Like Dandelion Dust

  She straightened. What else could she do? Her fingers trembled, her heart pounding harder than before. Then it hit her. The baseboards needed cleaning. She left Joey’s room, padded downstairs, flipped on the lights, and looked around. Twice a week a housekeeper put in three hours doing the tougher jobs, so there wasn’t much mess to take care of.

  But the baseboards . . . They hadn’t been cleaned in six months at least.

  She poured a bowl of warm soapy water, found a rag, and quietly moved to the far end of the house. She stooped down, dipped the rag into the water, and wrung it out. The house was still, silent. As if all of her existence were holding its breath in anticipation of the terror that lay ahead.

  How could it have come to this? Jack had called every attorney in the state—everyone who might handle an adoption case—and all of them had said the same thing. Fraud in the original documents meant that those documents were nullified. As if they’d never been signed at all.

  “Think of it this way,” one attorney told Jack. “You were lucky to have the boy for four years.”

  Molly put her shoulders into the task and rubbed at the first section of baseboard. Lucky to have him for four years? Was the world really that insane? Were people really that insensitive? Adoption didn’t mean a lesser bond with a child. It was a bond she and Jack had chosen, and it was no different than if she’d birthed Joey herself. He was their son. Nothing could be more clear and obvious.

  She scrubbed farther down the baseboard, all her fear and frustration and fury directed at whatever dirt had dared to accumulate there. She and Jack and Gus were all the family Joey had ever known. He was too young to understand about adoption, so when this came up—when it was clear that they had no choice about the impending first visit—they told him the only thing they could. A judge wanted him to take a trip, and so he had to take it.

  He was scared to death.

  They could both see that. Last night when they tucked him in, he hugged Molly’s neck longer than usual. “How ’bout you go with me, Mommy? Would that be okay?” He looked at Jack. “Or you, Daddy. They wouldn’t care if I brought you, would they?”

  She and Jack were out of answers. How were they supposed to tell him that his birth parents wanted him back, that he had a biological father somewhere who was just released from prison, a guy who liked to hit people—especially his wife?

  And now a judge was making him visit those same people.

  It made no sense no matter how they looked at it. They could hardly expect Joey to make sense of it, or to find peace in their answers. Instead he tried to be brave. Jack sat on the edge of his bed and stroked his hair. “It’ll be a short trip, sport.”

  Joey nodded. He sucked on his lower lip, probably trying not to cry. “Okay.”

  But what must he think about the whole thing? She put the rag back in the water, swished it around, and wrung it out again. What sort of parents let a stranger take their little boy to another state? Even if she was a social worker? Joey wouldn’t understand that.

  Molly scrubbed the next section of baseboard. She replayed the conversation she’d had with Jack in the park that day, the first time they were forced to realize the truth about the situation: that it was more than a slight wrinkle in their plans—it was a machete positioned directly over their family. We can leave the country, Molly . . . disappear . . . With every day that passed, she’d given his idea more thought. At first she’d figured he was delusional, crazy with fear and grief, the way she was. But he’d made it clear since then. He was absolutely serious.

  The decision was Molly’s. If she gave her okay, Jack would set the plan in motion, and sometime before Joey’s fourth visit, the three of them would disappear. Like Joey’s dandelion dust. She slid across the floor a few feet and rubbed out a dirt smudge on the shiny white wall. No smudges—not here and not in their life. Everything had been perfect, hadn’t it? What happened to the pixie dust?

  God . . . what about Beth’s prayer? Molly barely spoke the words, and once she’d said them she blew at a stray piece of hair on her cheek. What had Beth said? People who prayed could at least be sure of God’s will. Sometimes God gave people the answer they wanted and sometimes He didn’t. But either way, if you talked to God about it, the outcome would be in line with His will.

  At least that was the way Beth saw it.

  Jack’s take was entirely different. They’d had the conversation three nights ago. “God’s will?” He laughed and raked his fingers through his hair. “Are you kidding? You want me to wait around for God’s will when my son’s future is at stake?”

  Molly didn’t know what to say. “It’s not my idea, it’s Beth’s.”

  “Well.” Jack rolled his eyes. “I think we both know about Beth and Bill. They’re a couple of religious fanatics, Molly. We can’t let them sway us now. We have to do something before we run out of time.”

  “But if God wants us to have Joey, Beth says everything’ll work out somehow.”

  “Look, Beth is not the one about to lose her son.” Jack lowered his voice. He took her hands and begged her with his eyes. “Please, Molly. Don’t consider such a thing. Besides . . . what if God’s will is for the Porters to have him?”

  That was something Molly hadn’t thought about. She figured that if God could see the big picture—the way Beth believed He could—then He would know implicitly that Joey belonged with them. Certainly the child didn’t belong with a convicted felon, a man given to violence. Right?

  The conversation about God died there. She and Jack had been on edge, but they’d agreed not to fight. There was no point. They needed each other now more than ever. Molly didn’t push the issue, and last night after they tucked Joey in for bed, Jack gently pulled her into his arms. “Help me, Molly.” His voice cracked as he spoke into her hair. He held her tighter than usual. “I’m out of options. I don’t know what to do.”

  Neither did she. The tears had been nearly constant, and they came again now as she scrubbed the baseboards. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve since her hands were both wet with soapy water. Allyson Bower would be there in less than four hours, and their precious Joey would walk out the door with her. They could do nothing now to stop the visit from happening.

  Molly kept cleaning, working the rag painstakingly over every inch of baseboard until it was cleaner than it had ever been. The project killed two hours. Just as she was finishing, she heard Joey’s voice upstairs.

  “Mommy! Mommy, where are you?”

  Every morning he fell out of bed, and before he rubbed his eyes or took a first look at the world, he stumbled down the hall and crawled in bed between them. Gus was usually not far behind. It was their special way of waking up, with Joey snuggled in the middle, whispering good morning first to his daddy, then to her. She dropped the rag in the soapy water and turned toward the sound of his voice. He must’ve gone into their room and seen she wasn’t there. Now he was wandering the hall looking for her.

  She stood and felt a sudden pain in her knees. All that time kneeling without once taking a break—of course they hurt. “Joey . . . I’m down here.”

  “Mommy!” She heard his feet padding down the stairs. He came into sight, his eyes still only half open. He was wearing his basketball pajamas, one of the few pairs he owned that still had feet sewn into them. He held his arms out and took little running steps to her. “Mommy, there you are!”

  She stooped back down and held him close, ignoring her knees. With his little body tight against hers, she rocked him and whispered near his ear, “I’m here, baby. I didn’t go anywhere.”

  “I thought the strange lady came and took you instead.” He pulled back and looked at her. Confusion filled his expression, and he blinked a few times, trying to wake up. “But you’re still here.”

  “Ah, Joey . . .” She hated having to hesitate, because the words she was about to say might not be true. But she spoke them anyway. “I’ll always be here, buddy. No matter what.”

  Jack came down the
n, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Their eyes met, and she could see his were swollen. “Good morning.” His tone was subdued, the desperation barely hidden.

  “Morning.” She stood up and found a smile for Joey. “Let’s cook your favorite breakfast.”

  “Blueberry French toast?” He jumped up a few times. But the excitement in his face faded almost as soon as it appeared. “You mean a’cause I’m leaving on a trip?”

  Molly picked up her bowl of dirty water. She wanted to throw it out the window, grab Joey’s hand and Jack’s, and run for their lives. And wasn’t that all Jack wanted to do, anyway? Instead she took Joey’s hand with her free one and nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s right. A good breakfast makes a trip go by more quickly.”

  “Okay.” Joey followed her to the sink. “Should I get dressed first?”

  The idea sent terrified chills down her arms. Get dressed? To leave the house with a social worker and start a process that would take him from their lives forever? She set the bowl of dirty water down in the sink and held on to keep from losing her balance.

  Jack came up behind her and put his arm around both of them. “Yes, sport. Let’s get you dressed.”

  “I’ll do it.” Molly was quick with her answer. What if something happened to him—a car accident or a plane crash? What if the social worker lost track of him at an airport or this Porter man harmed him in some way? What if the couple ran off with him and they never saw him again? The possibilities were frightening and endless. She gave Jack a look that said she was sorry for snapping. “I’ll get him dressed, okay?”

  “Okay.” He smiled at Joey. “I’ll make the French toast.”

  Molly led him up to his room and picked out the clothes: a pair of blue denim shorts and a white polo shirt. She dressed him and combed his hair, then found the right socks—white with blue basketballs. His favorites.

  He steadied himself against her shoulder as she bent down and slipped the socks on his feet. “Thanks, Mommy. You picked good today.”

  “You’re welcome.” She smoothed his hair and kissed his forehead. “You have Mr. Monkey, right?”

  “Yep. He’s in the bag even though he’s a’scared of the dark.”

  “He’ll be all right.”

  “But not Mr. Growls.” He shook his head. “He wanted to stay here with Gus.”

  “That’s a good idea.” The lump in Molly’s throat wouldn’t let her say more than that.

  “Yeah.” Big tears threatened to spill onto his cheeks again. His lip wobbled a little.

  Molly took hold of him and held him. No matter how much she hurt, Joey was hurting more. Right now that’s all she could think about. Making him feel better. “Listen, buddy. You’ll be back tomorrow night, okay?” It was what she needed to hear, anything to keep from going over the list of possibilities again, the car accident or plane crash. The possible kidnapping. She held his shoulders and rubbed gentle circles into his small muscles. “Stay with Mrs. Bower, okay? When you’re in the airport, there’ll be lots of people. Make sure you hold her hand.”

  “Mrs. Bower?” Alarm filled his face, and in the corners of his eyes the pool of tears grew.

  “The woman who’s taking you, Joey.” She hated this. How could she be Joey’s mother and have no say in what was about to happen? She forced herself to speak calmly. “The woman’s name is Mrs. Bower.”

  “Oh.” He blinked, and two teardrops slid down his cheeks. He brushed at them quickly, as if maybe they embarrassed him. “Will she know?”

  “About holding your hand?” Molly lifted herself to the edge of his toy chest, her eye contact even with his.

  He nodded. “I don’t want to get lost.” Gus trotted into the room and took his place at Joey’s side. “Maybe I should take Gus in case Mrs. Bower forgets about me.”

  Molly chided herself for making him worry. “No, sweetie. Mrs. Bower won’t forget about you.” She reached out and scratched Gus under his white floppy ear. He was big for a Lab. Big and friendly. If she could’ve sent him along with Joey, she would’ve. “You can’t take Gus this time. Sorry. Just hold the lady’s hand and everything’ll be okay.”

  “All right.”

  They heard the sound of Jack coming up the stairs. “French toast is ready.”

  “Wow!” Again Joey’s eyes lit up. “Daddy’s fast.”

  They held hands as they went back down to the kitchen. Something about Joey’s enthusiasm for breakfast made Molly even sadder than she’d been before. Kids were resilient. If Joey was taken from their home at this age, he’d struggle and miss them for a season. Maybe even for a year or two. But eventually he’d rebound. He’d get excited about basketball socks and swings and French toast. Same as now.

  The thought brought with it a torrent of tears, but Molly stuffed them all. She could cry later. Joey needed her to be positive so he could walk out the door knowing that come tomorrow night everything would be okay. If she were crying, what would he think? Probably that his world was falling apart.

  She swallowed back a few sobs and took a piece of French toast from the platter. Jack caught her eye and slipped his arm around her again. “You okay?”

  “No.” She looked at him. She imagined her eyes looked like those of someone about to die. They were headed straight for a cliff and there was nothing they could do to keep from plunging over the edge.

  Joey was already at the table, setting the juice glasses out for the three of them.

  “No juice for you, Gus.” Joey bent down and kissed the dog on top of his head. “Not today.” He framed his pudgy hands around the dog’s face. “But maybe a leftover piece of French toast if Mommy says so.”

  Molly leaned into Jack and watched him. “He has no idea.”

  “No.”

  Breakfast flew by with conversation about why dogs snore and how fun it would be to go swimming on Sunday. Molly’s stomach hurt more with every passing minute. She managed to eat just three bites of her French toast, and Jack did little better. Joey did most of the talking.

  “Guess what?” He had syrup on his cheek and all ten fingers looked sticky. “I talked to God last night. Out loud, just like Jonah.”

  Jack looked at Molly. She shrugged and turned to Joey. “That’s interesting.” Her tone was kind, curious. “When did you start doing that?”

  “Last night was the first time.” Joey frowned a little. “I had Gus, but he fell asleep. I wanted someone to talk to, so I talked to God.” He shrugged his shoulders a few times. “It made me feel sleepy.”

  Jack cleared his throat. He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “What did you talk to God about?”

  Under the table Molly gave Jack’s leg a quick squeeze. Her eyes told him to be careful. Their son could talk to God if he wanted to, no matter what they might think about it.

  Joey took another bite of French toast. With his mouth still full, he began to answer. “I told him I was taking a trip with a strange lady.” He finished chewing and swallowed. “I asked God to go with me, since my mommy and daddy and my Gus couldn’t go.”

  Molly felt her eyebrows lift. “That’s . . . very nice.” She held back another rush of tears. Not once had they ever prayed with Joey or taken him to church or taught him how to talk to God. But now, all on his own, he’d done the very thing Beth would’ve told him to do. He’d asked God to go with him so he wouldn’t be alone.

  “Yes.” Jack kept his tone light. He pushed back from the table and angled his head, curious. “Did Aunt Beth tell you to do that?”

  A strange look crossed Joey’s face. “No . . . Aunt Beth never tells me anything about God.” He smiled. “I heard Jonah do it when I had a sleepover. If he can do it, I can do it.”

  Molly wanted to give Jack a look that said she told him so. Of course her sister would never consider going behind their backs and teaching their son to believe in God. Jack shouldn’t have even suspected such a thing. But it was nine-thirty and there was no time for bickering or proving who was right.

  Joey was about to
leave.

  They finished eating, brushed teeth, and brought Joey’s little overnight roll-aboard suitcase downstairs. Jack went over some of the last minute things that had been on both their minds. They were standing near the door, and Jack swept Joey into his arms. “Mrs. Bower has our phone number. If you need to call us for any reason, you can ask her.”

  Joey nodded. The lighthearted look from earlier was gone. Now he had enormous tears at the corners of his eyes, but still he wouldn’t cry. “What about at night? When Mrs. Bower isn’t there?”

  “Then you’ll be with the Porters. They have a phone, too. Any time you want to call us, you just tell them and they’ll let you call.”

  It was a detail they hadn’t actually discussed with the social worker, but it made sense. He should be able to call home if he needed to. In preparation for this moment, she and Jack had worked extensively with Joey so he’d have his phone number and area code memorized. That way he would always know how to reach them.

  “Okay, one last time.” Jack leaned Joey back enough so he could see his face. “What’s your phone number, sport?”

  With ease, Joey rattled off all ten digits.

  “And what do you have to dial first?”

  “A one.”

  Molly stood next to them. She put her arm around Joey’s shoulders. “And you’ll hold onto her hand at the airport. When you’re with Mrs. Bower, right?”

  Before he could answer, the doorbell rang. Instantly, Joey wrapped his arms tight around Jack’s neck. “No, Daddy. I don’t want to go.”

  This was the worst part. Molly felt herself melting, but she couldn’t. She had to stay strong for him, otherwise none of them would make it. She closed her eyes and leaned her head on Jack’s shoulder. “I can’t do this,” she said, her voice meant for only him to hear. “How can we do this?”

  Jack coughed twice, and Molly knew why. He, too, was trying not to cry. He clung to Joey and rocked him a few times. “I don’t want you to go, either. But maybe it’ll be fun. Like an adventure.”

  The doorbell rang again, and again Joey tightened his grip on Jack. “I don’t want a ’venture. I want you and Mommy.”