Like Dandelion Dust

by Karen Kingsbury

  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.”

  “Yes.” She pressed her cheek alongside his and held him, memorizing the feel of him in her arms. Then she brushed her eyelashes against his. “Butterfly kisses.”

  “Joey . . .” The social worker stepped up. “I’m Mrs. Bower.”

  Joey looked at her. He dragged his hands across his cheeks. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” She smiled. “I’ll take very good care of you and I’ll bring you back before you know it. I promise.”

  Jack came to them then. He circled his arms around Molly and Joey, and they stayed that way for a full minute, none of them wanting to let go. Finally, Jack helped Joey to the floor. “Remember what we told you.”

  “I will.” He was still holding Molly’s hand. His eyes met hers. “Mommy?”

  That was all he needed to say. In that single word he was asking her all the same questions again. Did he have to go? Couldn’t she come with him? Why couldn’t he stay with her and Jack and Gus?

  Molly bent down and brought his hand to her lips. She kissed it and looked straight into his eyes, to his heart. “I love you. I could never love any little boy as much as I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He gave her one last hug.

  When he pulled back, she held her breath. She had no idea how she was going to do this next part, but it had to be done. She pursed her lips and blew out. “Mrs. Bower will take good care of you, buddy.” Then, slowly, she tucked his hand into the hand of the social worker. “Don’t forget about God.” She took a step back. Maybe she would have a heart attack or a stroke. . . . The pain was strong enough to kill her.

  Again, peace eased the worry and fear in his precious features. “Yeah. God’s going with me. I hafta remember that.”

  Jack stepped up and kissed him once more on the forehead. “I love you, sport. Call us if you get lonely, okay?”

  “’Kay. Love you, too.”

  “Bye, Joey.” Molly clung to Jack’s arm, leaned on him so she wouldn’t fall over.

  “Everything will be okay. You’ll come home tomorrow.” Allyson Bower gave them a final look, as if she couldn’t bear the words she was saying. Everything would hardly be okay. And though he’d come home this time, in a few short months they’d have to say good-bye forever.

  The social worker took Joey’s suitcase with one hand, and held onto Joey’s fingers with the other. They walked through the entryway and down the sidewalk. Molly and Jack moved to the screen door and watched them go. Joey looked over his shoulder every few steps and waved at them.

  He looked frightened still, but he wasn’t crying. Mrs. Bower helped him with his suitcase, and then buckled him into a booster seat. Mrs. Bower said something Molly couldn’t quite make out—something about getting ice cream at the airport. Joey gave her a weak smile, and a minute later, the social worker climbed into the driver’s seat and the two of them drove away.

  Molly had expected to collapse on the floor, screaming and wailing, frantic for her son. She’d been holding back the tears all morning, after all. Instead she only stood there, staring at the empty road outside their home, listening as the sound of the woman’s car grew more and more distant and eventually faded altogether. When it did, Jack finally led her back inside and shut the door. She found her way to the sof
a and sat down.

  Neither of them spoke or cried or screamed. There was nothing they could do; Joey was gone. His entire next two days were completely out of their hands. Molly covered her face and wondered about herself. Where were her tears? Where was her heart in all the hurt and terror of the moment? How come she was still breathing?

  And suddenly she knew.

  Her body was carrying on in an auto-pilot sort of way. But her heart and soul and emotions . . . Everything else inside her was dead. She’d lost all connection with life the moment Joey walked out of their house. Yes, it could take a lifetime before her heart stopped beating, but without Joey she felt completely and wholly lifeless. Only one thing would breathe meaning back into her existence.

  The moment Joey ran through the door and into her arms again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The visit wasn’t going all that well.

  Wendy and Rip had everything all set when Allyson and Joey walked through the door that afternoon. She’d gotten the day off work, and even though Rip was scheduled to start work at the theater, they were letting him wait until Monday.

  Ever since the day of the home study, she and Rip had gotten along fine. He was a little uptight now and then, but who wouldn’t be? The changes in their lives were huge. He was out of prison, and now they were getting their son back. Neither of them had ever been a parent before, so sure, they were anxious.

  Rip fixed the hole in the wall, like he’d promised, and for the most part he’d been a dream to be around. Even today. They baked chocolate-chip cookies, and Rip stayed with her the whole time.

  “So they don’t burn,” he’d told her. But he wasn’t mad; he winked at her and the job was actually fun. Something they could do together.

  Joey’s room was all made up, too. Rip had come home the day before with a stuffed bear. “Think he’ll like it?” Rip arranged it just so, right at the center of Joey’s pillow.

  “Of course.” She loved this side of Rip, the side that wanted to be a good father. “Do you like his new bed?”

  “How much did it set us back?” Rip raised a wary eye.

  “Not much. It was on sale.”

  “Three hundred?”

  “Three-twenty.” She winced. “But I charged it. Twenty dollars a month. We can afford that, right?”

  He smiled and took her in his arms. “With my new job, we can.” The pride in his face was contagious. “Everything’s looking up for us, Wendy. I always knew it would happen this way one day. I just never thought we’d have a son so soon.” He chuckled. “It’s like all my dreams are coming true.”

  The trouble started when Joey arrived.

  Mrs. Bower almost dragged him through the door. He looked tired and weepy, and Wendy’s heart went out to him. This was her little baby, all grown up. The one she’d held in her arms all those years ago in that hospital bed. This was the boy who seemed to whisper to her, Mommy . . . don’t let me go. Don’t give me up. He was beautiful, all golden hair and pale blue eyes. She could see herself in the shape of his face, and Rip in the child’s athletic build.

  But the joy of seeing him for the first time was short-lived.

  “No!” He turned and cried the word into the social worker’s leg. “I wanna go home.”

  Allyson stopped and bent down. She said something they couldn’t hear, but Joey shook his head. His tone wasn’t rude, just very, very sad. Sad enough to break the hearts of everyone in the room. Allyson whispered something else to him. Joey sniffed a few times. “No . . . I want my mommy and daddy!”

  Next to her, Wendy heard Rip chuckle. He sounded nervous, the way he got right before his anger took over. “Uh . . . this is awkward.” Another chuckle. “Let’s get the boy inside. Maybe that’ll calm him down.”

  The social worker managed to lead Joey into the house and over to the kitchen table a few feet away, where he sat close to her. Wendy took her place at the table, in the chair on Joey’s other side. Rip remained standing, leaning against the nearest wall and shifting positions every few seconds. He couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable if he’d been standing on a bed of nails.

  “Please . . .” Joey folded his arms on the table and buried his tearstained face. His words became muffled. “I wanna go home.”

  Rip made a face and gave an exaggerated sigh. His lips parted as if he might say something, but then he changed his mind. He worked the muscles in his jaw, his anger bubbling close to the surface. He moved into the kitchen, grabbed a glass from the cupboard, and poured himself some water.

  Wendy prayed he’d keep his mouth shut. They’d been warned about this, right? The social worker told them not to say anything argumentative to the boy the first day. They weren’t to tell him that they were his real parents, and they weren’t to make him think their own house was his home if he talked about wanting to go back to Florida.

  Still, staying quiet looked like a struggle for Rip. She gave him a stern look, the hardest look she’d given him since he’d been out of prison. Normally he wouldn’t have let her look at him that way, but here—with Allyson Bower in their kitchen—Rip knew better than to say anything.

  Wendy put her hand on Joey’s shoulder, and the sensation was like magic. This was her son, her baby. It was the first time she’d touched him since she handed him over to the nurse that terrible afternoon. She wasn’t prepared for the feelings that stirred in her soul. “Honey . . .” She struggled to find her voice. “I baked you some cookies. Are you hungry?”

  From across the room, Rip chimed in. “We baked ’em.” He raised his water glass in their direction. “It was my idea.”

  Mrs. Bower shot him a strange look. But she quickly turned her attention back to Joey. “Did you hear what the mommy told you?” The judge had asked that Joey call them “the mommy” and “the daddy” from the beginning. That way it’d be easier on everyone when he came to live with them for good. And the social worker was clear about the wording. She didn’t say, “your mommy.” She said “the mommy.”

  Wendy was fine with that. The poor boy. He looked scared to death.

  At the mention of cookies, Joey lifted his head. Even though his tears had stopped, he inhaled in sets of three quick breaths, as if the sobs were still cutting at him on the inside. That’s when he looked at her, and for the first time since he was a newborn, their eyes met.

  In that instant, Wendy knew she could never let him go. He’d found his way home by some strange miracle, because of a lie she’d told. What she’d done was wrong, yes. But now here he was looking straight to her soul, and the feeling was amazing beyond anything she could’ve imagined.

  “Hi, Joey.” She reached out and touched his fingers. He didn’t pull away. “Can I get you a glass of milk?” She smiled. “Chocolate-chip cookies are really yummy with milk.”

  He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Then he looked at Mrs. Bower and back to Wendy. “Yes, please.” His words were so quiet she could barely make them out. But at least he wasn’t crying. And he was so polite! Her little boy already had wonderful manners. The process would take time but everything would work out. Joey was amazing, so of course he would adjust.

  “Okay, honey.” She started to stand.

  But a few feet away, Rip went after the milk before she could move. “I’ll get it.” He was acting like a spoiled child, jealous of every attempt she made to break the barriers between herself and Joey. He poured the milk and set it down, a little harder than necessary.

  “Rip . . .” She kept her tone soft. “Be careful. You’ll scare him.”

  That was all Rip needed to hear. His eyes grew dark, but before he might say something he’d regret, he seemed to remember the social worker. He smiled at her, but it fell just short of looking mean. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to take care of out back.”

  “I think that might be best.” Allyson looked at Joey. “Let’s have your wife make peace with him first. Maybe he’ll feel more comfortable.”

  Rip cast one more stern look at Wen
dy. Then he turned and hurried down the hall to their bedroom. He slammed the door behind him, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging over the kitchen table.

  “Sorry . . . Rip’s a little nervous about . . .” Wendy looked at Joey. “Well, you know. This is our first time to . . .”

  “I understand.” Allyson slid her chair farther away, giving Wendy and Joey their own space.

  Wendy took the cue and pulled the plate of chocolate-chip cookies closer to Joey. “Here, honey.” She handed him one. “You can dip it into your milk.”

  Joey wiped his eyes again. His breathing was calmer than before. “Thank you.” His voice was pitifully small, scared to death. He took the cookie and broke it in half. “It’s easier in halfs.”

  “Yes.” Wendy smiled. It was a victory. He’d talked to her! She felt her heart melt a little more. Never had she imagined this day, the chance to sit at the table with her son and share a moment like this.

  He held out the other half to her. “Want some?”

  She was about to say no thanks, but at the same time she considered something. Maybe he was reaching out, trying to make a connection the only way he knew how. She took the piece and smiled at him. “Thanks, Joey. You’re a very nice boy.”

  He nodded and dipped his cookie. After one bite he cocked his head. “I go home tomorrow, right?”

  Reality slapped her in the face. The child wasn’t warming up; he was surviving. This wasn’t his home, and she wasn’t his mother. He was lonely and afraid, so many states away from everything he knew to be safe and good and true. She swallowed her disappointment. “Yes, tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” He looked at the social worker. “You’ll come with me, right?”

  “Right.” Allyson Bower clutched the file to her chest. She glanced at Wendy. “If you don’t need me, I think I’ll let you two visit.”

  A lump of fear settled in Wendy’s gut. Could she handle it, being alone with her son? What if he started crying? What if Rip came out and got angry? The boy wasn’t reacting the way he wanted, that’s for sure. Still . . . they would never know if they didn’t try. She gave a quick nod. “Yes.” She smiled at Joey again. “We’ll be fine.”