Like Dandelion Dust

Trips like that kept the competition at bay and the accounts loyal.

  It had been fourteen months since his last trip to Cayman, so when Jack went to his boss and suggested a trip to the islands, there was no hesitation. The man looked at his calendar. “Great idea.” He grinned at Jack. No question his boss saw him as the most-favored officer in the company. “You taking Molly and Joey with you?”

  “No, sir. Not this time.” He gave the man an easy smile. At least this part was honest. “Maybe next time.”

  No one at work knew about the custody battle Jack was facing. From the beginning, he’d thought it better if he said nothing. Now he was relieved he’d kept quiet. He didn’t need people in every area of his life feeling sorry for him and wondering about the moves he was about to make.

  The plans for the trip came together in a few days, and now Jack was minutes from landing in Grand Cayman. He looked out the window and let the scene wash over his weary conscience. Every now and then it occurred to him that what they were about to do was illegal. If for some reason they got caught, they would lose everything—their freedom, their reputation. Worst of all they would lose Joey.

  Jack was careful not to let those thoughts come up often. It wasn’t that he and Molly had accepted the idea of being criminals. In his gut, he believed that what he and Molly were about to do was wrong—people shouldn’t take the law into their own hands. But if it meant saving Joey from a life of abuse, if it meant holding onto his son, Jack could justify it. He would do anything to keep his son safe. Absolutely anything.

  It made him think about fathers who stole money to feed their families during the Depression. He’d never given much thought to the idea, never taken sides on the issue until now. In light of what was happening with Joey, he knew for certain what he would’ve done. If his family needed to eat, he’d find a way to feed them. Even if it turned him from an upright citizen into a common thief.

  Whatever it took to save his family.

  Below the plane, the ocean water grew pale where it splashed up against the land. The beaches in Cayman were beautiful, nothing short of paradise. He felt calmer just looking at them. He would buy an old guitar once they got settled and write songs on the beach. Just like he’d always dreamed of doing. Yes, he was taking the law into his own hands, and yes, it went against his nature. But the plan was a good one. It would work. And no one would be hurt in the process.

  Joey’s birth parents didn’t deserve the child. His mother hadn’t wanted him in the first place, and his father was a violent criminal. If they could figure out how to live a normal life, let them have more kids down the road.

  Joey belonged to Molly and him. Period.

  Jack pressed his forehead against the window and shifted in his cramped seat. No one was going to hurt Joey or take him away, not while Jack still had breath left in him. He closed his eyes and let the warmth of the sun calm his heart. His love for Joey was fierce, more intense than anything he’d ever known or experienced. It was proof that the judge was wrong. The Porters weren’t the boy’s parents.

  He and Molly were.

  After another few minutes, the plane circled and landed. Once he was off the plane, carrying his single bag across the tarmac, Jack took in his surroundings—the palm trees waving in the mild ocean breeze, the sky so blue it almost hurt to look at it, and the salty smell of the nearby ocean.

  He pictured how life would be. Molly helping Joey with his lessons, making sure he was ready for school when it felt safe to move to Europe. Jack would be in charge of venturing into town for food and supplies, and on lazy summery afternoons, he would sit on the beach and play his guitar. They would take long ocean swims and run along the sand. At night there would be a million stars overhead, and endless hours of conversation and time together.

  It wouldn’t hurt Joey to live that sort of life for a few years. And when the search for them had blown over, they could start again in England or Ireland or Germany—enroll Joey in a private school so he would have the very best education and the chance to meet wonderful children in the process. Two years in the Cayman Islands wouldn’t be a burden. If life as they’d known it had to end, there could be worse places to start over.

  Jack picked up his pace. He had a busy three days ahead of him. Business meetings with account executives, and high-powered lunches and dinners for the first day and a half. After that he would hop a plane to Little Cayman, where remote rental properties were plentiful. If things went well, he would find a beach house for rent and make a deposit under his new name: Walt Sanders.

  The first day went as planned, and over lunch and dinner, Jack resisted the urge to prod the locals for details about which beach was the most remote. He wouldn’t do anything that could come back to hurt them. Once the authorities realized that they’d run, certainly his boss would be interviewed, and that could lead investigators to Grand Cayman. It was crucial that he did nothing to give himself away during this trip.

  As far as the locals knew, he had business all three days.

  The Cayman Islands were under the rule of the British government, but they lay smack in the middle of the Caribbean. They consisted of just three islands. Most commerce and tourism took place on the big island, Grand Cayman. Jack wanted to stay far from there. Too many people to avoid, too great a chance of being recognized.

  He flew to Little Cayman early the next afternoon. There was a small account that operated off that island, which gave him a legitimate reason to be there. He spent half an hour with the client, then took a cab to the closest real estate office. The place was small and dusty, as if the Realtors spent most of their time on the beach—like everyone else on an island that remote.

  “I’m looking for a long-term beach rental,” he told the elderly woman who sat behind the desk. He and Molly had discussed this. They didn’t want to buy a house. In fact, as soon as they arrived in Cayman, they planned to close their bank account and take the money in cash. Yes, it was a lot to be responsible for, but Jack could ask for large bills. With their new passports, they needed to be flexible and mobile. If for some reason people became suspicious of them, or authorities turned their search to the Cayman Islands, they would have a way to escape without leaving money tied up in an account or in real estate .

  The woman smiled. “We have many places suitable for you.” She had a thick British accent. “Would your schedule permit time to look?”

  Jack was beside himself. This was exactly what he’d hoped for. “Yes.” He glanced at his watch. “The rest of the afternoon.”

  They climbed into the woman’s open-air Jeep, and she took him down a road she called Main Street, only it wasn’t paved, and the further they went, the more it felt like a poorly-maintained footpath. After a short while, all signs of buildings or villages disappeared. The road wound through thick vegetation and palm trees. Occasionally, without warning, she would hang a sharp right turn and take them down an even narrower road that would put them out into a cluster of homes.

  All of the homes were nice, but Jack didn’t want other houses around them. Not for a mile. “Do you have something more private?”

  “Yes.” She gave him a look that said she didn’t necessarily think more privacy was a good idea. “Farther out—farther in for food.”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “That’s fine.”

  The woman pulled her Jeep back onto the main road. For the next fifteen minutes, she drove without talking. When she finally made a right turn, Jack figured they were at the clear opposite end of the island. The driveway wasn’t like the other ones she’d shown him. This one was two miles long, at least.

  When they finally reached a clearing, the ocean spread out like a brilliant carpet in front of him. Up ahead, to the left, was a small white house with a screened-in lanai. It looked almost like something from one of the beaches in South Florida. The building was older and nondescript, so much so that it almost blended in with the white sandy beach.

  “This is vacant, and very difficult to rent.” The
woman gave the house a look of disdain. “Most clients prefer higher quality amenities. This is not the finest Little Cayman can offer.”

  No, Jack thought. But it was perfect. He could tell already. They hopped out of the Jeep, and Jack walked toward the water.

  “Would you care to see the interior first?” The woman looked confused.

  “No . . . I mean, I want to take a look at the beach first.”

  “I’ll never understand.” The woman waved her hand at him. “Crazy Americans.”

  Jack laughed, but he picked up his pace. When he reached the water, the view was breathtaking. Like something from a magazine advertisement or a movie. They might as well have been the only people on earth for all the lack of activity around them. There were no other houses as far as he could see.

  Someone had left an old picnic table in the sand a few feet from a small cluster of palm trees. Jack stared at it and he could see them—the way he and Molly and Joey would look there in just a few months. On that very picnic table they would sit and watch the brilliant sunsets. They would play cards and laugh about the things Joey would say and do. He jogged back up the beach to where the woman was waiting. “Yes . . .” He was breathless, his heart pounding, not so much from the run up the sand, but from the thrill of it all. The house was exactly what he was looking for. He pulled his digital camera from his pants pocket and snapped a dozen pictures.

  “But your information is incomplete.” She lowered her brow. He half-expected her to yell at him. “We must take a gander at the house.”

  Then he remembered what he was doing. He didn’t want to seem strange or out of the ordinary. The odds of anyone ever questioning her about their time that afternoon were infinitesimally small. But still . . .

  He chuckled, put his camera back in his pocket, and dusted his hands off on his pants. “Yes. Let’s take a gander.”

  It had three bedrooms and a spacious living room. The lanai screen was ripped in a few places, but nothing he couldn’t fix up. The kitchen was plain, simple. But it came with a refrigerator. The laundry room was smaller than Molly was used to, certainly. But again, the machines were part of the deal. He’d just have to pick up a few pieces of furniture now and then, some linens and necessities in the village, and they’d be set.

  All the way back to the Realtor’s office, Jack said very little. He was too busy taking in the scenery, the lush plants and trees, the tropical smell. It was hard to believe that in less than two months, this would be home. Yes, it would be an adjustment. For Molly, most of all. He wouldn’t mind leaving the corporate world. And one day, when they moved to Europe for Joey’s schooling, he could find another job. Get reconnected with pharmaceutical sales.

  Molly, though—she would have to say good-bye to her friends, her social connections, and everything that made up their way of life. Worst of all, she would lose her relationship with Beth. Jack’s throat grew thick at the thought, but he swallowed hard and his emotions eased. They had no choice. By doing this, at least they would have each other. Every time they talked about it, Molly said the same thing.

  “You and Joey, baby . . . That’s all I need.”

  By the time Jack boarded the plane for the flight home, he had the deal locked up. Using the name Walt Sanders, he filled out the rental agreement and gave the woman a deposit. He told her they’d be needing the house for at least a year, and that they’d check in with her middle of September sometime, when they landed on the island.

  The last thing he did was open a bank account. Things were different on the Cayman Islands. For one, it was the largest offshore banking community in the world. On Grand Cayman alone—in a stretch of land just twenty-two miles long—there were more than five hundred banks or financial institutions. Hiding money would be easier there than just about any place south of Florida. A person could open a checking account and make a deposit with false identification, and as long as they didn’t want to borrow money, the bank would never raise a question.

  Jack opened an account under the names Walt and Tracy Sanders and deposited three thousand dollars. The bank representative made casual conversation, and Jack mentioned that he and his family would be coming there for a year while he worked on a project.

  “Very good.” The man was more than happy to take Jack’s money. “Your account will be here for you when you come.”

  Now Jack settled back into his airplane seat and closed his eyes. He’d taken care of every last detail, even getting the names of the local grocer and a few furniture stores on Grand Cayman since Little Cayman Island was too small for more than just a basic food store. He could hardly wait to talk to Molly, hardly wait to show her the photographs of the place on Little Cayman. The few times fear tried to crash in on his satisfied feeling, he dismissed it. They were doing what they had to do.

  The plan was coming together beautifully.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It had been thirty minutes since Joey left with Allyson Bower for his second visit with the Porters, and Molly was in the midst of a full-blown panic attack. She and Jack were in the car with Jack driving, but he wasn’t going fast enough. They were still fifteen minutes from the airport.

  “Hurry!” She bit her finger, tapping her foot on the floorboard. Faster . . . they had to go faster. “We’ll never get there in time.”

  They had to see Joey before he got on the plane. Yes, he’d been calmer this time when Allyson had picked him up. He had cried, but only a little. Allyson seemed just as frustrated as before. She told them that she’d made several calls to the judge, but still there was no bending. The boy would soon belong to the Porters.

  Joey had used the bathroom one last time before he left. When he came out, he was drying his wet hands on his jean shorts. His cheeks were tear-stained but he wasn’t sobbing, wasn’t hysterically clinging to Jack.

  Molly held her hands out to him and wondered, was this how change happened? Gradually, what had been horrific and terrifying became sad and uncomfortable, and then one day it became acceptable? A part of life?

  Joey’s stuttering had been bad for the first week after he’d been home from the Porters the first time. He’d wet the bed a few times that week, too—something he hadn’t done in a year. But now he was talking fine and getting up at night to use the toilet, just like before.

  She clung to Joey and whispered in his ear, “Call me, okay? Before you go to bed.”

  He leaned back, his fingers still linked around the back of her neck. “I asked God to go with me again.”

  “Good.” Molly meant it. Her fears were still wild and daunting—that he would die in a plane crash or choke on a hotdog or get deathly sick and no one would notice. When she and Jack met with Beth and Bill the last time, Molly made a decision. Why fake something as simple as prayer? If Joey could talk to God, so could she. She kissed her son’s nose. “I’ll ask Him, too.”

  By then, Joey had already hugged and kissed Jack good-bye. Jack stood a few feet away, talking to Mrs. Bower. Joey rubbed his button nose against Molly’s. “Eskimo noses.”

  She did the same. Then she brushed her eyelashes against his. “And butterfly kisses.”

  He returned the gesture, but he stopped partway through and let his forehead fall against hers. “I’m gonna miss you so much, Mommy.”

  “Joey . . .” Her heart might as well have spilled out onto the floor. It felt that broken. She tried to picture the little house in the Cayman Islands. This was only temporary, this good-bye business. Very soon they’d be together forever, and no one would ever take Joey from them again. She held him a little longer. “I’ll miss you, too.”

  Gus was sitting nearby, and for some reason he chose that moment to whimper a few times. Joey let go of her and put his arms around his dog. “You don’t like when I go away, right, Gus?”

  Joey nuzzled his face into the dog’s fur. “Did you hear him, Mommy?” He looked up. “Gus says, please, can I stay here?”

  “Tell Gus that’s what we all want.” Molly stood bac
k with Jack. They said another round of good-byes. Then Mrs. Bower was ready, and after they left, Molly did what she’d expected to do the first time he walked out the door, three weeks earlier. She collapsed in Jack’s arms and wept. Fifteen minutes later they realized what he’d forgotten.

  “We have to get it to him.” Molly was antsy, moving from side to side in the passenger seat, checking her watch. “The plane leaves in an hour. They’ll be boarding soon.”

  “I’m doing my best.” Jack grimaced.

  The whole nightmare was one insane day after another. That Joey was even out of their sight, ready to board a jet to Ohio with a social worker, was still more than either of them could believe. The Porters, the lack of help from attorneys, the stubborn judge, the ridiculous law. Their plan to leave the country. None of it seemed even remotely realistic. Not when life had been beyond idyllic just five weeks ago.

  But even with all the insanity, this moment stuck out as being of utmost importance. “We have to reach him before he leaves.”

  “We will.” Jack took the exit for the airport, and after the curve he picked up speed. They were parked and running through the airport doors six minutes later. At the security checkpoint, they explained that their son, a minor, was on Flight 317 to Cleveland, and that he’d forgotten something.

  “We have to get it to him.”

  The agent was happy to help. He wrote a temporary pass and ushered them toward security. The line was short that day, so within five minutes they were racing down the concourse toward the gate. They ran up just as Allyson and Joey stepped in line to board. Joey didn’t look like he was crying, but even from twenty yards away his eyes were sadder than she’d ever seen them.

  “Joey!” Molly barely recognized her own voice. She sounded like a lunatic, but she didn’t care. “Joey, wait!”

  He heard his name and turned around. “Mommy!” He broke free from Mrs. Bower and ran to them. “Daddy!”

  The social worker stepped out of line. She didn’t look altogether angry at them for coming to the airport, but the plane was boarding. She tapped her watch. If they were going to say something last minute to Joey, they’d better get it said.