Narration by Hilarey Johnson
Recap: On their way to Thana and the refugee camp, Anna and Charlie are alarmed when they spot the TAP’s enforcer, Nathaniel, but he doesn’t seem to be aware of them. Filled with questions, frustrations and angry incriminations, Anna and Charlie never-the-less continue to learn how to trust each other and have faith in the next step. But both their trust and their faith are tenuous. They meet Sister Celia, who has worked with the refugees in the camps for years, developing close relationships with the families. She knows Jonathan and is sure she saw him after the fire, and then, he was gone. One of the refugees believes he may be working in a nearby brick factory, and Anna, Charlie, and Celia make a plan to inflitrate the factory. Celia invites them to spend the night at the packed-with-guests Center where she lives and works…
I’ll teach you how to jump on the wind’s back, and then away we go.
Peter Pan, JM Barrie
You might think it odd, might wonder why we would stay in such a horrible place. But you do not understand—we had nowhere else. And there was another reason. They told us if we worked very hard, they would take us to America someday, and we would work for our employers there. But I knew about America, the land of the free and home of the brave. I knew when I got there, I could become an American. Then, I would be free to choose where I worked and where I lived, and I would be brave, and I would find my father.
From “Their Stories” project, Pashghar Orphans Home
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Anna tosses fitfully from her back onto her stomach for what feels like the hundredth time.
Charlie’s soft, sleepy words float up from the floor.
“That was a heavy sigh. Worried about tomorrow? Second thoughts?”
She shakes her head and feels bad about waking him. “I’m okay.”
Tea had turned into dinner and once they had a plan in place, Charlie had left the women for a shower and to “hit the sack,”—an air mattress on the floor. Anna was to sleep on a small cot in the same cramped room, which they’d been told was a converted storage closet.
She and Celia spent another hour in the courtyard and at some point, Anna spilled her entire life story to the receptive and sympathetic nun. It was a relief, sharing her story and her mixed-up feelings with another woman. They’d connected so well, it was only a sudden downpour, the pent-up clouds finally releasing their moisture that drove them inside.
She’d tiptoed past Charlie and climbed into the little cot beside his air mattress. Charlie looked dead to the world. He’d probably slept even less than she had on this trip.
“No,” she responds apologetically. “No second thoughts. Sorry I woke you.”
“I’ve been awake for a while. A lot of tossing and turning you’re doing on those squeaky springs, Barlowe.”
“Oh, it’s Barlowe now, is it?”
A pause. “You tell me.” His tone is only half-kidding.
Stifling a guilty moan, she turns over and squints at him through the dim, moonlit space. “I shouldn’t have acted like Nathaniel being here was your fault. I know it’s not. It’s just been…” She squirms in the heat and too many feelings. She’s ten minutes out of a shower, and she can already feel puddles of sweat forming, between her breasts, behind her knees.
“You don’t have to apologize.” She can hear his grin when he says, “But I appreciate it.”
He pushes himself up and sits cross-legged on the mattress so they can see each other, even in the dim light—the space is tight, but it’s free. The downpour has let up a bit, no longer pounding on the building’s metal roof. They can hear each other whisper over its gentle patter. “I get it, Barlowe,” he says. “This has been a crazy, wild ride from the minute we left Boise.”
Knowing she won’t sleep until she comes clean, she blurts, “I called my kids, and then I called Ellen Mathis.”
Charlie doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. His expression remains unreadable.
“I know you didn’t want me to call home, but I had to—”
He nods. “I know you did.”
“You do?” She sits up and life smells a lot less moldy without her face pressed into the ancient mattress. She appreciates that the storage room’s conversion to a sleeping cubby included a tiny, high window. The breeze wafting through its wooden grate makes the air slightly less stifling and musty than it would be without it.
She takes a breath in and releases it, ever so slowly. Her rapidly beating heart calms—not just because of the breathing technique, but also, in the hope Charlie may not be too angry at what she’s done.
