Like Dandelion Dust (18 page)

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.”

Molly pushed herself the few feet to the door and opened it. A tall woman was standing on the other side. Molly stood back and ushered her in. “Mrs. Bower.”

“Yes.” She held out a card identifying her as an employee with the Children’s Welfare Department of Ohio. Her face was kind and troubled all at the same time. With Joey still clinging to Jack, she spoke only to Molly. “I’m so sorry.” She looked down for a few seconds. When her eyes lifted, they were damp. “I want you to know I’m completely against this decision.” She paused as if she were looking for some way around it. “Nevertheless, it’s my job to carry it out.”

“Is there any way?” Molly clung to the door. Her voice was a strained whisper, pinched with pain. She could feel the blood leaving her face. There had to be other options if even the social worker was against the idea. This was the first she’d heard of that. “We can’t let them take him from us. Please, Mrs. Bower . . .”

Allyson closed her eyes and breathed out. When she opened them, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could tell you. The law’s painfully clear on a case like this.” She looked at Jack and Joey, the two of them still lost in their own private conversation. Joey was crying now, sobbing, his little face pressed against Jack’s neck. The woman shifted her attention back to Molly. “Your husband tells me he’s spoken with a number of attorneys. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“What about the governor, or the President of the United States?” Molly had heard of cases like this one where the media helped create a great public outcry and the case gained the attention of top officials. “Should we start making phone calls?”

“I’ve looked into it.” Allyson gave a sad shake of her head. “If I thought it would help I would’ve already suggested it. But in every case I looked into, where fraud was the reason for restoring parental rights, the child always went back to the birth parents. Even if the adoptive parents contacted the White House.” She took another step inside. “Every time.”

Molly was shaking. This was the part she couldn’t let herself think about, the part where a social worker took hold of Joey’s hand and led him out of their house. If it were a movie, she’d take this moment to visit the restroom or slip outside for a breath of fresh air. It terrified her even to imagine such a scene, and now here they were.

The social worker looked at her watch. “I’m afraid we have a plane to catch.” She handed a packet of papers to Molly. “This has his itinerary, the airline information, my cell phone number, and the name and phone number of the Porters, where Joey will be staying. Normally this information is not shared, but under the circumstances, the judge authorized my giving it to you. Joey is very young. You need to have a way to reach him in case of an emergency.”

“An emergency?” Molly’s heart leaped at the thought of having the Porters’ information. She could call Joey every hour if she wanted to.

“Yes, Mrs. Campbell.” Allyson’s face was serious. “If you make unnecessary calls to the Porters, the judge will frown on it. He might decide to have the transfer take place sooner. So that the process will be quicker, easier on everyone.”

Jack closed the distance between them. He eased Joey’s arms from around his neck. There were tears on his face, but Molly couldn’t tell if they were his or Joey’s. “Okay, sport. Time to go.”

“Please, Daddy, don’t make me.” Joey clung to Jack for all he was worth.

Molly leaned against the wall so she wouldn’t collapse. How was this happening? What were they doing, standing by and letting a stranger take him from his home? The room tilted and nothing made sense. “Joey, baby. Come here.”

At the sound of her voice, Joey slid slowly down from Jack’s arms and ran to her. He was heavy, but she could still sweep him up and hold him. He wrapped his legs around her waist and buried his head in her shoulder. “Come with me, Mommy. Please!”

She said the first thing that came to mind. “God’s going with you, remember? You asked God to go.”

For the first time in ten minutes, Joey’s sobs let up. He was still sad, still crying. But he seemed more in control. He straightened himself and rubbed his nose against hers. “That’s right, huh, Mommy? God’ll be with me, ’cause I asked Him.”

“Exactly.” Molly wondered if God was right there with both of them, even in that very instant. Otherwise how was she standing or talking or doing anything but falling apart? Tears blurred her vision, but again she refused them. She smiled at him. “Eskimo noses, okay?”

In the background, she saw Jack turn and press his forehead against the wall. His shoulders were shaking.

Joey didn’t notice. He rubbed Molly’s nose with his. Then he blinked his eyelashes against hers. “And butterfly kisses.”