Love, Special Delivery

by Melinda Curtis

  * * *

  THAT NIGHT, MANDY was too tired to cook.

  She was too tired to wash dishes.

  Good thing it was Olivia’s day to do both.

  Mandy dropped her purse and shoes in the middle of the living room floor and collapsed into a recliner. She stared at the black screen of the small TV, too tired to get back up and look for the remote. Although perhaps not too tired to indulge in a brief fantasy where a hunky fireman retrieved it for her.

  And, despite the hunky fireman of her dreams bearing some resemblance to Ben, her hunky fireman didn’t lecture. He just smiled and looked hunky, as Ben had when they’d talked about her feeding Riley cat food. For a few minutes, she’d felt as if they were as comfortable with each other as a pair of well-worn sneakers. And a moment later, she’d felt as if she’d been caught wearing those sneakers on prom night when everyone else was in new sparkly heels.

  “I’m home,” she called out for Olivia’s benefit, spotting the remote across the room next to Grandma’s sewing basket.

  “I heard.” Olivia drifted in, blowing on her painted fingernails. Except for her manicure, everything about Olivia was minimal—light makeup, bare feet, lemon-colored spaghetti-strap blouse and those dreadful short-shorts. “Look what I did. It’s an American flag.” She angled her hand so Mandy could see. There were red-and-white stripes on some fingernails and white glittery stars on blue backgrounds on her thumbs.

  “Very nice.” It was hard to deny her sister had talent when it came to nails, but, “How long did that take you?”

  “All day.” Olivia flopped onto the blue plaid couch. It said something to their cleaning skills that no dust billowed.

  “I thought we agreed that you’d apply for work today,” Mandy said carefully. That was the trick with teenagers. You had to walk on tiptoe when what you really wanted to do was screech about laziness and lost opportunities and, therefore, break some eggs. That’s what Mandy called the loss of control over her emotions. And losing control meant a pile of eggshells.

  Olivia’s innocent brown eyes turned Mandy’s way. “I couldn’t go out without doing my nails.”

  Eggshells. Eggshells.

  “You realize you have one more day to find a job and then you’re coming to work for me.” Mandy could use her help. Anticipating that need when she’d landed the job, she’d made Olivia take the postal employee test. “I don’t like the idea of you being home alone.” What she would have preferred to have said was Olivia needed to earn her own nail polish money. But that would have been unnecessarily mean.

  Olivia admired her nails, as relaxed as Mandy was uptight. “I looked online and there were no job listings.”

  “Hence the obvious need to do your nails.” Unable to filter a brief spurt of sarcasm, Mandy drew a deep breath and tried again. “A town as small as Harmony Valley won’t have jobs posted online.”

  “We might just as well have moved to the north pole.” Olivia flopped back against the couch, resorting to her best defense—drama. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no mall or movie theater. What if there’s an emergency? What if I get sick?” She was winding up like a pitcher about to throw a third strike. “What if—”

  “We’ve been over this.” Mandy was afraid her smile was slipping. “The nearest hospital is thirty minutes away. Plenty of time to seek care.”

  Olivia changed tactics as swiftly as a guppy changed course in a fishbowl. “I didn’t want to move here.”

  “Harmony Valley isn’t so bad.” Mandy stared longingly at the remote, wondering how much longer her sister’s energy for an argument would last.

  “Mandy.” Olivia said her name as if Mandy was the one being unreasonable. “I meant I didn’t want to move here.” She patted the couch cushion with the heel of her hand, careful of her patriotic nails.

  Mandy’s battered patience felt as brittle and treacherous as a thin layer of ice on a blind curve. “I told you. We have bills.” From Olivia’s follow-up medical care, the extras her insurance hadn’t covered. “And we need two months’ rent saved to get a house.” The town had only a few apartments available, and those were mostly studios above the old shops on Main Street.

  The size of a place was a moot point. They didn’t have the cash. End of story.

  “We’re squatting, Mandy,” Olivia said in a judgy tone, sitting up. “Are postal workers supposed to break the law?”

  “No one is supposed to break the law,” Mandy said as stiffly as Ben had given his safety lecture earlier. “I’m the trustee of Grandpa’s estate. I pay the bills that keep the lights on in this house. We can stay here temporarily.” She should have stopped there. She didn’t. “Mom won’t mind.”

  Hey, lightning didn’t strike.

  Olivia’s chin jutted at the mention of their wanderlusting mother. “If you wouldn’t argue with Mom, she’d come by and see us.”

  Mandy refrained from asking where Mom had been during Olivia’s bout with cancer. She refrained from raising her voice or rolling her eyes or giving in to the urge to cry. She’d become quite good at soldiering on, so she swallowed annoyance, gulped back uncertainty and washed it all down with despair, dredging up her most chipper voice. “Do you remember how Grandma and Grandpa danced in the kitchen on New Year’s Eve?” Remembering the good times was often the only thing that held Mandy and her smile together.

  “No.” Olivia sniffed and slid her thumbnail along her cuticle. “I don’t remember stuff like that. I’ve got chemo brain.”

  Or she just didn’t want to admit she remembered. Someday Mandy was going to find a memory her sister recalled. And then they’d sit together reminiscing. “Did you remember to cook dinner?” she asked, knowing the answer because the house lacked the enticing smell of food in the oven.

  “I was busy.” Olivia hadn’t taken her eyes off her nails.

  “Brat.” Mandy removed a band from one ponytail and shot it at her sister. It bounced harmlessly off her shoulder and to the brown shag carpet.

  “Jailer.” Olivia’s lips twitched.

  “Baby.” Mandy’s smile felt more real now.

  Olivia grinned. “Old maid.”

  Before they could get in another round of insults, someone knocked on the door.

  They stared at each other with wide eyes. Mom always knocked. Although per Grandpa’s will, this was their mother’s house. Not that it would be much longer. Grandpa’s money was running out. And their mother couldn’t or wouldn’t pay for property taxes, insurance and utilities.

  Mandy’s lips stuck over her dry teeth in what was most certainly more grimace than smile. She wanted to ignore the summons and pretend they weren’t home. Or better yet, escape out the back.

  Responsible people don’t run.

  That’s what Grandpa used to say.

  Clearly, they didn’t always rise to the occasion either, because Mandy didn’t move from her seat.

  “Do you think it’s the pizza delivery man?” Olivia stood, holding out a hand to Mandy. “I was just wishing for a pizza.”

  Mandy couldn’t be a coward in the face of her sister’s bravery. Besides, for all Olivia’s talk about wanting to see their mother, she wasn’t rushing to the door to greet her. Her little sister played a good game of emotional poker. Too bad Mandy had no time to evaluate the stakes.

  She accepted Olivia’s help to stand. “I think it’s the man of my dreams, coming to take me away to his castle.” And pay off her mountain of debt.

  Olivia rolled her eyes and then reached over to remove Mandy’s other ponytail band.

  Mandy fluffed her hair, which did little good. It fell like two thick handlebars over her shoulders. “It’s probably the neighbors.” The house on one side was vacant, but the house on the corner next to them had a driveway and front door on the cross street.

  It wasn
’t the pizza delivery man or Prince Charming.

  Three older women stood on the front stoop. None of which was their mother.

  “Welcome to Harmony Valley.” The first old woman at the door was pint-size with a pixie-cut hairstyle more silver than gray. “I’m Agnes.”

  “We brought broccoli casserole.” The willowy woman behind Agnes had a ballerina’s posture and a snow-white chignon. She held a square casserole dish. “I’m Rose.”

  Mandy’s stomach growled.

  “That’s not pizza.” Behind Mandy, Olivia drew a deep breath. “But I’m not complaining.”

  “How about some cookies?” A woman with white fluffy curls peered at Mandy through thick lenses. She pushed her walker forward, clutching a plastic bag full of chocolate chip cookies. “I’m Mildred.”

  Mandy’s stomach growled again. She opened the door wider and stepped aside, not complaining that their visitors weren’t her knight in shining armor.

  Ballerina Rose glided past and delivered the casserole to the kitchen. “Oh,” she said upon reaching the cluttered sink. She set the casserole on the counter and began to wash their dirty dishes.

  Mandy hurried into the kitchen, hoping no one ventured into her bedroom and noticed the clothes she’d worn yesterday in a pile on the floor. “You don’t have to do that.”

  I should have broken some eggshells. Maybe then Olivia would’ve completed her chores.

  “I don’t mind,” Rose kindly said. “You look like doing dishes would do you in.”

  “Rose is right.” Agnes drew Mandy back to the living room. “Sit down and have one of Mildred’s cookies.”

  Cookies. Mandy’s stomach growled a third time. She sat like a well-trained dog awaiting a deserved treat. Olivia did the same. In their love of chocolate, they were united.

  Mildred positioned her walker next to Mandy, flipped the seat down and sat on it. She handed Mandy the cookie bag. “Agnes, do you think these girls have low blood sugar? Diabetes ran in the Zapien family, and they look pale.”

  Olivia managed to bite her lip and frown at the same time. She needed to work on her smile.

  “No. They’re clear-eyed.” Agnes pushed the top of Mandy’s chair, sending her into recline. “More likely they’re just tired. Can you imagine moving here, and then cleaning out George and Utley’s mess at the post office?”

  “I can.” Mildred patted Mandy’s arm. “I’ve seen Utley’s living room. You take it easy tonight, honey.”

  Mandy couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of her. It gave her a warm feeling. She grabbed a cookie and took a big bite.

  “Hey,” Olivia protested, scurrying over to get one.

  “That’s it.” Agnes patted Mandy’s crown. “We need milk, Rose.”

  Luckily, they had some. Unluckily, to find it Rose had to open the refrigerator.

  The sticky fridge door protested being opened, and Rose protested, too, opening it with a strangled noise.

  Mandy’s grandmother would be horrified that one of the neighbors had evidence Mandy wasn’t Suzy Homemaker. Sadly, Mandy was her grandmother’s kin. She didn’t like the idea either.

  That called for another bite of rich chocolate. “Remind me. How do I know you three?” They seemed so familiar and yet they were strangers, not to mention taking over the house. “Do you live next door?”

  “No. We’re the town council.” Mildred’s gaze floated in an unfocused manner over Mandy’s face, blue eyes huge and distorted behind those thick lenses. “Been serving since you were... Well, we’ve been serving a long time.” Despite the bug eyes, Mildred had a Mrs. Claus vibe that was oddly comforting, almost as good as chocolate.

  Their faces—younger, yet not young—came back to Mandy. Growing up, she’d seen them at town festivals, at school events, at the ice cream parlor.

  “One day you’ll have to tell us about your grandfather,” Agnes said in an I’m-so-sorry tone of voice, the kind that always brought tears to Mandy’s eyes. “I always admired George and Blythe for taking you kids in when Teri was—”

  “A flake.” Rose returned to the living room with a glass of milk and indicated Mandy sit up. “Your mother is a flake.”

  Olivia stopped chewing. She claimed a blind admiration for their mother. Mandy had given up arguing with her about Mom years ago.

  Rose handed the milk to Mandy, paused and put on an apologetic smile. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” Mandy bit into another cookie, making short work of the sweet treat. So much for casserole. “Have you seen my mother in town recently?”

  “No.” Rose returned from the kitchen almost immediately and handed Olivia a glass of milk. “You need some fresh baking soda in that fridge.”

  “Vinegar,” Mildred said.

  “It smells like there might be something dead underneath.” Agnes leaned down to admire Olivia’s handiwork. “Those are very pretty nails.”

  Her praise won Olivia over. She preened. “If you like that, look at my feet.” She’d done them yesterday.

  Agnes bent over, hands on knees. “Are those fireworks or chrysanthemums?”

  “Fireworks.” Olivia wiggled her toes.

  “Are you licensed?” Rose drifted closer to Olivia. “We’ve got a hairstylist in town, but not a nail lady.”

  “Not yet. I’m going to cosmetology school in a few months. My grandpa left me money, but said I have to wait until I’m eighteen to collect.”

  Mandy’s feeling of comfort evaporated. She couldn’t look at her sister.

  “We heard your grandfather had dementia.” Mildred’s hand found Mandy’s and squeezed. “Was it bad?”

  “It was,” Olivia said before Mandy could do more than nod.

  “It was worse at the end,” Mandy said in Grandpa’s defense. As his kidneys failed and his organs shut down, his touch with reality hung by a thread. He hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time. He’d wake up and sing at the top of his lungs, and not always with the right words.

  Glory, glory hallelujah. Glory, glory with a poodle.

  “Well...” Agnes tilted her head toward the door, perhaps noticing the mist in Mandy’s eyes. “We won’t take up any more of your time. Let us know if you need anything.”

  Now that Mandy was full of sugar and dinner was in the kitchen, her smile felt uncharacteristically carefree. “We’re looking to rent a place.” Too late, Mandy realized that statement opened the door to unanswered questions about why they couldn’t live in this house.

  Other than a fleeting display of creased silver brows, the town council didn’t seem to care.

  “Oh.” On her way out, Rose pivot-turned at the door. “There’s a cute place around the corner that used to have a beauty salon in the garage. It might be the perfect place for a nail salon.”

  “We’ll get you the owner’s information,” Agnes promised.

  Olivia beamed, while Mandy wondered how much more expensive a home would be to rent with a salon inside.

  After the town council left, Mandy and Olivia stared at each other.

  “Just this once,” Olivia said with a sly grin, “can we have cookies for dinner?”

  “I hate that we think alike.” But she loved that no eggshells had been broken between them.

  They each ate three more cookies and drained their glasses of milk.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “HANNAH, THAT SNAKE is not coming inside.” Ben’s mother sounded flustered. She’d raised two boys and been around firemen all her life. Nothing ruffled her feathers.

  Except, it seemed, a seven-year-old girl.

  “But the snake is already inside.” Hannah’s calm voice, stating a fact.

  Another crisis. Ben hurried to unlace his boots. Still in his navy blue uniform, he ran to the kitchen, assessing the
situation as quickly as he would an emergency call.

  Hannah held a slender gray snake that was about two feet long. Its small head rested between her thumb and forefinger. The rest of it was coiled around her forearm. Thankfully, it was only a garter snake.

  Looking frazzled, his mother stood on sandaled tiptoe, backed into the corner of the dark kitchen cabinets. Her hands clutched her orange flowered tunic. Her short blond hair was uncharacteristically spiked up in front. If Hannah brought the snake any closer, she’d probably climb into the double metal sink. “Ben, thank heavens. Hannah slipped away again and she—”

  “I didn’t slip away.” Hannah sounded weary of overprotective adults. Where Hannah used to deal with one parental unit, now she dealt with three. “You were taking a nap, so I went for a bike ride.”

  Ben bit back a smile.

  “Fine. Yes. I took a nap. That’s what grannies do because children are exhausting.” There was a hysterical edge to his mother’s voice. She gripped the counter so ferociously Ben was surprised she didn’t embed a fake French nail in the butcher block. “But for once, honey, can you go on a bike ride and not bring home a critter?”

  Hannah pushed her glasses up her nose with her free hand. Her knees were dirty, and her thin blond hair hung half out of its single braid. “I only bring home the lost and the injured.”

  Sensing an opportunity, Ben knelt next to Hannah. “That snake looks fine to me.”

  “He has a kink.” Han gently pulled the snake’s tail away from her arm so he could see.

  “Take it out of the house, please.” Mom shuddered. “I cook meals in this room.”

  “Hannah,” Ben said in the patient voice he’d had to use a lot since he’d taken his godchild in. “That kink isn’t something a stay in the infirmary can fix.”

  The infirmary. That’s what Han called the wall of cages and terrariums in the garage. Mom hadn’t wanted to keep animals in the house, period. But Hannah had insisted. It was the only time since her mother’s death that the little girl had cried.