CHICAGO
May 1982
FRANK MOORE TURNED HIS CAR ONTO THE COUNTY ROAD AND ACCELERATED down the long stretch of two-lane highway flanked by freshly planted cornfields. His wife sat next to him in the passenger seat. The sun was behind them this Saturday morning and cast a slanted shadow of their car onto the road in front of them. It had rained for most of the month of April, but so far May was doing a splendid job of ushering spring along, bringing sunshine and flowers. For Frank and Marla Moore, the season brought hope as well.
“How did you find this family?” Marla asked.
“It’s a long story,” Frank said. “But I’ve been searching since we heard the wait list was so long. I received a phone call last week.”
“You met them without me?”
“Just to make sure it was legitimate. You’ve been through so much already with . . .” Frank’s voice trailed off. He wanted to avoid talking about the miscarriages. They always sent Marla into bouts of depression, and today was meant to be a joyous day, even if it was filled with deceit.
“I’ve heard stories of people being scammed for money when they don’t go through a formal agency,” Frank said. “I wanted to make sure this was on the up-and-up before I got you excited.”
“Is it?”
Frank paused. “Yeah, it’s legit.”
“You’re sure about this?” she asked.
Frank looked at his wife. “I’m sure.”
Frank saw Marla smile for the first time in months. An hour later, they pulled to the edge of the farmhouse. A waist-high, white painted wooden fence surrounded the property and went on for acres.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“Is this real?”
Frank nodded his head slowly. “It is.”
He turned into the driveway and coasted along the gravel until he stopped the car in the same spot he always did. Six months had passed since the first time he came to this house. He’d lost count of the number of visits he’d made since he first stumbled onto his discovery. He wished he had more time to figure it all out, but no matter how long he waited, the blueprint to their plan would never be perfect. It would be dangerous. It might even be disastrous. But perfect? Not a chance in hell.
He’d never kept a secret from Marla in the short few years that they had been married, and he’d gone into his relationship with the idea of never keeping anything from her. But life sometimes delivers unforeseen opportunities. Unexpected callings that make certain transgressions palatable in the grand scheme of it all, when life asks of you more than you ever thought you could give.
The dogs knew him now. They were playful and relaxed as they hopped next to him as he walked to the porch with his wife’s hand in his own.
The door opened and the woman smiled.
“Marla?”
Frank’s wife swallowed hard and nodded. “Margaret?”
“Oh, dear, no. No one but my grandmother ever called me Margaret. Please call me Greta.” She pushed the screen door open. “Come on in. I can’t wait for you to meet her.”