Like Dandelion Dust

  But with a pending commercial real estate deal, it made perfect sense. That money was exactly what they would need to close the loan on the building. Of course they would have it sitting in their savings account. It was all perfectly explainable with the real estate deal in place.

  The work trip was just one month away. Every time Jack thought about it, he was tempted to panic, to stay awake all night looking for loopholes, details he hadn’t worked out. They had one chance to pull this off, just one. Anything short of perfection, and they would all lose.

  But with those phone calls, the financial part of the plan was all but solved. There would be the last-minute transfer of the funds to a series of accounts, winding up eventually at their new account in the Cayman Islands. Jack had arranged for the money to arrive in Grand Cayman a few days before they did. Then almost immediately they’d withdraw all the money in cash. By the time the authorities figured out where the money had gone, the account would be closed. Another dead end for the officials.

  Yes, everything was coming together. They would have to say good-bye to Joey just one more time, when he left for his next visit the second week of August.

  Then, if the plan worked, they’d never have to say good-bye to him again.

  Beth hated herself for what she was feeling, but there was no way around it. She was worried about Molly and Jack, worried they might actually be planning something crazy. Molly had remained distant, even when Beth probed and prodded.

  It was the first Wednesday in August, and they’d spent the day at the neighborhood pool. Now they were at Molly’s house, the kids gathered around Molly’s dining room table with grapes and string cheese.

  Molly washed dishes while Beth stood beside her at the sink. “So you’ve heard nothing?” She kept her voice low. Joey still didn’t understand what was happening to him.

  “Nothing.” Molly scrubbed at some dried egg on a breakfast plate. She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and out of her face. “Every politician’s office I’ve spoken with is writing a letter to the judge asking that he reconsider. We have to think that’s going to make a difference.”

  Beth was baffled. “Make a difference when?” She leaned her hip into the edge of the counter and studied her sister. “Joey’s final visit is next week. Then he’s home for three weeks and gone for good.”

  “I know that.” Molly stopped washing. She turned her head and stared at Beth. Her voice was laced with frustration. “That’s why I haven’t stopped trying.” She began scrubbing the plate again.

  “Okay.” Beth held up her hands. “You don’t want to talk about this. I get that.” She let her hands fall to her sides. “But it feels like your house is on fire and you’re throwing glasses of water at it.”

  Molly threw her scrub rag into the sink and frowned at Beth. “Are you saying I don’t care about losing Joey? That I’m not trying hard enough?” She looked back at the kids in the dining room, and lowered her voice. “We’re doing everything we can. We’ve asked for a hearing the third week of August. That’s when the judge will look at the letters from political offices, and hear our reasons why we don’t think Joey should be taken from us.” She made a harsh grab at the rag again. “I go to bed crying and wake up crying, Beth.” She paused. “You have no idea how much I care. I’d lay down my life to keep that child. What else do you want me to do?”

  Beth was instantly sorry. She stayed still, silent for a moment, giving Molly a chance to calm down. Then she tentatively touched her sister’s shoulder. “Molly . . . forgive me. I can’t imagine being you, going through this.”

  “It’s like . . .” Molly’s hands went limp. Her eyes met Beth’s and the pain there was so strong it was like a physical force. “It’s like he’s dying.” Her lower lip trembled. “Like we’re all dying.” Her expression took on the bewildered look of a lost child. “I don’t know how to act, Beth. I’ve never done this before.”

  The phone rang, and Beth held up her hand. “I’ll get it.” Molly kept her kitchen telephone on a small built-in desk adjacent to the pantry. Beth caught the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Hey . . . I hoped I’d find you there. I got a message you called.”

  It was Bill. “Yes—” She motioned to Molly that the call was for her. “Hi, honey.” She turned her back to Molly and stared absently at the clutter on the small desk. A few greeting cards, invitations to an upcoming wedding, and a baby announcement. Off to the side was a stack of papers from Bank of America. “Hey . . .” Beth looked a little closer. “Could you pick up a can of olives on the way home? I need them for the casserole.”

  “Sure. How was the pool?”

  “Good.” Beth tried to make small talk, but she was distracted. She leaned closer and read the first line on the Bank of America papers. Congratulations! Your equity line of credit for $987,000 has been approved. As per our conversation you will sign papers next week, and the loan will be funded shortly after you . . .

  “Guess you have to go?”

  “Sorry.” Beth caught hold of the back of the desk chair so she wouldn’t lose her balance. Why in the world would Molly and Jack need nearly a million dollars? “Yeah . . .” She tried to concentrate. “Can I call you back?”

  Bill laughed. “Sure. We can talk later.”

  She hung up and looked back at Molly. Had she noticed Beth snooping? Beth didn’t think so. Molly was still washing dishes. Even though Beth was dying to ask her, she kept her questions about the loan papers to herself. But that night she shared every detail with Bill. By then she’d created a dozen scenarios in her head, reasons why Molly and Jack didn’t seem to be scrambling to save Joey.

  “Bill”—she put her hands on her hips—“I think they’re going to run.”

  “Honey, you watch too much television.”

  They were in their bedroom, the kids asleep down the hall. Bill was watching ESPN. Beth positioned herself in front of the screen. “I’m not watching too much television, Bill. I’m serious. They’re dragging their feet about getting someone to help them, and they’re running out of time.” She threw her hands up. “Molly hasn’t even told Joey yet! And why would they need a million-dollar loan? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe for attorney fees.” Bill peered around her, determined to keep his eyes on the TV. “Maybe Jack’s found a high-powered lawyer who knows how to win the case.” He looked at Beth. “Isn’t that possible?”

  “A million dollars?” She frowned. “The guy better work a miracle for that kind of legal fee.”

  “What I’m saying”—he looked exasperated—“is that Molly doesn’t have to tell you every last detail.”

  “She always did before.” Beth walked to the window. It was dark outside; only the sliver of a moon hung over the cluster of oak trees that separated their house from the neighbor’s. She turned around and groaned. “Don’t you see, Bill. I know my sister. Something isn’t right. The loan papers are proof.”

  He held out his arms. “Come here.”

  She didn’t want to. Bill was clearly dismissing her, making light of everything she was feeling. But she needed his hug, so she went. Slowly she crawled into bed and curled up beside him, her head on his shoulder.

  “The only one who can work a miracle for Joey is God.” He kissed the top of her head. “Remember?”

  God. She thought about that for a minute. Bill was right. She drew a long, slow breath. “I’m praying for that.” She relaxed and her shoulders dropped a few inches. “I guess I keep forgetting.”

  “I think Jack and Molly really believe in what God can do here.” He looked thoughtful. “Otherwise they wouldn’t be coming to church and praying with us.”

  “True.” She looked down, searching for something she couldn’t quite get her thoughts around. “I guess I can’t make up my mind. On the one hand I’m asking Molly to trust God, to believe that God has a plan for Joey. Then I doubt her because she isn’t panicking.”

  “Exactly.” Bill turned off the televisi
on.

  George Brett loped into the room and wagged his tail.

  “Thanks for talking.” Beth started for the door but did a double-take at the dog. “Who let you in here?” She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Bad dog. Come on, let’s go outside.”

  As she put George Brett outside, Beth closed her eyes and tried to connect the pieces. Yes, Molly and Jack were trying to be proactive. They were making phone calls, asking for a hearing, begging God for a miracle. When she thought of it that way, her fears were completely unfounded. Molly and Jack weren’t going to run; they were going to wait for God’s will. Everything Bill had said made sense, except the obvious. And it was the obvious that kept Beth awake most of the night and into the morning.

  Why, in the middle of all that was going on with Joey, would Molly and Jack need a million dollars? Even though she shouldn’t have snooped, shouldn’t have looked, it was a question that needed answering. By noon the next day, Beth made up her mind.

  As soon as the moment seemed right—whether Molly got mad at her or not—she was going to ask.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The door closed and Molly let herself fall against it. She reached out and took hold of Jack’s hands. Gus whimpered a few feet away.

  “I hate this. . . . I can’t do it again.”

  “I know.”

  Joey had just left for his third visit. This time he was less tearful, but more afraid. He had come home without any bruises after his second visit, but he was stuttering again, and he didn’t want to talk about Rip Porter.

  “He doesn’t like me, Mommy,” was all he’d say about the man. Then he’d change the subject.

  “Does he hurt you, buddy?”

  “No!” Joey shook his head fast. “He doesn’t hurt me. P-p-promise.”

  Her son had never lied to her, not as far as she knew. But his quick answer and fearful eyes made her worry. Regardless of their plans, she would not let him go back to the Porters if the man was harming him. It had been hard enough to let him go back a second time after the bruises on his arm.

  Now, her stomach knotted and her heart pounded against her chest. “Every time I say good-bye to him, a piece of me goes dead until he comes home.”

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck. He looked exhausted. “Can you imagine having to let him go forever? In three weeks?”

  “No.” She came to him, put her arms around his neck. “I told Beth it was like knowing he was about to die, like we all were.”

  He studied her. “That’s all you’ve told Beth?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you’re sure she didn’t see the loan papers on the desk?” His words were slow, weary, as if he couldn’t stop running through the possibilities.

  “I’m pretty sure.” She pressed her fist against her forehead. “That was so stupid of me. The mail came that morning. . . . I opened the stuff from the bank, and Joey needed sunscreen on his back. I set the mail down and made a mental note to put it away before we left.” She lifted her hands. “I don’t know how I forgot.”

  “But you don’t think she saw it.”

  “No.” She pictured that day. “Beth got a phone call from Bill, but it was quick. Besides, if she’d seen it, I think she would’ve asked. Beth and I don’t keep secrets.”

  “Well . . .” He pulled her closer, tucked her head against his chest. His tone was sad. “You do now, love.”

  A pain pierced her heart and she closed her eyes. “Yes.” She was counting down the days. They were down to fourteen. Fourteen days until the trip. Fourteen days until they would walk out of their home for the last time. Two weeks until she had to start wearing a blonde wig and going by the name Tracy Sanders. Worst of all, fourteen days until she had to say good-bye to Beth, her sister and best friend.

  She survived most days by telling herself that somehow—someday—they might be able to find their way back. The Porters would die off, or the case would be forgotten. They could slip into the United States, spend a week with Beth and Bill and the kids, and be on their way again.

  But the reality was something entirely different.

  Jack nuzzled her. “You okay?”

  “It’s more than I can think about.” She let herself melt into his arms. At times like these he seemed strong enough for both of them. “I wish I could be like Joey and talk to God whenever I’m scared.”

  She felt him stiffen. No matter how much time they spent meeting with Beth and Bill, no matter how many church services, Jack was no closer to a genuine faith. It was all simply a necessary part of the plan. “You can talk to God whenever you want.” A hint of sarcasm crept into his voice. “Ask him to make the fake passports good enough to pass inspection.”

  “Jack . . .” She didn’t like when he made light of God, or the idea of God. “It wouldn’t hurt if you did a little talking to Him yourself.”

  He exhaled in a way that betrayed his frustration. “Maybe someday—when we’re sitting on the beach in Cayman with too much time on our hands.” He kissed her lips, slow and tender. “Right now I’m too busy making this happen to ask God about it.”

  Molly wanted to add something, remind him that Beth and Bill were praying for God’s will, and that maybe she and Jack were going about this all the wrong way, and maybe they really should be calling politicians and lawyers and asking for hearings. But it was too late for any of that.

  She leaned back. “How’re the plans going?”

  “Good. Money’s taken care of, and I’m getting the passports next week.” His tone sounded heavier than usual, full of sorrow. “But there’s something we need to talk about.”

  “What?” Gus came up to them and sat against their legs. Molly pushed him back a little. “Go lay down, Gus.”

  Gus did as he was told and Molly looked up at Jack. “What do we need to talk about?”

  “Him.” Jack looked at Gus. “We can’t take him, Molly. You know that.”

  “What?” She took a step back, horrified. “Why haven’t we thought about that before? Jack, we have to take him. Joey would be crushed.”

  “I have thought about it, and there’s just no way.”

  Molly let out an exasperated cry. She went to Gus and dropped to the floor beside him. “We’re leaving him at the kennel, right? When we go to Haiti?”

  “Right.”

  “So let’s pay someone at the kennel to ship him over to the Cayman Islands at the end of the week.”

  Jack came to her. He eased himself down onto the floor and rubbed Gus behind the ear. “The whole state will be looking for us by then. Maybe the whole country.” He tilted his head, doing everything he could to help her understand. “It’ll be big news, Molly.”

  “But we’ve kept the story out of the news on purpose.”

  “Right. But the Porters will be talking to every reporter who knocks on their door once they figure out we’re not coming back.”

  Gus yawned and pressed his head against Jack’s hand. “Good boy, Gus.”

  Molly looked at the ceiling for a few seconds. “So you’re saying the people at the kennel could notify the authorities and tell them we left our dog with instructions that they ship him to the Cayman Islands?”

  “Exactly. We can’t risk everything for Gus, honey. We can’t do it.”

  “If it makes the news like you think it will . . .” Her eyes found his again. “They’ll be looking for Molly and Jack Campbell.”

  “Right.”

  “So let’s use a new kennel. I’ll wear my blonde wig and explain that we’re moving to the Cayman Islands and we need someone to ship our dog to us in a week.”

  “I don’t understand. How’s that any different?”

  Molly took hold of Jack’s shoulders. “It’s easy.” She could feel her whole face glowing. “We’ll register with the kennel as Walt and Tracy Sanders.”

  “Molly . . .” Jack’s eyes welled up. He patted Gus and nuzzled his face against the dog’s. When he looked at her, it was obvious that he wasn
’t going to change his mind. “I can’t risk our future—our lives—just so we can keep him.” He bit his lip. “We’ll use the same kennel as always. That way when we don’t come back for him, Beth and Bill will bring him home.”

  Beth and Bill? Gus didn’t even know them. Suddenly the reality became clear for her, too. No matter what they did, what name they used, it wouldn’t take more than an hour to call every kennel in town and ask if a yellow lab had been shipped out of the country. Jack was right.

  They’d have to say good-bye to Gus, too.

  Molly looped her arms around the dog’s neck as the tears came. Gus was Joey’s best friend. Why hadn’t she thought about what would happen to him? It was a blow, one that took her breath away. Poor Gus . . . He would never be the same without his family—even if Beth and Bill did take him.

  It was another blow, and with Joey gone to the Porters again, it was enough to do Molly in. The losses were so great, she could barely imagine them all happening at once. Sobs racked her body, and her tears spilled onto Gus’s furry coat. He made a whimpering sound and looked up at her, his eyes gentle and trusting.

  Next to her, Jack rubbed her shoulders. There was nothing either of them could say to fix the situation. They would say good-bye to everything they knew and everyone they loved, and they would do it all willingly for Joey. Then they would do the thing that would hurt Joey most of all, something he would never understand.

  They would say good-bye to Gus.

  Joey was finally asleep, and Rip had left for the bar—same as nearly every night for a week. Wendy lingered on the edge of Joey’s bed, watching his small sleeping body as it finally relaxed.

  She was falling head over heels for her little boy, no question about it. This time he smiled when he walked through the door with Allyson Bower. Even though he didn’t exactly run and jump into her arms, he wasn’t crying, either, so that had to be a good sign.