Like Dandelion Dust (36 page)

Even now she loved him, sick as that was. He needed help; they both did. But she couldn’t put Joey through that process—not for a minute. Rip would’ve beaten the child; she knew it as surely as she knew her name. He wouldn’t have meant it, and when he was sober he would’ve been deeply sorry.

But she loved Joey too much to ever let that happen.

He was such a nice little boy, so handsome and kind. Even though he was scared to death, even though he missed his adoptive parents and his dog and his bedroom back in Florida, he’d still been kind to her. He liked her chocolate chip cookies.

Wendy climbed out of the car, and with heavy feet, she forced herself up the stairs and into the waiting room. Allyson Bower came for her in just a few minutes.

“Hello, Wendy. You look . . . better.” She held out her hand.

Wendy shook it. She had been careful with her makeup that morning. Other than the cast on her arm, it was impossible to tell what she’d been through just two weeks earlier. “Is Joey here?”

“Yes.” Allyson studied her. “He came with Mrs. Campbell.”

A sad smile tugged at her lips. “His mommy.”

“Yes.” The social worker gave a gentle nod. “His mommy.” She took a step back. “Are you ready to see him?”

“Yes. I’d like to meet Mrs. Campbell, but then . . .” Her voice caught. She wasn’t going to cry, not now. A quick breath and she found her voice again. “Then could I have a few minutes to say good-bye to Joey? Alone?”

“I’m sure that’ll be fine.” Allyson led her down a hall past three doors, and then into a room, and there they were.

A pretty woman with dark hair and a quick smile stood as they walked into the room. Joey was playing with Legos on the floor, but he looked up, confused at the sight of Wendy. He lifted his fingers and gave her a slow little wave. Then he went to Mrs. Campbell’s side and pressed himself close to her. Like he was trying to hide.

Allyson took charge of the moment. “Molly, I’d like you to meet Wendy Porter.”

The Campbell woman came toward her, and for a moment it looked like she wanted to shake hands. Then she held out her arms and pulled Wendy into a hug, one that lasted longer than she expected.

The social worker left the two women and went to sit with Joey on the sofa. She distracted him with a book from a nearby table.

“I . . . don’t know what to say.” Molly had tears in her eyes. She bit her lip to stop it from quivering. “Thank you for giving us Joey.” She made a sound that was more cry than laugh. “A second time.”

Wendy looked past the Campbell woman’s shoulder to the place where her son was playing. Then her eyes met Molly’s again. “Did you ever read the story of King Solomon, the one in the Bible?”

“No.” Molly looked surprised. “But we’re reading the Bible a lot these days.” Her eyes glowed. “Last week Joey asked Jesus into his heart.”

The news was bittersweet: one more step, one more milestone that Wendy had missed. She managed a smile. “Anyway . . . the story is in First Kings, chapter 3. It made me realize something.”

Molly waited, never breaking eye contact.

“It made me know that any real mother would sooner walk away from her child than let him come to harm.” Tears clouded her eyes again. “For any reason.”

The Campbell woman didn’t quite look like she understood. But she nodded anyway. “I’ll read it later.”

Wendy tried to focus. She didn’t have long. Anything she might ever want to say to Joey’s adoptive mother, she would have to say now. “Take good care of him, okay?” The tears spilled onto her cheeks, but she didn’t try to stop them.

“I will.” Molly was crying, too. They were both mothers now. Nothing about the moment was easy.

“And if . . . if he ever asks about me, tell him how much I love him. So much that I gave him to you.”

“Okay.” The Campbell woman brought her fingers to her lips, so she wouldn’t cry out loud. “And if he ever wants to find you, I’ll help him.”

“Really?” The offer was more than Wendy would’ve asked for.

“Yes. Definitely.” Molly pulled a tissue from her purse and handed it to Wendy. Then she took one for herself and pressed it beneath her eyes. “Anything else?”

Wendy looked at Joey again, at his towheaded hair and his earnest face, his precious smile. “That’s all.” She took a step back. “Can I have a few minutes with him?”

“Of course.” Molly signaled to Allyson Bower, and then to Joey. “Mommy will be right outside, honey. Mrs. Porter wants to talk to you for a little bit, okay?”

“Okay.” Joey looked less nervous than before. “Then we go home, right? To Gus and Daddy?”

“Right, buddy.” Molly waved at him, and then she and the social worker left the room and closed the door behind them.

Wendy drew a slow breath. This was it. She crossed the room and sat on the sofa next to Joey. “Hi, honey.”

“Hi.” Joey still held the book, the one Allyson Bower had been reading to him. “Where’s the other daddy?” Joey peered around her, his eyes suddenly fearful.

“He’s not here. You won’t see him again.” She looked into his eyes, and suddenly she was back nearly five years ago, lying in a hospital bed, looking into those same eyes, her heart breaking. Trying to find a way to say good-bye.
I’m doing this for you, child of mine. Only for you.
She smiled at him. “You won’t be coming to Ohio anymore, Joey. Do you know that?”

He nodded. “I asked God for that.”

“Oh.” She felt the cut in her heart go a little deeper, but she smiled anyway. “I’m glad. You keep talking to God, okay?”

“Okay.”

She could still feel the way he felt in her arms that morning, hours after his birth, still smell his newborn smell and hear his little coos as she cradled him close. He was her son, her very own. She would only walk away now because she loved him—just like she’d told Molly Campbell.

Joey cocked his head and studied her. “How come you’re sad?”

“Well—” She caught her breath. The tears came, but she kept her happy face. “See . . . today I have to say good-bye.” She held up her good hand. “After today I won’t see you again.”

“You won’t?” He was so young, so unaware of the battle that had been raging around him. It hadn’t dawned on him that if he wasn’t coming back to Ohio, then he wasn’t coming back to her, either. He frowned, his eyes locked on hers. “Good-byes are sad.”

“Yes.” She wanted to hold him, hug him close and memorize the feel of him one last time. But that might scare him, especially with the Campbell woman out of the room. So instead she did what she’d done a few weeks ago when they sat on the couch and watched
Bear in the Big Blue House.

She reached her hand out and took hold of his fingers.

He grinned and tucked his hand all the way into hers, the way he’d done before. “I like you.” His smile fell off a little. “I told my mommy you were nice.”

“We had a good time, didn’t we?”

“You rubbed my back.” He smacked his lips. “You told me, ‘Mama loves you, Joey.’”

Wendy opened her eyes wider. “That’s right, honey. I said that.” He’d heard her? Those nights when she thought he was asleep, he’d heard her words of love. It was something she could hold onto, a last memory.

With all her heart, she wanted to think that somehow he’d remember her. The chocolate-chip cookies and holding hands on the couch and her voice whispering, “Mama loves you, Joey.” But time wouldn’t be that kind. A year from now he’d be five, almost six, and the nice lady in Ohio would be only a dim memory. One more year and she’d be forgotten altogether.

She gave Joey’s hand a squeeze.
God . . . don’t let him forget me. Please.
It would take a miracle, but that was God’s territory. “I gotta go.”

He seemed to sense the significance of the moment. For a long time he looked at her, then he stood up on his knees and put his arms around her neck. “I’ll miss you.”

“Ah, sweetie.” She gathered his words to the most tender places in her soul. They weren’t words of love, exactly, but they were close. And they were the most she would ever get from her precious little boy. “I’ll miss you, too.”

They stood up, and once more Joey tucked his hand in hers. She led him to the door, opened it, and nodded at Molly and Allyson a few feet away.

Molly hesitated. “Are you . . . are you ready?”

She would never be ready. “Yes.” She closed the distance between them, and then she took Joey’s hand and slipped it into Molly’s. She bent down and kissed his cheek. Then, in a voice too pinched to be heard, she mouthed the word, “Bye.”

She gave a final look to Allyson Bower, and through eyes blurred with fresh tears, she found her way to her car. She had lost so much because of Rip. Her youth and her ability to stand on her own, her health and most of all her golden-haired son. She would never see him off to kindergarten, never see him ride a bike or play with his dog, Gus. She would never watch him excel in school or graduate from high school or marry his college sweetheart.

The tears came in torrents now.

Wendy climbed into her car and let her head rest on the steering wheel. Saying good-bye to Joey was the hardest thing she’d ever done. This time more than right after his birth, because now she knew him. And she would never, ever forget him. Yes, she had lost more than she would ever be able to count. But the important thing was this.

Joey had won.

And because of that—in some sad, heartbreaking way—they had all won.

Even her.

Molly spent another fifteen minutes visiting with Allyson and talking about Joey. The last few weeks had been an emotional rollercoaster—signing adoption papers for Joey, knowing he was theirs forever, but then realizing the sacrifice of Wendy Porter, the gut-wrenching sadness of her good-bye.

Allyson had brought all the pieces together, and now the woman looked happier than Molly had ever seen her.

“I need to say one thing before you go.” Allyson crossed her legs and leveled her gaze. “I don’t blame you for what you were going to do.”

This was touchy territory. No question, she and Jack had been planning to break the law. If they’d done it and been caught, they would’ve gone to prison for many years. Molly didn’t want to admit to anything, even now, when the entire plan was nothing more than a bad memory. Instead of responding, she only nodded, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I was prepared to go to the police, because that’s my job.” Allyson brought her lips together. She tapped the spot above her heart. “But in here I would’ve been cheering you on.” She looked at Joey. “This case, the situation, it worked out like it was supposed to work out. That doesn’t always happen.”

Joey looked up at her. “That’s ’cause God made it happen.” He grinned. “I asked Him.”

The women exchanged a look, and Allyson laughed. “Well, that settles it.”

After a few more minutes, their visit ended. Allyson wished them well, and they set off in their rental car back to the airport. They had done the trip in one day, and Jack would be waiting for them back in West Palm Beach when their plane landed.

Somewhere, headed back to her house in Cleveland, Wendy Porter must still be crying, Molly had no doubt. Knowing Joey, spending time with him, would’ve made the sacrifice all but impossible. She thanked God every day that the woman had found the courage.

Wendy’s broken arm told Molly pieces of the story the social worker wasn’t able to tell. Rip must’ve gotten violent again, and that would’ve been enough to convince Wendy. She couldn’t expose Joey to that sort of abuse. Never. Because she really did love him.

Molly and Joey walked hand in hand, and they were almost to the car when Joey gasped and pointed. Across the street was a field and something Molly hadn’t noticed until now.

“Dandelions, Mommy!”

She stopped and looked. The field must’ve held a million dandelions—just like Fuller Park. How close had they come to making a crazy decision, to doing things that went against the law, and their consciences, and most important—against God Almighty? She shivered and held a little tighter to his hand. “Yes, buddy. Lots of dandelions.”

They climbed into the car, and as Molly buckled Joey into his booster seat, she rubbed her nose against his. “Eskimo noses.”

He did the same and giggled. Then he batted his eyelashes against hers. “Butterfly kisses.”

“I love you, Joey Campbell.”

He giggled louder. “Love you, too, Mommy Campbell.”

Before she pulled away, she looked at him. “You know something, buddy? I can almost feel God with us right now, making everything work out.”

“He is, Mommy.” He gave her a silly smile, as if surely she must know this. “He’s always with us now. I used to ask Him to go with me on trips ’cause I was scared. Now I ask Him to always go with us.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “No wonder.”

She shut the door and climbed into the driver’s seat. But before she started the car, he called to her.

“Mommy, can we talk to God? ’Afore we go?”

“Sure, buddy.” She bowed her head and wondered what was on his mind.

“Hi, God . . . it’s me, Joey. I’m happy that we’re going home. But I’m sad for that nice lady. Jonah says since You’re God, You can be with more than one person at a time.” He stopped for a second. “I think that’s true. So could You please be with that nice lady? ’Cause she was crying, and I think You would make her feel better.”

Molly could hardly believe her ears. Here was her son, the one who had prayed without ever giving up—even when the adults around him were going about things their own way. And now—even though he was happy—he was worried about Wendy Porter. Because she’d been crying.

Thank You for this child, God. . . . Teach Jack and me to listen to him, that we might learn to have a faith like his.

In the backseat, Joey finished his prayer the way he always did.

“Gee this name, amen.”

Author’s Note

Dear Friends,

Always at the end of a book, I stand back amazed. Awed that God would give me another story—one that grew first in the soil of my heart, and then on the pages of this book. But also amazed at the lessons I learned along the way.

I knew, of course, that
Like Dandelion Dust
would be the story of two mothers, and the love that both women had for a single child. But I wasn’t prepared for the lessons of faith that would come by way of four-year-old Joey. I don’t know why I was surprised. The lessons were there because they are also that vivid in the lives of my own six children.