by Nan Rossiter
41
BEN GATHERED HIS TOOLS, TRYING TO SEE IN THE DARKNESS, AND WALKED around to the back of his truck. He dropped everything into the big tool chest in the bed, metal clanking against metal, and turned to survey the house. They were making progress: the new wiring and plumbing had been completed; the cabinets and countertops had been installed; the ancient wide-board oak floors had been sanded, vacuumed, and covered with long sheets of red contractor’s paper that would stay down while the walls were painted—hopefully this week. And then, finally, the floors would be refinished. It was the last big job, and once it was done, they would have to stay off the floors for several days, and they’d have to keep Gus out—the thought of his nails digging into the fresh wood as he raced through the house made him cringe. Nonetheless, it was starting to look like they might finish in time for the Jacksons to move in before Thanksgiving.
He reached into the back pocket of his jeans for his phone, but it wasn’t there, and then he remembered he’d put it in his cooler so nothing would happen to it. He opened the passenger door, heard it ringing, looked at the screen, and realized Macey had been trying to reach him.
“Hey,” he said. “I know . . . I’m sorry—I didn’t have it on me.” He stood in the darkness, the only light coming from the cab as he listened to Macey tell him about the amber alert that had been issued for Harper. He nodded, imagining the little girl Macey now seemed so determined to rescue trying to navigate the world, and the darkness, by herself. As she continued to talk, her voice began to tremble and he felt a knot forming in his stomach. “Okay,” he said finally. “I hope they find her. I’ll be right along.”
He slid his phone into his pocket and listened to the wind in the trees. Reluctant though he still was to foster, the thought of any child being out in the cold was disconcerting, let alone one with a heart condition. Somewhere under all these stars a child was in crisis.
He closed the passenger door, and slowly walked around to the driver’s side, but after he’d climbed in, he just sat there, staring into the darkness, wondering—like everyone else—where a nine-year-old girl would go.
His thoughts drifted to a long-ago summer night when he and Henry had run away. The situation had, of course, been different, but they must’ve been around the same age, and he vividly remembered the circumstances: Their moms wouldn’t let them camp in Henry’s backyard, and in an uncharacteristic moment of defiance, they’d planned an elaborate scheme to camp near the lighthouse.
Ben shook his head regretfully, remembering how determined and sneaky they’d been. They’d spent all afternoon gathering food and supplies—enough for a week in case they decided to never come back—and then they discreetly stashed everything in the woods behind Henry’s house. Like spies, they’d synchronized their watches and then returned to their respective homes for dinner, a bath, and a little TV.
Afterward, Ben had lain in bed, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, waiting and checking his watch every few minutes. Finally, he’d heard his parents wash up and turn off the lights. He’d continued to wait, watching the second hand circle the face of his watch twenty more times before peeking out his door.
Ten minutes later, he’d pulled into the woods on his bike, his brakes squealing.
“You need to get those fixed,” Henry had scolded.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“What took you so long?”
“My parents were watching The Tonight Show.”
“I was about to give up.”
“Sorry.”
“Did you bring a flashlight?”
Ben smacked his forehead. “No, I forgot.”
“Great,” Henry had said as he tried to strap the tent on his bike.
“Sorry.”
“That’s all right. We’ll manage.”
“My mom said it’s going to storm.”
“Mine did, too, but I don’t think so. I mean look at the stars.”
Ben had looked up and nodded, but by the time they’d reached their destination, they’d heard thunder. “Maybe we should do this another time. . . .”
“It’s fine,” Henry had assured him, unpacking the tent.
They’d spent the next half hour setting up, but by the time they’d finished, the wind had picked up and lightning was flashing everywhere. Within minutes, it had begun to pour, and they’d huddled in the leaky tent, hoping the storm would pass, when suddenly it had filled with light. Henry had peeked out and seen the headlights of a park ranger’s truck were shining right on them. “Crap,” he’d muttered, which was never a good sign.
In hindsight, Ben was certain the idea had been all Henry’s, but the punishment had been all encompassing. They’d both been grounded for two weeks—two weeks of their precious summer vacation, wasted!
Ben’s thoughts came back to the present. It wasn’t a steamy, stormy summer night. It was the chilly end of October, and the missing girl wasn’t planning an adventure with a friend. She was all by herself, trying to make her way in life. Ben shook his head. Why was he being so selfish? Why was he only thinking of himself? Macey’s words echoed in his head and he realized she was right. He hadn’t once put himself in the shoes of the little girl who couldn’t find a home. A little girl who had no one to count on, who had no one to love or be loved by. He swallowed, remembering how his mom had come into his room that night, and even though she’d been mad, she’d hugged him and told him she was glad he was home safe. Home safe. That was probably all Harper wanted, too—to be home safe.
42
HARPER WOKE WITH A START AND SHIVERED. WILLING HER BODY TO MOVE, she stood and stared into the darkness, realizing that nothing had changed. Tom hadn’t come home while she slept. There was no car in the driveway. No light on inside the house. The outdoor furniture was still gone. The yard was still a mess. Tom and Sundance didn’t live here anymore, and she had no idea where they were. . . . She’d been so full of hope, but now, she realized, there would be no warm welcome, no Oh my, how big you’ve gotten! or Of course you can stay with us! or We’ve missed you! Her eyes welled up with disappointed tears. There was no place for her here. There was no place for her anywhere. She stuffed Bear back into the top of her backpack, walked down the steps, took one last look at the swing hanging in the darkness and walked down the gravel driveway, kicking loose stones into the tall grass.
As she hurried through the shadows of Savannah, darkness engulfed her. She heard a woman laugh, tires screech, a horn honk, a man swear, and a dog bark. She heard the haunting sound of a saxophone drifting from a bar, and as she walked by, an angry voice shouting, “F-you, man!” During the day, she would barely notice these sounds, but at night, they pressed around her.
She continued to hurry along the brick sidewalk, hoping no one would notice her, but as she walked by a group of men sitting on a stoop across the street, passing around a brown paper bag, one of them called, “Hey, girlie, where ya headin’ in such a hurry?”
“Tha’s not a girl,” another one slurred, laughing. “You’re as blind as a bat!”
“It is so a girl—you’re blind! Hey, honey, come on over here and show this damn fool you’re a girl!”
Harper’s eyes grew wide as she ducked into the shadows of a side street, rubbing her chest.
“Hey! Come back!” the voices called. “We ain’t gonna hurt ya!”
“No!” she shouted when she felt a safe distance away. Then she turned a corner and finally began to recognize her surroundings—a couple more blocks and she’d be in Cora’s neighborhood.
She slowed down, rubbing her chest again, willing the pain to go away, and finally turned into the familiar driveway. The predawn sky had grown a little brighter so she could make out Rudy’s bike lying in the walkway. She picked it up, and as she leaned it against the building, the bell on the handlebar jingled. She approached the door and raised her hand to knock, but then realized they were probably sound asleep. They didn’t have to be up for at least another hour—and then they’d be rushing around,
having breakfast, getting their books and homework together, arguing, and catching their busses for school. She longed to be part of that chaos, but no, she’d gotten herself in trouble again, made Cora mad . . . and almost got her run over. It was time she faced reality. This wasn’t her home and it never would be. She was just making life harder for Cora, and since she didn’t want to live with any other foster families, it was time she took care of herself. She bit her lip, stepped away from the apartment, glanced over at Janelle’s, and realized she’d planted the dark red mum she’d given her right next to her front door. She smiled wistfully and then headed back down the sidewalk, but as she passed the last unit, she slowed down, remembering the conversation she’d had with Rudy . . .
Mr. Peterson used to live there. He was really nice. His cat was McMuffin’s brother. We got them from Janelle when her cat had kittens, and after he learned we named ours McMuffin, he named his Big Mac.
So, what happened to Mr. Peterson?
He died, and now his place just sits empty.
How come no one buys it?
I don’t know. His family owns it, I guess.
Harper stopped in her tracks. If no one lived in Mr. Peterson’s apartment, maybe she could live there while she figured things out. It would be safe and she wouldn’t be a burden to anyone. She looked around to see if anyone was looking, and then she pushed open the rusty gate. It squeaked and she swore as she passed through. She walked up to the front door and knocked lightly—just to be sure. When no one answered, she tried the knob, but it was locked. She looked around, and in the half-light, realized the apartment—because it was an end unit—had a side yard. She walked around the corner of the low brick building, looked up, and saw two windows. Standing on tiptoe, she tried to push open the first window, but it wouldn’t budge, so she moved to the second. She pushed with all her might—making her chest ache—and to her surprise, it moved. She quickly threw her backpack in and then pulled herself up, scraping both knees and banging her elbow before finally falling to the floor.
She stood up, pressed her hand to her chest, and closed the window. Looking around the apartment, she was happily surprised to find it was still furnished. The room she had fallen into was the living room, and there was a threadbare couch with a neatly folded afghan over it, a recliner with a TV table next to it, a small old-style television, a coffee table, two end tables, and a dog bed. Rudy had mentioned a dog but she’d never finished telling her about it! She wandered into the kitchen and saw a small round table with two chairs, and on it, two plastic placemats and a napkin holder, still full of napkins. She pulled open the refrigerator but it was dark inside, and except for two cans of Coke, empty. She looked in the cabinets, but they were all empty, too. Finally, she walked down the hall to the bedroom and found a neatly made bed, covered with a faded quilt, two bureaus, and a bedside table with an alarm clock. She stood in front of the shorter bureau, and in the early-morning light, studied several framed photos that were propped there. The first was of an older African-American gentleman with his arms around two young kids. “Mr. Peterson’s grandkids,” she guessed. There was also a photo of a cat that looked a lot like McMuffin curled up next to a dog. “Big Mac,” she whispered, smiling. The third frame was a folding double frame that held two photos—one was of the same man, smiling and kneeling in front of the same dog, and the dog—who was wearing a red-white-and-blue bandanna—had his bowed head pressed against the man’s chest. In the second picture, they were facing forward and the man had his arm draped around the dog’s shoulders. It looked like the dog had a bandage around his leg.
“I wonder what your name is?” she whispered softly.
She heard a door slam, hurried back to climb on the couch, and peeked out the window. It was Janelle, getting in her car, and Harper suddenly realized that Cora and the kids would come out soon, too. She watched Janelle pull away, closed the curtain, and sank down on the couch, listening. After a few minutes, she pulled the afghan around her shoulders. Then she unzipped her backpack and pulled out Bear and the drawing pad Rudy had given her. She tucked Bear under the afghan and opened the pad. “Why’d you have to go and die, Mom?” she whispered, lightly touching the picture, and as a wave of sadness washed over her, she pulled Bear against her, and through the blur of tears, traced her finger around his heart.
Five minutes later, Cora hurried her children down the sidewalk to the school bus, but inside Mr. Peterson’s apartment, Harper was sound asleep.
43
CORA HADN’T KNELT BESIDE HER BED IN YEARS. IT WAS HARD ON HER knees, but she believed God forgave her. After all, he was the one who gave her these old, achy knees. Harper was missing, though, and that was an emergency, so she’d been getting up early, every morning to kneel gingerly beside her bed and storm the gates of heaven.
“I am so sorry I told that poor child it woulda been her fault if I got run over. That was thoughtless and cruel. I didn’t mean it . . . so if you could please direct her path back toward this house, I promise I will never, ever—”
Cora stopped, midsentence, and listened to a noise outside—What was that? It sounded like the bell on Rudy’s bike . . . but how could that be? She frowned. If it wasn’t so damn hard to get up, she’d go look, but then it’d be hard to get back down again. She sighed. She was down now and that’s where she was staying. She continued to listen, though, hoping no one was stealing the bike—even if it would teach that girl a lesson! Rudy was constantly leaving her bicycle in the middle of the walk or on the curb where someone (most likely her poor mother) would trip on it! And she was always riding it without her helmet, too . . . “That child is gonna be the death a me!” she murmured. “It would be just as well if her bike was stolen!” She shook her head in dismay and then bowed it again.
Twenty minutes later she murmured Amen, slowly pulled herself up, and made her way down the hall, feeling ten years older than she actually was. She woke the boys and then peered into Rudy’s room, too. “Time to get up,” she said softly.
“Any news, Mama?” Rudy asked, rubbing her eyes sleepily.
“No news, baby,” Cora answered. “You need to get up, though, because we have to get your Halloween costume together.”
Rudy sat up. “I don’t feel like it. I don’t feel like trick-or-treating,” she said glumly.
Cora sat down and put her arm around her. “I know you’re worried, Rudy. I’m worried, too, but we’ll find Harper. The police are lookin’ and it’s been on the news and they’re havin’ a search party today.”
“I want to help search!” Rudy exclaimed excitedly.
“No,” Cora said firmly. “The best thing you can do is go to school.”
“Why? Why is that the best thing? That’s not gonna help find Harper.”
“It is the best thing because then I don’t need to worry about losing you, too.”
“You won’t lose me,” Rudy protested.
Cora stood. “You need to get up and have breakfast.”
Rudy frowned. “You won’t lose me,” she muttered as she threw off the covers and shuffled down the hall. “Hurry up, Joe!” she shouted, banging on the bathroom door. “I hafta go, too!”
When Rudy finally appeared in the kitchen, Cora eyed her. “What would you like for breakfast? Joe says there’s only one waffle left.”
“He can have it,” Rudy said as he pulled the last waffle out of the box. “I’m not hungry.”
“You have to eat something,” Cora commanded.
“I’m not hungry,” Rudy said defiantly, “so don’t cook me anything.”
Cora sighed. “You’re gonna be hungry.”
Rudy shook her head, picked up her backpack, went into the living room. As soon as she sank into a chair, McMuffin hopped up onto her lap and lay down. She stroked her soft fur and thought about Harper. “This is why Harper and me should have cell phones,” she called out. “If she had a cell phone, we could just call her and ask her where she is.”
Cora came into the room, dryi
ng her hands. “That is true, Rudy, but I can barely afford phones for me and Frank.”
Just then, Frank came into the room, distractedly looking at his phone. “Besides,” he said, without looking up. “If Mom got you a phone, you’d just lose it.”
“You’re one to talk, Mr. Left Mine in My Locker. A lot of good it’ll do you there.”
“I didn’t lose it.”
“I wouldn’t lose it, either!”
“You would, too—you can’t even take care of your bike.”
“I can too.”
“Then why was it lying in the middle of the walk when I got home last night?”
“It was not.”
“Was too,” he said, opening the door to prove he was right, but when he looked out, the bike wasn’t there. “You must’a moved it.”
“I did not!” Rudy said, gently pushing McMuffin off her lap to look.
Frank stepped outside and saw it leaning against the house.
Cora frowned. “Did you move it, Frank?”
“No, ma’am,” he answered. He looked back at his phone for the time. “I gotta go.”
“You haven’t had breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Ain’t nobody’s hungry ’round here,” Cora said in an exasperated voice. “I don’t know why I bother buyin’ food!”
“Bye, Mama,” Frank said, kissing her cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” Cora said with a sigh.
“Oh,” he said, looking back. “You tol’ me to remind you to find out about the after-school program.”
“I have just a little bit going on right now, Frank.”
“I know, but the captains are starting unofficial practices next week and it’d be good if I showed up.”
“I’ll try to remember.”
“Thanks.” He looked back again. “Let me know if they find Harper.”
