Free Over the Waters by Deborah Raney Page A

hoped to accomplish by coming here. You're probably wondering about that." He surprised himself with this attempt to voice his thoughts. Maybe he felt free to speak because she was a stranger.
    Samantha turned to him briefly before giving her attention back to the bumpy highway. "I think I understand. If I were you, I would want to see where he'd lived and worked. Where he was happy."
    "Was he? Happy?"
    She arched a brow, as though surprised that he didn't know the answer. "Oh, yes. He was happy. He was very happy." She bit her lower lip and Max could see she was struggling to control her emotions. "Your son loved what he was doing. And he was good at it. The best."
    For a moment Max felt the familiar anger rise up. In the year since Joshua's death, he'd felt as though he was in a war. Except he didn't have a clue who the enemy was. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he turned to watch the dreary scenery outside the window. Some stretches along the road looked like a war zone with dilapidated buildings and arid, grassless ground littered with debris of all kinds.
    Could he possibly discover what he was looking for in this desolate place? Why had Joshua been so... happy here?

Chapter Nine

    B etty Greene eyed Valerie's two small bags. "Surely this isn't all your luggage?"
    "My luggage didn't make it." The words came out on a half sob that took Valerie by surprise.
    "Oh, now, don't worry, dear," the older woman said, deep furrows terracing her forehead. "At your age, there isn't anything you can't live without for a few days."
    "You really think it might take a few days? "
    The woman gave an apologetic smile. "It'll be at least a couple of days before we can get back into the city."
    "I filled out a claim form. I didn't know what else to do."
    "It'll be fine, dear. We'll find whatever you need to get by. You're not missing any medicine that you must have, are you?"
    "No."
    "Well, then." As though that settled everything, Betty Greene turned to her husband. "Let's go."
    Ignoring the horde of begging children who still flocked around them, the spry couple led Valerie to their ancient, rusty Volkswagen van. Phil Greene tossed her carry-on bags into the back and opened the doors. His wife climbed into the passenger side and Valerie took the back seat.
    Pastor Phil navigated the narrow streets of Port-au-Prince honking and dodging automobiles that didn't seem to care which side of the street they used. They drove with all the windows open against the sweltering heat.
    Brightly painted tap-taps, Haiti's version of the taxicab, cruised by, their sides serving as canvases for vivid, artsy paintings and scrawling Creole calligraphy. The drivers tooted their horns capriciously, and looked as if they were having a contest to see which of them could cram the most people--not to mention chickens, pigs and goats--aboard. Many of the tap-taps carried an overflow of passengers perched precariously on their rooftops.
    Valerie peered out the van's window at the primitive panorama, feeling as though she had gone back in time. An unexpected sense of adventure welled up inside her.
    As the Volkswagen slowed to a crawl in the bumper-to-bumper traffic, Betty Greene turned to lean over her seat, providing a colorful, rambling travelogue. Valerie took in the bustling, ever-changing kaleidoscope of scenery with her mouth agape.
    In this part of the city the streets were lined with simple buildings that appeared to be cobbled together with cement blocks, sheets of tin and whatever other materials were at hand. Many of the primitive shops had open doorways, and every available space seemed occupied by a business of some sort. Several proprietors' kiosks were no more than blankets spread on the sidewalk, on which they displayed their wares--plucked chickens, fish, beads, hats and sandals and heavy bunches of bananas displayed on cane poles.
    At one street corner, two young boys hawked bottles of soda, the clickety-clack of a bottle opener against glass