Promises of the Heart

by Nan Rossiter

  She closed her eyes and tried to keep her nightly worries at bay by recalling the very first time Ben had kissed her—the first time she’d tapped into all that potential of his! It hadn’t been long after she’d come home from Europe. Ever the gentleman, he’d taken Hayley home after their impromptu class reunion, thanked her for adding to their fun, and kissed her on the cheek—or so he said, and she had no reason to not believe him. The next day, he and Henry had run in the Tybee Island Turkey Trot, and the girls had all come along to cheer them on. After the race, they’d parted ways, and Ben and Macey had walked along the beach.

  “Want to come over for dessert later?” she’d asked.

  Ben had raised his eyebrows. “Is your mom making her famous apple pie?”

  “She is,” Macey said, laughing. “She said to be sure to ask you because she knows how much you love it. She’s also making pumpkin.”

  Ben didn’t need to hear more. “I’ll be there,” he said, smiling, and then he’d stopped walking and reached for her hand. “Mace, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. It’s hard to explain, but when you weren’t here, well . . .”

  “I know what you mean,” she’d said, studying him. “I missed you too, Ben.”

  He’d searched her eyes, leaned down, and softly kissed her lips . . . and when they’d pulled apart, he could hardly contain his smile. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.”

  Later that night, after the pies were put away and Macey’s parents had bid them good night, and followed Maeve—whose sore throat had blossomed into a cold—up to bed, Macey and Ben had sat on the couch and talked into the night. Finally, Ben had looked at his watch, realized how late it was, and pulled on his jacket, but when they got to the front door, Macey had leaned against it and pulled him against her. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” she’d said softly.

  “Be careful,” he’d warned with a grin, “or you’ll get more than you bargained for . . . and your parents will hear . . .”

  “You wouldn’t,” she’d said, laughing as he kissed her.

  “I might,” he teased, pressing against her. “I want you so much, Mace,” he’d whispered.

  Now Macey eased to her side, replaying the lovemaking they’d just shared, and suddenly her mind began to play the educational film they’d all watched in their eighth-grade health class. The image of a cartoon sperm swimming up a fallopian tube in search of an egg was as clear in her mind as if she’d seen it yesterday. “It’s a long way,” the narrator warned as the sperm swam along like salmon swimming upstream to spawn. “Only a few hardy travelers will reach their destination.” She remembered the one happy sperm, smiling triumphantly as he approached an eager-looking egg. Then, she pictured Ben’s sperm, looking fiercely determined, swimming up her fallopian tube at that very moment.

  “Go, baby, go!” she whispered. “You can do it! Get that egg!” Then she realized what she was asking for, and tears filled her eyes. She squeezed them back and as she tried to quiet her mind, she heard a loud clump in the kitchen. She continued to listen for more sounds, but she didn’t hear anything, so she felt around for her sweatpants and shirt, stopped at the bathroom—praying she wouldn’t lose too many precious, determined swimmers—and went downstairs.

  Keeper was lying on the floor next to his bed, but when he heard her, he looked up and thumped his tail. “How come you’re not on your bed?” she asked softly, sitting next to him. “C’mere,” she coaxed, patting the bed, and he pulled himself up, hopped over, and pushed his bowed head into her chest. “I wish you could come upstairs,” she said softly, kissing the top of his head. He swished his tail, and she knew he wished it, too. “Maybe we’ll have to move our bedroom downstairs . . . or maybe we’ll have to put in an elevator! How fun would that be? Riding up and down in an elevator?” Keeper licked her cheek and curled up next to her, and Macey lay back and put her arm around him. Within minutes, they were both sound asleep.

  28

  “LOOK AT YOU!” RUDY EXCLAIMED AS HARPER CLIMBED OUT OF THE CAR.

  Harper reached up and touched her hair self-consciously as her freckled cheeks turned pink. “Do you really like it?”

  Rudy nodded. “It looks nice.”

  “Thanks,” Harper said, half smiling. “Janelle said I should get my ears pierced, too.”

  “You should!”

  “Your mom would have to take me.”

  Cora reached into the back seat for her pocketbook and the grocery bags. “As I said, one thing at a time. Rudy, please come take these.”

  “I can take something,” Harper offered.

  “No. Remember, Harper? The doctor says you have to take it easy.”

  “I’m not made of glass, you know,” Harper replied glumly.

  “Mm-hmm,” Cora said, handing the bags to Rudy. “Where are your brothers?”

  “Inside.”

  She reached for the dark red chrysanthemum Harper had picked out for Janelle. “Here, you can take this, though.” Harper took the mum from her and cradled it in her arms while Cora reached in back for the milk. She closed the door. “You kids are goin’ through milk like it’s goin’ out of style.”

  “I won’t drink any more,” Harper volunteered hopefully. “I’ll just have water and I’ll eat less, too.”

  “That’s not the answer, baby,” Cora said softly, eyeing her.

  Harper looked away. She would never understand why it couldn’t be the answer.

  “Do you wanna see if Janelle’s home right now?” she asked, nodding in the direction of her neighbor’s apartment.

  “Sure,” Harper said. Cora watched her walk over and knock on the door, but there was no answer. “She’s not home,” Harper called.

  “C’mon then,” Cora called. “You can try again later.” She walked toward the front door, where McMuffin was meowing impatiently. “Did anyone feed this poor cat?” she asked as Harper knelt down to pet her.

  Rudy shrugged. “I don’t know—it’s Frank’s job.”

  Cora opened the door and the gray tiger scooted in, right past Joe, who was immersed in a video game, and barely looked up. “Have you done your homework, mister?”

  “Don’t have any.”

  “Ha! I find that hard to believe! You have five more minutes on that game, and then, off.”

  “But I need a half hour to finish this level,” Joe protested.

  “That’s unfortunate, because you only have five minutes.”

  Joe frowned but knew better than to argue.

  “Where’s Frank?” she asked. Joe shrugged—he wouldn’t tell her even if he did know.

  “Frank, did you feed Muffin?” Cora called. There was no answer, so she plopped the bags and milk jug on the table and headed down the hall. She knocked on his door, but there was still no answer, so she pushed it open. “Frank!” she shouted, and Frank looked up, startled, from his old laptop, pulled an earbud out of his ear, and quickly tapped his browser to a different page.

  “What are you watching?” Cora asked, eyeing him.

  “Nothin’.”

  She frowned. “You better not be somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

  “I’m not, Mama,” Frank said, sounding annoyed.

  “Did you feed the cat?”

  “No, I thought Rudy did.”

  “Have you done your homework?”

  “I’m working on it—I’m almost done. Now that you’re home, can I go shoot some hoops?”

  “When you’ve finished your homework.”

  Frank groaned. “It’ll be dark by then.”

  “Well, if you weren’t wasting your time on some foolish website, you’d be done and you’d be going right now.”

  “I’m not wasting time, and I can finish later.”

  “Finish now,” Cora said firmly.

  Frank slammed his desk drawer. “I swear, Mama. I never get to go anywhere.”

  “Don’t you raise your voice with me, young man, or you won’t go anywhere.”

  Frank clenched h
is jaw. “You know, if I didn’t have to babysit all the time, I could make the team and I could get a scholarship.”

  “I’m sorry, Frank, but if I have to pay a babysitter, I won’t be able to pay the rent and we’ll be living on the street.”

  “Why can’t they go to an after-school program?”

  Cora stepped into his room and closed the door. “Maybe that’s something we can look into,” she said in a low voice, “but, at the moment, I have my hands full. Harper is not well, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with her. I’m sorry all this is happening right now, and I’m sorry that this is falling on you. But it is not my fault.”

  Frank shook his head and looked away. “Well, it sucks.”

  “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t use that kind of language.”

  “Sucks is not a bad word.”

  “Would you like me to use it?”

  Frank just rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

  “Get your homework done and you can go.”

  “It’ll be too late.”

  Cora looked at her son leaning back in his chair. His lanky arms were attached to big strong hands with long angular fingers, and his legs stretched all the way under his desk—he had to be almost six feet. Good Lord! When had he gotten so tall? And he was probably right. If he had the opportunity, he might very well be able to get an athletic scholarship.

  “When are tryouts?” Cora asked softly.

  “Right after Thanksgiving,” Frank said, perking up.

  Cora opened the door. “I will try to figure something out. But I’m not making any promises.”

  Frank nodded. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Leave your door open,” Cora called back as she headed for the kitchen. She passed through the living room and realized Joe was still playing his video game. “Off!” she commanded. “You’ve had more than five minutes!”

  “Five more?” Joe pleaded.

  “No. Get off now, or you won’t go on again this week.”

  Joe turned off the game and slumped dejectedly on the couch. Maybe Frank was on to something, she thought. If Joe and Rudy were in an after-school program, Joe wouldn’t be spending all afternoon playing video games and Rudy wouldn’t be venturing off on her bike without a helmet. She would have to look into it . . . just as soon as she found a foster home for Harper.

  29

  THE BELLS TINKLED CHEERFULLY WHEN MACEY PUSHED OPEN THE DOOR of Janelle’s salon, now quiet after the long day. “Hey, Janelle,” she called. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  Janelle looked up from her newspaper. “It’s quite all right, child. I needed a break anyway.”

  “Tell me about it,” Macey said, shaking her head. “I think every kid in Savannah has the stomach bug or a cold . . . or both!”

  “Well, I hope you left those germs at the office,” Janelle said, eyeing her over the stylish scarlet reading glasses perched on the end of her bronze nose.

  “Oh, don’t worry! I took a bath in hand sanitizer before I left.”

  “Good. Well, c’mon over.” she said, closing the newspaper and reaching into the cabinet for a clean towel. Macey hung up her jacket and sat down, and Janelle swirled a cape around her, tucked the towel under its collar, and snapped it closed.

  “How’ve you been?” Macey asked as Janelle reclined the chair.

  “Busy! I don’t think I’ve ever been so busy.”

  “That’s good,” Macey said. “Word must be spreading about how great you are.”

  “Maybe,” Janelle said as she lathered up Macey’s hair. “’Cause I certainly haven’t taken out any ads.” She quickly lathered up Macey’s hair, massaged it in, rinsed out the suds with warm water, poured conditioner into her palms, and smoothed it onto Macey’s head. “Mmm, I just love this new conditioner—it smells so good!”

  “It smells like coconut,” Macey murmured, closing her eyes and feeling like she could fall asleep in the chair.

  “You need to pamper yourself more often,” Janelle teased, laughing as she gently toweled Macey’s hair and brushed it out.

  “I do,” Macey agreed, smiling.

  “So what are we doing today?”

  “Oh, the usual, I guess. Maybe a little shorter so I can make it through Thanksgiving.”

  Janelle nodded as she reached for her scissors, and Macey looked over at the next station.

  “Locks of Love?” Macey asked, gesturing to the long copper braid laid out neatly on a towel on the counter.

  “Yes,” Janelle said, nodding.

  “A sweet little girl came in here today to get her hair cut and she donated it,” Janelle said. “In fact, her hair’s almost the exact same color as yours—it’s just a hint brighter.”

  Macey smiled, and then frowned. “What was her name?”

  “Harper.”

  “Harper Wheaton?”

  “I don’t know her last name. My friend Cora brought her in.”

  “I didn’t know you knew Cora.”

  “Oh, yes. Cora and I go way back—she’s my neighbor.”

  “Wow! I had no idea.”

  “Mm-hmm. How do you know Cora?”

  “She brings the state kids in for checkups sometimes. She is the nicest person.”

  “She is,” Janelle agreed, smiling.

  “She just brought Harper into Dr. Hack’s office on Friday.”

  “Well, then, you must already know that poor child had another appointment today. They were going there from here.”

  Macey nodded, wondering how much Janelle knew about Harper—she also knew that, no matter how curious she was, privacy laws would prevent her from saying anything further, so she changed the subject. “I should donate my hair.”

  “You should,” Janelle said, combing it out. “You have beautiful hair and the people who make hair pieces could combine your hair with Harper’s—no one would ever know the difference!” Janelle paused, wondering how much Macey knew about Harper. “You want to take the plunge today?”

  Macey pressed her lips together, considering. “No, not today, Janelle—I’ll need to think about it a little.”

  Janelle nodded. “I understand. I would, too, if I had such long beautiful hair. That little girl, though, she didn’t give it a second thought. She must be very brave—and have a very big heart. When I asked her if she wanted to donate, she didn’t even blink. Here she is, a little girl who has no family and not a thing to her name, and she’s willing to give somethin’ she does have to a child who needs it.”

  Macey bit her lip, wishing she had the same courage. She pictured Harper sitting in this very chair, getting her hair cut, and she remembered how tough she’d acted in the office.

  “I don’t know what Cora’s gonna do with her,” Janelle mused out loud. “She’s having a heck of a time placing her in foster care. I guess she can be a bit of a challenge, and with heart problems, too! Poor thing!”

  Macey nodded, still feeling as if she shouldn’t talk about Harper’s foster status or health problems.

  “Cora called me when she got home from the doctor, and I know she was trying not to let it show, but she is beside herself. She doesn’t even want to send Harper to school because she’s afraid something’s gonna happen to her. She loves that little girl, but there’s no way she can adopt her. She has her hands full with her own kids.” Janelle smiled sadly. “I told her to jus’ keep the faith—the good Lord has somethin’ in mind. He has a plan. We may not see it yet, but he does.”

  Macey nodded again, trying to picture the turmoil in Cora’s house. The poor woman. She tried to imagine doing right by three kids as a single parent while holding down an overwhelming and thankless job and coping with the heartache of all those poor foster kids. It was hard enough for Macey to not get emotionally involved with the kids who came into the office, so she could only imagine how hard it was to know each child’s complete history—the hardship, abuse, loss, and heartache they’d
endured—and not become emotionally attached.

  “So, how’re you doin’, hon?” Janelle asked as she snipped and trimmed, interrupting Macey’s runaway train of thought. “Any news on the baby front?”

  “No good news, Janelle. I miscarried again a couple weeks ago,” Macey answered.

  “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry,” Janelle said, squeezing her shoulder. “I know how much you were hoping this time would be different. Isn’t there anything the doctor can do to help you keep it?”

  “We’ve tried everything, and I’m just about ready to give up. . . .”

  Janelle nodded knowingly. “Life’s hard. I know. I love my babies. They’s grown now, but I loves ’em and they’re far away. I ne’er get to see ’em.” She shook her head. “You just need to keep the faith, baby. That’s always been my mantra—keep the faith. It’s never failed me.”

  “You remind me of my grandmother, Janelle. She had unwavering faith, too.”

  Janelle smiled, clicked on the hair dryer, and gently brushed out Macey’s hair until it shone. “There you go,” she said, unsnapping the cape and lifting it off her.

  “Thank you,” Macey said. “I really needed that.”

  Janelle pulled her into a hug. “Maybe, next time, you’ll donate those lovely locks.”

  “Maybe,” Macey said, laughing, “if I can get up the courage.”

  30

  “WHY’RE YOU STILL UP, CHILD?” CORA WHISPERED SOFTLY, PEERING INTO Rudy’s room.

  Harper looked up from Rudy’s desk, where the light from a small lamp softly illuminated the drawing pad Rudy had given her. “I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered back.

  “Whatcha working on?” Cora asked, walking over, and Harper sat back so Cora could see her drawing.

  “Who is that, baby?”

  “My mom,” Harper said, pointing to the tattered photo next to the pad.