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“Not at all! Rashida thinks she might have found a relative of Taimaa’s in Stockholm.”
“Oh… only one?” I hate to sound disappointed. Even one match is an incredible needle to find in this haystack. “I’m sorry. That’s wonderful! I hope she’s right.”
“But we will continue making calls! At least now we have a starting point for them.”
She’s right, of course, and I follow her into the small cafeteria where ten children of different ages are eating bowls of soup with large chunks of potatoes, carrots, and meat. Slices of baguette are placed beside a little platter of cucumbers, and they all have small cartons of milk. One of the boys says something in their language, and another boy laughs. Taimaa is chatting with another girl, and only little Suad is quiet, watching me with those glowing green eyes. A faded stuffed-animal bunny with long ears is clutched in her arm. I give her a smile, an
d she quickly returns to her soup.
“At least they seem happy.”
Clare stands beside me watching them. “They’re safe here.” Her eyes glisten when she turns to me. “I’m so honored to help with them.”
I touch her arm and smile. “I’m lucky to have you helping me.”
We spend the next hour going through the pantry, planning out the meals. From there, we inventory the clothing and book donations we’ve received. Rashida joins us. Between the two of them, my tiny orphanage meets almost all the needs of these displaced little ones.
Next is a simple task, but I hope it helps me in my search for families. “I want to set up a dedicated email address for families who have lost children,” I explain to Clare as I log onto the Gmail account. “They can send us their names and when they were lost. We’ll have to verify anything we get, of course, but I hope…”
Suddenly I’m feeling unsure, but Clare is immediately onboard. “It’s a wonderful idea! I mean, you’re right. We’ll most likely get prank messages, but we might also get real leads.”
A few clicks and it’s set up. “I’ll keep the passwords. I can have Freddie teach me to do background checks on anything that comes in, and I’ll send a press release to the television stations and media.”
It’s the most we can do for now, and I walk with Clare to the front door on my way back to Hajib, who is waiting in the car.
“I hope I can find all of their families,” I sigh, watching them running on the front lawn as I walk to my waiting car.
“What you’ve done here is so generous.” She stops at the gate while I continue through. “Even if you can’t find all their families, you’ve done so much.”
With a final glance back, I see Suad sitting on the steps with her stuffed bunny. Again, she’s watching me, and I smile. Again, she looks down at her lap.
“They’ve been through a lot to be so young.”
I think about the little girl with the glowing green eyes as Hajib takes us back to the palace. Suad is on my mind as I climb the steps and make my way to our second-floor wing. I think about hope and families. I think about what we’re doing.
Dropping my bag in the chair, I go to the laptop and return to my windows. I want to catch a glimpse of Ramona and Emily now that the spell seems to be broken. Seeing Grace was such a jolt of motivation. I’m at my laptop and heading straight to Miami.
It’s early evening on the creepy street where she lives. Moving the target, bright yellow tape catches my eye. It’s different than before, and I wonder if I accidentally changed the coordinates.
Reaching for the index card, I type her exact address and let the camera move in closer. A black car is parked out front, and I watch as a man leaves her building. He’s wearing a dark jacket, and he goes straight to the car.
Somehow this looks strangely familiar to me. It’s like something I’ve seen in a movie or on television. It looks like… a crime scene.
Is Ramona in trouble? Do I need to warn her? How can I warn her?
My chest hurts, and I’m breathing faster. I pull up another browser and type in her address looking for news. Nothing comes up, so I search for local police stations. As the list appears on the screen, I chew my fingernail. Freddie taught me how to access the police scanner…
“No,” I whisper. Something in my gut tells me this is bad.
Again, I type in Ramona’s address, searching the wire report until it stops at two lines of green text in a small black window. It looks like ancient computer code.
10-33 Suspected burglary. Shenandoah apartments. 10-54. Correction, 10-55. Request backup. Over.
What does it mean? I search police codes as fast as I can. 10-33, Alarm sounded… 10-54, Possible dead body.
“Oh, God no,” I whisper again, mist heating my eyes.
10-55, Coroner case.
