Trapped in the Mayan Tattoo (8 page)

            “You’re travelling
light. You OK?”

            By now, Tina had
learned to trust no one, especially no man. She gave him the same story she’d
rehearsed, the story Miss Shoe made up. Tina asked about the next taxi station
and how soon they would arrive.

            She called her father’s
number.

            Please, God, let him
pick up! She prayed.

            The phone call went to
voice mail. Tina had so much she wanted to say, but she didn’t dare with the
driver overhearing every word. She simply said, “Hello!” Then she left
instructions about when and where to pick her up and to tell the FBI that Miss
Shoe had been kidnapped.

            “Please be there,” she whispered.

            “Thanks.” Tina handed
the phone back to the driver. Then she prayed some more. The taxi driver gave
her a strange look. Tina didn’t care. She leaned back in the seat to rest. She
felt exhausted. As soon as her eyes closed and her body relaxed, tears started
falling. Trying as hard as she could, she couldn’t stop them.

            “Hey, miss! Here,” he
said and handed her a box of tissues. “Go ahead. No charge.”

            Tina took three.

            “I’m sorry,” she said.
“I just hate school.”

            “Sure you do. I know that
feeling,” the taxi driver said, as if he was just going along with her story. “Me,
too, but I never cried about it. You’ll be O.K.”

            Tina smiled. Leaning
back again on the plush seat of the taxi, she allowed herself to rest and
eventually fall asleep.

            When the taxi came to a
stop, Tina woke up. She saw her father and a small crowd of people at a taxi
station in a small Texas town, a place that, before today, Tina had never known
existed. Tina quickly reached into her bag and asked what she owed the driver.

            She thanked him again and
gave him a generous tip. He smiled at her and told her to stay safe. Before she
finished paying, her father and a group of other people met her at the taxi.

            Sobbing uncontrollably
now, Tina rushed out to re-unite with her father.

           
 Abbi straightened
and tried to regain her composure, ready to interrogate. She wanted, needed,
answers. More answers.

“So my dad’s a
special agent. Hmm. Let me guess—FBI? What about Mom?”

“She is too.
Undercover, mostly.”

“Does Lowell know
about Mom?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty
sure he got the same text or one like it.”

Abbi thought about
the funny look on Lowell’s face when he mentioned a kidnapped woman, before he
hopped on his bike and rode away. He knew, alright.

Abbi went to the
top of the basement stairs and opened the door. Before Lowell could stop to
take a breath, Abbi yelled and raced down the stairs. Louise walked down right
behind her.

“Lowell! You’ve
got some talking to do! NOW!!!   

“What?” Lowell
came up the stairs and looked at Louise. “What just happened?”

Abbi stepped up
into Lowell’s face and pushed the trumpet out of the way.

“You know stuff.
The only reason you’re blowing that bugle is to keep from spilling,” she said.

She pushed Lowell
who suddenly looked bewildered.

“Talk!” Abbi
pushed him again.

“There’s more
involved here than just you,” Lowell said. “If I were you, who I’m definitely not,
but if I were, and I wanted to push people around like that, I’d get some
training in self defense first, cause someone’s gonna push back.”

            “Self defense. OK,” Abbi
said. “Train me. But talk to me first!”

            “Louise, what’s going
on here?” Lowell asked.

            “She knows I got a
text. You did, too. What did yours say?”

            “What about
‘information will be dispensed on an as-needed basis’?” Lowell asked.

            Abbi pushed again, got
even closer to Lowell’s face and yelled, “‘AS NEEDED’ is NOW!”

            Again Lowell looked at
Louise and then at Abbi.

“Think about it,”
he said softly, taking a step back. “It’s not all about you. Sometimes there are
things we can’t talk about, for everyone’s well-being.”

Then he turned to
Louise and whispered, “Mrs. Hightower won’t go for this.”

“Lowell, Abbi’s
grandmother is trying to reach her. She’s been calling,” Louise said.

Lowell’s eyes
became wide, and he looked at Louise as if this was significant. He sort of
shook his head, trying not to be noticed.

Abbi ignored the
exchange.

“Come off your
High Tower, Lowell! A little while ago you were so excited. What was that all
about?” Abbi asked. “And I don’t care what Mrs. Hightower thinks any more than
she cares about what I think. I don’t even know her. How’d I get so popular all
of a sudden? You’ve kept all kinds of secrets from me! It’s time to talk to me!”

With a quick kick
and a thrust of his hand at the door as a brief demonstration of his defense skills,
Lowell brushed past Abbi and went to the stairs.

“We’ll talk later.
First let’s try some self defense. If you pass, we’ll talk.”

Lowell showed her
some moves. When Abbi mimicked Lowell’s movements, Louise looked at her with a
raised eyebrow.

            “Be careful,” Louise
said.

           
“Louise, I’ll be
careful but I need answers!”

            She had her first
30-minute session with Lowell. When she finished, she tried out some moves on
Louise.

“Don’t even start.
I understand how you feel, but Lowell’s right. Your parents do this work, and
it’s sometimes dangerous. They send you to live with us because they love you.
They want you to live in a safer world,” Louise said. “Just let them do their
job without messing things up. Relax. Let me braid your hair.”

“Girls, I need to
run to the drugstore and get a few things. You’ll be OK until I get back? No
strange visitors?” Lowell said as he went down the stairs. “Don’t go into my
room. I like things just the way they are.”

“I wouldn’t touch
your stuff,” Abbi said.

“Just don’t do anything
stupid. I’ll be back soon and we’ll talk.”

Abbi started
relaxing. She allowed Louise to braid her very curly hair as she sat on a
kitchen chair.

The rhythm of
braiding lulled Abbi into another time. Her thoughts turned to when she was
younger. Nanny Fanny used to watch over her at home, braiding her hair just
like this. It seemed like a simpler time.

Years ago, when
Nanny Fanny had come to live with Abbi and her parents, the woman had been better
than a hired nanny and much closer than the grandmother that Abbi couldn’t even
remember. Nanny Fanny was like family.

On those times
when Abbi’s parents had meetings, conventions, or other “shoe” business to do,
Nanny would take Abbi on her lap, the very softness and gentleness of her
overtaking and diminishing Abbi’s fears while braiding her hair.

The cooing voice
had put to rest all the insecurities, whether she talked, told Abbi’s favorite
stories, read books, or sang songs. Nanny Fanny--big, black, and beautiful--had
always been there for her. She would sometimes take her on trips. One time, the
two visited Washington, D.C.

Shortly after that
trip, she stopped seeing Nanny Fanny regularly. No one explained why. She was
just gone. Losing Nanny left a hole that Abbi couldn’t fill. Closeness made the
separation that much harder. For awhile she came back for holidays. Before
long, Nanny was gone. No answers, just gone. Abbi thought she must have died.
Her parents must have tried to protect Abbi from that fact, like they’d tried
to protect her from life itself.

The thought of
Nanny Fanny in her flowing robes made Abbi smile, but she quickly dismissed it.
The woman left, without a word, and without a forwarding address.

            “OK,” Louise said as
she handed Abbi a hand mirror. “Take a look at your hair!”

            Abbi smiled as she
admired the braids.

            “Thanks, Louise. I feel
better already. It takes me back to being a little girl.”

The landline rang.
Louise picked up.

“It’s your
grandmother again. She wants to see you.”

            Abbi put her head down
on the table and looked wide-eyed at Louise.

            “NO! No, no, no, no,
NO! Huh-uh!” she shouted.

            “Abbi, your parents
might not be coming back,” Louise said quietly as she handed her the phone.
“Take the call.”

            Suddenly, long-held
feelings of intense dislike welled inside her, making Abbi’s face feel hot to
the touch. She raised her head and said quietly, “My grandmother hates me.
I’m
not going to talk to her, not now, not EVER
!”

Louise hung up the
phone. Abbi went upstairs and said she would refuse any calls from her grandmother.
She climbed up into her bunk and stared out the window for just a minute. Then
she realized she gained nothing if she didn’t study the folders.

When Abbi came
downstairs, she found Louise sitting on the arm of the couch waiting for her, a
worried look in her eyes.

            “I’m sorry,” Abbi
asked, looking straight ahead. Her emotions had been all over the place lately
but taking her anger out on Louise, not good.

            “It’s OK, Abbi. Just call
your grandmother. Seriously. That’s all I can say.”

            “Maybe my parents
aren’t coming back. Everyone says, ‘Information will be given on an as-needed
basis’. Not true. I need information now! But no, I’m not going to talk to my
grandmother.”

            “You wanted answers. She
knows things you don’t know, things we don’t know,” Louise said. “She can give
you information.”

            “What? What
information? We can’t trust her,”Abbi said, although the words were hard to get
out, especially with the lump in Abbi’s throat.

            Louise moved over
toward Abbi.

            “She cares, Abbi.”

            “She doesn’t care. Not
about my dad and not about me.”

            “We’re in this thing
together, you know,” Louise said. “Just trust me.”

The two girls
hugged and did their secret fistbump, a complicated little maneuver.

            “Thanks!” Abbi said
with a laugh. “But my grandmother can’t do anything.”

“There are things
you should know, Abbi,” Louise said quietly.

            “And things you should
know! She hated my father and wouldn’t have anything to do with me. I don’t
want her in my life. Besides, I thought she was dead.”        

“None of that’s
true,” Louise said. “She gave me her number. It’s urgent.”

            Abbi got up and went
back toward the stairs, not wanting to show her tears.

            “That woman made her
decision a long time ago. You know who I need to talk to? Mr. Agent-Man!”

            “Abbi, you’re not
thinking straight! She can tell you things you really need to hear! Things I
can’t tell you. Things Mr. Agent Man probably can’t tell you.”

            “Can’t or won’t. About
Fred’s Boots?” Abbi asked with sarcasm. “That’s the person I need to call.”

            Abbi picked up the
phone and dialed.

            Shoe Clerk’s voice mail
picked up. As bad as she hated to, Abbi left a message.

            “I thought you’d be
calling by now, or do I know more than you do?” Abbi asked. “Where’s my mother?
Who has her? And someone broke into my house today. Someone is following me.
What’s that is all about?”

            Within minutes, Shoe
Clerk called back. Abbi started in again.

“Slow down, Abbi,”
Shoe Clerk said. “There are things in the works. As soon as the pieces start to
fit together, you’ll see it.”

            “Who has my mother and
where is she?”

            “Give me a little time.
Someone is trying to reach you.”

            “I know! The thugs who
broke into my house!”

            “Someone else. Don’t
worry. We’re on it,” Shoe Clerk said.

            “Really? I was just
there and didn’t see anyone. You sure you were at the right house? Meriweather
Lane?”

            “We’re not miracle
workers. These things take time. The police have been there already. And why
were you there?”

            “I’m trying to find a
miracle worker who can get my mother back. OK?”

            “Abbi, we’ll get it
done. You know I told you to talk to no one?”

            “That’s what I’ve been
doing. Talking to no one,” Abbi said. Her eyes rolled around. Still no answers.
“I went home. I didn’t talk to anyone except the chicks and the guinea hen.” So
she was being watched! “That was you watching me!”

            There was some
hesitation before Shoe Clerk spoke again.

            “Talk to the next
person who calls you.”

            “How will I know it’s
the real thing?”

            “Ask her how she knows
you and what your real name is. That will be the code. Then you’ll know.”

            “Thanks, Shoe Clerk!
Please help make something happen.”

            “That’s what we’re
doing.”

            Louise handed Abbi a
cookie when she was off the phone.

            “Answers?”

“He wants me to
talk to someone. I don’t even know who.”

Abbi turned away
from Louise and munched on the cookie.

“Thanks! This is
good. I just need to think for a little bit,” she said.

Abbi’s feet felt
heavy as she walked up the stairs and went back upstairs to the bedroom. She no
longer had an urge to dance. That desire was replaced by the compelling drive
to get some answers.