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?”