Promises of the Heart

by Nan Rossiter

  Cora nodded and waved, but when she went back in the kitchen, she realized he’d forgotten his lunch. She grabbed it and hurried outside to catch him, but he was gone, and she shook her head. “No breakfast, no lunch . . . I don’t know how you’re goin’ to have the strength to play basketball!”

  She looked at the clock. “We need to go, too.” She saw Joe’s empty plate on the table. “Rudy, where’s your brother?”

  “I don’t know,” Rudy said. She was back in the chair with McMuffin on her lap.

  Cora bustled down the hall and found Joe playing a game on Frank’s computer. “Let’s go, young man. It’s time for school.”

  “Just a minute, Mama. I want to finish this level.”

  “One . . . ,” Cora began slowly. “Two . . . three . . . four . . .” She was trying very hard not to lose her patience.

  Joe groaned and clicked off the game. “You ruin everything.”

  “I know,” Cora said. “That’s how life is.”

  Five minutes later, she hustled them out the door with their costumes in their backpacks.

  “You coming to the Halloween parade, Mama?” Rudy asked as they walked to the bus stop at the end of the driveway.

  “We’ll see,” Cora said. “I’d like to, but it depends on what happens today.”

  As they walked past Mr. Peterson’s old apartment, Joe reached in and pulled the old metal gate closed. It squeaked and clattered as it slammed into place.

  Cora frowned. “Why was that gate open?”

  “So the ghosts could get out,” Joe said in an eerie voice. “Ooo—oooo,” he teased, hovering around Rudy, flapping his arms.

  “Cut it out, Joe!” Rudy admonished sharply. “There’re no such things as ghosts!” But as she said this, she noticed that the curtain in Mr. Peterson’s apartment was open a little, and she stopped and stared. “That’s weird,” she muttered.

  “What’s weird?” Joe asked, following her gaze.

  “Nothing,” she answered, sounding annoyed and picking up the pace. “Hurry up! The bus is coming!”

  44

  MACEY SCROLLED TO HER SISTER’S NAME IN HER PHONE AND TAPPED IT. Then she glanced at the time—it was seven fifteen. “If you’re not up by now, Maeve, you should be,” she murmured, tapping her sister’s number. She listed to the phone ring and then to her sister’s groggy voice. “There you are! I’m sorry to call you so early, but do you happen to have an old yellow polo shirt?”

  Ten minutes later, with a brown marker in her bag, Macey knocked on her sister’s door.

  “It’s open,” Maeve called sleepily.

  Macey let herself in and found Maeve sitting at the kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee. “Since when do you work nights?” she asked.

  “I’m filling in for one of our per diem nurses . . . or in this case, per noctem.”

  “Wow, good use of your high school Latin.”

  Maeve yawned sleepily. “Thanks.”

  “I thought if you were per diem, you had the option to decline work.”

  “You do, usually, but we’re so shorthanded. Because no one wants to work in a nursing home, our per diems try to find someone to fill in if they can’t take the hours.”

  “How many nights do you have to work?” Macey asked, helping herself to a cup of coffee.

  “Last night was the last. I wanted to be home for trick-or-treaters.”

  “Do you have any Halloween candy?” Maeve asked, looking around hopefully.

  “Not yet. I have to get some, so I’m glad you woke me.” She motioned to the yellow polo. “What do you need that for?”

  “My Charlie Brown costume.”

  Maeve smiled. “Is that why you have that squiggly line on your head?”

  Macey reached up and touched the line she’d drawn on her forehead before she left home. “Yes. Why?”

  Maeve laughed. “Because I thought it was a Harry Potter scar.”

  Macey frowned. “It’s Charlie Brown’s hair.”

  “Well, don’t be surprised if kids think you’re Harry Potter.”

  Macey rolled her eyes. “They won’t think I’m Harry Potter. Harry wears glasses, and besides, the Peanuts gang is our theme, so they’ll be looking for good ole Charlie Brown.” She spread the shirt out on the table and pulled the marker out of her bag. “Plus, I’m putting a zigzag on this.”

  “A zigzag?” Maeve asked in surprise. “You’re drawing on my shirt with a Sharpie?”

  “I am,” Macey said. “You don’t wear it anymore, do you?”

  Maeve sighed and waved her hand. “Go ahead.”

  Macey eyed the shirt. “Do you have a ruler?”

  Maeve got up, retrieved a ruler from her desk, and handed it to her sister. “Have you heard any more about that little girl? The whole town seems to be looking for her.”

  “I haven’t,” Macey said, shaking her head. “I wish they’d find her. I’m trying to convince Ben to foster her. . . .”

  “Wait a minute! You are willing to foster? After telling me there was no way . . .”

  “Foster,” Macey reemphasized, “not adopt.” She sat down across from her sister and took a sip of coffee. “I know I was adamant when you told me about Mr. Olivetti and his brother, but I can’t stop thinking about Grandy and what she would do—it’s almost as if she’s prodding me. Besides, this little girl really needs someone.”

  Maeve smiled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Grandy is prodding you. It would be just like her.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I thought you said Harper was a tough cookie.”

  “I did, and she is, but, you know, we were kind of tough when we were little, too. I mean we were competitive and headstrong, so maybe determined is a better word? She’s determined because she’s trying to survive.”

  “What about her heart?”

  Maeve shook her head. “That just makes me want to help her more.”

  “Is Ben on board?” Maeve asked, sounding incredulous.

  “Not really. But you know how he is—cautious beyond reason.”

  Maeve laughed. “That’s the understatement of the century. Look how long it took him to tell you he loved you! When he finally found the courage to propose, I thought I’d fall off my chair!”

  “That’s my Ben,” Macey said, smiling. “Anyway, the other day, I told him Grandy would take her in in a heartbeat.”

  Maeve smiled, knowing it was true, and Macey continued.

  “He wasn’t moved, though. He said—like I did—that times were different back then, but last night, when he came home, he seemed to have had a change of heart. Maybe it’s because she’s missing.” As she said this, a shadow fell across her face. “I hope she’s okay.”

  “I hope they find her,” Maeve said softly. “Maybe she is the answer to your prayers, Mace. I mean, think about it, wasn’t Harper one of the names you picked if you had a little girl?”

  “It is.” She paused, considering this possibility. “Did I tell you she has red hair?”

  “Nooo,” Maeve said, laughing. “No wonder she’s a tough cookie—she can’t help it!”

  “Yeah,” Macey mused thoughtfully. She stood up, laid the ruler on an angle on the shirt, and started to draw a wide zigzag design along the bottom.

  AN HOUR LATER, SHE WAS WEARING THE SHIRT WHEN SHE OPENED THE waiting room door and looked around for seven-year-old Logan Wilson, who was home from school with an earache. “Logan?” she called, and the little boy stood up. Macey smiled as he and his mom approached. “Must be crummy to not feel well on Halloween, huh, Logan?”

  Logan nodded sadly and then looked up and saw the mark on her forehead, and his eyes grew wide. “Wait! Are you Harry Potter?”

  45

  HARPER PULLED BEAR AGAINST HER CHEST AND LAY STILL, LETTING HER eyes adjust to the darkness as she recalled the events of the last twenty-four hours: After climbing through the window and falling asleep on the couch (the first time), she’d awoken to the realization that she’d missed watching
her friends get on their bus, and then she’d slumped on the couch, overwhelmed with loneliness, and tried to watch TV, only to remember there was no electricity. She’d searched the kitchen again, found nothing, and opened one of the warm Cokes from the fridge. She took a long sip and licked her lips, savoring the sweetness as the bubbles fizzed down her dry throat. Finally, driven by hunger, she’d slipped out the back door, snuck through the yards, and used the key Cora kept under her mat to let herself in. In the fridge, she’d found a sandwich all made, and even though it was tuna—her least favorite—she’d devoured it; then she’d filled a plastic bag with snacks she hoped Cora wouldn’t miss—a roll of Ritz crackers, a bag of potato chips, two apples, and three juice boxes. She’d hurried back to Mr. Peterson’s, praying no one saw her, and locked the door behind her.

  Now, she realized she must’ve slept all afternoon because the apartment was dark and she was hungry again. She heard voices outside and knelt on the couch to look. There was a large group of kids walking along the sidewalk dressed in costumes, and she suddenly realized it was Halloween!

  She slumped back down on the couch, feeling worse than before—she was missing out on all the fun . . . and all the candy! She wondered what Rudy was wearing, and if she’d recognize her. She peeked out the window again, hoping to see her friend, but there were only younger kids walking by. She was trying to decide what to do, when she heard the gate squeak open. Her heart pounded as she listened to voices getting closer. Suddenly, the doorbell rang and she almost jumped out of her skin. She sank into the couch, her heart pounding harder as she listened to a commotion outside the door. The doorbell rang again, followed by loud banging on the metal storm door. “Trick or treat!” a voice shouted. “Yeah, smell my feet!” shouted another. “How the heck can you not be home on Halloween?”

  Harper swallowed, praying they’d leave. Instead, someone kicked the door, and called out, “Anyone got any eggs left?” Several voices shouted they did, and then the ensuing silence was filled with the sounds of laughter and eggs smashing against the window.

  “Hey! Cut it out!” a man’s voice shouted.

  Harper held her breath and closed her eyes as the kids ran off, and even though she could hear their voices fading, she didn’t dare look. She just rubbed her chest, held on to Bear, and listened to her stomach growl.

  She lay back, thinking about what she could eat. She knew she had the crackers and chips she’d borrowed from Cora, but the thought of free candy was making her mouth water. She picked up the flashlight she’d found when she was looking for the TV remote, turned it on, and pointed it at the floor as she walked into Mr. Peterson’s bedroom. She opened his closet door and shone the light on the shelves, looking for something—anything—she could use for a Halloween costume. The weak beam of light landed on an Atlanta Braves baseball hat—maybe she could be a baseball player! She continued to look and found a wooden bat in the front corner of the closet—which, she surmised, could double as protection, too, if she needed it. She put the hat and bat on the bed and opened a bureau drawer. It felt creepy to be looking through the belongings of someone who had died, but she really wanted to go trick-or-treating. She rummaged through the drawers with one hand while holding the flashlight with the other. Finally, she found something—an old Atlanta Braves jersey. She pulled it out, spilling several other shirts onto the floor at the same time, and shook it open. It was big, but it would do. She turned it over, spread it out on the bed, and shone the light across the number, 44, and then looked more closely—someone had written something with a magic marker above the name, but because it was script, she couldn’t make it out. “I bet he was mad about that,” she whispered as she pulled the shirt over her head.

  Ten minutes later, with the bat in one hand, a plastic bag in the other, and the baseball hat—adjusted to its smallest size—on her head, Harper peeked out the front window. All was quiet, so she let herself out the back door, walked around the end of the unit to the sidewalk, glanced up and down anxiously, and quickly crossed the parking lot to the units on the other side. Another group of trick-or-treaters was just leaving so Harper hurried to get to the door before the woman closed it.

  “Oh,” the woman said in surprise. “I almost didn’t see you,” she added, dropping a handful of candy into Harper’s bag.

  “Thank you,” Harper said, peering into the bag.

  She hurried off to the next door and knocked, and when the woman opened it, she held out her bag. “Trick or treat,” she said hopefully.

  “Look at you!” the woman exclaimed. “Bill! Come on out here! You’ve gotta see this one!”

  Harper shifted her feet nervously as an elderly man made his way slowly to the door.

  “Wow!” he said, smiling. “If it isn’t Hammerin’ Hank!”

  Harper frowned—who the hell was Hammerin’ Hank? Her shirt said Aaron.

  “Well, young man, that’s the best costume we’ve seen!” the woman sputtered happily. “You get two Snickers!”

  Harper shook her head. “I can’t have Snickers—I’m allergic to nuts. Do you have anything else?”

  “Oh, hon, I’m sorry. That’s all I have. . . . I thought everyone loved Snickers.”

  Harper nodded solemnly. “Okay. Thanks anyway.” She turned to go and the man called after her. “Great costume, kid!”

  Harper hurried to the next apartment, but just as she was about to knock, she heard voices and turned to see another group coming along the sidewalk, and among them were Rudy and Joe! Harper also recognized the girl next to Rudy—it was Lana the hairstylist’s daughter, Kari, who looked so much like Rudy, she could be her twin. Kari Thomas and her mom and brother had moved there from Mississippi. She’d been in the same class as Harper before Latisha had pushed her. She and Kari had even sat next to each other, and when Harper couldn’t find her pencil, Kari had given her one and told her to keep it.

  “But then you won’t have one,” Harper said, astounded by her kindness.

  “That’s okay. I have a pen,” Kari said, producing a pen from her pocket.

  Harper started to wave to them, but then remembered she shouldn’t be seen . . . and they were heading right for her! She ducked behind some bushes and watched them walk to the door. She could make out all the costumes now—the boys were both dressed as pirates, Joe wearing the same costume he’d worn to the Pirate Festival on Tybee Island (Harper had seen the picture on Cora’s phone), and Rudy was a purple Crayola crayon (her favorite color), while Kari was an angel with shimmering white wings.

  “So they haven’t found her yet?” Kari asked, sounding worried.

  “No,” Rudy answered. “They even had a search party today.”

  “They think someone might’a kidnapped her,” Joe added authoritatively, and Harper suddenly realized they were talking about her!

  “That’s awful,” Kari said in a voice that sounded genuinely dismayed. In fact, she sounded so sincere, Harper almost stepped out to assure them she was okay.

  “My mom’s really upset,” Rudy said, pointing over her shoulder. “She won’t even let us go trick-or-treatin’ in the neighborhood by ourselves.”

  Harper looked over and saw Cora pulling her coat around her as she talked to Lana. She looked very tired, and Harper suddenly felt sad—she hadn’t realized people would miss her enough to search for her. She hadn’t meant to hurt anyone or make them worry . . . especially Cora.

  46

  MACEY OPENED THE FRONT DOOR AND LOOKED AROUND. SHE HAD TURNED on every light with the hope of attracting kids up their long driveway, but so far, they hadn’t had a single trick-or-treater.

  “Where is everyone?” she whispered softly, putting her arm around Keeper’s shoulders. He wagged his tail and looked around hopefully, too. She sat down on the top step and he plopped down next to her. “No one’s even come to see you,” she said softly, straightening his new Halloween bandanna, which she’d ironed for the occasion, “even though you look so handsome.” She gazed down at the jack-o’-l
anterns lining the steps and driveway—she and Ben had carved pumpkins every night that week, getting ready. Ben had even put orange lightbulbs in the front porch lights, and she’d made a life-size stuffed witch and sat her in the front rocking chair with a bowl of candy in her lap.

  She pulled her sweater around her and stroked Keeper’s soft ears. “Never mind not having our own kids to take trick-or-treating,” she mused, “we can’t even get other people’s kids to come to our house.”

  “Maybe that’s because they know it’s haunted,” Ben teased from the other side of the screen.

  “Or maybe it’s because they know about the curse. You know, because it’s built on an old burial ground.”

  “Maybe,” Ben said, coming out, grabbing a candy bar from the witch’s bowl, and sitting on the other side of Keeper. The big dog swished his tail happily as he sniffed the wrapper.

  “Do you really think that’s possible?” Macey asked. “Could this house be cursed? Could we be cursed for living here?”

  “No,” Ben said firmly, ripping the wrapper off and popping the candy in his mouth. He looked into Keeper’s mournful eyes. “Sorry, buddy, no chocolate for pups.”

  “It seems like we’re cursed,” Macey mused. “Just think about it, the first time I got pregnant was in this house, and every pregnancy since . . .”

  “Mace, that’s crazy. We are not cursed for living here,” Ben said.

  “Well, what about the widow who walks the halls?”

  “What about her?”

  “Maybe, because she never got to have kids, she doesn’t want anyone else to have kids either.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Ben said. “I think the ghoulish spirits have gone to your head.”

  Just then, the door behind them slammed shut and they both jumped. “See?” Macey said.

  “That was the wind,” Ben said matter-of-factly. He watched the swaying trees. “There’s a storm brewing out in the Atlantic, and it’s supposed to rain all day tomorrow.”

  “Great. Just what we need.”