HARPER OPENED HER EYES AND BLINKED AT THE BRIGHT SUNLIGHT streaming through the window. She was so glad Cora had been able to get special permission for her to stay with them. She looked around the room and rubbed her chest, but the pain was gone. She pushed back her blanket and sat up, making the cot squeak. “Rudy, you awake?” she asked softly.
An unintelligible mumble came from the bed next to her.
“It’s morning.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I smell bacon.”
“Mom’s making pancakes,” Rudy murmured sleepily.
Harper’s eyes brightened. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had pancakes. “Is it okay if I go see?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Harper tiptoed down the hall and saw Cora standing at the stove. She was humming something, but as soon as Harper peered around the doorway, she stopped. “How you feelin’, baby?”
Harper’s eyes grew wide. “How’d you know I was here?”
Cora smiled but didn’t turn around. “Because I have eyes in the back of my head.”
“You do not,” Harper said, inspecting the back of Cora’s curly salt-and-pepper head, just to be sure. “What are you making?”
“Blueberry pancakes.”
“Can I help?”
“Sure.” Cora took a sip of her coffee and turned the bacon, which was sizzling and popping in an old cast-iron pan. She looked down at Harper’s tangled red hair. “You have some serious bed head goin’ on, girl.”
“I know,” Harper said, peering at the bacon. “Mrs. Lewis said it’s a rat’s nest, and it hurt when she brushed it. She said I need a damn haircut.”
Cora sighed. “Maybe we can fit one in. And you don’t need to repeat everything Mrs. Lewis says exactly the way she says it.”
“Oh, that’s nothing! She says a lot worse than that.”
“Well, it’s not very ladylike, and if you want to be a lady, you won’t copy her.”
Harper grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re such a fresh kid,” Cora said, chuckling.
“I know.”
Harper watched Cora scoop flour into a measuring cup. “What can I do?”
“You can start by rinsing the blueberries,” Cora said, pointing to a container on the counter, “and then you can help make the batter.”
“Okay.” Harper turned on the cold water and held the container under it, popping several plump blueberries into her mouth at the same time. “Mmm, these are good!”
Cora looked over. “Don’t eat ’em all or we’ll be having plain pancakes.”
Harper popped one more in her mouth and then turned off the water and set the container on a paper towel. She watched Cora pour milk into the flour mixture.
“Do you know how to crack an egg?”
Harper shrugged. “I guess.”
Core looked at her and frowned. “You’re ten years old an’ you never broke an egg?”
“Nine.”
“Nine, ten”—Cora sighed as she reached for an egg—“High time you learn, regardless.” She cracked the egg on the edge of the bowl, pulled the edges apart, and released the egg with a dusty plop onto the flour. Then she nodded to the other egg. “You try.” Harper reached for the egg and tapped it gently on the edge of the bowl. “A little harder,” Cora instructed, and Harper tapped the egg harder, but because she was holding it too tightly, it broke in her hands. “That’s okay,” Cora said, pushing Harper’s hands over the bowl. “Jus’ let it go.”
Harper dropped the whole egg, shell and all, into the bowl and then held her dripping hands over it. “Sorry,” she said softly, feeling stupid.
“It’s okay, baby,” Cora said, reaching into the bowl to pick out the pieces of shell. “It takes a little practice. You’ll get the hang of it. Wash your hands good, though.”
Harper started to rinse her hands, but when Cora looked over and realized she was only using cold water, she turned on the hot. “You have to use hot water and soap.”
“Why?” Harper asked, frowning.
“Salmonella.”
“What’s sam-o-nella?”
“It’s bacteria that can make you sick.”
“Oh,” Harper said, frowning again. “Can you die from it?”
“Probably not, but it’ll give you the runs and make you real sick, so anytime you handle eggs or raw meat, you have to wash with hot sudsy water.”
Harper squeezed more soap onto her palms and washed her hands again—she had enough to worry about without worrying about getting the runs from sam-o-nella, too.
“Can I help?” Rudy asked, coming into the kitchen.
“Sure,” Cora said, handing her the spatula.
Rudy pulled a chair up to the counter, and without needing any direction, started to stir the flour, eggs, and milk. “How come there’s eggshell in here?”
“Because we wanted crunchy pancakes,” Cora said, winking at Harper—who grinned and winked back.
A moment later, Harper was on the chair next to Rudy, both eating just as many blueberries as Harper was dropping into the bowl. “It’s ready, Mama,” Rudy announced.
Cora peered into the bowl to check the consistency. “Okay,” she said, nodding. And as Rudy ladled generous scoops of batter onto the hot griddle, Harper hopped down to set the table.
“I just love it here,” she announced, bending down to stroke McMuffin’s soft fur. Then she poured orange juice into the glasses Cora had set out and hopped back on the chair with Rudy.
“How they comin’, Rudy?” she asked, draping her arm over her friend’s shoulder.
“They’s a-comin’,” Rudy said, laughing and putting her arm around Harper’s shoulder, too.
Cora took a sip of her coffee and watched them. Just a week earlier, Harper had been in the emergency room. Now she was hopping around, helping make pancakes.
“Don’t be fooled,” Dr. Hack had warned. “Things can change in a heartbeat.”
Cora sighed—she’d had to do some serious wrangling to get permission for Harper to stay with her, even temporarily. In the end, the only reason her boss had given in was because Harper’s medical issues were so serious . . . and the fact that other foster homes weren’t available. No one wanted Harper. She had literally nowhere else to go. Still, Cora wished she could do more for her. Every once in a while a child came through the system who found a special place in her heart, and that fresh little redhead was definitely one of them. As tough as she was on the outside, Cora knew it was all a front—a defense mechanism to protect her from getting hurt again—and she was really a softy on the inside. She’d thought seriously about adopting her—she’d even prayed about it, but she just didn’t get the sense that it was the right answer. The good Lord must have someone else in mind, and she wished he would show his hand.