by Nan Rossiter
Cora gave Macey a puzzled look and allowed herself to be led from the room, and when they reached the bottom step, she let go and sat down near Keeper, who immediately stood up and pushed his head into her chest. Harper leaned over him and buried her tear-streaked face into his soft fur.
“Would you still like some tea, Harper?” Macey asked gently. Harper wrapped her arms around Keeper’s neck and shook her head, and Macey turned to Cora. “How about you, Cora?”
Cora pressed her lips together and nodded. “Yes, please, but if you could just give us a minute.”
“Of course,” Macey said, nodding. “I also have some chocolate chip blondies that I made last night. Ben, can you help me in the kitchen?” She bit her lip, and when she caught Ben’s eye, he raised his eyebrows and shook his head—maybe this wasn’t going to go as well as they’d hoped.
“It’s not easy for me to get down here you know,” Cora said, struggling to settle next to Harper. “You’re probably going to have to help me get up.”
Harper nodded but kept her eyes focused on Keeper.
“So what’s going on?” Cora asked gently. “Before we went upstairs, everything seemed okay. What changed?”
Harper shrugged and stroked Keeper’s soft ears. “I don’t know. They’re too nice—she’s saying they’re going to let me help decorate, and buy me clothes and a computer . . .” She looked up at Cora, her eyes glassy with tears. “I don’t believe it.”
Cora sighed and watched her pet the big golden. “Do you honestly think they could be mean and have such a sweet dog?”
Harper shrugged again, considering this, and then a moment later, a big gray tiger cat scooted by. “They have a cat, too?!”
Cora nodded. “They do.”
“He looks just like McMuffin.”
“He certainly does,” Cora said with a smile. “So do you really want to give up the chance to live with this beautiful dog who is obviously in love with you . . . and a cat who looks just like McMuffin?”
Harper shrugged. “I guess I’ll give it a chance.”
“Good. Now help me up so I can have my tea.”
Harper stood up and held out her hands, and as she helped her up, she said, “You still have to come get me if I’m not happy.”
“Of course!” she said, pulling her into a hug. “I would go to the ends of the earth for you!”
“Ha!” Harper said, smiling into her old friend’s soft bosom. “You’d go to the ends of the earth to get rid of me.”
Cora pulled back, chuckling. “That’s not true, but at least you’re smiling.”
Just then, Keeper nuzzled between them and Harper stroked his head. “The only reason I’m giving this a try is because of Mr. Peterson’s dog . . . and cat,” she added softly.
Cora stepped back in surprise. “How do you know about Mr. Peterson’s pets?”
“Cora, you know what you always say,” Harper said with a grin. “Ain’t no flies on me!”
“That’s for sure,” Cora said, shaking her head. “God help Macey and Ben.”
51
“HAVE A GOOD DAY, KEEP,” HARPER WHISPERED, WRAPPING HER ARMS around the big dog’s neck. “I wish I could stay home, but the storm’s over and school’s open again, so I guess I gotta go.” After her initial visit to Macey and Ben’s house, Harper had reluctantly accepted their invitation to spend the night. But, she had told Cora on their way back to the apartment to get her things, it’s only because they have a dog and cat. Keeper thumped his tail and she held his head in her hands and kissed his brow. “I’ll be back. Promise.”
“Ready, Harper?” Macey called from the front hall.
“Coming!” she called as she picked up her new backpack and stopped to look in the mirror. She was wearing a new outfit, her favorite of the several she’d picked when she and Macey had ventured out after the storm. They’d met Macey’s sister for lunch, and then Harper—who’d decided Maeve was absolutely awesome and funny—had invited her to go shopping with them. This outfit—slim navy capris with a pink flower design and a long-sleeve pink shirt—was one of several Maeve had helped her choose, advising her that pink always goes with red hair and freckles. She was also wearing pink canvas Converse high-tops and a pink fleece that was as soft as a cloud.
“Nervous?” Macey asked as they walked to the car, smiling at the outfit.
“A little,” Harper replied, trying to sound casual, even though her heart was pounding again. The last two days had gone better than she expected. The hurricane had brushed the coast before heading north, and although it was predicted to gain strength, Georgia had seen the worst it would see. The seventy-mile-an-hour winds and pelting rain had made it hazardous enough for authorities to close schools and businesses, which gave families some unexpected quality time, and Harper’s new foster family had made the most of it.
When the power went out, Keeper and Big Mac curled up in the warm glow of the fireplace and dozed as Macey and Ben taught Harper how to play Parcheesi. Keeper had edged closer when they roasted hot dogs and made s’mores, and later, as the storm raged, rattling windows and swaying trees, they’d all tucked safely into sleeping bags with Keeper and Big Mac curled up between them. Harper had gazed into the fire for a long time, pulled Bear close, and fallen asleep with her arm over Keeper’s neck. Macey and Ben had lain awake a little longer, talking softly, neither quite able to believe there was a little person in their care, and even though Macey worked in a pediatrician’s office, she had definite qualms about the fragile heart beating in Harper’s chest, and she prayed nothing would happen.
“Something new for you to worry about,” Ben had teased, kissing her good night.
After he’d fallen asleep, too, Macey had continued to watch the glowing embers and felt amazed by everything that had happened. In the short time Harper had been there, she’d already seen the little girl’s self-preserving outer shell start to crack, revealing a kindhearted soul who adored animals and had a truly silly sense of humor. She also realized, when Harper drew a portrait of Keeper, that she was a wonderful artist. More than once, she’d had the strange feeling that she was seeing her younger self—a feisty little redhead with a penchant for teasing Ben. “Oh no,” he’d laughed goodheartedly, taking it all in stride when she was winning at a game. “I think I’m outnumbered! Keep, you’ve gotta help me out here!” And the big dog had swished his tail in happy agreement.
“So we’re going to the main office first to find out which classroom you’re in, and then we’re going to stop at the nurse’s office and give her your medicine,” Macey said. “If you have any problems or don’t feel well, you need to go straight to her, okay?”
Harper nodded. “I hope I don’t have any problems.”
“I hope not, too,” Macey said, looking over. “I think you’ll like this school. Ben went here when he was your age. It had a different name back then, and it wasn’t a charter school like it is now. The way they teach is a little bit different, and they do a lot of fun things.”
“How come you didn’t go here?”
“I didn’t live here till I was in eighth grade.”
“Where’d you live before that?”
“Maine.”
“That’s far away,” Harper said matter-of-factly, not sure exactly where Maine was. “How come you moved here?”
“My dad got a new job.”
Harper nodded. “I don’t know where my dad is.”
Macey nodded but didn’t say anything—she didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “Here we are,” she said, turning into the school parking lot.
Harper looked at the long, low building and pressed her lips together pensively. “Do they have your number at work?”
“They do. And you have it in your backpack, too.”
Harper fumbled around in the pockets of her new backpack, trying to remember where she’d tucked the index card on which Macey had neatly printed their phone numbers. She finally found it, pulled it out, and studied it, trying to commit the numbers
to memory. “Are you picking me up?”
“I am,” Macey confirmed. When the whirlwind of events had been coming together, making them foster parents, she’d called Marilyn at work to tell her the big news, and Marilyn had told Macey not to worry about a thing—they would manage . . . and they were all very happy for them.
“And we’re having spaghetti for supper,” Macey added.
“I love spaghetti!” Harper said in surprise.
“I know,” Macey said, laughing.
“How do you know that?” Harper asked.
“A little bird told me.”
“A little bird named Miss Cora?”
“Maybe.”
Harper shook her head and smiled as she climbed out of the car, but when she slung her backpack over her shoulder, she felt a sharp pain shoot through her chest and her smile faded. She clenched her jaw, willing it to go away. She didn’t want anything to go wrong today.
52
WITHIN TEN MINUTES OF WALKING THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR, HARPER decided she loved her new school. It wasn’t like any other school she’d attended. She followed Macey into the office, where everyone went out of their way to welcome her. The school nurse, Ms. Fisher—who happened to be getting her mail—told her to come by and see her anytime, not just when she didn’t feel well—which, hopefully wouldn’t happen.
Macey finished Harper’s paperwork and turned to give her a hug, but the little girl had already turned away. Macey swallowed, taking it in stride, but then Harper surprised her by turning around to give Macey a brave smile and a thumbs-up before following Ms. Fisher—who said Harper’s classroom was on the way to her office—down the hall.
“You’re going to really like Mrs. Holland,” Ms. Fisher said as they walked past several classrooms. “Her two favorite things are animals and art.”
“Those are my favorite things!” Harper said in surprise.
Ms. Fisher knocked on the last door at the end of the hall and peeked in. “I have a new student for you, Mrs. Holland,” she called.
Harper listened to the commotion inside the classroom and felt her heart pounding.
“Come on in, new student!” Mrs. Holland called back cheerfully.
Harper stepped into the bright, airy room and Ms. Fisher introduced her. “Hey, everyone, this is Harper.”
Fifteen faces looked up. “Hi, Harper!” they said in unison as Mrs. Holland walked over to shake her hand.
Ms. Fisher handed Harper’s paperwork to Mrs. Holland and they spoke briefly outside. Then Mrs. Holland came back in and smiled, her kind eyes seeming to smile, too. “Well, Harper, you are just in time. We have a field trip to the Tybee Island Marine Science Center in a couple of weeks and we were just getting ready to watch a documentary about rescuing sea turtles, which is one of the things they do there.”
Harper nodded shyly and looked around the room.
“Sam, why don’t you show Harper where she can hang her jacket, and then, Harper, you can sit at the desk next to Sam.”
Sam showed Harper the cloakroom and then smiled as she slipped behind her new desk.
“Can someone get the lights?” Mrs. Holland asked as she opened the DVD and inserted it into the player.
Harper watched a girl get up from her desk and hurry over to the light switch.
“Thanks, Cara,” Mrs. Holland said, aiming the remote at the player and tapping the arrow.
As soon as the first baby turtle swam onto the screen, Harper and the rest of the class were captivated by the plight of the Kemp’s ridley sea turtle and the Herculean effort New England beachcombers make each fall to rescue them. When the water temperature drops below fifty-two degrees, the turtles start to seek warmer water, but some have trouble finding their way out of Cape Cod Bay. Volunteers walk the shoreline after every high tide and, if they find a turtle, they move it a safe distance from the water, surround it with seaweed, and notify the Wellfleet Bay Wildlife Sanctuary. A staff member from the sanctuary then heads out—even if it’s in the middle of the night—locates the turtle, gently places it in a banana box lined with a soft towel, and brings it back to the sanctuary for evaluation. If it survives, it’s transported to the New England Aquarium for rehab, and is eventually transported to marine science centers like the one on Tybee Island, so that it can be released into warmer water.
The class oohed and aahed over every new discovery the volunteers made, especially when it was revealed that more than twelve hundred turtles were rescued in 2014. “Wow!” Sam said in awe. “That’s a lot of turtles!”
“It is a lot of turtles,” Mrs. Holland agreed, turning on the lights. “Now, who can tell me the kind of turtle they rescue the most?”
At the question, sixteen hands shot up in the air.
“Yes, Cara?”
“Kemp’s ridley.”
“Correct. And what other kinds do they find?”
Fewer hands went up this time.
“Yes, Sam?”
“Green turtles,” he answered.
“Good. And does anyone remember the names of the bigger turtles?”
This time, only Harper’s hand shot up.
“Harper,” she called.
“Loggerheads and leatherbacks.”
“Very good!” She paused as she fiddled with the TV remote and then looked back at her class. “Now, everyone, if you would please open your journals, so we can write all this down.” She smiled. “Can anyone tell me why we’re writing it down?”
Everyone’s hand except Harper’s shot up this time.
Mrs. Holland picked a boy in the front row. “Jon?”
“Because writing stuff down helps you remember it.”
“Right,” Mrs. Holland said. “Boy, do I have smart kids!”
As her classmates reached into their desks for their journals, Harper tentatively raised her hand, and Mrs. Holland eyed her. “I bet you’re going to tell me you don’t have a journal.”
Harper nodded and Mrs. Holland smiled. “Well, it just so happens I have an extra one.” She opened a closet and pulled out a brand-new navy-blue journal. “Now, don’t forget,” Mrs. Holland continued, addressing the class. “We can also draw in our journals, so if anyone wants to draw a sea turtle, I have photos up here you can use for reference.”
Harper looked through the photos, picked one, walked back to her desk, and spent the next half hour absorbed in shading the delicate wrinkles around the turtle’s eyes and on its neck and then tried to meticulously replicate the intricate design on its shell. When she finished, she leaned back in her chair, feeling oddly content, and took the moment to look around her new classroom.
Sunshine streamed through the windows, illuminating all the different study areas—a cozy reading corner with shelves of books and a rug with bean bag chairs; there was a science area with an aquarium filled with goldfish . . . and there was a large cage with two pet guinea pigs! There were also pictures on every inch of wall space: from a huge map of the world to a map of all the constellations in the night sky. There were posters everywhere of every subject from lighthouses to the Iditarod—it was unlike any classroom she’d ever been in! Finally, her eyes landed on a framed print next to the blackboard, and under the title Class Rules was an acrostic poem with the word THINK written vertically; across from each letter was a matching question: Is it True? Is it Helpful? Is it Inspiring? Is it Necessary? Is it Kind? Harper studied the poem, carefully considering the behavior Mrs. Holland expected. She looked back at her drawing, and then realized Sam was looking over her shoulder, too. “Wow, Harper! You’re a good artist!” he exclaimed, and immediately, the rest of the class clamored around her desk. Mrs. Holland walked over, too, and nodded approvingly. “Harper, that is beautiful! You’ll have to bring it when we go on our field trip to show everyone at the science center.”
Harper nodded shyly, her heart swelling with pride.
53
“HOW’RE THINGS GOING?” MAEVE ASKED, TAKING A SIP OF HER COFFEE. The two sisters had met for a quick breakfast bef
ore they each had to be at work.
“Okay,” Macey said.
Maeve raised her eyebrows. “Just okay? Why? What’s going on?”
Macey wrapped her hands around her mug, warming her hands on the chilly autumn morning. “I don’t know . . . Harper’s been with us for more than a week and it still feels like she’s keeping us—or at least me—at arm’s length. She adores Keeper and Big Mac—she’s constantly wrapping her arms around them, and she even seems to be warming up to Ben, but with me . . . it’s different. I mean, it’s getting better—the other day when I picked her up from school, she seemed to open up a little . . . I even got her to laugh, but it doesn’t last and there’re moments when she still seems so wary.”
Maeve nodded, swallowing a bite of her Sunny Day Biscuit—a special at another of their favorite breakfast spots, Back in the Day Bakery.
“It’s going to take time,” Maeve said, brushing the crumbs off her lips with her napkin. “It’s a big adjustment and she hasn’t really had anyone in her life she can trust. Well, besides Cora.”
“I know,” Macey said, cutting the cranberry-orange scone on her plate in half. “But she became best friends with you in just one afternoon!”
Maeve laughed. “Oh, well, I can’t help it if I have a wonderful, warm personality that draws people in.”
“I have a wonderful, warm personality . . . and I work with little kids. You work with old people!”
Maeve laughed again. “Hey! My sundowners would take exception to that—they’d say they are young at heart . . . and I think, in some ways, old folks are like little kids. Besides, Harper is sort of an old soul. She’s been through—and seen—so much in her short nine years I think she’s wise beyond her years.”
Macey nodded thoughtfully. “I just thought it would be easier.”
“How’s she doing in school?”
“She loves it. She’s making friends—there’s a little boy who sits at the desk next to her—Sam—who she talks about all the time, and her teacher, Mrs. Holland, says she’s very smart and adores the two guinea pigs they have in the classroom—their names are Harold and Maude, and she wondered if Harper might like to bring them home over winter break.” Macey laughed. “I haven’t told Ben yet—just what we need—more animals! But how could I say no? She’s like an animal whisperer . . . oh, and did I tell you she’s an amazing artist?”