by Nan Rossiter
“Nothing’s gonna happen to me, Mama,” he said. “You worry too much. You tell us and everyone you meet to have faith, but you worry more than anyone.”
“I know,” Cora said, shaking her head. “But I’m glad you’re listening.”
“Of course I’m listening. I’d be a fool not to.”
Cora smiled. “When did you say tryouts are?”
“After Thanksgiving.”
“Okay. I still can’t promise anything, but I will try to find out about that after-school program soon.”
“Okay.”
“I still don’t know what I’m gonna do with Harper.”
“You know, Mama, that elementary school is a tough place. Maybe, instead of looking for a family in the foster system, you should look for someone who wants kids but can’t have them.”
“It’s not just that, Frank,” she said, lowering her voice. “Finding a home for Harper will be more challenging now that she’s on that transplant list.”
Frank lowered his voice, too. “Does she know she needs a new heart?”
“She does. The doctor told her all about it . . . but I’m not sure she realizes how serious that is. The doctor assured her it wasn’t immediately urgent, and she seemed okay with it. He didn’t want to upset her, but how do you even give news like that to a child? It’s like walking a tightrope.”
Frank nodded. “You know, Mama, maybe you should have Harper put on the prayer list at church. People are always lifting up . . .”
Cora’s face lit up. “Oh my! That is a good idea!” she said. “From the mouths of babes . . . thank you, Frank!”
“No problem, Mama,” he said, smiling and giving her a hug. “Night.”
“Night, Frank. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Mama.”
35
“WHERE DO YOU WANT TO SIT?” BEN WHISPERED, SURVEYING THE crowded sanctuary.
“Are my parents here?” Macey asked, shaking the raindrops off the hood of her raincoat.
“I’m sure they are—your mom is never late.”
“Unlike us,” Macey said as the congregation stood to sing the second hymn.
Ben looked for Hal and Ruth in their usual pew. “They’re here,” he confirmed, “and there’s room near them.”
They made their way down the side aisle, and when Ruth saw them standing at the end of her pew, she nudged her husband to move over, and then handed her open hymnal to her daughter. They edged in and Macey glanced around the sanctuary to see if Maeve and Gage had made it to church, but she then remembered her sister said she had to work. She saw Cora, though, and her choice of pew made Macey smile—it was just like Cora to position her children in the front row where they would have to stay alert. She looked at Frank, towering over his mother, with Rudy and Joe between them, and then Macey noticed a little red-haired boy standing next to Rudy, and wondered what wayward child Cora had with her now.
As Macey fell into the rhythm of the service, her mind wandered. She gazed out the window, recalling the unwavering faith of her grandmother and her commitment to the work of her church. Back in the day, Grandy would’ve been in charge of all the upcoming events the minister had just brought to the congregation’s attention—the Christmas fair; the pies the youth group was making to help pay for their mission trip; and she would have even picked up a paintbrush and started painting the church herself, if that was what was needed! That’s how Grandy had lived. No matter how much she had going on, she had always been the first to volunteer, and the legacy of her can-do spirit sometimes made her granddaughter feel like a slacker. Just then, Macey’s thoughts were interrupted by the mention of a familiar name, and she looked up to see the minister adjusting the mic.
“Our dear Cora may be short in stature,” he said, “but her heart is a mile wide!”
At this, the congregation chuckled, knowing it was true.
“Thank you, Reverend,” Cora said, smiling. “I know this is unusual, and I will keep it short because I don’t want to take up your time, but I’d like to make a very special prayer request today.” She paused and looked over at Harper. “Visiting our church today is my friend Harper Wheaton.”
Macey realized with a jolt that the child with Cora wasn’t a boy at all. It was the little girl who had just donated her hair to Locks of Love!
Cora smiled. “Child, why don’t you stand up so everyone can see you?”
But when she said this, Harper’s eyes grew wide with horror and she sank further into the pew—a response that made everyone chuckle again.
“No?” Cora asked, eyeing her. “That’s okay.
“Anyway, I’m here to ask for your prayers for my friend Harper because she has recently been placed on the heart-transplant list . . . and not only does Harper need a new heart, she also needs a new home.” She paused again, looking around. “Harper’s situation is unusual and complicated, but I know that if we all keep Harper in our prayers, they will be answered in ways beyond our expectations.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
As Cora made her way back to her seat, the minister smiled at Harper, who was now so low in her seat, she was barely visible. “We will indeed keep Harper in our prayers,” he said, “for both a new heart and a new home.” Then he looked up. “Now, if you will all stand and join me in singing our closing hymn, ‘Here I Am, Lord.’”
Macey opened her hymnal, glanced at the title, and took a deep breath. The hymn was one of her favorites—they had sung it at both of her grandparents’ funerals, and she knew, as soon as the familiar chords drifted from the piano, tears would well up in her eyes. Ben knew it, too, and put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head, but when he looked down and saw her solemn eyes searching his, he realized the flame of something much more complicated was stirring in her heart.
After church, Ben followed Macey down to coffee hour, and from across the room, he watched as she talked to Cora—but when she said hello to Rudy and Harper, Rudy gave her a warm hug, but Harper hardly looked at her. And then she and Rudy hurried off to see what snacks were on the kids’ table.
36
OVER THE NEXT WEEK, MACEY COULDN’T GET HARPER OFF HER MIND. SHE usually tried to not get caught up in the problems of patients, but the plight of this little girl was tugging on her heartstrings . . . hard. And even though Ben knew something was brewing—he could tell by the look in her eyes—when she finally opened up after his rainy Saturday morning run and told him that she wanted to foster the little girl Cora had talked about in church, he thought she’d lost her mind. “You can’t be serious!”
“I am serious,” Macey replied, crossing her arms. “Grandy would’ve taken her in.”
“Things were different back then,” Ben countered, drying his wet hair with a towel.
“How?” Macey asked, even though she’d used the very same logic with her sister.
“People were different. The world was different . . . and your grandmother didn’t work.”
“My grandmother kept busy. She didn’t let anything stop her or get her down. Back then, you did what you had to do. You did what was right and you just kept going.”
“We do what is right,” Ben said, sounding exasperated. He shook his head in disbelief.
“We could do more,” she said, leaning against the counter. “Ben, we’ve been blessed with this great big house—it’s really too big for just the two of us, and we’ve always dreamed of filling it with little people, but we’ve only had one idea about who those little people should be. Maybe we’ve had the wrong idea.”
“Mace, weren’t we just at your parents’ last Saturday when you said there was no way you were adopting?”
“I did, and I still feel that way. But this wouldn’t be permanent. I don’t know, Ben, it’s just . . . well, I keep thinking about my grandmother—she had such an indomitable spirit. She was always the first to volunteer, the first to say, ‘Send me,’ and I know, even if she had ten kids, she wouldn’t hesitate to take in one more. Besides, I find it really odd—alm
ost serendipitous—that Harper’s path and mine keep crossing—she was my patient at the office, she got her hair cut at the same salon I use, and now, she shows up at our church. Not to mention Harper is a name we both liked for a little girl if we ever had one. Don’t you see how this all seems to be happening for a reason?”
Ben took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Mace, honestly, we don’t know anything about her. Not to mention her medical issues.”
“I know about her medical issues. I just told you that she’s one of our patients. Cora brought her into the office for a follow-up after she was in the hospital.”
“Well, if your paths have crossed so often, how come she hardly acknowledged you at coffee hour?”
“I don’t know. I bet you’d have a hard time opening up to people, too, if you’d gone through what she has.”
“Oh, that sounds like a fun person to bring into our home,” Ben said, his voice edged with sarcasm. “You know, Mace, adopting a child is a little more involved than adopting a dog.”
“We’re not adopting. I’m just saying we should foster.”
“Yeah, for now . . . and then you’ll fall in love with her and want to adopt.”
“Ben, Harper has no one, and she will eventually be facing major surgery. How can you be so hard-hearted?”
“Macey, this is crazy, okay? I admit that Keeper has been a wonderful addition, but a kid is a totally different ball game!”
Macey stared out the window at the rain, her eyes glistening. “What happens if no one is her advocate? What if no one steps up to take her in . . . and she dies? How will you feel then?”
“She is not going to die,” Ben said. “I’m sure someone will take care of her.” He pulled off his shirt, picked up his towel, and went into the laundry room to throw both in the washer.
Macey looked out the window at the willow trees, unable to shake the feeling that they were supposed to get involved.
Just then, Keeper peered through the screen door, and she went out on the porch to dry him off. “How’re you doin’, ole pie?” she whispered as he wiggled all around her.
He stood right in front of her and she wrapped the towel around his noble head, cradled it in her hands, and looked into his sweet brown eyes.
“I was right about you,” she said softly, “and I know I’m right about Harper, too . . . we just have to convince your stubborn father.”
As she stood, Macey realized the sun was breaking through the clouds, and when she looked across the yard, she saw a glorious rainbow spanning the Savannah sky. “Oh, Ben, come see!”
Ben came out on the porch, and Macey pointed to the sky.
He nodded, seemingly unimpressed, but Macey was undeterred.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” she said.
“Yeah, it’s a sign that the rain’s over and the sun’s coming out.”
He turned to go inside, but Macey wasn’t ready to give up. “I think it’s more than that. I think it’s a sign that we are on the right track.”
“Unfortunately, Mace, I don’t think I’m on the same track as you.” He went inside, and Macey followed, holding the door for Keeper. She had more she wanted to say, but Ben had already disappeared up the stairs, and when he came down, he’d changed into his jeans.
“Where’re you going?” she asked with a frown as she opened a new package of bacon.
“Gage needs help with something.”
“But I’m making BLTs.”
“I’m not hungry.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
Macey closed the package, put it back in the fridge, looked out the window, and realized the rainbow had faded. “Oh, Grandy,” she whispered, “am I doing the right thing?” She’d felt so certain that her grandmother—and her can-do spirit—were nudging her to step up . . . but Ben’s reaction was filling her heart with doubt.
37
“‘HI-HO, HI-HO, IT’S OFF TO WORK WE GO,’” HARPER TEASED AS THEY drove to DFCS late Monday morning, mimicking the words she’d often heard Cora say.
“That’s proof right there you been spendin’ too much time with me,” Cora said as she pulled into the McDonald’s drive-through.
“It is not,” Harper countered. “Besides, I don’t know why you won’t let me help you. I could do all kinds of jobs. File papers or make phone calls or . . .”
“Because you need to go to school. That is your job right now.”
“I don’t need to go to school. I already know how to do secretary stuff.”
“You do need to go—” Cora was interrupted by the static of the speaker.
“Welcome to McDonald’s. What can I get for you?”
Cora leaned out her window. “May I please have a coffee and . . .” She glanced over at Harper. “What’d you say you wanted?”
“Are we getting breakfast or lunch?”
Cora looked at the clock and suddenly realized how late it was. “Whichever you want,” she said with a sigh.
“A six-piece with barbecue sauce.”
“A six-piece McNugget with barbecue sauce,” Cora added.
“And fries,” Harper piped, “and a Coke.”
“And a value fry and a value Coke.”
The attendant read back her order. “What size coffee?”
But, before Cora could answer, Harper leaned across and shouted, “Big-ass!”
“What was that?” the voice asked.
“Large,” Cora said, giving Harper a look fierce enough to shrivel a tongue.
“How would you like it?”
“Light and sweet!” Harper shouted, ignoring the look.
“Shush, child,” Cora admonished.
“That’ll be seven-sixty-four. Please drive around.”
Cora pulled up to the window and handed the attendant—who was obviously unamused—the neatly folded twenty she kept in the side pocket of her bag for emergencies. The attendant handed her the coffee and a paper bag, which Cora promptly dropped onto Harper’s lap, and her change—which Cora dropped into the center console so she could pull away.
“Thanks, Cora!” Harper said, reaching into the bag. “Want some?” she asked, holding out a french fry.
“Oh, I shouldn’t,” Cora said with a sigh, “but I will.”
As they turned onto the busy street, Harper opened the box of McNuggets and pulled the foil off the sauce. “Oh no! He gave me sweet-and-sour!”
Cora glanced over. “I love sweet-and-sour.”
“I hate sweet-and-sour,” Harper said, frowning. “Can we go back?”
“No—I have to get to the office.”
“What an a-hole,” she muttered.
Cora frowned. “What did I tell you about using that language?”
“I don’t care! He’s a full-fledged asshole!” she said, sinking into her seat.
“Harper! Honestly! No one is ever going to adopt a little girl who talks like that!”
“I don’t give a shit,” Harper shouted, tears springing to her eyes. “I asked for freakin’ barbecue sauce. Is he some kind of idiot?” And then she flung the sweet-and-sour sauce out the window.
Cora looked in her rearview mirror and then glared at her. “We do not litter!” she admonished in a voice that was growing increasingly frustrated. “You are lucky you didn’t hit another car!”
“I don’t give a crap!” Harper shouted, tossing the whole box of McNuggets out the window.
“What in heaven’s name is wrong with you, child?” Cora demanded, her voice tight with anger. “I paid good money for that.”
“I don’t care,” Harper said bitterly, staring out the window.
“We don’t litter,” she said, pulling to the side of the road, “and I want you to help pick it up.”
“No,” Harper said, hot tears trickling down her cheeks. She regretted everything that was happening, everything she was saying, but she didn’t know how to stop.
“I don’t know what has gotten into you!” Cora said, reaching for the empty paper bag and cli
mbing out.
“Nothing has gotten into me,” Harper muttered, rubbing her chest. She watched Cora walking along the road, picking up her food, but when she reached the container of sauce—which had landed in the middle of the road—a car came whipping around the corner and almost hit her.
“That a-hole almost hit you!” Harper said when Cora got back in the car.
“And it would’ve been all your fault,” Cora puffed, trying to catch her breath.
“It would not . . .” Harper retorted, and then clenched her jaw, realizing it was true. Why couldn’t she say or feel anything right?
After they pulled into the DFCS parking lot, Cora reached into the back seat for her canvas bag full of papers and the McDonald’s bag full of discarded McNuggets. She got out, crumpled up the paper bag, tossed it in the dumpster, and marched toward the front door.
Harper watched her disappear and then stared up at the milky sky. She wasn’t surprised no one wanted her. Even Cora had had enough. She rolled down her window and listened to the seagulls bickering. One gull—who had a morsel of food in its beak—was playing duck and weave while the other seagulls tried to get it to drop the food, and when it did, they all dove in breathtaking speed. Harper watched the fray until one seagull rose, victorious, into the sky and the game began again. If she were a gull, she would always be the one to get the food, and she would never drop it—she would gulp it down before anyone else could take it. In fact, she wished she were a seagull—then she could live wherever she wanted and she could soar through the sky and scavenge food. She would never have to depend on anyone, and she would never have to worry about anything—not her heart or school or a home!
She was so tired of not having control over the things that were happening to her. No one on earth seemed to want her; she hated every school they put her in, because all the kids made fun of her; and she was terrified by the idea of having her heart taken out of her chest and a total stranger’s put in—how did that even work? How come the other person didn’t need their heart anymore? Were they dead? And if they were, well, that was creepy. The question she really wanted to ask was whether she would be dead when there was no heart in her chest? And what if the new heart didn’t beat? Would she never wake up? That was all way too scary to think about. The doctor had told her not to worry because the operation wouldn’t happen until she felt much worse, but she was already feeling worse. She had zero energy and sometimes she couldn’t catch her breath. She knew she was supposed to tell Cora, but she didn’t want to because she was afraid Cora would tell the doctor . . . and they would take her heart!
