing her finger in front of her chest. She reached over to turn off her lamp. “At least we have this weekend.”
