Promises of the Heart

by Nan Rossiter

  “I remember that picture,” Cora said, half smiling. “It used to be in your file.”

  “You gave it to me.”

  Cora nodded thoughtfully. She picked up the picture, and a smile slowly crossed her face. “She was pretty—your mom,” she mused. “You look just like her.”

  “You think so?”

  Cora nodded.

  “Except for my hair. Rudy thinks my red hair came from my dad.”

  Cora nodded. “It might’ve . . . it might very well have.” She looked at the drawing. “I didn’t know you were such a good artist—that drawing looks just like the photograph.”

  “Thanks,” Harper replied softly, adding a little shading under her mom’s chin.

  “Well, you have school in the morning, so you better get to bed—it’s very late.”

  Harper nodded, switched off the light, and wrapped her arms around Cora. “I love living with you and Rudy.”

  “And we love having you here, baby,” Cora said softly, resting her chin on Harper’s head, hugging her and wishing she could do more. She kissed her on the top of her head. “Don’t you worry, child, we’ll find you a good home—one where you are just as happy as you are here.” Cora lightly brushed the bangs off Harper’s forehead. “Now go to sleep—tomorrow’s your first day at Rudy’s school.”

  Harper nodded and pulled up her covers, but she didn’t smile. Even though she was going to school with Rudy—something she’d always wanted—they’d found out they weren’t in the same class. They weren’t even going to be in the same lunch period. So what was the point? Once again, she’d be on her own, and she couldn’t help but wonder why the people in charge couldn’t try a little harder to make things a little easier for her. It seemed like all the adults she’d ever encountered in her life—except for Cora—went out of their way to make her life as hard as possible. She stared into the darkness, wishing she could just go to work with Cora. At least there she’d know Cora was looking out for her . . . and maybe they could even get McDonald’s for lunch.

  CORA TURNED OUT THE LIGHT, WALKED BACK DOWN THE HALL, AND SANK into her chair. She did love having Harper there, and she knew Rudy did, too—the two of them were as close as sisters—but Harper needed so much more than she could give her. Heaven forbid, if she ever needed round the clock care—which seemed more and more likely—she didn’t know how she would ever manage. She felt tears stinging her eyes and brushed them away. “Oh Lord,” she whispered, “please help me find that little girl a good home.”

  THE NEXT MORNING CAME ALL TOO SOON, AND, AS USUAL, THE GRANT household was in total chaos as Rudy, Joe, Frank, and now Harper scrambled to have breakfast, brush their teeth, and gather their schoolwork. Usually, there were two buses to catch in the morning, but Frank had already caught his to the high school, and since Cora was driving the other three so she could help Harper get settled, she’d waved off the second bus.

  “I can help Harper, Mama,” Rudy insisted. “I know where everything is.”

  “I know you do, baby, but I’m sure there will be more paperwork to fill out,” Cora replied, “and besides, I need to stop at the nurse’s office.” She picked up her big canvas bag. “You kids got everything? Joe, you have the homework you said you didn’t have?”

  “Yes, Mama,” Joe answered, stuffing his lunch into his backpack.

  “Harper, have you got your lunch?”

  Harper nodded, wishing again that her heart would stop racing.

  “Baby, you look pale—you feel okay?”

  “Yes. I just want to get this over with . . . are you sure I can’t go to work with you?”

  “I already told you, baby, I have a lot to do today.”

  “I promise, I won’t be any trouble.”

  Cora looked up. “No,” she said firmly. “It will be better if you’re in school—you keep missing days and you’re gonna get left back.”

  Harper rolled her eyes.

  “But you must remember, if you don’t feel good, you have to head right to the nurse’s office—I’m gonna show you where it is.”

  Harper took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, I will.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  Cora pulled out and turned toward the school. Harper pointed as they passed the house where the man had been blowing leaves, and Rudy shook her head—the yard was covered again.

  “What an idiot,” Harper whispered, and Rudy nodded in agreement.

  They pulled into the school parking lot, and Rudy and Joe suddenly realized that the buses had already come and gone.

  “C’mon, Mama, we’re late!” Joe called as they hopped out.

  “I’m a-comin’,” Cora called, reaching for her bag. “You two go ahead. We’ll see you later.”

  “Okay,” Rudy called, hurrying after her brother. Then she stopped in her tracks. “Good luck, Harper! I’m in Ms. Jones’s room if you need anything.”

  Harper nodded. “Thanks, Rudy.”

  Rudy headed off and then turned around again. “We catch bus number five after school!”

  “Okay,” Harper called back, tucking away this important bit of information, but still hoping she’d see Rudy before the end of the day.

  “Let’s go, baby,” Cora said, locking the car.

  Harper started to reach for Cora’s hand but then stopped, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and clenched her jaw.

  “You okay?” Cora asked, eyeing her.

  Harper nodded. “Fine.”

  “I know what ‘fine’ means, you know,” Cora said gently.

  “Well, I am,” Harper said stonily.

  “I know it’s difficult to keep changing schools, Harper, especially since this one is probably going to be temporary, too, but I don’t know what else to do. You have to go to school, and I have to go to work.”

  “I know, I know,” Harper said. “It’s no big deal, Cora, but there’s no point in making friends when I’ll probably just move again.”

  Cora swallowed. There were no easy solutions for this child, and the worst part was, she knew it.

  “C’mon,” Harper said, pulling open the door. “I’ll be fine.”

  31

  MACEY REACHED INTO THE BACK SEAT FOR THE GROCERIES SHE’D PICKED up on the way home and noticed a plastic bag sticking out from under the driver’s seat. She pulled it out, frowning, and then remembered it was Keeper’s things from the animal shelter. She walked around back and peered in the window as she tiptoed up the steps. No matter how quiet she tried to be, Keeper was always sitting right by the door cocking his head. “There is no sneaking up on you, is there, mister?” she said, laughing, and he began to swish his tail.

  Macey opened the door. “Hey, there, ole pie.” She knelt down in front of him and he pushed his great head into her chest. “It’s always so nice to come home to you,” she whispered, kissing his bowed head and then lifting his chin. “I love you . . . you know that?” She looked into his chocolate-brown eyes and he wiggled all around, giving her wet kisses. “Thank you so much!” she said, laughing.

  “Do you need to get busy?” she asked, holding the door. He hopped down the steps, hurried into the yard, took care of business, and came right back. “And now I bet you’re looking for your supper.” She picked up his food bowl, scooped a cup of kibble into it, added a little water, and walked over to put it down next to his water bowl on the new mat she’d bought. Without being asked, Keeper plopped down on his haunches and gazed longingly at his bowl.

  “Okay!” she said, and he hopped over and wolfed it down. “I don’t know where you learned to be so polite,” she teased, “you must’ve had a good owner, which reminds me . . .” She opened the plastic bag and looked inside. Soon Keeper, who’d already finished eating, came over and started wagging his tail as she pulled out an old tennis ball and a stuffed animal that looked like a hedgehog. She gave the hedgehog to him, and he immediately started to squeak it. “Oh, boy! Your dad’s going to love that!” she said.

  “His dad’s going t
o love what?” Ben asked, coming through the door.

  “A squeaky toy,” Macey said as Keeper hopped over and playfully pushed the stuffed animal into Ben’s crotch.

  “Hey, watch that!” Ben said, reaching down to tousle his ears.

  He leaned over to give Macey a kiss. “It’s so nice to see you smile . . . and hear you laugh.”

  “It feels good to laugh,” she said. “It’s nice to come home to someone who is so happy to see me.”

  “Hey! I’m happy to see you.”

  “I know, but I usually get home before you, and this time of year, the house is dark.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “Well, as soon as the Jackson house is finished, I’ll be home earlier.”

  She smiled. “But you still won’t wag your tail.”

  “I can wag my tail, if that’s what makes you happy,” Ben teased, swiveling his hips.

  “Just kiss me, you fool,” Macey said.

  Ben kissed her softly and murmured, “Nice haircut, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” Macey said.

  Suddenly, her stomach growled and Ben pulled away. “Hungry?” he teased.

  “Famished.”

  “Well, that’s a good sign. What are we having?” he asked as he emptied his lunch cooler and put his ice pack in the freezer.

  “We,” she said as she pulled groceries out of bags, “are having spaghetti and salad.” She set a box of angel hair, a pound of ground sirloin, a can of tomato paste, an onion, and a jar of sauce on the counter.

  “With meat sauce?” he asked hopefully, sliding an ice cube across the floor and watching Keeper block it with his foot and chomp it down.

  “With meat sauce,” she confirmed, reaching into the utensil drawer for a corkscrew and handing it to him. “Right after you pour some wine for the chef.”

  Ben opened a bottle of wine, poured a generous glass, and set it on the counter. “Want help?”

  “No, thanks. I got it.”

  “Okay,” he said, reaching into the fridge for a beer. “I’m going to shower then.”

  She nodded as he opened his beer and headed up the stairs. Then she looked down at Keeper, who was stretched out contentedly in her work area. “That’s all right—don’t mind me, I’ll work around you.” She stepped carefully over him to get her frying pan, set it on the burner, turned the flame to low, drizzled in a tablespoon of olive oil, and while it heated, diced the onion. She scraped the chopped onion into the pan, sipping her wine as it sizzled, and let her thoughts drift back over the day. She thought about all the sick kids she’d seen that day . . . and then she remembered how Janelle had talked about Harper donating to Locks of Love.

  A few minutes later, Ben came back downstairs—his hair still wet from showering—and started to throw together the salad. “We’re gonna need more croutons,” he said, dumping the last of the bag onto the washed Romaine and popping two in his mouth.

  Macey groaned. “It never fails,” she said with a sigh, jotting a note on the sticky pad she kept in the drawer. “As soon as I get home from the store, I have to start a new list.”

  Ben chuckled. “Tell me about it. The same thing happens when I go to Home Depot.”

  Macey broke the spaghetti in half, dropped it into the pot, stirred it, and refilled her glass. “How do you think I’d look with short hair?”

  Ben looked up from grating fresh Parmesan. He’d learned from experience—although he’d been a painfully slow learner—to proceed with caution when Macey posed odd questions out of the blue. “Hmm,” he said, considering his answer.

  She looked up. “That good, huh?”

  “No, no,” he said, “I’m just trying to picture you with short hair.” He paused. “I think it would look good . . . I mean you’d look beautiful no matter what,” he added, feeling as if he’d come up with the perfect answer. “Why?”

  “Because I was thinking of donating my hair to Locks of Love.”

  He frowned. “Locks of Love?”

  She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears. “They make hair pieces for kids who have lost their hair due to medical issues, like cancer.”

  Ben drizzled dressing onto the salad. “I think you should do it,” he confirmed.

  Macey smiled. “I think I will,” she said, taking a sip of her wine.

  32

  “I SAW THE WHOLE THING, MAMA, AND IT WASN’T HARPER’S FAULT!” Rudy said indignantly. “Latisha pushed Harper, and then all her stupid friends told Ms. Jones that Harper started it.”

  “Yeah!” Joe piped. “I saw it, too.”

  “Well, how come you didn’t say somethin’?” Cora asked.

  “We tried!” Rudy cried out, “but they wouldn’t listen!”

  Harper sat next to the window and felt the cool breeze drying her tearstained cheeks. She fiddled with the broken zipper on her backpack, slipped the tattered photograph she kept in the pocket out, and tried to hold the two ragged edges together.

  “Did they do that?” Rudy asked, looking horrified.

  Harper nodded as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Do what?” Cora asked, trying to see into the back seat.

  “They tore Harper’s picture!”

  “Of her mama?”

  “Yes!” Rudy confirmed angrily.

  Cora shook her head. “I don’t know how you do it, child. This week was going so well! Did you say something to make them so mean?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “Mm-hmm,” Harper said, nodding.

  Cora eyed her in her rearview mirror, but Harper looked out the window and wouldn’t make eye contact. Cora didn’t say anything more, and they drove home in silence—each lost in their own thoughts.

  Cora parked in her spot and waited for Rudy and Joe to get out. “Harper, could you wait a minute?”

  Harper looked at Rudy and rolled her eyes and then climbed out and leaned sullenly against the car. “Rudy, you can go inside,” Cora said, gathering her things.

  “Why can’t I stay?” she asked, frowning.

  “Because I want to talk to Harper. Now, scoot!”

  Rudy let out an exaggerated sigh, kicked the tire, and trudged toward the door.

  Cora closed her door and studied Harper. “Look at me, child,” she said softly.

  Harper looked up and Cora could see the frustration and sorrow in her eyes—too much for a nine-year-old child. “Now. What really happened?”

  “I already told you. Latisha came up and pushed me into the fence, so I pushed her back.”

  “How’d your picture get ripped?”

  “It fell out of my backpack because the zipper’s broken and she picked it up and ripped it.”

  “So, you hit her?”

  “Yeah, I hit her—she’s a freakin’ idiot.”

  “Did you say something to make her push you?”

  “No,” Harper said, rolling her eyes and looking away.

  Cora sighed. “Baby, you do not have a lot of options here, which is why you need to try extra hard to get along with people. What are we goin’ to do now?”

  “Take me to work with you.”

  “I cannot take you to work with me. You are supposed to be in school, learning—and that is never going to happen if you keep getting yourself suspended.”

  Harper shrugged. “I don’t wanna go to that stupid school anyway,” she mumbled.

  “I thought you did. I thought you wanted to go to school with Rudy.”

  “I did, but why couldn’t they put us in the same class? Why does everyone have to make everything so hard?”

  “Oh, baby, people are not trying to make things hard for you.”

  “Sure seems like it,” she mumbled. “First, my mom dies . . . and my dad doesn’t even know I exist . . . and then I get put in all these stupid foster homes . . . and now I have a weak heart.”

  “Harper, I know it seems like things aren’t going well. You have reason to be upset,” Cora said, “but you need to start thinking about the
good things in your life.”

  “Yeah? Like what?” Harper said, crossing her arms defiantly.

  “Like having Rudy for a friend. Like riding bikes together or helping make pancakes. Like knowing I’m doing the best I can to find you a home . . .”

  Harper rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like that’s goin’ real good.”

  “Honestly, Harper, you don’t make it any better by having a chip on your shoulder—like it’s you against the whole world.”

  “It is me against the whole world,” Harper said defiantly, fresh tears springing to her eyes.

  “Oh, baby,” Cora said, pulling her into a hug. “It is not you against the world. I love you . . . and so do Rudy and Frank and Joe.” She held Harper at arm’s length and searched her tear-streaked face. “We love you so much.”

  Harper blinked back her tears and sighed heavily, feeling a wave of nausea wash over her, even as the weight of the world rested on her thin shoulders.

  “Let’s go inside,” Cora said gently. “At least we have the weekend to figure things out.”

  Cora followed Harper inside and found Joe already planted in front of the TV playing a video game. “Frank?” she called, glancing down the hall, but there was no answer. “Rudy, go see if Frank has those confounded earbuds plugging his ears.”

  Rudy pushed open the door to her brothers’ room and looked around. “He’s not here,” she announced, shuffling back to the kitchen and pulling open the fridge door.

  Cora glanced up at the clock. “Where can that boy be?” she murmured to herself, frowning as she put on the kettle. “He doesn’t know I had to pick you up, so he should’ve been here to get you off the bus.”

  “Mama, Frank doesn’t need to be here. Harper and I can be here alone and take care of Joe. All he does is play video games anyway.”

  Cora snorted. “You are nine years old—you cannot come home to an empty house.

  “Lots of kids go home to an empty house,” Rudy protested. “I heard the teachers talking about it. They called ’em latchkey kids.”

  “Well, you are not a latchkey kid,” Cora said, pouring the now-steaming water over her teabag. While it steeped, she reached into her bag for her phone and texted her son. Then she stared at the screen, waiting for the reassuring little dots to appear, telling her he was alive and capable of writing back, but no dots appeared and finally, the screen went dark. She bit her lip and dunked her teabag. “Where is that boy?”