Melinda Curtis - Love, Special Delivery

“I heard.” Olivia drifted in, blowing on her painted fingernails. Except for her manicure, everything about Olivia was minimal—light makeup, bare feet, lemon-colored spaghetti-strap blouse and those dreadful short-shorts. “Look what I did. It’s an American flag.” She angled her hand so Mandy could see. There were red-and-white stripes on some fingernails and white glittery stars on blue backgrounds on her thumbs.

“Very nice.” It was hard to deny her sister had talent when it came to nails, but, “How long did that take you?”

“All day.” Olivia flopped onto the blue plaid couch. It said something to their cleaning skills that no dust billowed.

“I thought we agreed that you’d apply for work today,” Mandy said carefully. That was the trick with teenagers. You had to walk on tiptoe when what you really wanted to do was screech about laziness and lost opportunities and, therefore, break some eggs. That’s what Mandy called the loss of control over her emotions. And losing control meant a pile of eggshells.

Olivia’s innocent brown eyes turned Mandy’s way. “I couldn’t go out without doing my nails.”

Eggshells. Eggshells.

“You realize you have one more day to find a job and then you’re coming to work for me.” Mandy could use her help. Anticipating that need when she’d landed the job, she’d made Olivia take the postal employee test. “I don’t like the idea of you being home alone.” What she would have preferred to have said was Olivia needed to earn her own nail polish money. But that would have been unnecessarily mean.

Olivia admired her nails, as relaxed as Mandy was uptight. “I looked online and there were no job listings.”

“Hence the obvious need to do your nails.” Unable to filter a brief spurt of sarcasm, Mandy drew a deep breath and tried again. “A town as small as Harmony Valley won’t have jobs posted online.”

“We might just as well have moved to the north pole.” Olivia flopped back against the couch, resorting to her best defense—drama. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s no mall or movie theater. What if there’s an emergency? What if I get sick?” She was winding up like a pitcher about to throw a third strike. “What if—”

“We’ve been over this.” Mandy was afraid her smile was slipping. “The nearest hospital is thirty minutes away. Plenty of time to seek care.”

Olivia changed tactics as swiftly as a guppy changed course in a fishbowl. “I didn’t want to move here.”

“Harmony Valley isn’t so bad.” Mandy stared longingly at the remote, wondering how much longer her sister’s energy for an argument would last.

“Mandy.” Olivia said her name as if Mandy was the one being unreasonable. “I meant I didn’t want to move here.” She patted the couch cushion with the heel of her hand, careful of her patriotic nails.

Mandy’s battered patience felt as brittle and treacherous as a thin layer of ice on a blind curve. “I told you. We have bills.” From Olivia’s follow-up medical care, the extras her insurance hadn’t covered. “And we need two months’ rent saved to get a house.” The town had only a few apartments available, and those were mostly studios above the old shops on Main Street.

The size of a place was a moot point. They didn’t have the cash. End of story.

“We’re squatting, Mandy,” Olivia said in a judgy tone, sitting up. “Are postal workers supposed to break the law?”

“No one is supposed to break the law,” Mandy said as stiffly as Ben had given his safety lecture earlier. “I’m the trustee of Grandpa’s estate. I pay the bills that keep the lights on in this house. We can stay here temporarily.” She should have stopped there. She didn’t. “Mom won’t mind.”

Hey, lightning didn’t strike.

Olivia’s chin jutted at the mention of their wanderlusting mother. “If you wouldn’t argue with Mom, she’d come by and see us.”

Mandy refrained from asking where Mom had been during Olivia’s bout with cancer. She refrained from raising her voice or rolling her eyes or giving in to the urge to cry. She’d become quite good at soldiering on, so she swallowed annoyance, gulped back uncertainty and washed it all down with despair, dredging up her most chipper voice. “Do you remember how Grandma and Grandpa danced in the kitchen on New Year’s Eve?” Remembering the good times was often the only thing that held Mandy and her smile together.

“No.” Olivia sniffed and slid her thumbnail along her cuticle. “I don’t remember stuff like that. I’ve got chemo brain.”

Or she just didn’t want to admit she remembered. Someday Mandy was going to find a memory her sister recalled. And then they’d sit together reminiscing. “Did you remember to cook dinner?” she asked, knowing the answer because the house lacked the enticing smell of food in the oven.

“I was busy.” Olivia hadn’t taken her eyes off her nails.

“Brat.” Mandy removed a band from one ponytail and shot it at her sister. It bounced harmlessly off her shoulder and to the brown shag carpet.

“Jailer.” Olivia’s lips twitched.

“Baby.” Mandy’s smile felt more real now.

Olivia grinned. “Old maid.”

Before they could get in another round of insults, someone knocked on the door.

They stared at each other with wide eyes. Mom always knocked. Although per Grandpa’s will, this was their mother’s house. Not that it would be much longer. Grandpa’s money was running out. And their mother couldn’t or wouldn’t pay for property taxes, insurance and utilities.

Mandy’s lips stuck over her dry teeth in what was most certainly more grimace than smile. She wanted to ignore the summons and pretend they weren’t home. Or better yet, escape out the back.

Responsible people don’t run.

That’s what Grandpa used to say.

Clearly, they didn’t always rise to the occasion either, because Mandy didn’t move from her seat.

“Do you think it’s the pizza delivery man?” Olivia stood, holding out a hand to Mandy. “I was just wishing for a pizza.”

Mandy couldn’t be a coward in the face of her sister’s bravery. Besides, for all Olivia’s talk about wanting to see their mother, she wasn’t rushing to the door to greet her. Her little sister played a good game of emotional poker. Too bad Mandy had no time to evaluate the stakes.

She accepted Olivia’s help to stand. “I think it’s the man of my dreams, coming to take me away to his castle.” And pay off her mountain of debt.

Olivia rolled her eyes and then reached over to remove Mandy’s other ponytail band.

Mandy fluffed her hair, which did little good. It fell like two thick handlebars over her shoulders. “It’s probably the neighbors.” The house on one side was vacant, but the house on the corner next to them had a driveway and front door on the cross street.

It wasn’t the pizza delivery man or Prince Charming.

Three older women stood on the front stoop. None of which was their mother.

“Welcome to Harmony Valley.” The first old woman at the door was pint-size with a pixie-cut hairstyle more silver than gray. “I’m Agnes.”

“We brought broccoli casserole.” The willowy woman behind Agnes had a ballerina’s posture and a snow-white chignon. She held a square casserole dish. “I’m Rose.”

Mandy’s stomach growled.

“That’s not pizza.” Behind Mandy, Olivia drew a deep breath. “But I’m not complaining.”

“How about some cookies?” A woman with white fluffy curls peered at Mandy through thick lenses. She pushed her walker forward, clutching a plastic bag full of chocolate chip cookies. “I’m Mildred.”

Mandy’s stomach growled again. She opened the door wider and stepped aside, not complaining that their visitors weren’t her knight in shining armor.