Eventually, she even set up a nonprofit organization, promoting it through her website, Finding My Emily, where she also itemized her expenses online, down to the penny, assuring her contributors that nothing they gave her was applied to personal expenses.
Over time, she’d raised a quarter of a million dollars, but it was nearly all gone now. And lately, contributions had leveled off. The economy was rough and too many years had passed since Emily had been taken, and with the passage of time, fewer people believed in, or contributed toward, Kelly’s goal.
Fortunately, several years ago an older couple, Chet and Eloise Stilson, charitable and compassionate millionaires, had taken her under their collective wings. Without them, Kelly would have gone broke, and yet, despite Chet and Eloise’s ongoing generosity, overall funds were dwindling.
“I’ll need some time to qualify her,” Ernie said, referring to the lead. “You’re gonna like this one if it pans out, but I don’t want to send you on a wild goose chase.”
“I can wait.”
“And . . . I hate to mention this, but I’ve only got a few hundred bucks left on retainer.”
Kelly paused. “Uh, I don’t have a lot at the moment, but I can give you what I have.”
“That’s fine, honey. I owe you some free time.”
“No, you don’t—”
“Shh,” he whispered, like a crotchety but loving grandfather. “I’m not quitting on you just because the money’s short. I’ll work slower if I have to, but I won’t pull out till you say the word.”
“Thanks, Ernie. You’ve been—” She stopped, moved by his generosity. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“We’re gonna find her, Kelly,” he growled. “I promise you that.”
Kelly returned home, pausing in the doorway and blinking at her familiar surroundings. Eager to access her website for possible leads, her only contribution to Ernie’s efforts, she needed to keep working, if only to minimize her disappointment. She’d long harbored the belief that someone could email her out of the blue: Hey, we saw someone who HAS to be your kid.
It could happen, she thought.
Years before, she’d joined a number of support groups, one local and a few online. The people behind the groups taught you how to cope, how to go from day to day without collapsing, and how to let go. But that was the one trick she hadn’t learned—letting go. She refused to become comfortable with loss. And she didn’t need friends who helped her cope. She wanted her daughter back.
Job one, she reminded herself, get more money. But she couldn’t bear to ask Chet and Eloise for more. As it was, they deserved an accounting of the money she’d already spent.
Kelly headed to the kitchen and poured some soda over ice, something to soothe her stomach. Praying for wisdom, she trudged to the computer, touched the mouse, and brought up the screen saver: Emily at one month old, cooing at the camera. For a few minutes Kelly indulged herself, savoring more photos: Emily at six weeks, wearing her cuddly pink sleeper; Emily reaching for the colorful Little Mermaid crib mobile, and Kelly’s favorite, baby Emily and Kelly cheek to cheek.
Another photo of Emily was taken that long-ago October, twenty-four hours before the worst day of Kelly’s life. She’d awakened in the predawn hours, trying her best to remember—had Emily cried at all last night? No, she hadn’t. Her precious baby hadn’t cried once that night. And why was that?
Pushing the horrid memories into the farthest corner of her mind, Kelly clicked over to her website, intending to read a few of the old posts, anything encouraging. Instead, she found a recent message, posted for everyone to see: You’re a fraud, Ms. Maines. I gave you two hundred bucks two years ago, and you’re STILL dredging for contributions? I want a refund!
The writer gave his name and email, but no address, so she swallowed her frustration and answered him directly. I apologize. I haven’t found Emily as quickly as I’d hoped. I will return your money. Thank you for your prayers through the years.
Accessing her online banking records from two years prior, Kelly located his address on the copy of the check. She removed her small file box from the cabinet, found the nonprofit checkbook, and wrote a check for the amount. Just as deliberately, she addressed the envelope and carried it out to the mailbox.
She stood in the heat of the glaring sun, thankful when a subtle cool breeze whispered against her cheek. She heard the clack-clack-clack-clack on the sidewalk across the street, and spotted a red-shirted boy balancing precariously on his silver skateboard. From behind her, she heard a soft meow, and turned to see Felix, the landlady’s calico cat, padding toward her. Smiling, she crouched to pet Felix as he nudged against her leg and purred profusely. “You must be hungry, little one.”
The meowing continued, so Kelly scooped up the cat and hurried upstairs to pour some water and Meow Mix. Felix was already sipping from the bowl before Kelly placed it on the ground.
Watching Agnes’s cat drink, Kelly felt sorry for the little rascal, not only because of the unfortunate name, bless his heart, but because Felix’s owner was rarely home to feed him. Then, thinking of the last people on earth who still believed in her, Kelly punched in their phone number. Chet Stilson answered on the second ring.
“Are you guys busy?” she asked.
Chet hesitated for a moment. “Uh . . . we were just talking about you,” he replied. “You up for one of Eloise’s medley soups?”
“I’m starving,” she replied, glancing at her cell phone clock.
They agreed to meet at three o’clock, and Kelly hung up, kneeling down to stroke Felix.
It takes a lot to ruffle Chet’s feathers, Kelly thought, recalling his hesitance. Something’s up. . . .
Chapter 7
Originally from Austin, Texas, the Stilsons lived in an upscale neighborhood in the northwest section of Akron, nestled at the edge of a forest.
Kelly had always enjoyed the drive along scenic Yellow Creek Road and the turn into Chet and Eloise’s long private lane. She stopped for a moment to check the mirror and decided she looked too pale. Pinching her cheeks, she sighed. Little help that did, she thought as she continued on for the quarter mile, following the gravel road. The red and white rosebushes and the occasional statue decoration offered her solace.
When she arrived at the house, a tall white-haired man in ranch attire, sporting a well-groomed mustache and bushy eyebrows, met her at the door and gave her a bear hug. She breathed in his Texan musk, what he jokingly called toilet water. “How’s my favorite detective?” he said with a grin, his tanned face grooved with wrinkles. His cowboy hat was missing today. Chet without the hat was hardly Chet at all.
She gave him an appreciative smile and followed him through the two-story entryway and into the great room with its cathedral ceiling, lofty windows, long drapes, and graceful arches, in keeping with the Mediterranean style of the house.
Due to a childhood accident—a broken leg that had never properly healed—Chet strutted like a feisty ranch hand, not unlike the quintessential movie cowboy John Wayne. Kelly hid a grin as Chet shuffled across the room with a somewhat awkward yet decidedly rugged swagger.
Chocolate-covered strawberries and mixed nuts awaited them in the sun-drenched alcove adjacent to the kitchen, where Eloise, a rather petite woman in a flowing white sundress, had just closed the refrigerator and turned to smile at them, holding a pitcher. “Sweet tea, anyone?”
Eloise reminded Kelly of anyone’s favorite grandmother, peppery gray brown hair and granny glasses, tender with her words. Easy to love.
“Sure,” Kelly said. “Thank you.”
Kelly and Chet were seated at a marble table overlooking the nearby lake, and while they snacked, Kelly waited for the ball to drop. Something was off-kilter; she could sense it in Eloise’s faltering expression.
“Are you sleeping, honey?” Eloise asked softly, still moving about the grand kitchen.
Remembering Ernie’s similar concern, Kelly smiled. “When I can.”
> Eloise nodded, but the worry in her eyes remained. “Eating enough?”
“Some . . .”
Eloise served the hearty chicken and vegetable soup, ladling each portion into delicate two-handled white soup bowls.
Nerves on edge, Kelly crumbled a few crackers and stirred them into the steamy broth, then ate slowly, careful not to clink loudly.
Eloise asked Kelly if she’d like a sandwich, but Kelly politely demurred. “The soup is delicious and plenty for me, thanks.”
At one point, Chet chuckled at his wife’s overly attentive manner, and she smiled in return. They talked about the church where they’d originally met, where Kelly rarely found time to attend, and they also discussed Kelly’s dwindling funds, the slowing of recent contributions. She felt embarrassed, not expecting them to continue their support. They’d already done too much for her, but the fact remained that she needed their financial help.
Chet wiped his mouth with his napkin and, after meeting Eloise’s gaze, fixed Kelly with his Texas let’s get down to business look. Chet’s rough manners, a refined version of Ernie’s own gruff nature, belied his quick mind. Chet had made millions from shrewd investments, real estate holdings, and smart partnerships, and he and Eloise, both in their late sixties, were in the “giving back” stage of their lives.
“Recently, I had a long conversation with Ernie Meyers,” Chet began, reaching for a toothpick.
Kelly gripped her glass, heavy in her hands. She could imagine it slipping through her fingers, breaking into a thousand jagged pieces.
“I think I’ve got a handle on why we haven’t been successful,” Chet said, pausing until Kelly met his gaze. “God is not blessing our efforts, and for good reason.”
“Oh, Chet!” Eloise exclaimed, then quickly lowered her voice. “We agreed you wouldn’t be so direct.”
“That’s okay,” Kelly replied softly, setting her slippery glass down. “I want to hear this.”
Chet leaned forward, folding his callused hands. “Ernie reluctantly shared some things. My guess is he really didn’t want us to know.” He glanced at Eloise again, requesting approval with his eyes.
Kelly held her breath. Ernie, clever as a fox, would have tiptoed carefully, aware that Chet was funding a lion’s share of the search.
“Fact is, you’ve been extracting DNA unethically, Kelly.” Chet’s toothpick dangled from his lips at an odd angle, and she knew from her time with the Stilsons that this particular habit annoyed Eloise no end.
“Is it true?” Eloise looked at Kelly, her eyes moist. “You’re taking it without permission?”
Kelly swallowed hard. “Only when I have to.” Which is always, she thought.
“I’m not surprised,” Chet clarified, his eyes softening. “But I am disappointed.”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Kelly said. “I wanted you to have something to show for your money, and I—” She stopped. I wanted to find my daughter.
Kelly felt as if the room were closing in on her. Her mouth went dry, and the tears welled up. Eloise reached over and patted Kelly’s arm.
“Will you excuse me, please?” Kelly asked, rising, and being the gentleman he was, Chet stood with her, nodding, concern etched in his brusque expression.
Kelly hurried down the hall, Chet’s words haunting her as she closed the bathroom door and stared in the mirror. The circles under her eyes had become darker by the week, and yes, she was as thin as a rail, but only because it was so hard to put on weight, not because she wasn’t trying. I feel fine, she thought. Just a little tired.
Kelly ran some cool water into the seashell basin and splashed the water on her face, drying her cheeks with a towel. Brushing her fingers through her lifeless hair proved futile. She forced a smile and said it out loud: “I feel fine.”
But she also felt exasperated and embarrassed, as if she’d been caught stealing candy at the grocery store. And she feared that Chet and Eloise regretted hitching their wagon to a falling star.
I had no choice, she told herself, but she respected Chet and couldn’t help wondering if he was right. Is God displeased with me?
When she returned, Chet’s toothpick had disappeared. Kelly sat down, determined to take her medicine, to let them have their say.
Chet tapped the table with his knuckles. “Bottom line: We need to take the royal way, honey. We can’t expect God to reward dishonesty.”
She nodded, but the implications of changing tactics hit her hard. Getting parents to simply hand over DNA samples had proven to be time-consuming and nearly impossible.
Chet continued. “I also want you to know, I plan to give Ernie another ten grand.”
“Oh, Chet . . . thank you,” Kelly said, looking at Eloise. Tears came to her eyes again. These days, it took months to gather ten thousand dollars from her feeble fund-raising.
Eloise nodded. “Honey, we’re committed to seeing this through.”
“But you have to promise,” Chet warned, “no more fraudulent testing.”
She caught the “no nonsense” look in Chet’s eyes and waited for him to say, “No more stalking.” If he did, how could she possibly agree to that? How was she supposed to find Emily if she didn’t actually look for her?
Kelly folded her hands and felt the room whirl about her. She was beyond overwhelmed, not only by their continued generosity, but by the giant wall that Chet had just placed in her path.
He extended his big hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Kelly shook on it.
They bowed their heads, holding hands as they had dozens of times before while Chet prayed aloud, his deep voice booming. “Our gracious heavenly Father, we come humbly today to thank You for Your many blessings. . . .”
Later, in the entryway, she reached for Chet, and he hugged her back tightly, gripping her arms, admonishing her. “You’re wasting away to nothing, Kelly-girl.”
“Goodness, Chet,” Eloise muttered.
“I’ll try to eat more,” Kelly promised.
Chet frowned. “We worry about you. You’re the daughter we never had, Kelly. You know that, don’t you?”
Kelly managed a smile. “I love you guys.” She hugged Chet again and kissed Eloise’s cheek.
Kelly walked the stonework steps that led to her car, and when she looked back at them, Chet and Eloise were still standing at the threshold, waving. She waved back, grateful for their generosity, sustained by their love, and encouraged by their faith.
Even so, her promise to Chet had put a chink in her methods. And that wasn’t the worst of it. Despite his objection to her testing methods, Chet didn’t have a clue what Ernie did to gather his leads. Kelly didn’t fully grasp it, either, but Ernie’s high-tech surveillance process, a process he’d farmed out to other “associates,” surely involved invasive and unethical, if not illegal, intelligence work. If Chet knew the full scope of their methods, would he have pulled the financial plug long before now?
On the other hand, she thought, beginning her convenient rationalization, I don’t know for sure, do I?
Kelly put her car into gear and sped down the lane, gravel rattling beneath the car. Now what do I do? she thought, not surprised that Ernie hadn’t been more forthcoming with Chet.
She’d learned from years of association that, despite his devout faith, Ernie harbored a different perspective, one that she also shared. According to Ecclesiastes, there was a time for everything, including war. Truly, finding her daughter was like a war—she used every method available, including desperate measures, camouflage, and outright deception, not to mention brazen faith and foolish hope.
Dear Chet could be rather long-winded at times, but Kelly soaked it up. “Whenever things are bleak, missy, consider it an opportunity. Anyone can believe in the light of day, but few persist under the shroud of darkness. Never forget, faith is a light that’s best seen in the dark.”
Kelly smiled at the memory, her heart beating harder as she thought about Ernie’s latest lead. “You’re gonna like
this one,” he’d said by phone. Bless his heart. Ernie was her other rock, and roadblocks or not, there was always another lead, another reason to hope, and another chance for a miracle.
She rolled down her window, reveling in the afternoon sun. “I do believe,” she whispered. “And I want to do this right. Help me follow Your path—the royal way—to Emily.”
For the rest of the way home, Kelly’s prayers mingled with the wind as she asked for divine direction, for the opening of doors and windows, for the tiniest break. For anything, even a crumb.
“Someday You’ll say yes,” she whispered. “I know You will.”
Jack stood in the school hallway, surrounded by wall displays of students’ art, announcements, and photos of classroom activities. He surfed the web on his tablet, reading the news, waiting for his appointment with Nattie’s teachers.
That morning, after confirming the imminent return of favorable wind conditions, he’d left Nattie in Laura’s care and drove his Ford pickup to Wayne County Airport, northeast of Wooster. There, he did his own preflight of the older Cessna 172, examining the flight surfaces, filling the plane with gas, and topping off the oil. He’d arrived early for a reason—it had been a while since he’d taken to the skies, and aside from Nattie, flying was still his greatest love.
His soft-spoken father, a man given to few words, had introduced him to flying, and it hadn’t taken long to adopt his father’s passion as his own, creating a steel bond between them.
If asked now why he enjoyed flying, Jack would merely say, “I fly because I can’t imagine not flying.” For him, it was a way of seeing things, a way of renewing his perspective, providing a sense of control, not only over the skies but over his life. And, too often, as his father could attest, it provided the temporary escape from the troubles of the world, if not the stress of their turbulent home.
Jack’s FBO—Fixed Base Operation—was located in a small corner of what served as the airport terminal for the area of Wooster. Todd had shown up on time, keen on soloing. He had forty-seven hours under his belt and had mastered stalls, slow flight, turns around a point, and a dozen other maneuvers but still struggled with two-point landings. Todd had a tendency to force the nose downward, the wrong thing to do if you didn’t like bouncy landings, not to mention broken nose gears.
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