“I DON’T KNOW WHY NOBODY’S ANSWERING THEIR PHONE,” CORA SAID, eyeing the list of numbers on the paper in front of her. She looked up at Harper. “Probably ’cause it’s Saturday and word’s out you been displaced . . . again.”
Harper shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have to stay with you.”
Cora sighed. “I am not supposed to take you home. My house is not a foster home.”
“Well, it should be—it’s the best one I know of . . . and trust me, I’ve seen ’em all.”
“That’s the understatement of the century,” Cora said, shaking her head.
“Rudy and Frank and Joe’ll be glad to see me,” Harper added. She’d secretly been praying no one would answer their phone.
“Let’s just go,” she said, standing up, hoping Cora wouldn’t try to call anyone else. “It’s getting late and I just wanna go to bed.”
“Go to bed?! Ha!” Cora snorted. “If I bring you to my house, you an’ Rudy’ll be up half the night!”
“No, we won’t,” Harper countered, trying to suppress a smile.
Cora looked at the clock and watched the second hand click slowly around its face, marking time. It was already seven thirty and her kids hadn’t even had supper yet. “You are going to be the death of me, child,” she said with a sigh.
She picked up the phone again, and Harper’s face fell. Still, Harper crossed her fingers and squeezed her eyes shut, praying, and then heard Cora say hello—which meant someone had answered. Her heart sank as she pulled Bear against her chest.
“I’d like to order a large pepperoni pizza . . . mm-hmm . . . for pickup . . . yes, thank you.”
Harper’s face lit up with a grin. “I love pepperoni!”
“You just ate,” Cora said, standing and pulling her threadbare coat off the back of her chair.
“I’m still hungry.”
“I thought you were tired.”
“I’m tired and hungry.”
“Well, let’s go,” Cora said, stuffing a pile of papers into her oversize, cluttered bag.
Twenty minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of the one-level apartment complex where balls and bikes of every shape and size were strewn across the grass. Cora started to pull into her spot and almost ran over a bike that was lying on the ground.
“Damn it, Rudy,” she muttered. “That child is always leavin’ her bike where she shouldn’t. I should take it away.”
“I’ll move it,” Harper volunteered, handing the pizza—which had been keeping her legs warm—to Cora and getting out. She steered Rudy’s bike—a bike she’d ridden many times—over to the side of the building and leaned it against the brick wall. Then she walked back to the car and took the pizza from Cora’s outstretched hands.
The outside lights blinked on and the door opened. “Mama!” eight-year-old Joe cried.
“Pizza!” fourteen-year-old Frank said, smiling.
Then, nine-year-old Rudy appeared. “Harper!” she shouted, running out in her stocking feet to give her best friend a hug.
“Hi, Rudy,” Harper said, smiling shyly.
“What’d you do now?” Rudy teased, putting her hands on her hips.
“It wasn’t my fault . . . ,” Harper said defensively.
“Ha!” Cora interjected, lifting the gallon of milk off the back seat. “That boy didn’t hit himself.”
“No, but he did make fun of me in front of everyone.”
“Okay, that’s enough. It’s water under the bridge,” Cora said, glad to be home and ready to put the long day behind her. “Who’s hungry?”
Four hands shot into the air as a chorus of voices cried, “Meee!”
Cora handed a gallon of milk to Frank and ushered everyone—including McMuffin, the family’s gray tiger cat—inside, where Harper immediately knelt down to stroke the cat’s silky fur. Harper had always wanted a pet. She had adored Tom and Mary’s dog, and whenever she stayed at Cora’s, she loved playing with McMuffin.
“How come that pile of laundry is still on that chair?” Cora asked, eyeing Frank.
“Because I’ve been doing homework,” Frank said, putting the milk on the counter.
“You have not,” Rudy tattled. “It’s Saturday and all you been doin’ is watchin’ videos on your laptop.”
Frank gave his little sister a dirty look. “You know how to fold clothes, too.”
“It’s your job this week,” Rudy said, climbing up on a chair to get a stack of white-and-blue Pyrex plates out of the cabinet.
“It’s also my job to make sure you and Joe are safe while Mama’s at work,” Frank said matter-of-factly. “Laundry’s a girl’s job.”
“Laundry is not a girl’s job,” Cora scolded as she slid four slices of pizza onto plates. “Pour the milk please.”
Frank set out five glasses. “You want some, Mama?”
“No, thanks,” Cora said. “I’ll just have water.”
Frank poured the milk and ran the tap until it was cold and filled the last glass with water. Then he set all the glasses on the table and brought the folding chair from the computer desk in for Harper.
“Thanks,” Harper said, sitting down and taking a big bite out of her pizza.
She felt a bony elbow bump into her ribs and looked over at Rudy. “What?” she asked, frowning.
“You’re supposed to wait till everyone is served . . . and we say grace,” Rudy whispered.
Harper felt her cheeks flame. “Oh, I forgot,” she whispered back, putting her pizza slice down. Cora’s house was the only one besides Tom and Mary’s where people said a prayer before they ate. It was also the only place where everyone politely waited for everyone else to be seated and served, too.
“Ay-men,” everyone—including Harper—whispered reverently when Cora finished giving thanks and asking for continued guidance in their lives.
Cora smiled and finally relaxed long enough to look around at her beloved brood. She took a sip of her water and then a small bite of her pizza. With Harper there, she’d have only one slice so all the kids could eat their fill. She knew Frank could easily eat half the pie himself!
After the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, and everyone’s teeth brushed, Cora pulled an old squeaky cot out of the closet and set it up next to Rudy’s bed. Then she found the sheets and blanket on a shelf and set them on the mattress. “I’m going to be folding the laundry, and I don’t want to hear you two talking half the night.”
“We won’t,” Rudy promised.
Harper stretched the bottom sheet over the flimsy mattress. “I wish I could live here,” she said softly.
“I wish you could, too,” Rudy agreed, shaking open the top sheet. “Then we could take the bus together and do our homework together and everythin’. It would be so great.” She looked up from fluffing the pillow. “Why don’t you ask my mom?”
“I did,” Harper said, tucking in the blanket. “She said it wouldn’t work—she doesn’t make enough money, and there isn’t enough room, and this isn’t a foster home . . . and I’m not black.”
“She said all that?” Rudy asked in surprise. “I don’t think that last part matters.”
“Matters to her,” Harper said, flopping onto the cot, and smiling when McMuffin hopped up next to her.
Rudy frowned. “Maybe she’s worried you won’t get along . . . or kids will make fun of you.”
“Maybe,” Harper said, stroking McMuffin’s fur, “but it wouldn’t be any different.”
“I thought people who took in foster kids got paid.”
“They do, but I guess it’s not enough.”
Rudy nodded. “So, what do you want to do tomorrow?”
“I don’t know . . . ride bikes? Go to the playground?”
“Okay,” Rudy said. “How about Monopoly or Clue?”
“Okay.”
“Rudy?”
“Yeah?”
“Wouldn’t it be great if we were sisters?”
“It would be,” Rudy said, pulling up her covers. “But we’ll always be best friends.”
“Cross your heart?”
Rudy smiled. “Cross my heart,” she said, crossing her finger in front of her chest. She reached over to turn off her lamp. “At least we have this weekend.”
“Yeah,” Harper murmured sleepily, still petting McMuffin while pulling Bear against the twinge in her chest. “It’d be great if it lasted forever.”
“It would be,” Rudy agreed, and then she heard Harper breathing softly and knew she’d fallen asleep. It would be so great if she had a sister. She was tired of only having brothers.