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Doused in shock and disbelief, Amos skimmed the letter, desperate for news of Simon.
You do not know me, sir, but I know of you through Candy, who was once my stepsister. Her father and my mother were married and divorced in the early 2000s when I was a girl. I never thought I would see Candy again, but she came through Mantachie two years ago on her way to Las Vegas, leaving Simon with me. She promised to collect him later, only she never did. Last month, I got word that she’d died in a car crash. She had lived her life like that—going too fast and wanting too much. I’d just as soon keep Simon with me. God knows I love him like my own. But truth is, I can’t afford to keep him any more than I have a right to. He’s your boy, not mine. Please come and fetch him within a week, if possible, as I have to move from this address.
Respectfully,
Emma Moulton
555-217-6526
“My God,” Amos breathed, examining the death certificate. Candace was definitely dead. He searched himself for sorrow and felt nothing. He had stopped loving her when she took his son from him.
Simon!It was all he could do not to hit the floor on his knees. Was God answering his prayers after all this time? It had beenfive-and-a-half years, which in some respects felt like a lifetime, in others like a drop in a bucket.
Amos dived back into the letter, reading it more carefully, searching for inferences. The message seemed sincere, suggesting the author was a woman of common sense and moral character, which was more than could be said of Candace.
Excitement exploded in his chest.
Simon was alive! His son, alive! His most fervent prayer hadfinallybeen answered. What a marvelous occurrence!
He stood so swiftly that the room went briefly black. Ripping open the door separating his office from Commander Monteague’s, he startled the CO and his visitor by interrupting their discussion.
“Sir,” he blurted as they stared at him in afront, “I need emergency leave, effective immediately.” It was only then that he realized the other man was the base admiral. “Admiral Leland, sir!” Amos jerked to belated attention.
“What’s this about, Senior Chief?”
Monteague sounded curious, not angry. Tall and golden-haired, he could have passed for a movie star, even with a shrapnel scar on his left cheek.
“I’ve located my son after all these years.” Amos couldn’t help the grin of wonder that seized him. “He’s in Mantachie, Mississippi. I need to go get him!” He held up the letter from Emma Moulton as if that explained everything.
The CO shared a baffled look with Admiral Leland. “But you just got back from Colombia.”
“I know, sir. But the woman who has my son has to move in one week—no, wait.” He glanced at the date the letter was written and nearly panicked. “She has to movetomorrow. If I don’t leave right now, I may never find him again.” That was likely an exaggeration, as she’d provided her cell phone number, but he didn’t want to risk losing Simon a second time.
Monteague’s light brown eyes narrowed. The two of them had never been comfortable with each other, let alone friends, but they made for strong leadership.
“Go ahead.”
The CO’s decision freed Amos to breathe again. “Thank you, sir! Admiral.” Amos sent Leland a deep nod before he swiveled back into his own office and shut the door quietly after him. He went and grabbed his truck fob and his wallet from his desk drawer, then all but ran from the building.
The grin that split his face had junior SEALs staring after him like he’d grown two heads.
* * *
On the west side of Atlanta, Georgia, Amos forced himself to stop driving, find a cheap motel, and go to sleep. It was two in the morning. He’d driven ten hours straight. Afraid he would arrive to find Emma Moulton gone from the address she’d provided, he had called the number she’d left in her letter only to find her phone no longer worked.
Panic made him drive at least twenty miles over the speed limit, but with three hours to go and aware he might very well fall asleep at the wheel, he pulled over at the first motel off the interstate and fell face-down on the bed in the room he got, sleeping with his shoes still on.
He didn’t move for several hours. After dreaming that he met Simon only to find him strange and unfamiliar, Amos awoke with a start. He remembered where he was and checked his watch. It was 6:00 A.M. With three hours yet to go to get to Mantachie, he figured he could be there by 9:30—hopefully in time to catch Emma before she moved.
“Lord,” he prayed aloud as he roared down the highway, eyes peeled for the police, “let this happen, according to Your will.” He wasn’t sure he could stand Simon slipping through his fingers yet again.
How was it that the last three hours of his trip seemed longer than the first ten?
At last, following prompts on his truck’s display, Amos turned down a dry, dirt road, one that was sparsely forested, with a low-lying swamp off to the right. It was little wonder no private detective had ever been able to track Candace to this place. Simon had been dumped out in the middle of nowhere. Anger whipped through Amos, but the promise of seeing Simon swept away his ire.
The dirt road climbed a brief hill, at the top of which stood a blue mobile home. Half its underpinning was missing. The siding was rusted. One window had been boarded up, and the saddest-looking silver Impala sedan was parked out front.
Amos scarcely took in the setting. His attention was riveted to the three boys playing under an immense hickory tree—two with lighter hair, one with dark. As he slowed his truck to a crawl, the medium-sized boy shoved the brunette boy off his feet and wrested a toy tractor from his hands. Pale eyes flashed on the smaller boy’s face.
