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Amos regarded Simon’s sweet profile as he nibbled on his sandwich. If it was any consolation to Grace, he was willing to share a portion of Simon’s time with her.
* * *
Through the app on her phone, Grace reread the email she had just received from Peter Doyle. Tears of longing stung her eyes, and emotion choked her.
Dearest Grace,
Amanda and I are back in Puerto Ayacucho and school is back in session. The soldiers were called away to defend against an incursion by Juan Guaidó’s supporters. You may recall that Guaidó won the general election years ago, but President Maduro refused to relinquish power and chased his rival out of the country. In the intervening years, Guaidó has gained the support of Colombia, Ecuador, and Brazil and has raised a small army. He just crossed the border from Brazil into Venezuela, so now we are caught up in a civil war.
You will be pleased to know that Mateo’s dossier arrived at Puerto Ayacucho’s post office while we were in Casuarito. I convinced the postal worker to let me forward it to your address in Virginia, so it’s on the way. I did open it first in case there was anything that needed to be done immediately. It looks like all that’s left for you to do is to report with Mateo to the US Embassy in Bogotá to apply for his immigration visa. I fear with the escalation of war, the airports may soon close. Until such a time as it is safe for you to travel, Amanda and I will keep Mateo with us. Rest assured he is safe.
God’s peace,
Peter
Grace closed her eyes, squeezing tears onto her cheeks. Mateo safety was crucial, of course. But Peter hadn’t mentioned his emotional well-being. That had to mean he still wasn’t talking or even eating much. That was understandable as Grace was the second mother he had known in his short life, the first one having died of an illness. The identity of his father was unknown. And now civil war had come to Venezuela’s doorstep, making it unsafe for Grace to collect him.
If that wasn’t depressing enough, her adoption of Mateo had cost Grace thousands of dollars. She had scrimped to pay for every fee as it came up. She’d kept her thermostat down all last winter and tutored on evenings and weekends, earning income above that of her meager teacher’s salary to cover the cost. Then, on top of the adoption fees, came the cost of her plane ticket earlier that summer. And now she would have to purchase yet another ticket to get back into the country, then fly to Bogotá, then home again with Mateo.
Perspiration cooled her upper lip as she considered the obstacles before her. It was one thing to adopt a child through an international adoption service. It was something else entirely to smuggle him out of a war-torn country, even if she had all her paperwork in order. But what choice did she have? She couldn’t impose on the Doyles to keep Mateo with them indefinitely. His room upstairs was waiting for him.Shewas waiting for him.
A forceful knock at Grace’s door jarred her from her anxious thoughts. Just the sound of it conjured an image of a man whose memory was driven deep in her consciousness, like a splinter.
It’s not him, she reassured herself, heading to answer the door.
Through the narrow pane that edged one side of her door, Grace spied a little boy about the age of her students.
Who on earth? She opened the door, admitting a puff of sweltering summer air, and her quizzical smile fled.
“You!”
Senior Chief McLeod’s stare hit her like a punch in the gut.Mako.The code name she had overheard fit him perfectly.
“Hello again.”
Just the sound of his resonant voice caused the hairs on her nape to prickle.
“What do you want?” Seeing him right after getting the email was a double blow.
“Well, Ms. Garrett, to get right to the point, this is my son, Simon. It’s a long story, but he’s been missing for five years.”
The son he’d lost in his poem. It had to be. Her focus fell on the little boy gazing up at her. “Hello, Simon.”
Mercury-colored eyes stared up at her as he shrank behind his father.
“Say hello back,” Amos prompted, pushing Simon up beside him again.
“Hello back,” the boy whispered.
Grace’s lips twitched. His two top baby teeth were missing. Despite his resemblance to his father, he was precious.
“Congratulations.” She looked back at the man who had ripped her own child from her arms. His powerful torso, his muscle-corded neck adorned by a silver chain and crucifix—hah! Did he consider himself a Christian, or was that mere jewelry? Her gaze rose to his striking eyes that compelled—no,commanded—her to do something.
“I need help caring for him.” He snowed her with unexpected information. “His mother is dead. I work from dawn to dusk, and even though he’ll go to school soon, he doesn’t know how to read. He didn’t go to kindergarten.”
And this concerns me how?she wanted to retort, but a glance at Simon’s expectant and innocent face had her biting back the words. A feeling like jealousy snaked through her. She summoned a gentle voice for Simon’s sake. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.” He couldn’t be serious. He had to know he was grinding salt into a wound.
He stared at her through dense, black lashes. “You’re a teacher, aren’t you?”
