Chapter One

      Lake Palestine, Texas

      Being home again felt better than she had expected. With her mother living in a new house by the lake and her father gone, Beth Lowell had feared things might seem strange. But there in the pink armchair sat her mom reading a magazine. By the door stood the familiar brass coatrack. On the table sat a bouquet of fresh roses, as always. As much as she wished her mother would wake up and do something exciting with her life, Beth couldn’t deny the pleasure in the familiar aroma of Jan Lowell’s warm cherry cobbler. The taste of her famous chicken salad. The tang of fresh, homemade lemonade.

      “Do you realize how many times your phone has tweedled, sweetie?” Jan lifted her head from the magazine. “I bet you’ve had fifteen calls since you got here this afternoon.”

      “Is that bothering you?” Beth asked as she set the phone beside her on the old beige sofa.

      “It does make conversation difficult. I haven’t seen you in almost a year, but we can hardly finish a sentence. Before this last call, you were telling me about your boss.”

      “I don’t want to talk about Joe anymore.” Beth crossed her legs and rubbed her toes, determined to avoid the subject of the man she had been dating for two months. “He’s a good guy, but he doesn’t understand my job. They bought us out because they knew they needed us, but Joe hasn’t found time to learn what we do.”

      Her mom’s eyebrows lifted. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Beth. Who’s they, and who’s us? And what do you really do?”

      “My division of the company used to be an independent consulting firm. We assisted various corporations with international transitions. Last year, Global Relocation Services acquired the firm and moved us to New York. Now we help their clients.”

      As Jan shook her head in confusion, Beth wondered why her mother suddenly looked so old. Why did she wear a faded pink chenille bathrobe and that ancient flannel nightgown? And why did she still have those awful fake-fur slippers she’d gotten for Christmas a jillion years ago?

      “What is an international transition, honey?” Jan asked. “I’m sorry, but I can’t picture what that means.”

      She adjusted herself in the chair, Beth noticed, as though her back were hurting. Could she have osteoporosis at age forty-five?

      “You’re the English teacher, Mom,” Beth reminded her. “International refers to the world. Transition means moving and changing. I help people move around the world. Industry executives. Diplomats. Oil field managers.”

      “You pack boxes for them?” Jan glanced at the stacks of cartons still lining the edge of her living room. Though she had been living at the lake for more than a month now, she had yet to sort through all her possessions. The guest room where Beth would sleep was a maze of lamps, side tables, artificial flower arrangements and boxes.

      “The moving company takes care of people’s furniture and possessions—the packing and unpacking,” Beth explained. “My division handles the rest.”

      “What else is there?”

      “Everything. Families are uprooting their lives and settling into a new community. That’s where I come in.”

      Jan flipped a page in her magazine without looking down at it. “Like helping them find a good school?”

      “That and a hundred other things. For example, I just spent three months working with the family of a plastics company executive moving from Chicago to Colombia.”

      “Colombia? South America? Where they have the drugs and cartels and kidnappings? You didn’t go down there, did you?”

      “Sure, I went. This family—Dad, Mom and three children—were moving to the city of Cali. I interviewed each person to learn what they needed in order to be happy. Then I went to work. I helped them find a great house—five bedrooms, swimming pool, wonderful yard. There’s a wall with Spanish lace on top—that’s broken glass and barbed wire. And I set them up with a reputable security company, so they’ve got armed guards and watchdogs 24/7.”

      “How horrible!”

      “No, it’s great. It’s safe, too—that’s the main thing. Their car has an armed chauffeur, and the house features a state-of-the-art alarm system. I found the kids an international school where classes are taught in English. Fully accredited—kindergarten through twelfth grade. Ninety-five percent of the students go on to university, most of them in the United States.”

      “Well, that’s impressive. But what a scary place to live. Armed guards?”

      Beth shrugged. “Families like that are prey for kidnappers. They’re wealthy, they’re American and they work for Fortune 500 companies. Unfortunately, Colombia has a number of guerrilla organizations. Ransom money helps pay for their activities. So does drug money.”

      “Beth, what kind of parents would move their children to such a place? It’s so risky, so irresponsible! And how could you go there without telling me? If I’d known, I would have been frantic!”

      “That’s why I didn’t tell you. I loved every minute of it, and I was perfectly safe. Cali is an enchanting city—flowers, a perfect climate, wonderful people.”

      “Except for the drug lords and guerrillas,” Jan said drily.

      “What country doesn’t have a criminal element?” Beth countered, trying to squelch her resentment that her mother was putting her on the defensive about her work…her life. “The family was thrilled with my work. Before the move, our transition team briefed them on what to expect—not just the change in lifestyle but the emotional impact of the move. I heard from the mother the other day. They’re enjoying their new life, the kids are excited about school and everyone is taking Spanish classes.”

      Jan leaned back and set her magazine on the table. “I don’t know how you became this person, Beth,” she said softly. “You grew up in Tyler.”

      “Everyone grows up somewhere. I’ve always wanted to travel, Mom. You make it sound like a bad thing.”

      “It’s dangerous.”

      “Not really. And the adventure is more than worth the risk. I’m going to Botswana in a couple of weeks!”

      “Africa? Oh, my.”

      “Are you really worried, Mom? Or is it that you don’t like change, so you can’t believe someone else would?”

      “Probably a little of both. Frankly, even hearing about it wears me out. I wouldn’t know where to begin doing what you do. And those poor wives. If my husband had moved me around like that…”

      She paused, her eyes drifting to the corner of the living room as if she were looking at something far away. Then she shook herself and focused on her daughter again. “I’d be