Like Dandelion Dust (27 page)

“So you don’t want a statement for last year? Even though some of the entries will be dated for last year?”

“That’s right. Last year’s taxes are over and done with. I’m not looking for a deduction, just a way to keep our heads high here at Bethel Bible.”

She still seemed puzzled. “So you mean, just enter them by the date on each check?”

“Exactly.”

Her frown deepened. “But if I do that, you won’t get tax credit for the ones dated last calendar year.”

“I know that.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “We’re not concerned with the tax break, ma’am. Seriously. This is about making my wife happy.”

Those seemed to be the magic words. She smiled and nodded. “I wish more people were like you. We’ll show it as one large donation for the church’s budget. But on your records I guess we could enter each check by its date. I don’t see why not.”

“Thanks.” He did his best to sound humble. “Do you think you could see that it gets done right away? My wife’s worried about setting foot in church until it’s taken care of.”

“Tell you what.” The girl smiled and checked the clock on the wall. “I’ll do it right now. I have access to the computer.” She gave Jack a knowing look. “But please tell your wife that no one would’ve looked down on her for not giving. Lots of people don’t give. This is a church, not a club. Besides, only a few people ever even see those records.” She took the envelope from him. “Just so you know.”

“Thank you.” Jack celebrated silently as he watched her go. One more step taken care of.

Now the memory of that day faded. Jack wasn’t sure if Allyson Bower had asked the church secretary to check their giving record. But he was certain the social worker called to verify their membership. She said as much yesterday when she talked to Molly and passed on the judge’s approval for the trip. The decision was based in part, she said, on the fact that her information about the church membership and the details of the trip to Haiti all checked out.

So far so good.

Now Jack was at the office of Paul Kerkar, one of the sharpest, most brilliant Realtors he knew. Paul dealt with high-end homes and commercial property. He had sold Jack and Molly their current home, and every now and then he called with investment opportunities.

This time Jack called him. “Look, I’ve come into some cash.”

Music to Paul’s ears. His tone was immediately cheerful. “How much cash?”

“More than a million, maybe a million and a half.” He didn’t skip a beat. “Molly and I talked about it, and we’d like to buy something commercial, something in old downtown West Palm Beach—the area where the renovation is taking place.”

Jack heard the sound of buttons being pressed. Paul always had a calculator with him. “Okay, so you’re looking for a property in the four-million to six-million range, is that right?”

“With 25 percent down, yes.”

“That’s how we’ll work it. Twenty-five is minimum for commercial property, but with your excellent credit, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

Jack smiled. “I didn’t think so.”

Paul called him back an hour later with three possibilities. Jack took the day off from work, met Paul at his office, and toured all three. By the end of the day he was ready to make an offer on a medical office building, one that had a higher-than-usual vacancy rate, but was a better price per square foot than anything else downtown.

“This property has great potential,” Paul kept saying.
Potential
was his favorite word. “The investment potential here is unmatched.”

Jack was convinced. He called Molly and asked her to join them at Paul’s office, where they spent nearly an hour going over the numbers and signing the offer. Jack wrote a check for ten thousand dollars earnest money. Before the end of the workday, he placed a call to his mortgage broker.

“How’re my loans looking?”

“Great.” The man chuckled. “It’s not every day I have a client walk in and request an equity loan for more than a million dollars.” Another chuckle. “Let me tell you how it’s coming together.”

The loan officer explained that he was drawing equity from each of the Campbells’ three rental houses, still leaving at least 30 percent equity in each. “That’s a safe cushion.”

“Right.” Jack was at his desk, the one in their home office. He tapped a pencil on a pad of paper.
Bottom line, buddy. That’s what I need here—the bottom line.
“So what’s the total you can get me on the rentals?”

“Just under a million.” Pages shuffled in the background. “Here it is, the mid-nine hundreds. That’s the best I can do.”

“Good.” He tapped faster. “What about our existing home?”

“The existing home . . .” More turning pages. “A comfortable amount takes us into the high four hundreds.”

“More than four hundred thousand?” A thrill surged through Jack’s veins. “That’s higher than we thought.”

“The appraisal came back high.” The broker sounded proud of himself. “Property values are skyrocketing, Jack. It’s a good time to be in real estate.”

“I guess.”

“Uh, Jack . . .” The man’s tone changed. “You mind me asking what you need all this cash for?”

“I thought I told you.”

“No . . .” The man let out an uncomfortable laugh. “I mean, it’s none of my business. But one-and-a-half million? You and Molly starting a new business or what?”

Casual, Jack . . . Keep it casual.
“Commercial real estate. Found the perfect medical office building downtown, the area they’re renovating.”

“Really?” The man sounded impressed. “It’s hard to find anything down there.”

“I have connections.” Jack chuckled. “It’ll be a money-maker right off the bat.”

“Great.” He hesitated. “And by the looks of it, your income on the rentals will take care of your payment on the equity loan.”

“Exactly.” Jack leaned back in his chair and set the pencil down on the desk. “It’s a win-win for everyone.” He didn’t want to sound anxious. “When can we expect funds from these loans?”

“We should sign papers in a week. Funds can be issued within a few days after that.”

“Perfect.”

They chatted for a few minutes more, and then the conversation ended. Jack could hardly believe it had all gone so well. He needed the real estate piece. Because if the social worker or the judge found out there were 1.4 million dollars sitting in the Campbells’ savings account, they might be concerned, at least enough to watch them or deny them permission to leave the country.

But with a pending commercial real estate deal, it made perfect sense. That money was exactly what they would need to close the loan on the building. Of course they would have it sitting in their savings account. It was all perfectly explainable with the real estate deal in place.

The work trip was just one month away. Every time Jack thought about it, he was tempted to panic, to stay awake all night looking for loopholes, details he hadn’t worked out. They had one chance to pull this off, just one. Anything short of perfection, and they would all lose.

But with those phone calls, the financial part of the plan was all but solved. There would be the last-minute transfer of the funds to a series of accounts, winding up eventually at their new account in the Cayman Islands. Jack had arranged for the money to arrive in Grand Cayman a few days before they did. Then almost immediately they’d withdraw all the money in cash. By the time the authorities figured out where the money had gone, the account would be closed. Another dead end for the officials.

Yes, everything was coming together. They would have to say good-bye to Joey just one more time, when he left for his next visit the second week of August.

Then, if the plan worked, they’d never have to say good-bye to him again.

Beth hated herself for what she was feeling, but there was no way around it. She was worried about Molly and Jack, worried they might actually be planning something crazy. Molly had remained distant, even when Beth probed and prodded.

It was the first Wednesday in August, and they’d spent the day at the neighborhood pool. Now they were at Molly’s house, the kids gathered around Molly’s dining room table with grapes and string cheese.

Molly washed dishes while Beth stood beside her at the sink. “So you’ve heard nothing?” She kept her voice low. Joey still didn’t understand what was happening to him.

“Nothing.” Molly scrubbed at some dried egg on a breakfast plate. She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder and out of her face. “Every politician’s office I’ve spoken with is writing a letter to the judge asking that he reconsider. We have to think that’s going to make a difference.”

Beth was baffled. “Make a difference when?” She leaned her hip into the edge of the counter and studied her sister. “Joey’s final visit is next week. Then he’s home for three weeks and gone for good.”

“I know that.” Molly stopped washing. She turned her head and stared at Beth. Her voice was laced with frustration. “That’s why I haven’t stopped trying.” She began scrubbing the plate again.

“Okay.” Beth held up her hands. “You don’t want to talk about this. I get that.” She let her hands fall to her sides. “But it feels like your house is on fire and you’re throwing glasses of water at it.”

Molly threw her scrub rag into the sink and frowned at Beth. “Are you saying I don’t care about losing Joey? That I’m not trying hard enough?” She looked back at the kids in the dining room, and lowered her voice. “We’re doing everything we can. We’ve asked for a hearing the third week of August. That’s when the judge will look at the letters from political offices, and hear our reasons why we don’t think Joey should be taken from us.” She made a harsh grab at the rag again. “I go to bed crying and wake up crying, Beth.” She paused. “You have no idea how much I care. I’d lay down my life to keep that child. What else do you want me to do?”

Beth was instantly sorry. She stayed still, silent for a moment, giving Molly a chance to calm down. Then she tentatively touched her sister’s shoulder. “Molly . . . forgive me. I can’t imagine being you, going through this.”

“It’s like . . .” Molly’s hands went limp. Her eyes met Beth’s and the pain there was so strong it was like a physical force. “It’s like he’s dying.” Her lower lip trembled. “Like we’re all dying.” Her expression took on the bewildered look of a lost child. “I don’t know how to act, Beth. I’ve never done this before.”

The phone rang, and Beth held up her hand. “I’ll get it.” Molly kept her kitchen telephone on a small built-in desk adjacent to the pantry. Beth caught the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey . . . I hoped I’d find you there. I got a message you called.”

It was Bill. “Yes—” She motioned to Molly that the call was for her. “Hi, honey.” She turned her back to Molly and stared absently at the clutter on the small desk. A few greeting cards, invitations to an upcoming wedding, and a baby announcement. Off to the side was a stack of papers from Bank of America. “Hey . . .” Beth looked a little closer. “Could you pick up a can of olives on the way home? I need them for the casserole.”

“Sure. How was the pool?”

“Good.” Beth tried to make small talk, but she was distracted. She leaned closer and read the first line on the Bank of America papers.
Congratulations! Your equity line of credit for $987,000 has been approved. As per our conversation you will sign papers next week, and the loan will be funded shortly after you . . .

“Guess you have to go?”

“Sorry.” Beth caught hold of the back of the desk chair so she wouldn’t lose her balance. Why in the world would Molly and Jack need nearly a million dollars? “Yeah . . .” She tried to concentrate. “Can I call you back?”

Bill laughed. “Sure. We can talk later.”

She hung up and looked back at Molly. Had she noticed Beth snooping? Beth didn’t think so. Molly was still washing dishes. Even though Beth was dying to ask her, she kept her questions about the loan papers to herself. But that night she shared every detail with Bill. By then she’d created a dozen scenarios in her head, reasons why Molly and Jack didn’t seem to be scrambling to save Joey.

“Bill”—she put her hands on her hips—“I think they’re going to run.”

“Honey, you watch too much television.”

They were in their bedroom, the kids asleep down the hall. Bill was watching ESPN. Beth positioned herself in front of the screen. “I’m not watching too much television, Bill. I’m serious. They’re dragging their feet about getting someone to help them, and they’re running out of time.” She threw her hands up. “Molly hasn’t even told Joey yet! And why would they need a million-dollar loan? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe for attorney fees.” Bill peered around her, determined to keep his eyes on the TV. “Maybe Jack’s found a high-powered lawyer who knows how to win the case.” He looked at Beth. “Isn’t that possible?”

“A million dollars?” She frowned. “The guy better work a miracle for that kind of legal fee.”

“What I’m saying”—he looked exasperated—“is that Molly doesn’t have to tell you every last detail.”

“She always did before.” Beth walked to the window. It was dark outside; only the sliver of a moon hung over the cluster of oak trees that separated their house from the neighbor’s. She turned around and groaned. “Don’t you see, Bill. I know my sister. Something isn’t right. The loan papers are proof.”

He held out his arms. “Come here.”

She didn’t want to. Bill was clearly dismissing her, making light of everything she was feeling. But she needed his hug, so she went. Slowly she crawled into bed and curled up beside him, her head on his shoulder.

“The only one who can work a miracle for Joey is God.” He kissed the top of her head. “Remember?”

God.
She thought about that for a minute. Bill was right. She drew a long, slow breath. “I’m praying for that.” She relaxed and her shoulders dropped a few inches. “I guess I keep forgetting.”

“I think Jack and Molly really believe in what God can do here.” He looked thoughtful. “Otherwise they wouldn’t be coming to church and praying with us.”

“True.” She looked down, searching for something she couldn’t quite get her thoughts around. “I guess I can’t make up my mind. On the one hand I’m asking Molly to trust God, to believe that God has a plan for Joey. Then I doubt her because she isn’t panicking.”