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No wonder Simon was still sleeping. “Poor thing.”
“I have no idea if his mother continued with his wellness checks. Fortunately, his pediatrician still had records of the shots he got before his mother took him from me, but he was only ten months old. I have no idea if he ever got his fourth DPT or any of his MMRs.”
Is he, my earthly idol, gone?The line from his poem came back to her. “You must have been frantic when he disappeared.”
“Aye.”
She imagined him tearing the world apart, looking for his son. “That’s how I feel about Mateo. That’s why I’m still mad at you. I’m sorry for the way I said it yesterday.”
Amos’s expression softened, making him hardly recognizable. “No apology necessary. I understood.”
As Grace met his eyes, she could feel her anger toward him dissipating. He’d simply been doing his job. And given the poem he’d sent her, it had pained him to do it. “Then you know why I have to go back.”
He swallowed hard, as if sickened by the thought. “There’s a war on.” The words came out on a low, controlled growl.
“I’m aware.” She shifted the focus elsewhere. “What are you going to do with Simon when you go back to work? Have you thought about daycare?”
“Aye. There’s a facility on the base where I work.”
Grace could tell from his sudden frown he abhorred the thought of dumping Simon off at daycare. She wished she could help, but she wouldn’t be here.
As if reading her mind, Amos asked, “When are you planning to return to Venezuela?”
She didn’t want to tell him. “I don’t know yet.” The lie was cowardly, but the truth would upset the tentative truce between them.
He regarded her through his eyelashes. “Would you tell me when you do know?”
“So that you can subvert my plans?”
“Something like that.” A ghost of a smile appeared beneath his moustache, making him suddenly terribly appealing. Her heart skipped a beat.
To her relief, he rolled to his feet. “I’ll go wake up Simon.”
* * *
Grace tutored Simon in the little eating alcove, on cushioned benches that held a huge collection of pots and pans and other cooking implements. For two-and-a-half hours, they had been engrossed inToon Books, a series of grade-leveled cartoon stories that captured the imagination of children. Amos, she sensed, wouldn’t approve of reading cartoons, so she’d only shown him the workbook.
Even with one ear cocked to his return, she failed to notice his arrival—not until the door of the houseboat gave a soft click. She tried to wrest the book from Simon, but before she could hide it, Amos came striding into the kitchen and tossed a thick newspaper onto the table right in front of her.
“Read the international news, page one.”
His sudden presence was as unsettling as the energy brimming in him.
Curious, and dreading what she would find, Grace searched for the proper section. Amos grew impatient and found it for her, spreading open the paper and jabbing a finger at the headlines:Civil War Erupts in Venezuela.
Grace skimmed the article with a prickling of fear. She had watched the evening news, hoping for a quick resolution to the upheaval, but this article suggested Guaidó’s grab for power was being met with ruthless resistance by the dictator, Maduro. Both sides were digging in, which meant the war was only getting started.
Amos bent and caught her eye. “If this article doesn’t persuade you to stay in the States, I don’t know what will.”
Grace stared back at the article, saying nothing.
“Surely you’re not naïve enough to waltz back into that country and think no one will notice you?”
Simon went to say something, but Grace cut him off.
“If you’re trying to scare me, Amos, you’re wasting your breath.”
He leaned over the table, splaying his hands on the newspaper, his eyes like hot steel. “What would it take to scare you, I wonder?”
