by Ronda Pauley
“My mother’s dead. I have to say that?”
“Have a strong back story and don’t give away any of the truth. We don’t need this hitting the papers just yet. There’s still work to do if we’re going to bust this gang. Here’s your social security number, just in case.”
Tina read the number repeatedly as they entered the Gateway’s parking lot.
“One more thing, take care of yourself. When were you born?”
Tina gave the new information without hesitation.
Miss Shoe pulled over to park and began rapid-fire questioning.
“What’s your name?”
“Christina Rosita Benson.”
“Where have you been?”
“Veracruz with my parents.”
“Alright, Tina! You can do this!” Miss Shoe gave Tina a brief hug.
“Aren’t you coming with me?”
“Afraid not. You’re on your own. Go straight home. Your father’s waiting for you. You can find your way home without me. Aside from me and your dad, trust no one. Here’s my card. Call me when you get there.”
Miss Shoe gave her a business card that said “Fred’s Boots Incorporated”. Tina looked at it and started laughing, the first time she had laughed in weeks.
“I know. It’s like a joke. After you and your dad get moved to your new location, go to this address.” She gave Tina another business card. “This place will be near your new home. They’re expecting you. They will know you’ve been through physical and psychological abuse and will help you heal. Well, this is it, Christina Rosita. You’ve got a new identity, a passport, and contact information. Take the Gateway Pedestrian Standard. The sign says a 15-minute wait. Make it work.”
Tina nodded, placed the cards in her handbag and opened the car door.
“Bye, Miss Shoe! Sorry I called you what I did. I can’t thank you enough,” Tina said. Tears filled her eyes. She gave Miss Shoe a brief hug and then took another deep cleansing breath.
“Go now!” Miss Shoe said urgently.
Tina briefly smiled as she closed the car door and then walked up to get in the pedestrian line at the border crossing.
Suddenly, shots fired. Tina and the other people in line were hustled into a small lobby. Customs officials locked the doors and motioned for the travelers to duck down. Guards drew their guns. Before someone pushed her down, Tina managed one quick look out the window and struggled to see more. Then she ducked down and closed her eyes but could not shut out what she had seen.
FIVE
Abbi couldn’t sleep. Sometime, well after midnight, she heard Lowell arrive. The Pelletiers all went downstairs to greet him. Abbi wanted to, but figured this was the Pelletier’s private family matter. Besides, it had been a year or so since she had seen Lowell and it was not like they had stayed in touch. To go downstairs might be seen as an intrusion. She waited for things to quiet down, for Louise to return to the lower bunk. It seemed to take hours.
During the wait, she heard bits of the conversation. Lowell was going on an internship soon. He sounded excited. Abbi felt happy for him. His first job might be in Washington D.C. with someone named Mrs. Hightower. She couldn’t catch all that he said, but it sounded intriguing, even adventurous, to Abbi.
Louise finally returned to the bedroom while the parents helped Lowell bring his things in from the car and take them to Lowell’s room in the basement. Later, after everyone settled down for the night, Abbi tried to relax her body, starting with her feet.
Feet, relax. Go to sleep. Ankles, relax. Go to sleep. Legs, relax. Go to sleep. It was useless.
Her whole body felt tingly, and she knew a warning would be coming from a long distance away. When this happened, every ounce of her body acted as a receptor. Abbi used to think it was normal, that every kid had these experiences. But now, she thought maybe it wasn’t so normal. Or maybe people just don’t discuss it. She stayed in bed, waiting for the vision to take shape, knowing it would.
She tossed. Sleep eluded her. Rest would not come
Louise moaned. Finally she said, “Abbi, what is it with you? I need to get some sleep!”
Abbi curled up in the fetal position, hoping that this would bring her comfort. Laying there in a tight ball, she reflected on her parents and tried to formulate a plan to reach them.
Could the Pelletiers help? Probably not. They weren’t cut out of the same cloth as her family.
Over the past two years, Abbi had seen a pattern in Louise, and the Pelletier parents, a blueprint for the predictable routine of their lives. At first she saw it as a pattern she longed for, more normal than her family’s way of doing things. It was a series of ballgames and sporting events. Louise’s parents worked during the day and always returned home at night. If there was some sporting event on TV, they were watching it. And on weekends, the Pelletiers would go to local ballgames in the area. The Pelletiers liked to observe, not participate. Safe. Predictable. Routine. Too predictable. Couch potato stuff. Mind-numbingly predictable!
Lowell had always seemed a little different, either seeking adventure or playing his trumpet, but obviously a thorn in his father’s side. Fairly often his father showed his annoyance. No matter how much Mr. Pelletier encouraged or pushed him, Lowell had no interest in games with balls. His father cruelly joked that it was because Lowell didn’t have any. No matter how hard Lowell had tried to prove otherwise, Abbi had sensed that he felt rejected.
Abbi did not want to be the recipient of Mr. Pelletier’s scorn. Outwardly, he seemed nice to her but he seemed to have a short fuse. She stayed out of his sight as much as possible. Although he attempted to be polite to her, she felt that whatever she did to secure her parents return home, she’d have to do it on her own. Somehow she would get her parents back.
Staying with the Pelletiers always reminded her of how much she missed the laughter that punctuated her family life. She missed the spontaneity. Her father liked adventure, often putting on his hiking boots before leaving home, and he would say, “Gotta go! These boots are made for walking!”
Abbi would hug him and say, “Bye, Daddy.” Then she would turn to her mother and say, “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”
On those occasions when her mother would call from work, Abbi would play along, asking how the shoe business was going.
Her mother light-heartedly would start her phone conversations with, “I’m Miss Shoe calling from Fred’s Boots Incorporated.” And she would end with, “Remember me. I’m Miss Shoe.”
Abbi would laugh and reply, “I miss you too!”
Recently her mother had said, “We have a large order to fill this time. Boots and shoes, I mean.” But she said it with hesitation, and the look on her face led Abbi to be concerned, more than ever. “And take a look at these shoes I’m wearing!”
She lifted a foot to show off a substantial-looking dress shoe.
“Let me guess, Fred’s Boots! Mom, stop pretending. You can talk to me!”
“OK,” her mother said, looking straight into her eyes. It was as if she were trying to relay some unspoken message. “These are different shoes. Unique. I have a feeling they may save my life someday.”
Her mother had looked very serious, as if threatened by something sinister. A sense of foreboding came over Abbi. Something had her mother on edge.
Minutes later, her father hugged her longer than ever, like he didn’t want to let her go—like, if he did, they might never be together again.
Then they left, her mother looking brave but somewhat distracted.
Since then, Abbi had waited for her mother’s phone call. And waited. She missed the pretense now, the laughter. She missed the sound of her mother’s voice. She missed her parents.
Her parents pretended to travel frequently, as if they went to various shoe expos around the country. In reality, they did secretive things and left Abbi with a lot of worry and minimal spending money. The longer the away time, the bigger the ache in her heart. A huge question mark formed in her mind about w
hat they really did but, like so many things, Abbi figured it must be in her best interest not to know.
Sometimes, when she asked about something they were doing, her father would say, “Information will be dispensed on an as-needed basis. You don’t need it. We don’t dispense it.” Then he would laugh, and somehow he made Abbi laugh too.
Whatever work Abbi’s parents did must be important--so important that it took them away often, sometimes detaining them unexpectedly. She knew their lives revolved around taking action to make the world a better, safer place. That was something to be proud of, but Abbi suspected her parents’ work put them at high risk for danger. Now, she worried that their lives were doomed to come to an end sooner than necessary.
As Abbi lay there trembling in bed, the vision came in full force. A sudden flash jolted Abbi’s body and let her know that her own immediate situation would soon change. Abbi was getting a hazy picture of places and strange drawings but nothing made sense. She couldn’t focus but her mind wouldn’t let go of it. Abbi’s whole body stretched out and shook. She kept replaying the same fuzzy image. Focus, she thought. Focus. Who is that?
“MOM!” She cried out. Abbi’s body jerked, as if she were fighting off monsters. That was her mother and she was involved in a horrible brawl.
As quickly as it came, the vision left, and Abbi lay there drenched in her own sweat, exhausted.
“Abbi, wake up. You’re having a nightmare,” Louise said.
“Not a nightmare. Worse,” Abbi said, feeling weak from the intensity of the vision and confused by what she had just seen.
“Go to sleep,” Louise said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Before she fell asleep, feeling clammy all over, Abbi realized that to stay here, safe and sound, and do nothing while her parents were missing went against everything her parents had taught her.
SIX
That morning, after the especially restless night, Abbi couldn’t wait to get something started toward her parents’ safe return. At the first streaming of daylight, before the Pelletier parents were up for their first cup of coffee, Abbi was at her computer, still trying to find drawings online that matched the ones her mother had. So far, that’s all she had to go on--that, and the compelling suspicion that she had to act fast.
Abbi’s cell phone rang and she tried quickly to stop the sound.
“Hello?” she whispered, hoping it was her parents talking nonsense about the shoe business, but it was too early for them to call.
Instead, the caller again identified himself as Shoe Clerk. This could not be good, Abbi thought.
Louise’s brother Lowell, apparently up early too, walked in with a pile of his mail and overheard Abbi talking on the house phone.
“I thought you would call sooner,” Abbi whispered with urgency into the phone. “Where are they? When can I see them?
No comment.
“Just tell me they’re OK.”
Abbi turned her head so that Lowell wouldn’t see her tears while she received a long litany of what to do—stay off social networks, avoid crowds, stay in the designated safe place, and always be with a trusted friend.
“Are they OK?”
“I can’t say. We know you have concerns,” Shoe Clerk said stiffly. “We…we can’t force you, but we’d like to ask, just ask, that you lay low, for your own good, for maybe as much as two months. Don’t do anything that would put you at risk. Be patient. These things take time.”
“I want my parents back!” Abbi said loudly, forgetting the sleeping household.
“Listen. You may be in grave danger. Am…am I making that clear? For right now, just stay put and talk to no one. Let me know if anyone suspicious tries to get in touch with you. Stay off the Internet and your phone as much as possible.”
“OK,” she said. “No social networking. No strangers. I get it. Can’t you tell me anything about my parents?”
“Not yet. I’ll call when I can tell you something. Consider me your guardian agent. Good-bye.”
“Really. Guardian agent. I like that! Call me. Soon. Really soon.”
“Stay safe.”
Abbi stared at the phone and then slammed it down.
“Damn it!”
“Yes?” Lowell asked.
Abbi wiped her face and swung around to see Lowell. How long had it been? He didn’t look pizza-faced or fat anymore. In fact, he looked so good that she stuttered when she tried to speak.
“H- h-hello, Lowell! Yeah, uh, this guy Shoe Clerk. He said he doesn’t know when my parents are returning. It could stretch into two months.”
“OUCH!”
With her back turned to Lowell, Abbi said a raspy “yeah” and looked at Lowell’s sprawling stack of envelopes on the table where he had tossed them, odds and ends from a semester’s worth of forgotten mail.
She glanced back at him. He turned over an envelope in his hand and looked excited. She noticed his muscles pumping up as he opened the envelope. He had definitely changed since she last saw him!
The mail reminded Abbi that over the next two months she would need to check the mail at home on Meriweather Lane, feed the chickens, and keep an eye on things. That was her routine in the past, when her parents were gone, but they always came back in a couple of days. It’s not that she didn’t want to do it. She wanted her parents back.
“So, nothing this time?” Lowell asked.
“I’m not sure,” Abbi replied. “He couldn’t tell me anything, but something is different. Very different.”
Abbi looked back at the drawings on her computer. None of the drawings she found caught her attention but she knew that somehow there was a connection. She had to figure out what the drawings meant.
Louise came down the stairs, looking very sleepy and carrying some laundry.
“Abbi, did anyone tell you your grandmother called late late late last night? She wants you to call her. The number’s there by the phone.”
“Did you tell her I’m staying with you?”
“NO! Of course not!”
“Then how’d she find me? I won’t talk to her. That woman hates me! Besides, Shoe Clerk said to talk to no one.”
“I’m someone, the someone you kept awake last night,” Louise said with a smirk. “No, of course I didn’t tell her you were staying with us, and she doesn’t hate you, Abbi. Call her.”
“Nope. Not doing it.”
Abbi closed her computer and looked on the fridge at the day’s TO-DO LIST.
“I’ll be outside with yardwork today. It looks like I get to plant flowers. Then I’m going home to gather the mail and take care of the chickies,” Abbi said in a sing-songy voice as she tried to hide her preoccupation with these drawings and the visions she kept getting.
There was a connection. In the back of her mind, she knew she had to search her mother’s office but she’d do that by herself rather than drag her friends into it. First, she needed a plan. A few minutes of gardening and working up a sweat would help her sort things out and come up with a strategy.
“Yep, yard work. That’s on my list, too!” Lowell said. “Weezy, have fun with your laundry! Come on, Abbi. Let’s grab something to eat and then get this work done.”
“Not really hungry. Maybe some juice,” Abbi said and followed him into the kitchen like an obedient puppy. Lowell must be nineteen or twenty now, Abbi thought. I can’t let him know how much I like the changes he’s made or how nice his muscles look on him or how much I’m looking forward to breakfast right now.
“Orange juice OK?” Lowell asked as he handed it to her with a smile. “I’m willing to chauffeur you to get your mail. Save you the walk. It’s gonna be a hot one today.”
“I’ll be fine, Lowell,” Abbi said. She forced a simple smile rather than a big one. That was nice of him, she thought. “Besides, I’m thinking about maybe going back home until my parents get back.” Actually, she had a feeling they wouldn’t get back without her intervention. Maybe she could confide in Lowell. “There are some thing
s I need to look into. I think my parents are in serious trouble.”
“Not a good idea to go alone, or to move back home,” Lowell said. “Better not.”
“Look, if that woman who says she’s my grandmother already thinks I’m here, maybe I’m better off at home!”
“I think it’s your grandmother,” Lowell said as he poured some cereal. “I talked to her.”
Abbi raised her eyebrows at him and took a drink of juice, not really wanting to talk about it.
“M-my grandmother’s dead,” she said with a sigh.
“Who told you that?” Lowell asked, looking straight into her eyes. “For some reason, I think someone told you wrong.”
His expression said he knew more but he wasn’t saying. He quickly changed the subject and offered to help Abbi plant the flowers.
Stop being so nice, Abbi thought.
“I’ll do the flowers and then maybe, if it’s not too inconvenient, I’ll let you drive me over. Just drop me off. There are some things I have to do,” she said.
Abbi finished her juice and cereal and followed Lowell out, again feeling like an adoring puppy. She tried to dismiss the way she felt when she looked at Lowell. Not only did he seem really considerate but he was more than pleasant to look at!
Staying here is not going to work, she told herself. Not in the same house with Lowell.
She picked up tools from the shed. The flowers were waiting for her at the back door. While the lawnmower was running, Abbi found herself thinking about the Mayan designs. Maybe it was a sixth sense, maybe some harkening back to ancient times, but something seemed to tell her they held a direct connection, but what was it?
Mindlessly, Abbi planted small pinks along the front walk of the Pelletier’s home, according to a little diagram Mrs. Pelletier had drawn for her.
Before long, Mrs. Pelletier was up, dressed and ready for work. She poked her head out the front door.
“Looks good, Abbi! Maybe you can plant them a little farther apart. When they grow, they’ll be all bunched up if they’re too close. And speaking of close, try to stay close to the house today. My husband is already at work. Something came up.”