couldn’t think of what to say.
“Hello, can I help you?”
“Uh, yes, I…”
“Are you in an emergency situation?” The question was put sharply.
“Uh, yes, well, no, we’re not in immediate physical danger, but we…”
“Okay, relax. Tell me what your problem is. We’re here to help.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m afraid I can’t give you specific names. Just as I don’t want to know yours. We are an organization that aids women and children in danger of any kind.”
“Yes, I see. I…my son, he’s four. He’s my foster son, actually, and the court has ruled that his biological mother should have custody. In four days. I have four days. His biological mother is…she’s not able to take care of them. Drugs, prison. Oh, my God, I know she’ll hurt him. I can’t…”
“All right. Is there a father involved? Your husband?”
“No, neither.”
“We have a way. We call it our underground railroad. But you must understand, you can leave no tracks. You simply disappear. You end your old life. A clean break. You tell no one.”
“Yes,” Grace whispered.
“It’s up to you. It’s a big decision. If you feel your son is in enough danger to warrant such a drastic step, I can give you an address. No questions will be asked. You leave now.”
“Now?”
“Tonight, as soon as possible.”
“Oh.”
“And please destroy any records—this phone number, for instance. Memorize it if you must. Memorize the address I give you. We have to be able to trust you.”
“Of course. I understand.” Grace’s heart hammered. Should she do this thing? She and Charley—a vanishing act. Did she have the guts? The alternative was too awful, though.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here.” She took a deep breath. “Please, give me that address. Will it be far away?”
“No, not far. And you’ll receive another address when you leave there. You’ll need to decide where you’re headed.”
“Can I make up my mind later?”
“Sure, that’s up to you. Only the person who gives you the new address will know.”
“Okay, I’m ready.” Grace found a pencil in her junk drawer, held it poised above the pad she kept for her shopping list.
The voice recited an address. It was in Denver. Good, not too far. She could get there easily by tonight. It was only thirty miles away. Thirty miles, but a gulf so wide she could never leap back across it.
“Memorize the address.”
“Yes, no paper trail.”
“Will you be all right? Get as much cash as you can. A credit card can be traced. Do you have a car?”
“Yes.”
“All right, good. But be warned that an APB could be put out on your car, on your license plate number. Also—” the voice hesitated “—if you leave the state with your son, if your action is declared a kidnapping, be aware that the FBI will be called in.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Weigh the consequences. We’ve had success, but we’ve had a few failures, too.”
“Yes, yes, I see.” Her voice quavered.
“Anything else you need to know?”
“I don’t think so. Oh, wait, is there a…a charge for your help?”
“No. If you’re able to leave some money at your stops, feel free to do so.”
She hung up, trembling, staring at the address she’d written down.
“Mommy, what are we going to have for dinner?” came Charley’s voice.
“Dinner, well…” She tried to sound lighthearted. “Charley, sweetie, I have to go out to run some errands, so let’s go to McDonald’s. How about that?”
“Cool, McDonald’s. Can I get the Kiddie Meal?”
“Sure, anything you want.” She was distracted, her brain going at full speed, planning, figuring.
Cash. After McDonald’s she’d go to the ATM at her bank, take out as much as she could. Gas her car with her credit card—no one could trace that any farther than Boulder. She had four days before the alarm would go out. Four precious days.
Ask Stacey next door to feed the cats. Buy cat food. How long would she be gone? Days, months, years? Her career, her life, her friends, her uncomplicated, comfortable existence—all gone. She’d be a fugitive.
Pack. Clothes, toiletries. Charley’s favorite toys. Some groceries to take in the car. A pillow and blankets for Charley.
The car. A gray Volvo station wagon, nondescript except for her license plates. But she had four days before she had to worry about that. Maybe she’d sell her car or rent one. No, no, she couldn’t rent one; that always required a credit card.
She stopped and drew in a breath, needing to calm herself. Then she moved around the house, getting suitcases, trying to think. It was too hard. Images kept flying at her out of the blue—her friends’ faces, the lecture hall full of her students, the women at the day care where Charley went to preschool. The courtroom again, Kerry Pope’s big triumphant smile when the judge had ruled. Charley, Charley in his crib, Charley in his new bed, all his toys, her cats, the basement stacked high with file boxes from her classes.
Her whole life was here.
Somehow she managed to pack, even remembering coats in the event they were still on the run when fall arrived. Towels, one set of sheets—just in case—pillow, blanket, toy cars and plastic dinosaurs and Charley’s favorite books.
“Charley, let’s go,” she called out.
At McDonald’s, Charley got ketchup all over his T-shirt. She could hardly eat—a chicken nugget or two, a Coke. Her heart raced and her hands trembled.
The pickles slid out of Charley’s burger onto his lap. He looked up at her guiltily, but she didn’t care, just wiped the mess up with a handful of napkins.
“Charley,” she said, “guess what?”
“What?”
“We’re going on an adventure tonight. A trip.”
“A trip. Where, Mommy?”
“Oh,
