Excerpt:

As we head into Port-au- Prince from the airport, I try to prepare Yvette. Her face turns ashen as we travel through the city. I try to see the devastation through her eyes, but her face remains calm, where I would be exploding, asking questions, making plans. No, I cannot really imagine how she feels. Yvette keeps pestering me about the orphans.

“The women are in prison, so that’s good. But the orphans are mainly little children and babies. One little girl claimed there was a big boy named Bébé, but she’s only at most four and not very reliable.”

She moans and bites her bottom lip. “He is lost then. Maybe dead.” She shakes her head.

“Their records are confused. Let’s not give up yet.”

She breathes again and sits up. “My mother?” she asks. “Any trace?”

“Where she lived is pretty much destroyed. But she may not have even been there.” I wish could offer some concrete hope.

At her insistence, we drive to the desolate hillside. We stop. She slowly steps down from the van. She says something in Creole, her eyes wide with horror. She stumbles, Pierre who is nearer, grabs her arm.

She says to us all, “How could God do such a thing? So many innocents.”

We wait a moment, then Pierre in his sensitive way, says, “We must get to the hospital. There is much work to be done, and, Yvette, ma chère, we need you.”