Love, Special Delivery. Melinda Curtis
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.
Ballerina Rose glided past and delivered the casserole to the kitchen. “Oh,” she said upon reaching the cluttered sink. She set the casserole on the counter and began to wash their dirty dishes.
Mandy hurried into the kitchen, hoping no one ventured into her bedroom and noticed the clothes she’d worn yesterday in a pile on the floor. “You don’t have to do that.”
I should have broken some eggshells. Maybe then Olivia would’ve completed her chores.
“I don’t mind,” Rose kindly said. “You look like doing dishes would do you in.”
“Rose is right.” Agnes drew Mandy back to the living room. “Sit down and have one of Mildred’s cookies.”
Cookies. Mandy’s stomach growled a third time. She sat like a well-trained dog awaiting a deserved treat. Olivia did the same. In their love of chocolate, they were united.
Mildred positioned her walker next to Mandy, flipped the seat down and sat on it. She handed Mandy the cookie bag. “Agnes, do you think these girls have low blood sugar? Diabetes ran in the Zapien family, and they look pale.”
Olivia managed to bite her lip and frown at the same time. She needed to work on her smile.
“No. They’re clear-eyed.” Agnes pushed the top of Mandy’s chair, sending her into recline. “More likely they’re just tired. Can you imagine moving here, and then cleaning out George and Utley’s mess at the post office?”
“I can.” Mildred patted Mandy’s arm. “I’ve seen Utley’s living room. You take it easy tonight, honey.”
Mandy couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of her. It gave her a warm feeling. She grabbed a cookie and took a big bite.
“Hey,” Olivia protested, scurrying over to get one.
“That’s it.” Agnes patted Mandy’s crown. “We need milk, Rose.”
Luckily, they had some. Unluckily, to find it Rose had to open the refrigerator.
The sticky fridge door protested being opened, and Rose protested, too, opening it with a strangled noise.
Mandy’s grandmother would be horrified that one of the neighbors had evidence Mandy wasn’t Suzy Homemaker. Sadly, Mandy was her grandmother’s kin. She didn’t like the idea either.
That called for another bite of rich chocolate. “Remind me. How do I know you three?” They seemed so familiar and yet they were strangers, not to mention taking over the house. “Do you live next door?”
“No. We’re the town council.” Mildred’s gaze floated in an unfocused manner over Mandy’s face, blue eyes huge and distorted behind those thick lenses. “Been serving since you were... Well, we’ve been serving a long time.” Despite the bug eyes, Mildred had a Mrs. Claus vibe that was oddly comforting, almost as good as chocolate.
Their faces—younger, yet not young—came back to Mandy. Growing up, she’d seen them at town festivals, at school events, at the ice cream parlor.
“One day you’ll have to tell us about your grandfather,” Agnes said in an I’m-so-sorry tone of voice, the kind that always brought tears to Mandy’s eyes. “I always admired George and Blythe for taking you kids in when Teri was—”
“A flake.” Rose returned to the living room with a glass of milk and indicated Mandy sit up. “Your mother is a flake.”
Olivia stopped chewing. She claimed a blind admiration for their mother. Mandy had given up arguing with her about Mom years ago.
Rose handed the milk to Mandy, paused and put on an apologetic smile. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Mandy bit into another cookie, making short work of the sweet treat. So much for casserole. “Have you seen my mother in town recently?”
“No.” Rose returned from the kitchen almost immediately and handed Olivia a glass of milk. “You need some fresh baking soda in that fridge.”
“Vinegar,” Mildred said.
“It smells like there might be something dead underneath.” Agnes leaned down to admire Olivia’s handiwork. “Those are very pretty nails.”
Her praise won Olivia over. She preened. “If you like that, look at my feet.” She’d done them yesterday.
Agnes bent over, hands on knees. “Are those fireworks or chrysanthemums?”
“Fireworks.” Olivia wiggled her toes.
“Are you licensed?” Rose drifted closer to Olivia. “We’ve got a hairstylist in town, but not a nail lady.”
“Not yet. I’m going to cosmetology school in a few months. My grandpa left me money, but said I have to wait until I’m eighteen to collect.”
Mandy’s feeling of comfort evaporated. She