by Nan Rossiter
“It’s definitely not what I need. The floors in the Jackson house are supposed to be refinished, and a hurricane will put us behind schedule. I don’t need the painters tracking mud on the floors before they’re finished, either.”
“I’m more worried about Harper. What if she hasn’t found some kind of shelter?”
Ben nodded. “Hopefully, she has . . . or they find her soon.”
“Have you thought any more about fostering?”
“From the way you’re talking,” Ben said, avoiding the question, “it’s not safe for her to live here. I mean, what if you’re right and this house is cursed, or the widow doesn’t want kids here? Some awful accident might befall her.”
“Very funny,” Macey said, rolling her eyes, but then she thought about Harper’s heart. “I hope nothing bad happens.”
“Nothing bad is going to happen,” he said, stroking Keeper’s soft fur.
“Well, I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“I can tell. . . .”
“You haven’t thought about her, though. . . .”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about her,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve been thinking how she must be going through a really hard time right now . . . and she’s just a little kid—she shouldn’t have to go through something like this alone.”
“Does that mean”—she eyed him hopefully—“you’d be willing to give fostering a try?”
Ben shook his head, unable to believe he was giving in . . . again! “Mace, if you think this is something we’re supposed to do, I’m willing to give it a try.” He stopped and smiled at her. “After all, I know you’ll get your way eventually, so I may as well give in now and save myself a lot of trouble.”
“True,” Macey said, smiling and squeezing his hand. “You’re smarter than you look.”
“Thanks,” he said, rubbing Keeper’s ears. “Well, there was some paperwork to adopt this guy . . . so there’s probably a mountain of paperwork involved in fostering a child.”
“Probably,” Macey agreed. “I’ll have to give Cora a call . . . maybe she’ll have some news.”
“Maybe we won’t be approved,” he ventured. “Then I’ll be off the hook.”
“We’ll be approved,” Macey assured him. “They just have to find her.”
Ben nodded thoughtfully, trying to wrap his mind around all the responsibilities being foster parents would entail. “Do you think she’ll fit in at the new elementary school?”
“I hope so. I think Mrs. Lyons works there now, instead of at the middle school.”
“Our old lunch lady?”
Macey nodded. “Yup, the very same one who let you get a new tray when you spilled your clam roll and fruit everywhere.”
Ben laughed. “Wow! Hold old is she now?”
“Well, she wasn’t that old when we were there—probably in her forties . . . and that was twentysomething years ago, so she’s probably in her sixties.”
“Maybe she’ll look out for Harper.”
“If she finds out she’s yours, she will.”
Ben nodded. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation—a conversation that included possessive pronouns, verbs about caring, and an actual child, all in the same sentence. The prospect of having a child in their care who would attend his old elementary school made him feel more excited than he expected.
“I wish they’d find her,” Macey said. “I don’t get how a little girl can just disappear into thin air.”
“It’s a crazy world, Mace. Kids disappear without a trace all the time.”
“She doesn’t deserve to disappear without a trace. She deserves a chance.”
“And we’re gonna give her that chance,” Ben said. “Right, Keep?” he said, tousling the dog’s ears. “We’ll find her and then it’s your job to straighten her out.”
Keeper thumped his tail, and they both laughed.
“Well, it doesn’t look like we’re going to get any trick-or-treaters.”
“After all this work,” Macey said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe no one came.”
“Look on the bright side,” Ben teased. “We get to keep all the candy.”
“That is not a bright side—it won’t be good for my waistline.”
Ben wrapped his arm around her. “There’s nothing wrong with your waistline,” he said softly, kissing the top of her head and then softly kissing her lips. “And since you didn’t get to give out any treats tonight, I’ll let you give me a treat if you want.”
“Ha!” she said. “What kind of chocolate would you like? I have Nestlé Crunch, Kit Kat, Milky Way . . .”
“Hmm . . . that isn’t the kind of sugar I had in mind.”
“And what, exactly, did you have in mind?”
“Oh, you know . . .” he said, pulling her toward him.
“Hmm . . . I think you’re gonna have to show me, mister,” she teased in her best Southern drawl.
47
HARPER FLOPPED WEARILY ONTO THE COUCH, UNWRAPPED A SNACK-SIZE Crunch bar, popped it in her mouth, and washed it down with a swallow of warm Coke. She shone the flashlight on the candy—which she’d divided into two piles—picked up a licorice stick from the nut-free pile, pulled off the wrapper, leaned back on the couch, and took a bite. Chewing slowly, she shone the flashlight around the living room, but when the beam passed over the dog bed, something caught her eye. She stopped, retraced the light’s path, and got up to lift the edge of the bed so she could read the letters that were embroidered there. “Keeper,” she said softly. “So that was your name.”
She walked to the bedroom and shone the light on the pictures on the bureau, picked up the double frame, and held the flashlight so there wasn’t a glare on the glass. Then she stared. Was she seeing things? She’d noticed the bandage on the dog’s leg before, but now she realized he was actually missing a leg! How the heck did a dog get around on three legs?
She set the picture down, turned away, and felt her foot catch on something soft. Startled, she shone the flashlight on the floor and saw the pile of shirts that had fallen out of Mr. Peterson’s drawer. She stuffed them back in, pulled the baseball shirt over her head, squeezed it in on top, and shoved the drawer closed. Then she retrieved the bat and hat from the living room and put them back in the closet, too.
She took another sip of Coke and rubbed her chest. “Stop hurting,” she whispered. She heard a sound outside and knelt on the cushions to peek out. By the light of the streetlamp, she saw a woman walking across the parking lot and realized it was Cora. She frowned—why had she parked her car all the way over there and not in her usual spot? She continued to watch and then saw Cora lean over to pick something up.
“Rudy’s bike,” Harper muttered, shaking her head. She watched Cora push the bike up onto the sidewalk, lean it against the building, and go inside, and when her porch light blinked out, Harper felt a crushing wave of sadness sweep over her. She dropped the curtain and slumped on the couch, her eyes filling with tears. Was her life always going to be this way? If so, maybe she’d be better off dead. The thought made her tears spill over and stream down her cheeks, and she didn’t even try to stop them. In fact, if she did die, Cora’s life would be a whole lot easier. She wouldn’t have to put up with her fresh mouth anymore, or try to find her a home. She could just take care of her own kids. She wrapped her arms around her legs and bowed her head. If only her mom hadn’t died. If only she could find her dad. If only something good would happen! She huddled like that for a long time, her heart aching not only with physical pain but also with loneliness.
Finally, she wiped her eyes, looked up, and saw the moonlight shining on the dog bed, illuminating the embroidered name. “Were you a keeper?” she asked softly. She gazed up at the moon above the curtain and remembered something Mary had said when she stayed with them. “‘I see the moon, and the moon sees me,’” she murmured. “‘God bless the moon, and God bless me.’” The memory filled her eyes with fresh tears.
Re
solutely, she bit her lip and wiped her eyes. She was done crying. She didn’t want to stay in this empty apartment. She missed Cora and Rudy, and she wanted to sleep on the squeaky cot in Rudy’s room. Hiding wasn’t making her feel better. It was making her feel worse! She hadn’t figured out one thing about living on her own, and she was hungry. She popped the last piece of licorice in her mouth, swept the rest of the candy into her backpack, folded the afghan, laid it over the back of the couch, and stuffed the bag she’d filled with snacks from Cora’s—which were almost gone—into her backpack next to Bear. She slung it over her shoulder, picked up her Coke, and shone the flashlight around the room one last time. Everything was just the way she’d found it, less two cans of Coke, which she doubted anyone would miss. She switched off the flashlight, put it in the drawer next to the TV remote, walked to the door, pushed in the locking device, and turned it. Then she stepped outside, and without a second thought, pulled the door closed. If she ever changed her mind, she knew how to get back in.
She pulled her sweatshirt around her and walked around to the front, and as she closed the squeaky gate, a gust of wind swept around the building and practically pushed her to Cora’s.
Part 3
48
“I NEED TO STOP AT THE OFFICE,” CORA SAID, TURNING INTO THE DFCS parking lot.
“Okay. I’ll wait in the car.”
“No, ma’am. Absolutely not. You’re coming in with me.”
“Cora, I’m not gonna run away,” Harper protested. “Besides, it’s raining.”
“You’re still coming in. I have seen enough of the inside of the police station for ten lifetimes! And you won’t melt,” Cora added firmly as she turned off her car and reached for her umbrella.
“Fine,” Harper grumbled. She climbed out and was hurrying around to get under Cora’s umbrella when a gust of wind suddenly flipped it inside out.
“Nice!” Harper shouted, turning to race for the front door. She pulled it open, stepped inside, and stopped in her tracks. Sitting in a chair outside the front office was Connor Taylor—the boy who’d gotten her kicked out of her last foster home—Mrs. Lewis’s. “Well, well, look who it is! How ya doin’, shit for brains?”
Connor stared at her as if he was seeing a ghost. “Shut up.”
“You shut up.”
“Oh, go jump in a lake.”
“What’s the matter? Mrs. Lewis finally realize what a jerk you are?”
“No, smarty-pants. It just so happens I’m going to live with my dad,” he replied huffily.
Harper’s eyes grew wide—she’d never heard of a foster kid getting placed with a real parent. “Yeah, right,” she sneered. “Good luck with that!”
“Shut up. You’re such a bi . . .”
Just then, Cora came through the door, looking a little damp, and Connor’s mouth clamped shut. “Hello, Connor. How are you?”
“Hello, Mrs. Grant. I’m fine, thank you. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. I hear you’re going home with your father today.”
Connor nodded. “I am.”
“I hope it goes well,” Cora said, looking in her bag for her office keys. And as she did, Connor gave Harper a snide look.
“Thank you, Mrs. Grant. Me, too.”
“C’mon, Harper,” Cora said, and as Harper turned to follow her, Connor gave her the finger—a gesture she promptly returned.
“Why can’t you be as polite as Connor?” Cora asked as she unlocked her door.
“Are you kidding me?” Harper asked incredulously. “He’s like Eddie Haskell on Leave It to Beaver: real polite when adults are around and a dipshit when they’re not. He just gave me the finger when you weren’t looking!”
“How do you know who Eddie Haskell is?”
“Rudy and I watch the Beav on TV Land all the time.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, I really wish you wouldn’t talk that way, and you probably gave him the finger first.”
“I did not! And I’m sick of everyone thinking I’m the one who starts stuff. I’m the victim here . . . and I have a heart condition!”
“Ha!” Cora said, shaking her head. “Victim, my . . .”
“Is Connor’s dad nice?”
“Nice enough, I guess.”
“Why was he in foster care?”
“I can’t really talk about it, baby.”
“Why? I’m not gonna say anything.”
“Still, I can’t—privacy laws,” Cora said, riffling through the papers on her desk. She picked up some forms just as Harper plopped into her chair. “No time for sitting. Let’s go.”
As they walked back through the vestibule, Harper saw Connor in the front office, standing next to a man with a scruffy beard. “Is that him?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“He looks kind of sketchy to me.”
“Well then be thankful you’re not goin’ to live with him,” she mused. “I don’t know what the court was thinking.”
“Why? What’s wrong with him?” Harper pressed.
“I already tol’ you, baby, I can’t talk about it,” Cora said, holding the door.
Harper rolled her eyes and then hurried to the car. “I’m so glad to go home to your house, Cora,” she said after she’d climbed in and slammed the door.
“Easy there, baby—you’ll make my door fall off.” She looked over. “So you didn’t like staying by yourself at Mr. Peterson’s?”
Harper looked out at the rain. “No, I missed you . . . and Rudy.”
“How could you miss us when we were practically next door?” Cora asked. She was still in shock to learn that Harper had been hiding just two doors down from her, that she had gone trick-or-treating, and that she had snuck into her apartment to “borrow” food!
Harper shrugged. “Have you thought any more about letting me stay?” she asked hopefully. “I promise I won’t run away again.”
Cora pulled the car over and looked in Harper’s eyes. “Baby, you know I love you and I love having you stay with us, but we talked about this: my home is not the right home for you. Besides, remember, I told you this morning that there’s a young couple, the Samuelsons, who I know are interested in being your foster parents.”
“How do they know about me? Is it because of what you said in church that day?”
“Maybe,” Cora said, not sure if this was a good thing.
Harper shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“Why not?” Cora asked, starting to worry that her new plan might not work out as well as she’d been hoping.
“Because I’m sick and tired of being put in all these stupid foster homes with stupid people who don’t give a crap. Don’t you see, Cora? It’s not working. I just want to stay with you. I promise I won’t be any trouble.”
Cora sighed. “You aren’t any trouble, child. Why can’t I get that through to you? I just want to find the right home—a loving home—where you will be happy and thrive.”
“A place like that doesn’t exist!” Harper said, crossing her arms and slumping into her seat.
“Well, regardless we’re taking a ride over to the Samuelsons’ house so you can meet them.”
“Wait a minute. That’s today?” Harper asked, raising her eyebrows in alarm. “I thought you meant next week.”
“No, baby, we’re going today,” Cora said with a sigh. She put her car in gear and started to pull onto the road again.
“I’m not staying there,” Harper said defiantly. “I don’t have my stuff.”
“No, you’re not staying there,” Cora assured her. “We’re just going so you can meet them properly.”
Harper watched Cora’s wipers slap back and forth. “Do they have other kids? Have they even fostered before? Do they know what they’re getting into? Are they doing it for the money? Because if they are, I’m not interested.”
“I already told you, Harper, the Samuelsons are very nice, they don’t have other kids, and they’re not in it for the money. You already met Mac
ey . . .”
“Yeah, you said that, but I don’t remember her.”
“You met her at the doctor’s office.”
“Macey? What kind of name is that? Does she own a department store?”
“It’s a nice name, and I truly hope you will try to be polite and not your old sassy self.”
Harper frowned. “Is she that woman who wanted to know if I was good at basketball? The one who came up to me after church?”
Cora sighed, praying this day was going to get better. “Lordy, child, could you just give them a chance?”
“She is, isn’t she?”
“If she is, what’s wrong with that?”
“It’s just dumb—that stuff she said about not letting on how good you are so you surprise the other team. What does she know about it?”
“I don’t know. She might know a lot, and that seems like a pretty good strategy to me.”
“Ha! I think it’s better if the other team does know how good you are—then you psych them out. She doesn’t know squat!”
“Harper, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.”
“What? I didn’t say anything bad. I was going to say, ‘She doesn’t know shit,’ but I didn’t.”
Cora sighed and looked over. “You need to work on not swearing and not using any unladylike language, and you need to not have such an attitude. Where did you get such a badass attitude?”
Harper feigned shock. “Wow! Nice language, Miss Cora!”
“Ha!” Cora said, laughing. “I get it from bein’ ’round you!”
“Well, maybe I get it from bein’ ’round you,” Harper said, laughing.
Cora shook her head. “Anyway, Macey and Ben live in a big house with lots of room and a nice yard.” She looked over. “I know you’re nervous because this is how you get—all full o’ questions and bein’ fresh, but you need to calm down and give this a chance. I think it might just be the answer to our prayers.”
“It might be the answer to your prayers—you want to get rid of me, but it’s not the answer to my prayers. If my prayers were being answered I’d find my dad . . . or live with you.”
