Like Dandelion Dust Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2006 by Karen Kingsbury

  Center Street

  Hachette Book Group USA

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our Web site at www.hachettebookgroupusa.com.

  First eBook Edition: June 2006

  ISBN: 978-0-446-50745-5

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Forever in FictionTM

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Author’s Note

  Reading Group Guide

  Dedicated to

  Donald, my prince charming. In this season of life, with you working as full-time teacher here at home for our boys, I am maybe more proud of you than ever. I am amazed at the way you blend love and laughter, tenderness and tough standards to bring out the best in our boys. Don’t for a minute think that your role in all this is somehow small. You have the greatest responsibility of all. Not only with our children, but also in praying for me as I write and speak and go about this crazy fun job God has given me. I couldn’t do it without you. Thanks for loving me, for being my best friend, and for finding “date moments” amidst even the most maniacal or mundane times.

  Kelsey, my precious daughter. You are sixteen, pushing seventeen, and sometimes I find myself barely able to exhale. The ride is so fast at this point that I try not to blink so I won’t miss a minute of it. Like the most beautiful springtime flower, I see you growing and unfolding, becoming interested in current events and formulating godly viewpoints that are yours alone. The same is true in dance, where you are simply breathtaking on stage. I believe in you, honey. Keep your eyes on Jesus and the path will be easy to follow. Don’t ever stop dancing. I love you.

  Tyler, my beautiful song. Can it be that you are thirteen and almost taller than me? Just yesterday people would call and confuse you with Kelsey. Now they confuse you with your dad—in more ways than one. You are on the bridge, dear son, making the transition between being a kid and becoming a strong, godly young man. Keep giving Jesus your very best, and always remember that you’re in a battle. In today’s world, Ty, you need His armor every day, every minute. Don’t forget . . . when you’re up there on stage, no matter how bright the lights, I’ll be watching and cheering you on. I love you.

  Sean, my wonder boy. Your sweet nature continues to be a bright light in our home. Those tender days when we first brought you home from Haiti seem like a lifetime ago. It’s been my great joy to watch you grow and develop this past year, learning more about reading and writing and, of course, animals. You’re a walking encyclopedia of animal facts, and that, too, brings a smile to my face. Your hugs are something I look forward to, Sean. Keep close to Jesus. I love you.

  Josh, my tender tough guy. You continue to excel at everything you do. I love that moment late at night when I poke my head into your room and see that—once again—your nose is buried in your Bible. You really get it, Josh—that by being strong in Christ, first and foremost, you’ll be strong at everything else. Keep winning for Him, dear son. You make me so proud. I love you.

  EJ, my chosen one. You amaze me, Emmanuel Jean! You have become a different little boy while attending your daddy’s home school. In every possible area you have improved. I see you standing straighter and taller, articulating more, making eye contact, and feeling confident and proud. I know that Jesus is leading the way, and that you are excited to find out the plans He has for you. This year will always stand out as a turning point to me. Congratulations, honey! I love you.

  Austin, my miracle child. Can my little boy be eight years old? I love that you still wake up every now and then and scurry your way down the hall to our room so you can sleep in the middle. But most of all I love your tender heart. Just last week you looked at me and said, “Mommy, you’re so pretty.” Talk about making my day! Then you were at a basketball game with us and you sat on Daddy’s knee and hooked your arms around his neck and said, “You’re my best friend, Daddy. Thanks for loving me.” Wow. It’s so wonderful to see a reflection of my own heart in you, my littlest son. I thank God for your health, precious boy. I love you.

  And to God Almighty, the Author of life, who has—for now—blessed me with these.

  Acknowledgments

  This book couldn’t have come together without the help of many people. First, a special thanks to my friends at Time Warner Book Group, who were patient with me during this sad season in my life. My only brother, David, 39, died in his sleep on October 1, 2005, during the writing of this book.

  My friends at Time Warner Book Group sent flowers and even an entire ham dinner while my family congregated at my house and somehow survived the funeral week. We spent a lot of time together, my brother and I, and in the final weeks of his life he seemed to be doing better than ever. Closer to God, closer to all of us, and excited about the future. In all ways possible, he seemed like someone on the brink of living life to the fullest.

  And he was. Just not in the way we imagined.

  I am comforted by the truth that Dave now has all he ever dreamed of—perfect health, perfect love, and forever to enjoy it. But that comfort was made complete in part because of the prayers and support and grace given me by my publishing friends at Warner.

  Also a big thank-you to my agent, Rick Christian, president of Alive Communications. I am amazed more as every day passes at your great integrity, your talent, and your commitment to getting my Life-Changing FictionTM out to all the world. You are a strong man of God, Rick. You care for my career as if you were personally responsible for the souls God touches through these books. Thank you for looking out for my personal time—the hours I have with my husband and kids most of all. I couldn’t do this without you.

  As always, this book wouldn’t be possible without the help of my husband and kids, who are so good about eating tuna sandwiches and quesadillas, and bringing me plates of baked chicken and vegetables when I need the brain power to write past midnight. Thanks for understanding the sometimes crazy life I lead, and for always being my greatest support.

  Also, thanks to my mother and assistant, Anne Kingsbury, for her great sensitivity and love for my readers. And to Katie Johnson, who runs a large part of my business life. The personal touch you both bring to my ministry is precious to me, priceless to me. . . . Thank you with all my heart.

  And thanks to my friends and family who continue to surround me with love and prayer and support—especially in this time of loss. Of course, the greatest thanks goes to God Almighty, the most wonderful Author of all—the Author of life. The gift is Yours. I pray I might have the incredible opportunity and responsibility to use it for You all the days of my life.

  Forever in FictionTM

  A spec
ial thanks to my Forever in FictionTM winners whose character names appear in this book. I created Forever in FictionTM as a live-auction item for charities. Every penny of the winning bid for Forever in FictionTM goes to the charity that holds the auction. So far, more than $100,000 has been raised for charities across the country from people winning Forever in FictionTM. If you or your group is interested in the donation of a Forever in FictionTM package, visit my Web site at www.Karen-Kingsbury.com. I donate approximately six of these packages per year.

  As much as possible, I try to give my characters identifying features that correlate with the person for whom that character is named. Still, the Forever in FictionTM characters in this novel are entirely fictional.

  And so thanks go to the two Forever in FictionTM winners whose names appear in Like Dandelion Dust. The first package was won by a group of friends at the Summit View Church auction. Anne Fraser, Jaymi Sutton, Vicky Dillon, Joan Smith, Barbara Seifert, and Michael Petty combined for the winning bid and presented Forever in FictionTM to Beth Petty for her fortieth birthday. Beth is a wonderful wife, mother, and friend. She and her husband, Michael, have four children: Cammie, 14; Blain, 10; Braden, 7; and Jonah, 5. They have a female golden retriever named George Brett and a life that is full of love, laughter, and devotion to the Lord. Beth, your friends and family love you very much. They pray that this gift will remain as living proof of their feelings for you.

  Also thanks to Kym Merrill, who won Forever in FictionTM at the Discovery Church Women’s Christmas Brunch auction. Kym chose to honor her sister, Allyson Page Bower, by having a character named after her. Allyson, 45, is mother to Tavia, 21; Travis, 15; and Taylor, 7. She is also grandmother to Harley, 4. A hard worker whose sole focus is caring for and loving her children, Allyson loves digging in the garden and sitting on the beach, and is known for baking the best banana pudding in the state. Allyson, your sister loves you very much. She prays that you will catch a glimpse of that love in the honor of finding your name Forever in FictionTM .

  Chapter One

  Once in a while Molly Campbell wondered if other people saw it. When strangers passed by her and Jack and little Joey, maybe they could actually see a golden hue, pixie dust on the tops of their heads or a light emanating from the air around them, telling all the world what the three of them inherently knew.

  That life couldn’t possibly be more perfect.

  Sometimes when Molly walked through the Palm Beach Mall, hand-in-hand with four-year-old Joey, her purse holding a couple hundred dollars cash, two debit cards and a Visa with five figures open to buy, she’d see a tired-looking, disheveled man or an aging woman with worn-out shoes—hollow-eyed and slack-jawed—and she’d wonder what had happened. How had life placed these people in their separate worlds, and how had she and Jack and Joey found their way to the right side?

  The good side.

  Molly felt that way now, sitting at the Cricket Preschool parents’ conference, listening to Joey’s teacher rave about his progress in math and spelling. She held the hand of her quick-witted, rugged husband and smiled at Joey. “That’s what we like to hear, buddy.”

  “Thanks.” Joey grinned. His first loose tooth—the one in the middle, upper left—hung at a crazy angle. He swung his feet beneath the table as his eyes wandered around the room to the dinosaur poster and the T. rex. Joey loved the T. rex.

  The teacher continued, “Your son is charming, a delight to everyone.” Mrs. Erickson was in her sixties, silver-haired with a gentle hand, a teacher who preferred to use colored marbles or M&Ms rather than a stern voice and repetition to teach the alphabet. “He’s reading at a first-grade level, and he won’t be five until fall. Amazing.” She raised her brow. “He’s computing beyond his years, as well. And he’s extremely social.”

  Then the teacher shared an anecdote.

  One day the week before, Joey came to class a few minutes early, and there sat Mark Allen, a child with learning disabilities. Mark Allen was staring at his empty lunch box, tears streaming down his face. Somehow his mother had sent him to school without any food for snack time.

  “I was in the supply closet,” the teacher explained. “I didn’t see what was happening until I returned.”

  By then, Joey had taken the seat next to Mark Allen, pulled his Batman lunchbox from his backpack and spread the contents out on the desk. As the teacher walked in, Joey was handing the boy his peanut butter crackers and banana, saying, “Don’t cry. You can have my snack.”

  “I can only tell you,” the teacher concluded, her eyes shining at the memory, “Joey is the kindest, most well-adjusted four-year-old I’ve taught in a long time.”

  Molly basked in the glow of the teacher’s praise. She let the story play over in her mind, and when the conference was over and they left the classroom, she grinned at her husband. “He gets it from me, you know.” She lifted her chin, all silliness and mock pride. “Sharing his snack with that little boy.”

  “Right.” Jack’s eyes danced. “And the social part.” He gave her a look. “He gets that from you, no doubt.”

  “Definitely.”

  “But the smarts”—he tapped his temple, his voice full of laughter—“that’s my doing.”

  “Wait a minute . . .” She gave him a shove, even if she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “I’m definitely the brains in this—”

  “Let’s go, sport!” Jack took hold of Joey’s hand and the two of them skipped ahead as they reached the parking lot. It was a beautiful South Florida May afternoon, cooler than usual, all sunshine and endless blue skies and swaying palm trees. The kind of day that made a person forget the humidity and unbearable temperatures just a few weeks away. Molly could hear Jack and Joey giggling about recess and playground rules and tetherball. As they reached their blue Acura SUV, Jack gave Joey a few light pokes in his ribs. “So, sport . . . got a girlfriend?”

  “No way.” Joey shook his head. “Us boys have a club. The Boys Are Best Club.” He put his hands on his waist. “No yucky girls.”

  “Oh . . . good. Boys Are Best.” Jack gave a few thoughtful nods. He opened the driver’s door as he pulled Joey close and gently rubbed his knuckles against Joey’s pale blond hair. “You boys are right.” He winked at Molly. “Girls are yucky.”

  Joey looked at her and his expression softened. “’Cept for Mommy.”

  “Really?” They climbed into the car. From the driver’s seat, Jack looped his arm around Molly’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “Well . . .” He grinned at her. “I guess Mommy’s not so bad. As long as she stays out of the kitchen.”

  “Hey!” Molly laughed. “It’s been a month since I burned anything.”

  Jack raised his eyebrow at Joey. “Today made up for it. Flaming cinnamon rolls—that’ll go down in the family record book.”

  “They shouldn’t put ‘broil’ and ‘bake’ so close together on the dial.”

  Jack chuckled. “We shouldn’t put you in the kitchen. Period.”

  “You might be right.” Molly didn’t mind her reputation for foul-ups at mealtime. Cooking bored her. As long as they ate healthy food, she had no interest in creating elaborate recipes. Simple meals worked just fine.

  When they were buckled in, Joey bounced a few times on the seat. “Can we get pizza, huh? Please?”

  “Great idea. That’ll keep Mom out of the kitchen. Besides”—Jack gave a pronounced tap on the steering wheel—“anyone who gets a perfect report in preschool should be allowed pizza.”

  “Pineapple pizza?”

  “Definitely pineapple pizza.”

  As they drove to Nemo’s Deli a few blocks east of the school, a comfortable silence settled over the car. In the back seat, Joey found his library book, a pictorial on the Great White Shark. He hummed Here We Go ’Round the Mulberry Bush as he turned the pages. Molly reached over and wove her fingers between Jack’s. “So . . . isn’t it amazing?” She kept her voice low, the conversation meant for just the two of them.

  Jack grinned
, keeping his eyes on the road. “Our little genius, you mean?”

  “Not that.” Sunshine streamed through the windshield, sending warmth and well-being throughout her body. She smiled. “The kindness part. I mean . . .” There was laughter in her voice. “I know he’s a prodigy in the classroom and a natural on the playground. But how great that the teacher would call him ‘kind.’”

  “The kindest boy she’s seen in a long time.”

  “And well-adjusted.” Molly sat a little straighter.

  “Very well-adjusted.”

  They were half-teasing, bragging about Joey the way they could do only when no one else was around. Then the smile faded from Jack’s face. “Didn’t you think it’d be harder than this?”

  “Harder?” Molly angled herself so she could see him better. “Preschool?”

  “No.” Jack gripped the steering wheel with his left hand, more pensive than he’d been all afternoon. He glanced at the rear-view mirror and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “Adopting. Didn’t you think it’d be harder? School trouble or social trouble? Something?”

  Molly stared out the window. They were passing Fuller Park on their right, a place they’d taken Joey since he came into their lives. Home was only a block away. She squinted against the sunlight. “Maybe. It seems like a lifetime ago.”

  “When we brought him home?” Jack kept his eyes on the road.

  “No.” She drew a slow breath through her nose. “When we first talked about adoption, I guess.” She shot a quick look at Joey in the backseat, his blond hair and blue eyes, the intent way he sat there looking at shark pictures and humming. She met Jack’s gaze again. “As soon as they put him in my arms, every fear I ever had dissolved.” A smile started in her heart. “I knew he was special.”

  Jack nodded slowly. “He is, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “As my sister would say, he’s a gift from God. Nothing less than a miracle.”

  “Your sister . . .” Jack chuckled. “She and Bill are about as dry as they come.”