Tell Me (14 page)

Mim's got a pork roast in the oven and potatoes au gratin. Taylor is setting the table—she begged to come to this dinner.

Dad is making the salad, cutting vegetables with all his force, shaking his special vinaigrette with a touch of Dijon mustard in a jar.

I don't remember seeing him like this for ages.

Mim is looking paler than I'd like to see her. Dad's looking better.

I just can't stand it. I step outside and call my mother.

“Well, hi. What a nice surprise!”

I need to get right to it. “Dad's here.”

“Oh?”

“And he's different, Mom. He's laughing and he's really helping and he's not going, you know . . .”

“Overboard?” she says sarcastically.

“Yes, but no kidding. Something's happening. I think he saw the light!”

“Anna, I'm glad you're seeing your father in a new—”

“We're all seeing it. It's like how he used to be.”

“I hear that. I'm happy for you. I haven't seen it.”

“You need to see it.”

“Honey . . .”

The doorbell rings. Taylor shouts, “I just spilled the vinaigrette!”

“On my shoes!” Dad adds.

“I've got to go, Mom. We're having company for dinner.”

“Who's coming?”

“Homeland Security.”

“
What?
”

Mim said I'm supposed to be cool at dinner, meaning I'm not supposed to ask Brad specific questions, because he can't talk about the case. I could never work at Homeland Security—Lorenzo would make me tell all. I pass the bread to Brad and say, “So, a while ago you told Winnie that this might all be a sign of”—I gulp—“human trafficking. Could you tell me more
about that?”

Mim glares at me. I'm not talking specifics!

Brad says, “Well, it's a big issue. If you think slavery is history, you need to think again.”

We all stop eating.

“Sadly, it's in more places than people realize. One of the things we do is work with local authorities to bring the people who victimize others to justice.”

Mim passes the buttermilk rolls, Brad takes two more, and I blurt out everything about the nail salon and the Happy! guy and the nail ladies who smile like robots.

Brad leans forward. “Anna, here's what I can tell you. If more people opened their eyes like you've done, it would wake others up to what's going on.” Brad looks at all of us. “Sometimes a thing you see can seem so small. And you think, Who would be interested in that?”

“The sheriff here wasn't,” Winnie mutters.

“He is now.” Brad takes more pork from the platter. “I can tell you stories of the littlest clue that led to hundreds of people being freed and the people who held them going to jail.”

“For how long?” Taylor asks.

“They won't be getting out.”

Good.

I think of hundreds of girls with baby animal eyes being set free.

“We're looking for patterns,” Brad explains. “We track this everywhere. We know what it looks like.” He hands me his business card. “If you see anything else, tell me.”

Bean, the ever-hopeful dog, comes in with his ball.

“Not now,” Taylor tells him.

But hope knows how to wait. Bean wags his tail and sits there.

“Do you guys work with, like, the FBI?” Taylor asks.

“And the CIA, the Department of Defense, the Department of Justice, the Department of the Treasury, the National Counterterrorism Center, the National Security Staff, U.S. Customs—just to name a few.”

Winnie pats his arm. “Brad always got along with different kinds of people.”

Brad laughs. “You're looking pretty sharp these days, Grandma. You read any good books lately?”

Winnie mentions ten titles fast.

“I'll look into the one about training terrorists in . . . where was it?”

“Boise. I'll have it for you at the library. You can
consider it an interlibrary loan, but I want it back in three weeks. Don't mess with me on this, and no bullet holes in it.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Brad smiles like the superhero he is, and has thirds.

Winnie and Brad leave, and Taylor says, “I swear, Anna, I have never felt so safe in my entire life as I did at dinner with Brad.”

Taylor says “Brad” with extra meaning.

“You like him.”

She walks off. “I'm glad he's on the job.”

“He's too old for you!”

“I know. And the reality of that is beyond bleak.”

“What about Burke?”

Taylor makes a noise.

When Homeland Security is on the case, there's not much for a kid to do.

I do the dishes with Taylor.

I play cards with Dad.

I look at the composite drawings and look at them again to see if I missed anything.

I know this much.

That girl needs hope.

How do you send hope to a kid when you don't know where she is?

I get paper and write:

 

KEEP HOPING

THINGS ARE HAPPENING

 

I'm not as good an artist as Taylor, but I draw a white dove over the
HOPING
.

Taylor walks over eating the last brownie. She studies my paper, points to the bird. “What's that?”

“You know, a dove of hope.”

She eats some more. “It's the dove of peace, not hope.”

I'm defending my work. “This is a hope dove.”

She raises the last bite of brownie. “There is no designated animal for hope, Anna. Doves are always for peace.”

I write:

 

KEEP UP THE PEACE

THINGS ARE HAPPENING

Sometimes editing makes things worse.

I go back to hope, although I need an official hope animal.

Robins are hopeful . . .

Kittens . . .

Dolphins . . .

Otters . . .

Then Bean trots in with his mangy tennis ball, so hopeful that someone will play with him.

I laugh. “Bean, how would you like to be the official hope dog?”

Bean wags his tail and accepts.

“An old dog with a disgusting ball might not go mainstream, Anna.”

I take a picture of Bean with my phone. “It might.”

“I have to go. It's been an amazing evening.” Taylor sighs, puts her hand over her heart.

I giggle.

“Was that necessary, Anna?”

I'm so tired that I fall asleep on top of my bed with my clothes on.

At two a.m. there's a knock at my bedroom door.

“Anna, wake up.” It's Dad. “We've got a problem
here.” I shake sleep from my head. “We need to get your grandmother to the hospital.”

What?

I'm already dressed. I run into the hall. Dad is helping Mim put on a sweater. She's looking pale.

“This is nothing, Brian. Just a little fluttering in my heart.”

“Mother, let's let the doctor tell us that, okay?”

Mim's fussing with her purse. “I can't be messing around at a hospital right now. The parade starts in thirty-two hours.”

“You know what, Mom?” Dad takes her by the arm and walks her to the car. “This one you don't get to decide.”

I climb into the back of Dad's car. My mouth is so dry. He drives to the hospital. I don't know what to say. I feel like I've got something on my chest that's making it hard for me to breathe.

“This is all just a fuss,” Mim says.

Nothing can be wrong with her.

Nothing!

In the hospital waiting room. Every minute feels an hour long. I feel like marching up and telling the nurse at the desk just how important Mim is, in case they haven't figured it out.

How can someone like Mim who has such a big heart have a heart problem?

It doesn't make sense.

I don't care about the parade or the festival.

I'm mad at Crudup, who probably hurt Mim's heart by being the jerk that he is.

My heart's feeling tight, now it's racing a little. I put my hand over my chest and breathe in and out slow.

The doctor checks Mim's heart. He makes her cough. They do a test; they do some more. More hours pass.

Waiting.

It's seven in the morning when a doctor says, “She can go home, looks like stress. She needs to rest.”

Mim makes a that's-not-possible sound about resting.

“She'll rest,” Dad tells the doctor.

Mim isn't happy about that. “Well, somebody better call Burke and let him know, and tell him that he and Merv have full rein to manage the volunteers. I can't be there till a little later.”

The doctor and Dad look at her.

“I've had people working all night, and I'm not going to desert them now.”

Not leaving it alone runs in the family.

We bring Mim home, and she informs us, “I'm perfectly fine and I don't want all of you looking at me like a dam that's about to bust. I hate being a bother.” She heads to her room.

“You're not a bother,” I say after her.

Dad yawns. “I'd better get over to the hangar and make sure Crudup doesn't take over the world.”

I might just sit here.

I sure don't feel like decorating a float.

Right now, I don't care about this parade or this festival and Crudup and his cruddy grocery stores. I just want to sit here and make sure Mim's all right.

I walk by her room. The door is open a little. I stand outside watching her.

“What is it?” she snaps.

“I just wondered if you were all right.”

“I've been in here for five minutes, Anna.”

A lot can happen in five minutes!

It's clear that watching her will drive her crazy.

I wonder if Brad and his squadron of Homeland Security people are awake.

I wonder if there's anything I can do anywhere in this town that will help somebody.

Bean comes up with his ball and drops it.

“Not now, Bean.”

He pushes it toward me with his nose and looks so hopeful.

I take the ball outside and throw it, and this old dog leaps for a perfect catch again and again.

“This is boring, Bean.”

He wags his tail. He was made to do this.

What was I made to do anyway?

Brad told me to keep watching.

There's nothing to look at here.

But wait a minute!

This idea I just got, it involves making my father very angry.

Dad's in the shower right now.

I write him a note, stick it near the coffeepot. He'll always see it there.

 

I'll meet you at the hangar, Dad. I need to do something first.

Love,

Anna

I'm walking down Rose Street. The stores are waking up. Crudup's Country Market is open for business, with a big picture of Caitlin's dad giving a thumbs-up standing next to a cow statue covered with flowers. Good smells float out of Mabel's Cafe, which has flowering trees on either side of the door. I so want to go in, but this isn't the time to think about caramel rolls, even though they're warm and gooey and right here.

I've got a job to do.

I'm across from the Star Nails salon, which has flowered star wreaths hanging in every window, making it hard to see inside. It's eight seventeen in the morning, too early for them to be open. The pink curtains in the upstairs windows are closed.

I don't know what I'm looking for, but I'm looking.

A ping on my phone. It's Dad.

Where are you?

I answer back:
Rose Street. I'm fine
.

An irritated ping.

Are you anywhere near the nail salon?

Kind of.

Come home, Anna. Right now.

In a minute.

I swear, I'm never like this!

Maybe Homeland Security can swoop down and get the job done so I can obey my father.

Did you hear me, Anna?

Yes sir. I'm safe. I need to watch.

I stay right where I am, watching. If anything happens, I can run into Mabel's.

And now my phone rings.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Anna, I am in the car coming to pick you up, and I promise, I am not happy.”

“I know, Dad.”

I'm watching the salon. No signs of anything inside or out.

Where are you exactly???????

By Mabel's.

I wonder how Homeland Security people watch things and just keep watching them and don't get colossally bored. Buses go by; one is blue, the other red with three white stripes and a lion on the side. A lady with no chin walks by.

What am I looking for?

I don't know.

I hope I'll know it when I see it.

A truck from Walmart goes by. Behind it is a truck from Crudup's with a picture of Caitlin in a cowgirl hat smiling at her dad like he's totally trustworthy.

Cars pull into Mabel's lot—a convertible with a beige interior, an electric green bug, a van covered, and I mean covered, in flowers. That's pretty great for the festival.

I'm watching the nail salon.

Watching the cars pull out of Mabel's.

The flowered van pulls out. I'd love to ride in that. It makes a right. I watch it go. I bolt up. On the back is . . .

 

PROUD TO BE AN AMERI

 

It pulls in behind Star Nails, and the van drives through the tall gate.

Okay, now I need help!