Trapped in the Mayan Tattoo (10 page)

             Abbi tried to ask more,
but Shoe Clerk was already gone. Who was Shoe Clerk really? His voice sounded
somewhat familiar but muffled, like it went through a sort of distortion
chamber. And the woman.

            “Who is Mrs.
Hightower?” Abbi asked after she turned off the phone.

            “I couldn’t say. Lowell
calls her HT. He knows her pretty well,” Louise said.

Abbi began to
suspect that the Pelletiers, each one of them, knew a whole lot more than they
were willing to tell.

“I am not going to
enter that dance contest, but go ahead and work on that look for me. I think I
could use the disguise!”

So much had been
happening lately. Louise was trying unsuccessfully to call her father and let
him know about the break-in at Abbi’s house.

Abbi chose a big
comfortable overstuffed chair and sat down, letting memories wash over her. The
last time Abbi talked to her mother played repeatedly in her mind and filled
her with regret. Words and actions that she had tried hard to forget were no
longer blocked out of her memory. She remembered them now with shame.

            “A life, if not in service
to others, serves no one,”
her mother had said the day she and Abbi’s
father left on their last ‘business trip’. Her mother had looked so noble and
mysterious when she said it--hair pinned back in a French roll, dark-rimmed
glasses on her chiseled porcelain-like nose. She always wore just the right
touch of lipstick and shadow. Putting on the trenchcoat added to the total mysterious
effect.

            “Yeah? Well, that’s
bull!” Abbi had said, spitting the words at her mother.

Her mother
actually stepped back when Abbi threw the tired dialog about shoes back in her
mother’s face.

“Who are you doing
this for?” Abbi asked. “Who cares that much about shoes or boots anyway? Not
ME! Who benefits from your so-called service to others? NOT ME! Tell me, how is
selling shoes and boots such a noble service to others? Can’t we just talk
straight up? Fred’s Boots Incorporated?  For Heaven’s sake, come on! I’m not a
baby!”

Shame and
humiliation swept over her now as she remembered the look on her mother’s face.
What was her mother involved in? And why couldn’t she say?

Abbi’s mother had
left the room in tears and her father intervened. With camera in hand, he
called Abbi into his study. He spoke to Abbi quietly, metaphorically.

“See these lenses?”
he had said. “They can pull in things you want to see as well as things you
don’t want to see.  Sometimes you pull in the focus, and you catch something
and then, suddenly, you’re compelled to look deep even when you want to look
away. Pull in the focus, Abbi. Look. We can’t do it for you. You’ll see when
you’re ready.”

“I’m trying, Dad!”

“You look but you
don’t see,” he had said. 

Then he had pointed
the camera at the leaves on the tree outside the living room window and moved
aside so Abbi could see. As she zoomed the lens and adjusted the focus, she
could see a bird’s nest that she didn’t know was there. A spider’s web fresh
with dewdrops loomed just above it.

“Did you know
there was a bird’s nest there?” she asked. “And look at that web! It’s
beautiful, like pearls on a string!”

“Ah! You’ve had
one of life’s happy moments! Serendipity! But always remember, things are
rarely as they appear to be. It’s in studying patterns, analyzing, that you really
begin to see. You recognized the leaves by knowing their pattern, and you were
able to identify other things that didn’t fit that pattern. Your mind’s eye did
that for you. It can alert you to happy little surprises as well as danger.
Watch for what doesn’t fit. You never really know the heart of a person until
you pull the person into focus. Zoom and focus. But, and this is critical, before
you decide to do that, be certain you can live with the truth. Otherwise,
embrace the unfocused illusion.”

Her anger with her
mother was based on things her mother refused to discuss. Maybe Abbi hadn’t seen
the clear picture because her mother, not Abbi, held the lens. Her mother, not
Abbi, had controlled how much Abbi was permitted to see.

Now Abbi realized
that she was ready to take the risk, to seize the high-powered lens and look
closely at both her mother, the girl, and the woman who referred to herself as
her “grandmother”.

            “Louise, do you still
have that woman’s contact information?” she asked.

            “Only a phone number.”

Louise pulled Abbi
up by the shoulders and with a firm voice said, “Call now. It’s very
important.”

            “I’ll give it a try,”
Abbi said.

            She dialed the number.

            “This is Abbi,” she
said when the woman picked up. “How do you know me?”

            “Abeni?” the woman
said, pronouncing it correctly.

            Suddenly, Abbi’s head
felt like it was swirling, like inside her head was a cotton candy machine. And
she actually felt pure sweetness. The voice was familiar, taking her back to a
happier time, but it belonged to someone else. Certainly not her grandmother.

            “That’s me,” Abbi said with
cautious. “And you are?”

            “You know who I am,
Sugarlump.  Long story. Not over the phone.”

            Abbi’s surprise at
being called ‘Sugarlump’ made her gasp. Only one person had ever called her
that.

            “You still there? I
need to see you tonight.”

            “Do you know where I
am?” Abbi asked.

            “I am relying on my
car’s GPS system. I believe I’m in the correct town and already nearby. Can you
tell me a street name?”

            “Larkspur Court. Are
you bringing anyone with you?” Abbi asked.

            “I will be alone. I’m
only a few minutes away. The agent who planned to come with me has been delayed
by an unexpected event.”

            Abbi contemplated that.

            “It will be so good to
see you again, Abeni! I have some very important news to share with you about a
mission. I’ll tell you more when I get there. Bye, Sugarlump!”

            Abbi could feel the
lump forming in her throat as tears began to sting her eyes. She remembered
this person and loved her dearly. But what sort of mission?

           
“NANNY!”
Abbi
called, but heard only a click on the other end of the line.

“That had to be
her!” Abbi said as she puzzled over the conversation. She tried to sort out
whether this could be Nanny Fanny or her grandmother or BOTH in one.

            “Your grandmother?”
Louise asked.

           
“No, Nanny
Fanny,” Abbi said, still confused. “Posing as my grandmother, I think? My grandmother’s
name is Francine DuBois but I hope I never see her again.”

            Abbi put down the phone
and saw something Lowell had written on the message pad but not for her, for
him.

“Wait a minute. Look,
Louise! The number I just called was for Mrs. Hightower!”

Louise looked
skeptical.

“Are you sure,
Abbi?”

“Here’s the number
you gave me, Louise!” The number was still in Abbi’s hand. Then she pointed to
the message pad. “Explain this!”

Louise looked at
Abbi sideways. Abbi got right in her face and challenged her to lie to her once
again.

“That has to be a
mistake,” Louise said as she turned away, avoiding Abbi’s eyes. “Why would your
Nanny Fanny pretend to be HT? Anyway, I thought your Nanny died. Isn’t that why
you started coming to our house when your parents went away?”

Louise hurried to
the kitchen.

            “You know something,
Louise! Spill it!”

Abbi followed
Louise into the kitchen, but Louise just shrugged instead of answering.

“I started coming
here when she left,” Abbi said. “Maybe you can tell me what happened.”

            “I have nothing to
say,” Louise said firmly as she reached for an oven mitt.

            “I think you do!” Abbi
said, trying unsuccessfully to spin Louise around.

            “Hold on there,
Cowgirl!” Louise said. She pulled the pizza out of the oven.

            Abbi dropped the
questioning. She knew the truth would come out sometime, but she would never
forget the way Louise had kept her in the dark.

“If it’s Nanny,
I’ll be so excited!” Abbi added. “You’ll love her!”

“I’m sure,” Louise
said, still avoiding Abbi’s eyes. She offered Abbi some parmesan cheese
topping.

            “What do you know about
her besides that she practically lived with us and ran the house when my
parents were away? She was always right there. She’s not my grandmother. I
would know if she was my grandmother!” Abbi said, hesitating, sprinkling on the
cheese. “Wouldn’t I?”

            “Stranger things have
happened. You see stories in the news all the time,” Louise said.  “What kind
of psychic message are you getting with all this, Abbi?”

            “Are you making fun of
me? I have mixed feelings, like things are coming together but it’s not all
good. Still, I think a higher power pulling for us.”

            Abbi helped herself to
potato chips on the counter.

            “OK to eat, or should we
wait for our visitor?”

“It’s been a long
day, and I’m starving. I’m eating now!” Louise said. “My parents are supposed
to go to the theater tonight. A couple of their friends got tickets to join
them for them for their anniversary.”

“Nice!”

Before the potato
chips reached Abbi’s mouth, there was a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it,”
Louise said, talking through a mouth full of very hot pizza. As quickly as her
chubby legs could carry her, she went to the door and looked through the tiny
window.

            Louise stepped away
from the door and looked surprised.

“She’s black!”

            Abbi said, “YES!!! It’s
Nanny!” She rushed to the door.

            Louise cautiously
opened it just a crack.       

“Can I help you?” Louise
asked.

“I’ve come to see
Abeni,” the woman said.

Abbi passed Louise
to fling the door open wide. A wave of excitement rushed over her. The woman
who stood before her was not the despised woman that she knew as her
grandmother.

Standing proudly
in front of Abbi and wearing her flowing robes was the elderly woman Abbi had
come to know as Nanny Fanny!

Abbi’s gush of
affection that was too powerful to hold back. The woman moved into the house
with a sense of urgency. She welcomed Abbi’s embrace.

            “My, my, my, Abeni, my
little Sugarlump! It has been a long time! Is this where you’re living now?”

            Abbi’s long-held tears
streamed down her face as she took her hand and led the older black woman into
the living room.

            “I’m staying with the
Pelletiers while my parents are gone,” Abbi said. “I thought you were dead!”

            “Nonsense, child. I
just had some things to do that pulled me away from you,” the woman said with an
air of mystery.

Nervous energy had
Abbi smiling widely. She turned to Louise.     

“This is Nanny
Fanny!”

            “We can talk about my
identity another time. For now, I wonder if I might speak with Miss Abeni
alone.”

At that moment,
Abbi had a vision. Her mother in a room-- too fuzzy for details, no indication
of the specific circumstances. Just cold, loneliness and frustration.

Louise interrupted
the vision, “We can’t let Abbi be alone right now. House Rules.”

            “Are you Miss Louise
Pelletier then?” the woman asked, leveling her eyes upon her, eyes that said
she already knew.

“Yes,” said
Louise. “I’ve heard of you, too, but by another name, I believe.”

Abbi wondered at
this strange connection as she watched Louise studying the woman who was
dressed in brightly flowing layers standing before them.

            “Of course! We’ve met
before. It’s a long story, but I used to rock you to sleep at night, Miss
Louise. Changed your diaper a time or two, too! You have a mole on your left
thigh. Now, don’t you think you can trust me and allow me some alone time with
Miss Abeni?”

            Louise smiled and said,
“House Rules.”

            “I appreciate your
loyalty to your friend and your willingness to follow instructions. That will
serve us well. You’re absolutely right to stay at her side.”

            The woman, known to
Abbi as Nanny Fanny, flashed a badge toward Louise from her oversized handbag.

            “OK,” Louise said, as
she bristled stiffly and backed away.

            “Is anyone else is in
the house? Lowell? No, of course not,” the woman said, glancing around and
looking out through the window.

            “Right now it’s just
us,” Abbi said.

            The woman bent her tall
frame toward the girls.

            “Then I’ll talk quietly
and fast. No one else must know I’m here. Do you understand? No one—except the
people involved. That’s you girls, Louise’s parents, Lowell, and me. Don’t tell
anyone I’ve been here. Especially, don’t trust your friends. Promise?”

            “Wait! What about Shoe
Clerk?”

“Didn’t I say him
too? Of course, the man you know as Shoe Clerk. Yes.”

“Promise!” Abbi
and Louise both whispered, although Louise still seemed doubtful.

            “If anyone should
arrive before I leave, introduce me as a friend or even as a Jehovah’s Witness.
But leave it at that.”
            “But you’re Nanny!” Abbi said.

            The woman looked at
Abbi and sighed. “Just do this.”