Dirty Thief

It’s so much easier to find Americans—especially when I know their names, schools, and home states. I plug into the State of Florida’s foster care system, and in fifteen minutes I’ve found all three.

Ramona is still in Florida. Emily has moved to Maryland, and Grace is in London. For a second, I stare into space imagining Grace in London. She’s so close. I could actually give her the money myself. Just as fast, I shake that thought away.

“As if I’m a regular person,” I say under my breath. “I’m the queen regent of Monagasco. Nothing I do is private anymore.”

I put the girls’ current addresses in the back of the folder and follow the steps Freddie showed me for tracking down two more refugee children. I’ll take their information with me to the shelter tomorrow, and the team there will help me make the calls. As happy as I am to get that ball rolling, my stomach is tight with anticipation. I can finally put the past to rest. I can finally help those other girls’ whose lives were damaged.

* * *

Family… home… safety… All these things are on my mind as my car winds into the foothills for my visit to the former preschool turned orphanage where my tiny group of children has been living for less than a month. The location is right at our northeastern border, almost to Italy, which is part of the reason we chose it. So many of these children are being carried by the waves of refugees heading inland from Greece. They’re being left along the roadsides or in cafés, and the Italian orphanages are overcrowded.

Marguerite Lupiccio is the wife of the Italian prime minister and close to my age. She and I met at the Italian Grand Prix last year, and when she told me about these little ones, I asked her to send us a few before I’d even asked Rowan.

At the time, I had no idea how it would make things difficult for him. The entire situation has escalated so much since that day last year.

To his credit, Rowan didn’t hesitate when I told him what I’d done. He’d said it was a charitable idea—the right thing to do. He’d even directed me to the preschool I’m standing in front of now. It’s a three-story brick building painted white with narrow black shutters.

The sun is directly overhead, and the little ones are out on the small playground in the courtyard. It has swings, two separate slides, and a climbing dome. It’s plenty of activity for the ten children, who range in age from four years old to six.

I sit on one of the park benches surrounding the green space and discuss what’s happening with Clare LeFleur, the director of the facility.

“It’s amazing how much we can find out about them!” Clare has the cutest French accent. A former kindergarten teacher, everything she says is tinged with the sweet lilt of speaking to children.

Holding out the sheet, I show her the different names and numbers Freddie helped me to find. “I’ll search all of their names, and in the future I can email the list to you.”

“Rashida will help me make the calls,” she says, referencing the translator who helps Clare with the children. My best friend Kass, who is also Rowan’s official translator, helped us find her.

“I’m sure you’ll need her help,” I agree. “No telling who we’ll be talking to in this search.”

We look out at the little ones playing. Many of them laugh and chase each other. Suad catches my attention. Her dark hair shines in the sun and green eyes seem to glow in her dark complexion, but she’s not smiling or laughing. She sits at the top of the climbing dome watching the two of us.

“Sometimes I wonder why people even want to bring children into this chaotic world,” Clare says quietly.

I’m surprised my usually sunny friend sounds so dark. “Bad things have happened… I guess bad things have always happened,” I say, wanting to lift her spirit. “I think having children shows we have hope. We teach them to love and to do what’s right, and we hope they grow past our ignorance and petty fears.”

Suad is still watching us, and I smile at her. She only turns away.

“It feels so overwhelming sometimes,” Clare says with a sigh. “When the news is always bad, it’s hard to remember the good.”

“Then we need more good news.” I wrap my arm around her narrow shoulders. “I’ll see what I can find. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the one encouraging me next time.”

She blinks up at me and smiles. “You’re very skilled at this, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“The queen regent thing. You’re very good at it.”

Leaning back in the bench, I consider her statement. “I think I’m probably not at all. I don’t know the rules, and I put my husband in awkward positions quite a bit.”

“Yes, but the

king loves you. I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”

“It’s less about whether he minds and more about how the people feel.” The last time I stole from a shop filters through my brain. “I’m not perfect. I’ve been very lucky. I guess that makes me want to help other people. My sister is the same way.”

“She’s the gambler?”

That makes me laugh. “I’m not sure how much my sister ever actually gambled.” I don’t say she cheated quite a bit. “But sometimes she would win large sums of money. Then she felt guilty and would give it all away.”