Like Dandelion Dust

  “Oui, Bondye reme ou!” The driver held up his gift bag and then leaned back against his headrest, resuming his wait for a customer.

  “You did good, Jack.” Franz fell in step beside Jack. “You make friends with Haitian people. God smiles at you.”

  Jack wasn’t sure what to feel. How could God smile at him? He wasn’t making friends, he was making plans to break the law, to run from his own country. He dismissed the thought and pointed at the supply box. “Are the bags gone?”

  “All given out!” Franz held up his hands toward heaven. “God glorified this day, this place.”

  The ride back was quiet except for the occasional Bible reference or exclamation by Franz. Jack couldn’t wait to tell Molly what had happened, but he didn’t dare do it until they were alone. As they started back, he turned to Franz. “Can we come back here tomorrow—same place? I told one of the men to bring his friends because we’d be back.”

  “Yes, good plan.” Franz grinned and stared at the sky. “Storm will be big tonight.”

  Halfway back to the orphanage, they stopped for gas. Rain had just started pelting the area. The station was a cacophony of chaos—fifteen or twenty people selling a hundred worn-out, tired-looking things, and large mounds of trash dotting the perimeter, each with a couple of skinny pigs rooting through them.

  As soon as Franz left the car to find the attendant, Jack turned to Molly. “It’s perfect. I met a driver.”

  “I saw.” Their conversation was hushed, their words fast. Once more Joey was asleep between them, so there was no danger of him hearing. “What’s the plan?”

  “His name is Tancredo. We meet him there tomorrow. We’ll keep your bag with us at all times, our backpacks on. When Franz goes off to meet with one of the villagers, we wander down the alley and run for it. The driver will be waiting.”

  He gave her arm a tender pat. “I have it all figured out, Molly. You can relax.”

  “I feel sick.” She pulled Joey close and buried her face in his blond hair. Jack wasn’t sure, but he thought she was crying. Tears stung his own eyes, too. They were doing what they had to do for their son, the only way they knew to protect him.

  Jack would like to have left on the first or second day, but they needed to follow the schedule, needed a day in the village in order to make connections. And now they were just one day from seeing it all work out.

  When they got back to the orphanage, they put Joey down for a short rest and made a plan to play cards with Beth and Bill in the common room before dinner. The college guys and the group leader had gathered with them that morning for breakfast and a briefing about the dangers of heading into the village. That night the group would split up so the guys could work with the orphans. Jack was glad for the sense of privacy. Before meeting with Beth and Bill, he led Molly to the corner of their room.

  “Listen, I have an idea.” He looked over his shoulder—no one was listening in on their conversation. His eyes met Molly’s again, and he spoke quickly. “Tomorrow I’ll take one of my T-shirts, rip it and get it dirty, and smear it with my blood.”

  “Jack!” The color drained from her face. “That sounds like a horror film.”

  “No, I’ll just prick my finger. It won’t be much blood, just enough that it’ll look like something bad happened to us. I’ll leave that on the street when we take off with the driver.”

  Molly still looked shocked. But gradually, as the information sank in, she nodded. “So it might throw them off the trail?”

  “Yes, even for a few days.” His mind ran ahead of him. “Because of the custody issue, it won’t take them long to figure out we staged the shirt thing. But we can use every extra hour to get away.”

  “Okay. I get it.”

  “Anyway, by the time people realize what happened, we’ll be on our way to Stockholm.” They would buy tickets at the airport counter for a flight out to Europe. Jack had the schedule memorized. If there was room on the flight, they’d book one with Sweden as a final destination. Small enough that international police wouldn’t yet have word of their disappearance, and with a local population blond enough that they’d fit right in.

  “Molly?” It was Beth. She was standing at the doorway holding a deck of cards. “You guys ready?”

  “Sure.” Molly practically lurched from her spot. She took Jack’s hand. “Come on, we can talk about this with Beth and Bill.”

  Jack was impressed. It was the best cover Molly had done since they’d gotten there. An hour later they were still gathered around the table playing cards and swapping stories of their day in the villages. The rice and bean dinner was almost ready, and like every other day, their hosts wouldn’t think of letting them help with preparations.

  A sense of euphoria and sorrow mingled and swept over Jack. This was their last night with Bill and Beth. Just when he was beginning to really like them. Their kids were all awake now, playing their own card game on the living room floor. Molly had mentioned several times that maybe someday—when the heat was off—they could return to the United States and reconnect with Bill and Beth.

  Jack doubted it, but in that moment, it was a nice thought.

  His eyes met Molly’s and he knew. She was feeling the same thing, the nostalgia of the moment, the finality of it. Their last night of any sort of normalcy for what could be a very long time.

  Molly laid down the final card in her hand. “Beth . . . how could I forget?” She groaned. “I should’ve saved you a spade.” She pressed her fist against her forehead. “And we were winning, too.”

  “It’s okay.” Beth leaned back and grinned. “We’re still killing the guys. I can’t really be—”

  Before she could finish her sentence, the front door of the mission house burst open and five armed officers rushed in. “Police!” Their English pronunciation was better than most. “Everyone freeze!”

  Jack’s head began to spin. What was this? How could police get past the guard at the gate without at least a warning to the people in the mission house, and why were they there? All nine of them froze, and from the kitchen three volunteers rushed into the room, shouting at the police in Creole.

  On the floor, the children didn’t know what to do. Cammie and Blain lifted their hands slowly, as if they were under arrest. Braden and Jonah and Joey scampered to their parents. Jonah started to cry.

  One of the mission-house workers took the lead. He stormed across the floor right up to the police, gesturing and talking in Creole. His tone was angry, offended. One of the policemen seemed to be in charge. He gestured back, and rattled off several lines of some sort of a response.

  Across the table, Molly looked at Jack. She was pale, and he shot her a stern look. Don’t lose control now. She swallowed and barely moved her head in a single nod. She wouldn’t give them away.

  “What in the—” Bill whispered to Beth, and she shook her head.

  Only then did Jack see it, the look in Beth’s eyes. It wasn’t fear and shock like the rest of them. It was something unmistakable, a look Jack had never seen in Beth as long as he’d known her.

  The look was guilt.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Molly couldn’t breathe or speak or move. She didn’t need anyone to tell her why the police had barged in shouting orders. She knew as certainly as she knew her heart was about to beat through her chest.

  She looked at Beth. The guilt in her sister’s eyes was so strong it might as well have been written on her face, and suddenly Molly could feel their plans unraveling. They were caught! They would be taken in and questioned and sent back to the United States. Law enforcement would be waiting for them, and Joey would be whisked away forever.

  Black spots danced before her eyes, and she felt faint. That’s when Jack fired another look at her. She couldn’t fall apart, not now. Not with Joey clinging to her and the children watching. She turned away from Beth and saw the mission worker approach them. His face was troubled.

  “The police have an order.” He twisted his expre
ssion, confused. “This never happen before.” He came closer, his steps slow. His eyes met Jack’s. “You and your wife and son—police want all three. They have orders from embassy.”

  Molly clung tightly to Joey. There it was. She was right; they were caught. Only one person could’ve done this to them. She turned and looked at Beth. In a rush all the thousands of times she’d looked at her sister came back. . . .

  Beth was tugging on her arm, and they were three and five years old. “Wanna play dolls, Molly?”

  And Molly was taking her sister’s hand and finding a place on the floor beside her. And then they were a little older, and Beth was looking at her from her bicycle seat, Molly the hero for taking time to work with Beth while their dad was in the house. And they were in high school and Beth was holding her up, telling her that Connor Aiken was a jerk. And they were a year older, cheering at a basketball game and grinning at each other because no other two cheerleaders were ever as much in sync as they were. Then it was the middle of the afternoon, Christmas break, and Art Goldberg’s mother was on the phone. “I have some bad news for you, Molly. . . .” And Molly was in a heap on the floor, and through her tears, through her swollen eyes, there was Beth, promising her everything would be okay, someday, one day. And they were sitting next to each other at the park a few months ago, and Molly was saying how glad she was that they were neighbors, and Beth was hugging her and saying, “You’ll always be my best friend.”

  Every one of those scenes flashed through her mind in the time it took her to look at her sister and say the only thing she could think to say. The question that would haunt her until the day she died. “How could you?” Her words were barely audible.

  Jack and the mission worker were talking, trying to make sense of the police order. But the police had barked something else, filling the moment with urgency.

  Beth shook her head, as if she might try to deny her part in what was happening. Her lips parted but no words came.

  The kids were crying now, all of them. The older ones hung on to each other, still sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. The younger boys still clung to their parents. Joey climbed up in Molly’s lap. “Are the police taking us away?”

  Molly was furious with herself, and with Beth. With Jack, too. What had they been thinking? Of course they couldn’t get away with their crazy plan. Now Joey had to be exposed to more trauma, and worse—their chances at keeping custody of him were over. Forever.

  She stared at Beth, unwilling to turn away. “You turned us in. . . . Beth, how could you?”

  Beth opened her mouth again, but this time Jack interrupted. He stood and held his hand out to Molly. “Let’s go. We need to see what they want. It’s an order from the embassy.”

  Molly felt detached from her body. She shot a last look at Beth and Bill and the kids. Then she took Joey’s hand and followed Jack. Halfway across the room, she stopped. “Our things.”

  Jack said something to the mission worker, and the man spoke Creole to the officer. After a brief exchange, he shook his head at Jack. “Police say you need nothing. Just yourself.”

  “M-M-Mommy . . . where are we g-g-going?” Joey clung to her. His eyes were wide, and though he had stopped crying, he looked beyond frightened.

  “Stay with me, buddy. It’ll be okay.”

  Her last glimpse of Beth was enough to stir a new level of fury inside her. Beth had her head bowed, as if she was praying. Of all things. Molly wanted to scream at her and cry out to her all at the same time. It was too late for prayer now. The damage was done, and it was done by one of the people she loved most in the whole world.

  The police led them out to a van, helped them inside, and hurried off through the streets. It was just after six o’clock—still daylight. Molly and Jack and Joey sat in a compartment clearly designated for criminals. A plastic shield separated them from the officers.

  Molly reached for Jack, grabbed at his arm. “I . . . I can’t breathe.”

  “Mommy!” Joey jumped up onto his knees and looked her right in the face. “Why can’t you breathe?”

  “Molly . . . don’t!” Jack faced her, his eyes stern. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

  She closed her eyes. Come on, Molly, get a grip. Don’t panic. She held her breath. Then she forced air from her lips, once, twice, and a third time. After that a slight bit of air made its way into her lungs. She opened her eyes and somehow smiled at Joey. “Mommy’s fine.” Her words were breathy, hardly okay. “Don’t worry.”

  “Listen . . .” Jack took hold of her wrist and gave her a light shake. “We’ve been caught, yes. But we haven’t done anything wrong, not yet.” He changed places with Joey so he could whisper to her without their son hearing.

  Molly’s head hurt. What was Jack talking about? Of course they’d broken rules—they’d made a plan to leave the country illegally under assumed identities. “Jack . . . think of our plan. The false passports, the money. Of course we’ve done something wrong.”

  “No, not yet. There’s nothing illegal about buying a passport, or moving cash to a foreign account, or taking a work trip. The crime comes in using the passport or leaving Haiti under our new names.” He was whispering, his words sharp and intense. “Being here doesn’t make us criminals. We had permission from the judge, remember?”

  Gradually, like the sun breaking a new morning, Jack’s words started to make sense. He was right. They hadn’t broken any law yet. “So what’s this about?” She hissed, still terrified. In all her life she never dreamed she’d be here, in the back of a police van heading to the U.S. Embassy. They were in bigger trouble than they ever imagined.

  Jack thought hard. “Ever since the police burst into the place, I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Was it the driver, Tancredo? Did he talk to Franz, maybe?”

  “I didn’t see them say anything to each other.”

  “Maybe it was Franz, maybe he heard something.” Jack leaned his forehead against hers. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “So you’re saying . . .” She forced herself to breathe slower, to catch her breath before she started hyperventilating again. “We haven’t done anything illegal, but someone found out about . . . about our plan?”

  His eyes welled up with tears. “It looks that way.”

  “So . . . it had to be Beth.” Molly raised one shoulder. “She was the only one who suspected anything . . .”

  “Beth?” Jack gritted his teeth. “This better not be her doing.” He pressed his fists into his knees. “How could she call herself a Christian if she turned us in for protecting our son? Can you tell me that?”

  “Jack . . . please.” Molly felt dizzy, unable to process everything that was happening. This was their fault, not Beth’s. She had only done what she must’ve thought was best, maybe thinking somehow that she was helping them. But they were to blame, she and Jack. They had mocked God, using the church as a means of breaking the law. If anything, this was happening as God’s way of punishing them. “This isn’t about Beth—it’s about us. We never should’ve tried to escape. If we’re caught, it’s too late for anger.”

  “I know.” His shoulders slumped a little. “It’s too late for everything. But we had to try, Molly.”

  “Meaning they’ll take Joey from us?” She felt panicked by the idea. She wasn’t ready to say good-bye. “Jack, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Molly . . . I’m so sorry, baby.” Jack put one arm around Joey and the other around her. Joey looked at them, wondering. But he didn’t ask questions. Instead he buried his little blond head in Jack’s side and the three of them said nothing else the rest of the ride.

  The police took them to a two-story red brick building with a small sign that read U.S. Embassy.

  This is it, Molly told herself. They’ll take Joey and we’ll never see him again. Some crazy part of her wanted to turn around and run, grab Joey and Jack by the hand and run until she felt the rip of bullets in her back. Life wo
uld be over, anyway. If Joey was taken from them, how would any of them survive?

  “This way.” One of the officers opened their door. His voice and face were equally stiff.

  Dear God. . . . No! Was this what Beth meant by God’s will? Had God wanted Joey with the Porters all along, the nice lady Joey had talked about? They walked across a bumpy street and the police officers led them up a narrow outdoor staircase. At the top of the stairs, the officer who seemed to be in charge opened the door and ushered them inside.

  It was a holding room, a waiting area. The police formed a fortress that blocked the door. The one who spoke English pointed to the sofa. “You sit there.”

  Jack took her hand and the three of them did as they were told. Joey sat between them. Molly could feel him shaking, and she wasn’t sure what to do. If these were their last moments together, then she had things to tell him, things that would take a year at best. But now they had only minutes, and she didn’t know where to begin.

  She put him on her lap and cradled his head close to her face. “Joey, Mommy loves you.” The tears came then. They choked her voice, but she pressed on. If this was her only chance to tell him good-bye, then nothing was going to stop her. “Whatever happens, I want you to remember that, okay?”

  He brushed up close to her ear. “I love you, too.”

  Jack seemed to sense what was going on. They exchanged a look, and the heartache between them was suffocating. Jack put his arm around Joey and leaned closer. “You know what? You’re Daddy’s special guy, sport. I love you so much.” His voice cracked. He dropped it to a whisper. “You keep talking to God, okay?”

  Molly hurt all over. When this nightmare came to an end, when she and Jack were left to pick up the pieces and start over again, maybe they would make the next attempt at living life the way Beth and Bill did. With God in the lead.

  She was about to tell Joey that if someone ever took her away from him, she would love him all her life and always she would ask God to bring him back to her, but she didn’t get the chance. The door beyond the officers opened, and two uniformed men entered the room.