by Mary Carter
Hope gripped the phone and tried not to let Faith’s obvious sarcasm get to her. She could have gone for a run. “Just got back.”
“Liar.”
“Why would I lie about going for a run?”
“You’re cutting into my kale smoothie time.”
“I’m drinking mine now,” Hope said. Should she make a slurping noise or was that taking it too far?
Faith sighed. “What’s so urgent?”
“Are you sitting down?”
“I’m stretching in the kitchen. Seriously, in twenty seconds I’m putting kale in the blender.”
Why didn’t she just tattoo her accomplishments on her forehead? I’M HEALTHIER, FITTER, SMARTER, RICHER, MORE IN LOVE, HAVE CHILDREN. SO MUCH BETTER THAN MY SISTERS. “Guess who invited us over for Christmas?”
“Who?” Faith was immediately on guard.
“Over the river and through the woods.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“To Grandmother’s house we go.”
“You want to spend Christmas in the cemetery?” There was a grunt. Faith was still stretching. Maybe she wasn’t as limber as she claimed.
“Yvette Garland.”
“Who?”
“Dad’s mother. Our paternal grandmother.”
There was a clatter, then swearing. Faith had dropped the phone. When she spoke again, she was out of breath. “Dad’s mother?” Panic was evident in her voice. They rarely talked about their father and when they did their voices always resorted to higher pitches.
“Her neighbor showed up at the shelter yesterday looking for me.”
“Looking for you? Why did she look for you first?”
“He.”
“What?”
“The neighbor is a he.”
“So? Why did he come to you first?”
“Maybe our grandmother is a wicked witch and he was ordered to bring back one of our hearts on a silver platter.”
“Oh, and you’re Cinderella, and we’re the Wicked Stepsisters?”
“And how!” Hope laughed. Faith did not.
“My kale is wilting,” Faith clipped.
Holy night. Faith was jealous. It didn’t matter how old they were, they could succumb to their childhood roles within seconds of speaking. Faith, as the oldest, always felt she was entitled to be first. “He probably came to me first because I’m closer to Leavenworth.”
“Seattle is closer to Leavenworth. So if it was a geographical decision, then Joy should have been first.”
“Oh my God. Who cares who he approached first?”
“It just doesn’t make sense.” Everything had to make sense in Faith’s world. Which meant everything had to agree with the way Faith saw the world.
“Our paternal grandmother is not only alive, but she’s requesting to see us. Can we focus on that for a second?”
“Why does she want to see us now?”
“She’s dying. This might be her last Christmas, Faithy. She wants to spend it with us.”
There was a snort. “Too bad.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“What about Dad?” Hope could actually hear the lump forming in Faith’s throat. Maybe this was why they never got together. It reminded them that there was a piece missing to their family puzzle. The one who had torn a hole in all of them. The one who never came for them. He happened to be the one who loved Christmas the most, even gave each of his three daughters holiday-themed names. Maybe they never got together because then they’d have to face the pain of losing him all over again. Being rejected year after year when he didn’t call, or show up, or send a freaking Christmas card. They didn’t even know if he was alive or dead.
“Austin doesn’t know anything about him.”
“Who’s Austin?”
“The neighbor.”
“His name is Austin?”
“Why would I make that up?”
“Is he an old man?”
“No.”
“Is he attractive?”
Hope looked at the wall between her room and Austin’s and lowered her voice. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Just wondering how a total stranger convinced you to go and visit that woman.”
“She’s our grandmother.”
Faith snorted. “I have to go.”
“She had a picture of the three of us. You and I are in dresses. Joy is just a baby and I’m holding her. I must be about four in the picture, which would make you eight or nine—”
“Eight,” Faith said.
“I don’t remember it at all,” Hope said.
“The day Joy came home from the hospital,” Faith said. “Grandma Garland came to visit. The first time we ever met her.”
“How can I not remember it?”
“I don’t think she stayed long. She was tall. I remember that.”
“Like you,” Hope said.
“I’m nothing like her,” Faith said. “I remember her as scary. With a hard look on her face.”
“You were just a kid.”
“After she left I asked Dad—‘Was that woman a witch?’ ”
“You did not.”
“I swear.”
“What did he say?” Hope loved hearing a new story about her father, a borrowed memory she could steal as if it were her own.
“He laughed and said, Sometimes.”
Hope laughed. They fell into a comfortable silence. Faith was the first to snap out of it. “Count me out.” And without so much as a satisfying click, Faith was gone.
Hope flopped back down on the bed and caressed the dog. He treated her to a yawn. As long as Hope could get Joy on board, then Faith would come around. If there was one thing the oldest Garland girl could not endure, it was being left out. Hope sighed. Her sisters had no idea how much work she did behind the scenes, orchestrating everything without taking any of the credit. Yes, the middle child was the unsung hero of siblings. Oh ye of little Faith, and Joy to the world. “Watch me pull off a Christmas miracle,” she said to the dog. He yawned in return. Looked like she’d have to show them all. Kale didn’t wilt, did it?
CHAPTER 8
Austin’s truck pulled up to the last known address for Joy, a busy shopping street located in the heart of the Capitol Hill District. It was usually filled with skateboarders, tattoo artists, and homeless teens. Hipster shops snuggled up against eateries, bars, and coffee shops. A community college nearby supplied an endless stream of youth. At ten in the morning, however, it was a ghost town. Forget Sleepless in Seattle, they slept just fine here. In fact, hardly any of the shops opened before noon. Ironic given that Hope thought of them as the coffee capital of the world. Hope suddenly wished they’d brought the dog. Then at least they could walk him up and down the street while checking things out. Instead, they’d taken him for a morning walk and then fed him and left him in the room where he happily commandeered the bed and didn’t even look up as Hope left. They would come back for him at checkout, giving them exactly two hours to find Joy. “This can’t be right,” Hope said. The exact address Joy had given was a giant shopping market that was currently closed. The sidewalk in front was littered with homeless teenagers, most sound asleep, their signs resting at their sides. Hope counted six teenagers and two pit bulls. Austin dug around in his pockets and pulled out some change.
“They’re so young,” Hope said. “Do you really think giving them money is the solution?”
“You can’t always see change,” Austin said. “Doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”
“I think that’s exactly what it means.”
“It’s not about them, it’s about me.”
“How so?”
“Makes me feel a little better. So I do it.”
“You know pot is legal here now, right?”
“And?”
“The number of runaways to Seattle and Colorado has increased dramatically. Would it make you feel good if you knew you were supporting their decision to wake and bake?”
“If I give,
I give. It’s not my place to be judgmental.”
Ouch. She did sound sort of judgmental. She was cranky that Joy had lied about her address. She was tired of being punished for an unknown offense. Austin stepped out of the car and approached the kids. They were paired off, a boy and a girl sitting close but not touching, their heads resting against a brick wall, and another pair asleep with their hands entwined and heads on each other’s shoulders. One girl lifted her head as Austin approached. From the car, Hope took in the platinum blond hair and blue eyes. It was Joy. She gasped. Was her baby sister actually sleeping on the streets?
Hope’s first instinct was to barge over there. Her second instinct, honed by years of being stuck in the middle, was to duck. She slid as far down as she could go, praying no part of her was visible. She heard the truck door open and there was a long silence as Austin stood taking her in.
“I have to ask,” he said at last.
Hope made eye contact. “Are they still there?” she whispered.
“Who?”
“The kids you gave money to. The blond girl with the black boy. Are they still there?”
Austin’s head popped up and he looked off into the distance. “Actually—they’re getting on bicycles.” He sounded surprised.
“How much did you give them?”
“None of your business.”
“How much?”
“It’s the holiday season,” Austin said. “A time for giving.” Hope shot up and looked down the street. Sure enough Joy and Harrison were pedaling away.
“Follow them,” Hope said. She put on her seat belt.
“What? No way.”
“That’s my sister.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope, you just helped fund her coffee shop.”
“That’s not so bad.”
“She’s not homeless.”
“How do you know?”
“Because Faith would know. Follow them.” Oh yes, there was no way Faith would have kept this nugget to herself. She would have been the first to organize an intervention. Timed to coincide with the Seattle marathon perhaps. Austin was still standing outside. “Let’s go,” Hope said. “Follow them.”
“Do you know how slow bicycles go?”
“We can keep circling, or pull over once in a while as if we’re checking directions.”
“Guys don’t ask for directions.”
“Please.”
Austin sighed and got in the truck. It didn’t take long for them to pull up behind Joy and Harrison. Pretty soon they were passing them and taking the hill down to Pike’s Market. Here the bikes could really fly. Austin hung back just enough to keep them in sight. The bikes swerved onto the sidewalk a few seconds later in front of a fancy condominium high-rise.
Hope took in the doorman as Joy and Harrison locked their bikes up to a stand in front of the building. “They can’t live here, can they?” But sure enough Joy and Harrison were greeted by the doorman and enthusiastically ushered in. Hope noted how Joy had ditched her homeless sign.
“I can’t believe your sister just swindled me.” Austin sounded slightly impressed.
“I wonder if there’s even a coffee shop,” Hope said.
“At least she’s not on the streets,” Austin said.
“Are you always so cheery?”
“No,” Austin said. Hope immediately regretted the question. A dark look settled over his face. She wished she could take it back.
“What now?” Austin asked.
“We go in,” Hope said. “We’ve got her cornered.” But instead of making a move, Hope sat in the truck and pulled out the picture of them as little girls.
“We look so happy. Like we loved each other. Like sisters.”
“Joy is kind of screaming her face off,” Austin pointed out.
“Okay. But she eventually grew to love us.”
“I’m sure she did,” Austin said softly. “Does.”
“I don’t know what happened to us,” she said. “I barely remember us being these girls.”
“Barely is a start.”
“You’re right. Let’s go.” Hope took a deep breath and got out of the truck.
Unlike the smile he’d flashed Harrison and Joy, the doorman greeted them with an impassive face. “May I help you?”
“That girl who just came in,” Hope said. “The blond one?”
“Who are you here to see?” The doorman stood taller as if bracing himself for a tackle.
“Joy Garland. My sister. You just opened the door for her.”
“Who may I say is calling?” The doorman opened the door and allowed Austin and Hope to step into the lobby. An artificial Christmas tree took center stage in the marble and glass lobby. The tree’s decorator had been a purist; purple tulip-shaped glass bulbs were the only ornaments that adorned it. A starfish sat at the top, and little white lights twinkled from nearly every branch. With the plethora of pines on the west coast, couldn’t this fancy condo building afford a real tree? And was it trying to be edgy and artistic? All purple? Don’t try so hard to be cool, tree! she wanted to shout. Nobody likes a hipster.
“Tell her it’s her sister, Hope, and that I’m right here in the lobby.”
“I’m afraid the residence does not belong to your sister and therefore you are not on the approved guest roster.”
“Who does this residence belong to?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give out that information.”
“Well. You could call her, tell her I’m here, or we’ll just wait in the lobby until she comes down.”
“I cannot have unapproved guests waiting in the lobby.”
“You’ll call her then,” Hope said. It wasn’t worded as a question. There were a couple of leather chairs in the waiting area so Hope sauntered over and sat down. “Comfy,” she said. “I could wait here all day.” Austin took the other seat.
“Mrs. Mann wouldn’t like this,” the doorman said.
“Harrison’s mother?” Hope said, making a wild guess.
“Are you here to see Harrison then?” the doorman asked.
“I believe we are,” Austin said.
“You’re not on the guest roster,” the doorman repeated again.
“This is a family emergency,” Hope said.
“Please,” the doorman said, gesturing for them to leave. “You are free to call her. Why don’t you leave the premises and call her. I’m sure she’ll meet you somewhere.”
“She’s not answering her phone,” Hope said. “Either her battery died, or she’s lost it, or she’s ignoring me.”
“You cannot stay here. Please. I need you to exit the building.”
“Do you have siblings?” Hope asked.
The doorman looked around as if she might be directing the question to an unseen person behind him. “Yes,” he said finally. “I have two brothers.”
“Are you the middle child?”
“How did you know?” His voice perked up. Hope didn’t know, but she was happy she guessed right.
“I can tell by the confident way you hold yourself. We middle children have to always be the peacemakers, don’t we?”
“Yes, yes,” he said excitedly. “I have often kept my brothers in line.” Hope nodded her encouragement. “And when I say ‘in line,’ I mean out of jail.”
“I doubt they appreciate it, though, do they?”
He shook his head, then lifted it toward the ceiling as if praying. “They always ask for more.”
“Right?” Hope said. “Where’s the love?”
“Where’s the love?” the doorman repeated. “Where is it?” The second time he sounded as if he was genuinely asking her.
Hope shook her head. “You’re an unsung hero.”
The doorman put his hand on his heart. “That’s me.”
Hope nodded. “And what if you had a family emergency and had to get ahold of one of them, but through no fault of your own they weren’t talking to you?”
“I cannot believe they would
put me in this position,” the doorman said, sounding more and more worked up.
“Right? It’s all on you. You have to do everything.”
“They make me so tired.”
“They certainly do.”
“And angry. I am so, so angry.”
“Well, I say enough.”
“Enough!” He slammed his hand on the reception stand.
“Call her, will you? Call my sister and tell her we have had enough!”
“Enough!” the doorman said. He swept up the phone.
Austin flashed Hope a smile. “Well played,” he said under his breath. Hope held her palm out and after a moment Austin gave her a discreet high five.
The doorman put down the phone and approached with a smile. “She’ll be right down.”
Yeah, right. Joy was probably scrambling down a fire escape as they spoke. “I appreciate you so much,” Hope said. He blushed and grinned some more. Hope grinned back. The doorman scooted even closer. Hope stared at a purple glass tulip dangling from the hipster Christmas tree. Suddenly Austin cleared his throat and threw his arm around Hope.
“We both thank you,” he said. “Right, babe?”
“Right, cowboy,” Hope said. The doorman nodded, then trudged back outside with a few forlorn glances back. Austin retracted his arm. Hope wished the doorman would walk back in. The minutes ticked by. When she could stand it no longer, Hope got up and wandered to the elevators.
“What are you doing?” Austin said.
“She’s not coming down,” Hope said.
A pizza delivery boy entered. Joy loved pizza for breakfast. It was now 10:30. She’d probably found the one place that started delivering for lunch this early. “I can take that up,” Hope said, grabbing the box out of his hand.
“Twenty-two bucks,” the kid said.
Hope looked at Austin. “Can we get this out of the granny fund?”
“Got it.” He peeled off twenty-five dollars and handed it to the kid. “Keep the change.”
The kid hurried away. Hope looked down at the order. Apartment 2801. Hope glanced outside. The doorman had his back to them. Hope pushed a button and the elevator dinged. She slipped into the elevator and pulled Austin in after.
“The twenty-eighth floor?” Austin said as the elevator started up.
“Something tells me Mrs. Mann doesn’t know her son is spending his days pretending to be homeless.” The elevator dinged, announcing their arrival. There were only two penthouses on the twenty-eighth floor, and 2801 was to the left. The door was already swinging open when Hope approached. At the sight of Joy’s sleepy face and patch of platinum blond hair, Hope’s heart gave a little squeeze.
