Tell Me (8 page)

I never saw that. I get a chill as Daphne tries to draw a spider.

Spiders weave their webs where no one can see, then they catch their prey.

I close my eyes.

Daphne says, “Like this?”

“Smaller. More sinister.”

A spider and a daisy.

Daphne says they will put this out on the wires, and if we think of anything or want to change it, to give her a call. She makes copies of the sketches for us to take home.

We walk outside, get in the car. I'm trying to remember every detail of life. It's a blue Chevy with black seats, and a figure of a woman with children around her is hanging from the rearview mirror. The figure is carved from light-colored wood.

Mim tells me, “When you've done all you can do, rest in that.”

We stop by Debbie's Dollar Daze to buy more yellow scrunchies. All that Debbie has are the non-important colors.

“The shiny purple ones are nice,” she says. “We've got headbands . . .”

“Do you have any more in the back?” Taylor asks.

Debbie doesn't want to go into the back, but I blurt out, “This is life and death! We need yellow scrunchies!”

That gets her moving.

Of course, the last time I was in here, I shouted that I needed to see the sheriff. She looks at me strangely.

Taylor puts her hand on my shoulder. “Anna is just here visiting.”

Debbie gives a quick nod, runs into the back.

The number of people in town who don't like me is growing.

But Debbie comes back with three more packages, each with a white, black, and yellow scrunchie.

Winnie, Mim, and Taylor are now wearing them as wrist bracelets.

“You might want to order more,” Taylor tells her. “These might catch on.”

Mom has left four messages for me. She's talked to Mim and told her in no uncertain terms that she wants me home.

“Anna,” Mim says, “try to give your mind a rest if you can. That will help all kinds of things. You can talk to your mother in the morning.”

It would be nice if my dad would call. We haven't talked for over a week.

I think of a poem by Robert Frost that Dad had in his classroom. . . . Here's the part I remember:

 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

 

Dad didn't just teach math, he taught life.

I write this in my new horse notebook:

 

To the girl with the baby animal eyes:

Try to look out the window of the van as much as you can, and when you have to go to the bathroom, make sure lots of people see you.

If you get a chance to run away, do it.

You're not invisible anymore, at least part of you isn't.

The police are looking for you, and I'm hoping to remember more so I can help.

I won't forget, I promise.

I won't let it go.

Your friend forever,

Anna McConnell

 

Okay, now I can sleep.

But just a little.

I walk to the barn. Taylor told me to meet her early.

I'm glad to have something to do, something else to think about.

I touch the yellow scrunchie on my right wrist and wonder how that girl is doing.

I come close to the barn—it's seven in the morning and the light seems to be telling me, slow down, don't worry.

I remember walking into the stable when I had my first riding lesson. I was so excited.

Okay, this is my do-over. Although I'm not mentioning it to my mother.

Taylor is drinking something from a cup with the words
I'M A MIRACLE
.

I don't feel like a miracle. I never once thought of myself that way.

I get out my phone and send this to Lorenzo and Becca:
I'm a miracle
.

Taylor doesn't see me yet, but Zoe looks out. And I remember getting thrown like it was yesterday, but I can't focus there.

“Hi, girl,” I say.

Taylor smiles. “You look ready.”

I nod.

“I just want you to know that the first time I worked with Zoe, she stepped on me. That was the beginning of our relationship.”

I back up.

Taylor motions me forward.

“I got thrown once,” I mention.

“How old were you when it happened?”

“I was ten. I'm twelve now.” I wish I could say I was a more significant age, like fourteen.

She nods. “I was twelve once. Now I'm sixteen.”

“So how was it for you—being twelve?”

“Not so good. That's when my mom died.”

Nice one, Anna. Open your fat yap and ruin everything. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be—”

“It's okay.”

No it's not. “I'm sorry you lost your mom.”

“It was bad. Everything hurt.” She rubs Zoe. “I didn't even want to be thirteen, not without Mom.”

Zoe shakes her head. Taylor smiles at me. “I thought my life was over, but all of it got me here. This is a good place to be. Here's the synopsis: my father started dating all these women—he wanted a new wife and he found one.”

“Do you like her?”

“No.”

I need to stop asking questions.

“I lived with them for two years, nine months, and seventeen days.”

Zoe neighs in her stall. “We'll get to you in a minute,” she tells the horse. Taylor pushes her straw cowboy hat back. “I asked my dad to send me to boarding school—he said it was too expensive. I got to the right place eventually.”

I mention my dad's anger. “That's part of why I'm here,” I tell her.

“So we're both tough.” Taylor opens the door to Zoe's stall. “Zoe got here three weeks after I did. I think we saved each other. Right, Zoe?”

Zoe gives Taylor a push with her nose. Taylor laughs. She hands me the reins. “Do you really want to know
her?”

“Yes.”

“Stretch out your hand, then.”

I stretch out my right hand with the yellow scrunchie.

I look at Zoe from the side, I can tell she's waiting. “So, Zoe, this is my hand, my right hand, and I do want to mention that I'm right-handed, so if you were thinking about, say, biting it or eating some of my fingers, that would be bad.”

Zoe sniffs my hand.

I look at this white horse with gray and black spots. “I really like you,” I say.

Taylor makes a clicking sound. Zoe turns her head. “Get on, Anna.”

Uh, this is kind of quick. I like the concept of riding a horse, not—

Zoe shakes her head.

“Maybe she doesn't want me to—”

“Put your foot in the stirrup.”

Taylor gives me a lift up. It doesn't take much, and here I am, up on this horse. Up on top of the world. “We're not going fast, right?”

“Not yet.” Taylor takes the reins and walks Zoe back
and forth. I like being high, but I tense a little; Zoe shakes her head fast and neighs.

“She can tell you're nervous just now.”

“She can?”

Taylor pats her. “It's okay, girl. It's fine.”

Zoe backs up and turns around and heads out of the barn. “Uh, this horse is moving. . . .”

Taylor laughs. “Enjoy it!”

I do, sort of, but Zoe keeps going toward the riding ring.

“Pull the reins and say, ‘Whoa, girl.'”

I do this, but my voice doesn't sound like I mean it. Zoe seems to be waiting for a strong voice here, because now she's just walking off on her own with me on her back.

“How are you feeling?” Taylor asks.

“Like I might need rescuing. . . .” I remember getting thrown over the fence, landing hard on my hands.

“There's probably lots of things you need, Anna, but I don't think rescuing is one of them.”

“Whoa, Zoe.” I pull the reins, and instantly she stops. I pat her neck. “Good girl.”

Taylor walks over smiling, and suddenly I realize that the whole time I've been with this horse I haven't
thought about much of anything else.

Zoe walks with me around and around the ring. I look up. The clouds are moving fast across the sky.

“That's it for today.” Taylor helps me down. Zoe stretches her neck and touches my shoulder with her nose.

“That's horse for ‘I like you,'” Taylor explains.

I look at Zoe from the side, smile, and say, “I like you, too.”

Taylor climbs in the saddle and rubs Zoe's neck. “You okay, Anna?”

I nod. More than okay.

“You did really well.” Taylor makes a clicking sound, Zoe turns, and they ride out of the ring into the sunset—actually, it's morning, but you get the idea.

I look at my phone.

From Becca:
I'm a miracle, too!

From Lorenzo:
What????? You're just figuring out you're a miracle??? I've known this about you for years
.

I'm walking down the stone path past the birdhouses in Mim's garden. I stop at the bird hotel my father made. It looks like a white frame house with shutters. Birds are flying in and out. Dad is good with his hands.

He's good at so many things, but it's like he left those behind. I don't know why. I think adults can get so super- serious about their careers that they forget that fun is an important pat of life. I look at the yellow scrunchie.

I wonder if it's okay to have fun when that girl is out there scared.

I wonder why the world is so different for people.

Here I am safe in this town, but so many kids aren't in a safe place.

I walk to the patio, see Mim and Winnie in the kitchen.

“Just the girl we want to see,” Mim says.

I walk in, sit down at the bright purple table that Mim painted—it's got a huge sunflower design on it. It's impossible to sit at this table and be sad. Mim hands me a strawberry muffin just warm from the oven.

Winnie sips coffee, making those noises adults make when the caffeine starts to kick in. “Anna, did I ever tell you about my grandson Brad?”

“No.”

“Well, he's interested in what happened at the library. He's the one who made a phone call and got the police sketch artist to work with us.”

“Is he a policeman?”

“He's in a different kind of law enforcement. He's an agent for Homeland Security.”

That's going high up!

Mim sits down with her coffee. All three of us are leaning in close at this purple sunflower table.

“Do you know all that Homeland Security does, honey?”

“They look for terrorists.”

“That's some of it.”

“And they guard the borders . . . and life as we know it . . .” I think that's right.

“You'd be amazed at what they do.” Winnie sips her coffee. “I called Brad to tell him our situation, and here's the first question he asked me: Who was in control?”

“What do you mean?”

“Was the girl being controlled by someone, or did it seem she could go where she wanted?”

“The lady had her by the arm. She even went into the bathroom with her.”

“So,” Winnie says, “the answer is, someone else seemed to be in control of this girl.” She takes a big breath. “Brad says that can be a sign of kidnapping, or human trafficking—which is a form of modern-day
slavery.”

I look at the happy sunflower on this table.

It's not like I live in a cave. I know there are awful things that happen in this world.

But how can something so awful happen here?

“This is tough stuff,” Winnie adds. “But if Brad's right . . .”

She lets that hang there.

“What do we do next?” I ask.

“We wait, honey.”

“We pray,” Mim adds.

I can pray, but I'm not good at waiting.

I write this in my horse journal:

 

Dear God,

I need you to speed this up because we're pretty sure there are bad guys involved and they need to be stopped!

The other thing is, you've got to help the girl not give up. You've got to do it.

Thank you for horses, grandmothers, librarians, strawberry muffins, and Homeland Security.

Anna M