by B. D. Riehl
No doubt he wished he could get his money back.
Suchin heard a tiny beeping noise and watched as he dug around in his pocket to retrieve a small cell phone. He answered and whispered fervently to whomever was on the other line, sneaking nervous glances at her when she swayed.
The black spots were before her again. Dancing. Mocking. She lurched to the side of the street and vomited, surprised and disgusted when he rubbed her back. She lifted a trembling hand to her brow. For just a minute, they stood there while he whispered into his phone with more urgency. She could tell he was speaking English, although she didn’t know that language well enough to understand what he was saying.
The only English she knew was, “What you like, Mistah?”
The man looked around again—his face lined with worry—before he gripped her shoulder with one hand and propelled her forward.
Suchin’s legs felt like noodles, and after she stumbled a few more times, he groaned and hung up his phone. He stopped pushing her and lifted her in his arms, as if he were carrying a baby, before he rushed on.
Suchin wondered why he was in such a hurry. Then the darkness closed in, and she didn’t care. She faded in and out of consciousness. Every time she opened her eyes, the scenery changed.
A dark alley.
Another man.
Whispered, fevered instructions.
Hurried movement.
Sandwiched between two men on a moped.
The harsh glow of streetlights.
Stairs.
A door.
Knocking.
Voices.
A bed.
Pillows.
Covers.
Darkness.…
A small lamp on a table next to the bed cast warm light on Suchin’s face. The mattress beneath her felt like a cloud and she drifted in and out of peaceful consciousness. She knew she was dreaming when she opened her eyes and saw Moree’s concerned face floating above hers.
There was hushed activity all around Suchin. Someone shone a bright light in her eyes, and placed something cold on her chest. Then, very gently, turned her over and placed it again on her back. She fought to open her eyes until a cool cloth was placed on her brow, and a soft hand cupped her cheek.
She dreamt then of running on a beach. The sun felt glorious on her skin, and she hungrily drew clean air into her lungs. She danced on the shore. The waves glittered and danced with her in the brilliance of the sun’s rays. The man from her dream hours earlier stood before her again. He was no longer bleeding, but she could see scars on his hands. He smiled at her, and she was filled with peace. But why? Who was this man that looked at her as a prize, not to own or conquer, but to cherish?
Voices, a man and a woman’s, pulled her awake. She didn’t want to leave the light of her dream, but her eyes fluttered anyway.
“She’s waking up.”
Suchin recognized the voice but not the words. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of Moree sitting on the bed next to her and Dugan standing in the corner of a small, clean room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, one foot propped behind him on the wall.
“See?” Moree spoke Thai this time. “You gave us quite a scare, Little Bit.”
Suchin tried to answer, but coughed instead. Dugan handed Moree a glass of water with a straw, and Suchin drank from it gratefully while Moree held it for her.
“What—how did you find me?” she whispered.
“We will tell you everything, but we don’t have time right now.” Moree handed the glass of water back to Dugan, barely breaking eye contact with Suchin. “For now, I have a very important question for you, and this might be the last time I can ask it. Suchin, are you able to hear me and think clearly right now?”
Suchin nodded.
“Please,” Moree grasped Suchin’s clammy hands in her own cool dry ones. “Please, say yes. Come with us. Let us give you a chance at life. Not a life of karaoke bars and motels, but a real, abundant, wonderful life. Please. Will you come with us, Suchin?”
The young girl’s eyes blurred over with tears. “You still want me,” her eyes darted back and forth between Dugan and Moree, “even after I said no and kicked that man?”
Dugan snorted, “Donny’s a big brute. He can handle it.” His eyes twinkled at her, misty and full of assurance.
Moree squeezed her hands once more. “Of course, Suchin. We want to offer you life. Say yes. Say you’ll come with us.”
The room grew still. Suchin moved her legs on the soft sheets, inhaled the clean scent of the room, took in the warm, soft light and Moree’s kind face. Suchin cleared her throat, “Yes. Yes, I’ll go.” Her heart fluttered.
Moree and Dugan smiled triumphantly, and for the first time in her young life, Suchin felt safe. And hopeful.
***
Once she agreed, the small room became charged with activity. A doctor had cleared her for travel before she even agreed to go, but had warned that the journey might prove difficult for her. He returned with a brace for her cracked ribs and a mild pain reliever for the plane ride.
A young Thai man with a kind face and warm eyes arrived with a helmet tucked under his arm. He and Suchin would leave together and take his moped to another location where Dugan and Moree would be waiting. This way no one trailing them would have any indication that he wasn’t taking Suchin back to the bar. She understood the precaution, but felt her heart pound with doubt. She didn’t want to be separated from Moree.
He placed her gingerly on the bike and drove as carefully as he could. It was almost daybreak and they didn’t have much time.
Suchin held tight to him, terrified that it was all a wonderful dream, that she would wake in the dingy room at the bar and her life would be muted once again. He zigzagged in and out of alleys, and both were painfully aware of the deafening roar of his bike against the sleeping backdrop of the city. Even the most rowdy tourists would be settled in by now.
At last, he turned onto a narrow road and pulled over in front of an abandoned building next to a dark truck. He lifted her from the bike and passed her into Moree’s arms in the truck. Suchin’s eyes brimmed with gratitude at Moree’s warm embrace, and she looked back into the young man’s warm brown eyes. He chucked her on the chin affectionately, and closed the door. Dugan instructed Suchin to lie on the bench seat before he spread a worn blanket over her bruised frame.
The truck rolled forward, and Suchin watched the dawning sky through a small hole in the blanket. She heard Dugan muttering to himself before the truck halted to a stop. Moree responded calmly, then patted Suchin’s shoulder in reassurance before the truck rolled forward again.
Suddenly Dugan spat a foul word and immediately the air was charged with an electric current of tension. Moree whispered and Dugan answered back. Suchin wished they would speak Thai, but knew better than to ask just then. She felt the truck pull over and roll to a stop.
Suchin heard Dugan roll down the window and call out a greeting in Thai as Moree whispered in Thai, “Jesus be near; Jesus cover us.”
“Well, officer, how are you this morning?”
Suchin immediately panicked. There were many officers that secretly partnered with the pimps; some even owned their own brothels. She’d seen girls who had tried to run, dragged back into the bar by their hair by government officials. These men turned away when she and a customer walked by in the street. They had their hands deep in the pockets of the earnings on Walking Street and helped pimps keep girls in line.
Her crystal balloon of hope shattered in that moment, pelting through her veins with shards of sharp reality. Moree and Dugan were no match for the Thai police. She heard a deep voice answer back, but it was too muffled for her to understand.
Dugan spoke again, “The wife and I thought we would head to Chiang Rai for the weekend. You know women, eh? Once they get an idea in their head you get right on it. What’s that? Nah, just a blanket we keep in here…Oh, well, sure you can see it…can’t he, Honey?”
Suchin t
rembled violently when Moree squeaked out, “Of course.”
Suchin’s heart pounded in her ears when a corner of the blanket lifted. She could clearly see the top of the officer’s head now, his almond shaped eyes narrowed in her direction. She recognized him as a frequent customer, a special guest of Lok Lee. He asked for her often.
Her breath stilled, and it felt like hours that he stood there looking at her but not seeing her. The air crackled with tension. No one moved. Suchin felt that her heart stilled enough to avoid detection. Any minute he would snap his fingers, and a band of officers would be there to drag Suchin back and finish off Moree and Dugan.
Finally, he nodded to Dugan and walked away.
Dugan rolled up the window, and they drove on in silence. Once they turned a corner, Dugan and Moree both burst into hysterical laughter and jubilee. Dugan punched the roof of the truck, startling the young girl. Moree, her face tucked into Suchin’s neck, whispered, “Praise You, Lord. Praise You,” over and over, her tears streaming into Suchin’s hair.
“He covered her, Moree,” Dugan laughed. “He covered her. Did you see that? He looked right at her and didn’t see. God covered her!” Moree laughed and hugged Suchin tight beneath the blanket.
“I know, Dugan. I know!”
Suchin trembled in disbelief and fear. Who were these people? Who was this God that could hide a young Thai slave in plain sight?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Charlotte awoke refreshed—much more than she had in years. She rose from the small bed, wincing at her sore muscles. The pain reminded her of the day before, and as she cuddled Noah, she thanked the Lord again for His patience with her, for the gift of her life and family, for this little boy. She gave him a bottle this time to further wean him; she planned to nurse a few times a day in place of pumping, but still wanted him ready for when she left. Her throat constricted at the thought.
Once he was satisfied, Charlotte wrapped Noah into a sling and made her way outside to give him some fresh air. Some of the daycare kids were playing a game of soccer in the dirt, and they waved her over. Bursting with renewed joy, she happily joined in, careful to move slowly and just kick when the ball came to her so as not to jostle Noah too much. The children seemed to understand and were gentle in their play as well.
Their youthfulness was contagious, and Charlotte wished her girls could be there to play. How long had it been since she’d stopped worrying about having a clean house or gourmet dinner and an organized calendar and just played with her children? Had they ever had their mother in this way—happy and content, relaxed and joyful, fully focused on the task God had placed before her?
She had returned from her tour of Angkor Wat the day before and spent an hour nursing Noah, just enjoying the job God had given her for that moment. It was as if God had lifted not only the fog but also the veil of dissatisfaction that had blocked her access to joy and the correct point of view. His point of view.
Life was a blessing. Her girls were a blessing. The opportunity to stay home, and a husband who wanted her to be home with their children was a great blessing.
This sweet baby, thrust unexpectedly into her arms was an immeasurable joy. How could she have missed it before? How did she not see how God had so specifically called both Lydia and herself to this country at this time?
At first, she had assumed God was giving her a break from the mundane. Then she thought He needed her to turn Lydia’s heart to Him. How good He was to still allow her to be a tool for His purpose—purposes much beyond her understanding.
She kicked the ball again as it rolled her way. She felt out of breath from the way she held her body, careful not to jostle Noah in his sling. Finally, she waved her hands at the children. “I need a break.”
Not ready to leave the bright sunshine, she found a patch of packed dirt in view of the soccer field and sat down with Noah. She unraveled the sling and spread it on the ground so that he could enjoy some tummy time in the bright sun.
He didn’t appreciate the position for long, and she scooped him up to kiss his soft neck. How wonderful he smelled, earthy and small, new. Had he only been in her life for a week or so? Charlotte couldn’t begin to think about what she was supposed to do when she left in a few days.
The rest of the day passed just as all the others before it, but this time she felt inexplicable joy in the details. Even when a harried staff member asked if she could help prepare for a new volunteer group that was arriving that night, Charlotte threw herself into the familiar work as if the Lord had placed a platter of immeasurable opportunity before her. Hadn’t He been so faithful to give her work?
When Sam called much later that night she heard his deep voice, and tears stung her eyes. How she missed him. They discussed the details of their days; he caught her up on family news and the line went silent for a moment.
“Hey, Lottie, I had a dream last night.” Charlotte paused at the serious tone in his voice. There were a few key moments in their marriage that Sam’s dreams had helped their decisions. When they were ready to buy their first house, Charlotte had fallen in love with a sweet older home in a neighborhood in downtown Boise. It was surprisingly affordable and for sale by the owner, a middle-aged man that had updated the home himself. Everything about him checked out, and they quickly came to a deal and agreed to meet to sign papers the next day.
That night Sam had a dream that the house shed its paint and was full of bullet holes. Through the holes Sam could see a blazing fire. Although Charlotte was skeptical, when they met the man at a coffee shop the next morning, she stood beside Sam when he insisted on an inspection before they signed anything.
The man had set down his mug of half-drunk black coffee hard. Charlotte had rounded her eyes at him, uncomfortable that the friendly atmosphere in the bustling coffee shop suddenly turned cold.
“Now, young man, I have done all of the work in that house myself. I can assure you that everything will check out.”
Charlotte had been proud of Sam’s quick smile. “Well, now, I’m sure that’s true, but for peace of mind, we would like to have the home inspected.”
The man chewed his lower lip. “We agreed on the price we had because your wife wanted to have enough money to furnish the house.” He looked directly at Charlotte. “Inspections are expensive, little lady, and you won’t have nearly enough for all of the fine things you said you wanted in the house.” She felt uneasy as he played with her emotions.
She reached across the tabletop to entwine her fingers with Sam’s. “I would rather have peace of mind than patio furniture,” she’d said, comforted when Sam gave her hand a warm squeeze.
The inspection revealed live wires haphazardly wrapped around poles in the attic, a major problem with the foundation and a dozen other things. All fixable, but Sam was uncomfortable with the pushiness of the owner and walked away.
Weeks later they learned a notorious gang had moved a member into that neighborhood and there was a drive-by shooting on that street.
Charlotte learned to never shrug off Sam’s dreams again and prepared herself for what he had to say. “Okay, Hon. I’m listening.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay. Well…okay, this is hard. I can’t tell you what the dream was, because I don’t really know.”
“Oookaaayyy…”
“But I do know that the message was very clear: We are supposed to adopt Noah.”
The silence stretched between them.
“Whoa, Sam, are you serious?”
She could hear him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes.”
“Bu-but, Sam, do you hear yourself? You didn’t want any more kids.”
“I know.”
“You said you never wanted a boy.”
“I know.”
“That you didn’t feel comfortable adopting.”
“I know.”
“Where would we put him?”
“I don’t know.”
Her questions continued to tumble forth as her mind ra
ced. “How do we even go about this? Don’t we need to apply somewhere, get background checks, approval, money, fingerprints?”
Sam chuckled slightly at that. “I’m pretty sure they ran my fingerprints when I became a police officer.” His wry tone didn’t slow the torrent of thoughts that assailed Charlotte.
“Sam, I don’t think I can just walk down to Megan’s office, knock on the door and say, ‘Hey, Megan. I just think I’m going to keep Noah. Is that cool? Great!’ This is insane!”
“I know, Lottie. I know. I didn’t sleep at all last night after the dream. I have no idea how, but we are supposed to adopt him; that much I know. God can fill in the details, right?”
Suddenly Charlotte’s heart clicked into their conversation, and she stopped her wild pacing. “Sam? Are you serious? Really serious? I can bring Noah home?” Her voice cracked under the weight of emotion.
“Yea, Lottie. Bring him home. Bring our son home.”
***
Charlotte scooped Noah close to her heart and snuggled him there for what felt like hours. She breathed him in again, this time as his soon-to-be mother. It was of God; it had to be. The trip, Sam’s dream, her new friendship with Megan—all of it had to be from the Lord, and she was in awe of the rightness and brilliance of it. Even more, she was utterly humbled and in awe that God would find her worthy to care for His child. Rather, His children. Weren’t all the children placed in her care His to begin with?
Megan! She had to talk to Megan! Charlotte wrapped Noah in his sling and walked down the hall, hoping to find Megan in her office. But the room was dark. Next, Charlotte looked in Megan’s room but didn’t find her there either. She searched the Deliverance campus, stopping volunteers, but no one knew where Megan had gone.
Finally, Chet, a young man that ran the media side of things and had often helped her email Sam, said, “Oh, I think she’s in a meeting. She shouldn’t be long, though. If I see her, I’ll tell her you were looking for her.”
Charlotte thanked him and returned to her room, trying to calm her racing heart. Images played across her mind like scenes from a movie: of the girls meeting their little brother and cuddling with him; Noah growing and sitting up, crawling, walking, talking, attending Sunday school at their church, joining his sisters at school around their kitchen table, playing football in the yard with Sam, following in his grandfather and father’s footsteps and becoming a civil servant. The possibilities that would now be afforded to him exploded in her heart.