listened.
At last he grinned and shook their hands. Shy smiles broke across their thin faces, lighting their eyes. Then Michael turned abruptly and walked out of the hangar.
When Molly found him, he was standing in the shade of an overhang, the tarmac around them radiating the late-afternoon heat. His expression looked haunted.
“Michael?”
He reached for her hand and pulled her close, resting his chin atop her head. “I can’t imagine it,” he said. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to be so desperate at their age that I would risk crossing the sea on a bunch of goddamned tires and pieces of lumber.”
“You told them you’d help them, didn’t you?”
“I will do what I can. Tío Pedro is always looking for willing workers at the restaurant. And I can see that they have clothing and a few of the things that boys need to feel as if they belong.”
“If what the man from Immigration said is true, there are many more like them. You can’t help them all.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps not, but I can do something for these two. I can do it in honor of Tío Miguel. It is what he would want.”
CHAPTER
NINE
“Aside from the two boys, we saw only an empty raft today,” pilot Ricardo Bienes told Michael when they went back inside the hangar where the jubilant crowd was still celebrating the rescue of the two teenagers. “I am sorry.”
“You are certain the raft was not my uncle’s?”
Bienes gestured toward the front of the room, where the makeshift contraption was on display. Molly shuddered as she took a really good look at it for the first time. Even though the boys had described their own similar raft, the sight of those inner tubes and scraps of lumber made her heart ache at the desperation involved in assembling such a craft. It looked pitifully inadequate for crossing any water wider or rougher than a pond. Obviously Michael hadn’t even glanced at it or he would never have asked the question.
“As you can see for yourself, it was crudely made,” Bienes said. “It is definitely not the sort your uncle would have had on board his boat. It would appear that whoever was aboard this flimsy vessel perished at sea, unless they were rescued earlier by a passing boat.”
“How often does that happen?” Molly asked as Michael continued to study the raft with obvious dismay.
“Often enough. Even the
Britannia
, the Queen of England’s yacht, has picked up a Cuban rafter trying to reach America. Freighters, cruise ships, fishing boats …” The pilot shrugged. “Most anyone will rescue those fleeing Cuba, if they see them. Who could leave a human being aboard a raft such as this on the open seas?”
Once assured that there could be no mistaking this particular raft for his uncle’s, Michael lost interest in it and the more general statistics. “You will look for my uncle again tomorrow?”
Bienes shook his head. “I understand your situation, but that is not possible. We are volunteers, my friend. Tomorrow we must work. We go out only three days a week, taking turns so that jobs are not jeopardized.”
“Please,” Michael implored.
The stark emotion on his face and in his voice was raw and vulnerable. It was a dramatic contrast to his usual stoic silences and unreadable expressions. Molly wanted to reach out to him, but knew he wouldn’t thank her for the gesture. He’d view it as an acknowledgment of a weakness.
“I will make a donation for your time, something to pay for fuel for other flights,” he added.
Before Bienes could respond, a second pilot, Jorge Martinez, joined them. He gave Michael’s shoulder the reassuring squeeze that Molly hadn’t dared.
“Do not worry. We will make arrangements to have someone in the air tomorrow,” he promised. At Bienes’s surprised expression, he added, “Miguel and Pilar were very good to me and my family when we arrived here. I owe this to him.”
“I could take one plane up myself,” Michael suggested. “I’m
At last he grinned and shook their hands. Shy smiles broke across their thin faces, lighting their eyes. Then Michael turned abruptly and walked out of the hangar.
When Molly found him, he was standing in the shade of an overhang, the tarmac around them radiating the late-afternoon heat. His expression looked haunted.
“Michael?”
He reached for her hand and pulled her close, resting his chin atop her head. “I can’t imagine it,” he said. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to be so desperate at their age that I would risk crossing the sea on a bunch of goddamned tires and pieces of lumber.”
“You told them you’d help them, didn’t you?”
“I will do what I can. Tío Pedro is always looking for willing workers at the restaurant. And I can see that they have clothing and a few of the things that boys need to feel as if they belong.”
“If what the man from Immigration said is true, there are many more like them. You can’t help them all.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps not, but I can do something for these two. I can do it in honor of Tío Miguel. It is what he would want.”
CHAPTER
NINE
“Aside from the two boys, we saw only an empty raft today,” pilot Ricardo Bienes told Michael when they went back inside the hangar where the jubilant crowd was still celebrating the rescue of the two teenagers. “I am sorry.”
“You are certain the raft was not my uncle’s?”
Bienes gestured toward the front of the room, where the makeshift contraption was on display. Molly shuddered as she took a really good look at it for the first time. Even though the boys had described their own similar raft, the sight of those inner tubes and scraps of lumber made her heart ache at the desperation involved in assembling such a craft. It looked pitifully inadequate for crossing any water wider or rougher than a pond. Obviously Michael hadn’t even glanced at it or he would never have asked the question.
“As you can see for yourself, it was crudely made,” Bienes said. “It is definitely not the sort your uncle would have had on board his boat. It would appear that whoever was aboard this flimsy vessel perished at sea, unless they were rescued earlier by a passing boat.”
“How often does that happen?” Molly asked as Michael continued to study the raft with obvious dismay.
“Often enough. Even the
Britannia
, the Queen of England’s yacht, has picked up a Cuban rafter trying to reach America. Freighters, cruise ships, fishing boats …” The pilot shrugged. “Most anyone will rescue those fleeing Cuba, if they see them. Who could leave a human being aboard a raft such as this on the open seas?”
Once assured that there could be no mistaking this particular raft for his uncle’s, Michael lost interest in it and the more general statistics. “You will look for my uncle again tomorrow?”
Bienes shook his head. “I understand your situation, but that is not possible. We are volunteers, my friend. Tomorrow we must work. We go out only three days a week, taking turns so that jobs are not jeopardized.”
“Please,” Michael implored.
The stark emotion on his face and in his voice was raw and vulnerable. It was a dramatic contrast to his usual stoic silences and unreadable expressions. Molly wanted to reach out to him, but knew he wouldn’t thank her for the gesture. He’d view it as an acknowledgment of a weakness.
“I will make a donation for your time, something to pay for fuel for other flights,” he added.
Before Bienes could respond, a second pilot, Jorge Martinez, joined them. He gave Michael’s shoulder the reassuring squeeze that Molly hadn’t dared.
“Do not worry. We will make arrangements to have someone in the air tomorrow,” he promised. At Bienes’s surprised expression, he added, “Miguel and Pilar were very good to me and my family when we arrived here. I owe this to him.”
“I could take one plane up myself,” Michael suggested. “I’m
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