Beyond Molasses Creek (22 page)

FORTY-FOUR
Elusive Hope

Kathmandu, Nepal
Sunila

F
OR THE MILES WE'VE TRAVELED
, I
HAVE HELD THIS
package in my hands. I cradle it, unable to open the twine just yet. I am not ready. I will wait for the moment when I can be ready. When the truth of who I am now meets the truth of who I once was. My fingers squeeze and the paper crinkles.

“You did very well, Sunila,” says Mr. Assai. He glances at me for a moment, taking his eyes off the road. He has called me by my first name. Mr. Assai grips the wheel with both hands and says no more.

“The newspaper article,” I say. “The one you showed to Buba, may I see it?”

“Of course.” He motions with his head to the backseat, and there I find an old newspaper folded on his briefcase. I unfold it, seeing pictures and words I cannot read. Some words I have worked out from necessity over time, but I cannot take the article and read it aloud. It would never work.

“The newspaper is a fake,” says Mr. Assai. He pauses and I'm stricken, waiting for him to continue his explanation. “I realized your father may not read . . . since you have some difficulty.” He reads my face and holds his hand up. “No, it is nothing to be ashamed of, I assure you.” He glances at me reassuringly. “I do have the original newspaper in my files, but I didn't want to bring it with me in case your father, well, destroyed it somehow. He didn't, but I wanted to be cautious. The newspaper you are holding is not even from the correct year.”

I set the paper on the package and think of the humiliation my father would feel if he knew he'd been tricked. If he knew he'd been made a fool of. Satisfaction fills my lungs as I'm sure it does Mr. Assai.

“I'll be happy to show you the real article when we get back to the embassy.”

“We are not returning to the hotel?” Strangely, the quarry we just left felt foreign to me, but the Shangri-La has become my home in just a short while. I am comfortable there. I long to go there now.

“There is much to do, Sunila.”

There it is again, my name.

“I hoped we could take lunch in my office again and . . . and work. I'd like to see what's in that package, wouldn't you?”

I swallow and nod. “Yes. Yes, I'd like you to be there when the package is opened. I—this has been a difficult time for me, you understand. Difficult and wonderful at the same time. There is hope in my heart, Mr. Assai.” My face f lushes and I look at the side of his. “There is hope for the first time in my life. I would not feel this way if I had not come to you. But part of me is unwilling to think that this will end well. Part of me is sure I might wake up from this dream still covered in dust.”

“I am glad you have hope. It is good to have hope. But I will tell you that what we're embarking on here is not a simple thing. We must stay determined and vigilant in the days and weeks to come. There is much to do. I need you to stay focused.”

We remain silent as the road winds us back to the embassy. We pass the Shangri-La Hotel and the Japanese Embassy and then, as the guard opens the gate, Mr. Assai drives me into the compound of the US Embassy. I am but one small person in this great place. I look at Mr. Assai and wonder why he is helping me in this way. How can he bear to be near someone like me? An untouchable. As I step out of the car holding the package from Amaa tight against my chest, a part of me, that new American part of me, holds hope that this has all been a terrible mistake. My home is not here in Nepal, but somewhere far away, beyond the quarry, the dust and the rubble. I look to the sky as if searching for the great white bird to come and undo his error.

Kathmandu, Nepal
Ally
1972

“You can't undo what's been done,” says Daddy, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You can only move forward. Please don't freeze up now. There's too much work to do.”

I hear his words, but my spirit has drifted out over the balcony of my room in the Shangri-La Hotel. I watch as it drifts down over the green lawn, past the stone statues, and over the little river and trees. I am far away from home.

Why did I come here? I can barely remember now. I can barely remember how long I have been here in Kathmandu. Part of me thinks I never had a child, that I'm just dreaming it up. When I do dream at night, there's no child in my dreams, only me. I'm flying; I'm flying and have forgotten to put my seat belt on. The air is turbulent and people are screaming and I can do nothing at all to help because I'm scared beyond belief. I look for my purse but someone's stolen it. Someone's taken my keys and wallet and money and identification and everything that is me. I can hardly stand in this turbulent plane. My everything has been stolen, gone, and then I see Robert's face in the cockpit. He looks at me with teary eyes and takes the plane down into a nosedive. We're falling faster and faster and I'm screaming and just before we hit the ground, my screaming wakes me up. And I find I'm here, in Nepal, my everything has been stolen, and I am in a nosedive in turbulent air. Beyond fear. There's no child beside me. She's been taken from me. My world, stolen. And maybe it wasn't a dream at all.

Daddy gets up and paces the room. “Can't believe we haven't heard anything yet. What are they doing? Why is this taking so long? They said a reward would get people to talk, didn't they? Maybe we haven't offered enough money. I'm going to tell Monroe to double it as soon as I see him. Maybe that'll do it. That's got to do it.”

We've been told to stay here and wait for word from the embassy. The consulate officer, Davidson Monroe, is coordinating with the police and the military to find Constance, but I'm losing hope. Since she was taken, I don't think I've had any hope. There are no leads. But she's out there. Oh, God, why would someone take a baby? I pray that they are treating her right. Please keep her healthy and safe, I say. I've never been much of a prayer, but now the pleas flow easily over my lips. I just wish someone, anyone, was listening.

My father kneels down in front of me and looks me in the eyes. “Ally. Ally? Honey, we will get through this. The police know what they're doing, and it hasn't been that long. Seventy-two hours isn't so long. They say there's a good chance they'll find her and bring her back. Don't give up hope, honey, okay? Don't give up.” Daddy stands, looking leaner than I remember. He clenches his fists and grabs his jacket and hat. “Well, I can't sit here. I'm going to go look for her myself,” he says.

I want to stop him. I want to remind him they told us to wait here for the call, but I can't get my mouth to work. I don't know how Daddy will get to where he's going or where he's going exactly. I just let him go and turn back to the stream on the lawn of the Shangri-La. I watch as it travels over little rocks, and far, far away, I remember Molasses Creek. I am a child with my feet in the water once again, a girl dancing on the riverbed with Vesey. A young woman with a large belly, seeing her reflection in the rippling water with no one beside her.

I am here in Nepal. With Daddy but alone. If they don't find her, I don't think I can ever return. How will I ever be able to look at the water of Molasses Creek knowing my spirit is out here roaming on the other side of the world?

FORTY-FIVE
Where Did All the Time Go?

Charleston
Ally

“V
ESEY
. C
AN YOU HEAR ME
?” I
SQUEEZE HIS HAND
. They've run some tests and he's stabilized, resting quietly, but we still don't know what's wrong with him. I can't stand seeing these white sheets on him. Can't stand the wallpaper in here or the artificial lights casting a fake white glare.

Seeing him like this, laid back and unmoving, Vesey looks old. I've never thought of Vesey as old. I've always thought of that tight, plump skin, those muscles, that teenaged boy. He'll look better when we can get him up and out of this place. He doesn't belong here. He doesn't belong in some sterile institution. He belongs outdoors with the fresh air and birds and nature. He belongs on Molasses Creek. This place—this is just all wrong.

The door opens and a doctor walks in.

“Mr. Washington? Mr. Washington, are you coming around?”

I look to Vesey and he struggles to open his eyes. When he does, he's alarmed and moves to sit up but I hold him back. “It's okay, Vesey, I'm with you. Miss Ally's here. You collapsed at your house, honey. But you're fine now.” I turn to the doctor. “Have you found out anything?”

“We have. Does he have any family that you know of?”

“Why, yes, a sister and a daughter and her family here in town. Another daughter in Greensboro. His parents are deceased. His son . . . I think they've already called his daughters. I expect they'll be coming in soon.”

“Good. Well, I'll go ahead and tell you our patient here has had a myocardial infarction or what you might know as a heart attack. Quite a serious one, at that. You were lucky you found him when you did. Apparently, he was in full cardiac arrest. Mr. Washington, how are you feeling right now?”

He leans in and looks at the monitor showing Vesey's heartbeats. To me it looks regular, but what do I know?

“A heart attack,” I say.

“I'm afraid this has weakened your heart a great deal. The chances of this happening again are . . . well, they're very high.”

“Again?”

“I'm afraid so.”

I look at Vesey, who is now staring out the window. I lean down and kiss him on the cheek. “What do these folks know, anyway? Right? Welcome back, honey.”

I motion for the doctor to step out into the hallway.

With the door closed, I look at him, arms crossed on my chest, and say, words beginning to fail me, “I understand he had a heart attack. I'm understanding that. But I can't understand how. Vesey is one of the healthiest, strongest men I know. Don't let his age fool you.”

“It's not a matter of age, Ms. . . .”

“Green,” I say.

“Ms. Green, your friend is very, very ill. From his records, he's had high blood pressure for quite a while now.”

“High blood pressure?”

He flips through his chart. “The records indicate the last time he was in here was due to fainting. Looks like he has trouble staying on his regimen.”

“Wait a minute. When does it say he came in here last? Does it say who brought him here?”

“It does. It looks like it was his doctor, Dr. Reid Green. Some relation?”

I nod and fight the fog coming over me. “My father,” I say.

My father knew Vesey was ill and he never told me. No one ever told me.

“He should be resting comfortably now. He's in good hands.”

“Thank you,” I say, and the doctor walks away.

Back inside the room, I sit down on the chair beside the window. Vesey is still staring out, so I look to see what he sees. There is a flock of black birds in the crisp blue sky, flying in V-formation high above the trees. They all descend on one huge oak.

“Sorry you got to see me like this,” says Vesey, his voice low and grumbly. It's wonderful to hear that voice again though. It soothes my soul.

“Oh, it was worth it to see you wearing that cute little gown.” I smile and he does too, barely. “How bad do you feel?” I ask him.

“Bad. Like a truck ran over me. But ain't nothin' I cain't handle.”

“I think your daughters will be here soon.”

“I wish you hadn't called them.”

“Why ever not?”

“Oh, don't want 'em frettin', all worried and carryin' on.”

“You men. You're all alike. Daddy was the same kind of stubborn, wasn't he?”

“He was, he was. Good man, he was.”

There is an awkward silence created by me trying to figure out how to begin this conversation. Where's a nice car ride when you need one? “Well, listen, Vesey, the doctor told me you have high blood pressure. Was Daddy treating you for that?”

“As best he could. I'm a terrible patient, Ally. I'd rather let nature take its course.”

“Oh, Vesey.” I'm ruing every last pot roast and pork dinner I've made him over the past few months. I wish I had known.

“Ally?”

“Yeah?”

“Time. Where'd it all go? Sure has gone by fast, ain't it, and where'd it all go?”

As he looks in my face, I see it, the years cropped up on us, shrouding our faces yet gone with the wind.

“Not sure, Vesey. Just not sure.”

“You're a good friend,” he says. “You know that? A real good friend.”

I want to say the same thing back, or anything at all, but silence lingers and fills the space. I nod with watery eyes.

“I don't want to stay here, Ally. I want to go home,” he says. “Whatever my family tells you, I need you to get me back home.”

“We'll get you home soon enough. Let's get you fixed up first.”

“No,” says Vesey. His voice is steel. I get up and walk to the window. I'm not ready to let him go. If he comes home, he'll die there. I know it in my heart and it crushes me. “Promise me, Miss Ally. Promise me you'll make sure I get home, no rehab place, no more hospital. I need you to promise.”

This man has never asked me for anything, yet always given freely to me, to Daddy, and now he's asking me for this one thing. A major thing. My insides feel like the shreds of batik that Kat sneaks in and leaves behind. I'm quiet, playing with the fabric of the curtains as I watch the pine trees outside the window swaying in the wind. It looks like it's getting cooler.

“If it's what you want,” I say, but I can't face him. “I'll take you home. You know I'd do anything in the world for you. That's what friends do.”

The glass fogs up with my hot breath and I work hard to keep my shoulders from trembling. Work hard to keep my tears from falling. I have to be strong for him now.