Tell Me (16 page)

The semi refrigerator trucks take over Rosemont for one day, delivering fresh flowers to the hangar.

“Now,” Burke says, “it really gets crazy.”

It wasn't crazy before?

My glue gun isn't working, and the blue carnations on the middle school jazz float keep falling off the giant musical note that is above the little stage where Ben and the band will be playing. Burke comes over with a brush and some glue. He shows me how to brush on the glue and then push a flower into it to make a pattern, one flower at a time.

“Brush and push over and over. You got it?” he asks.

“I've got it.” I've been trying to figure out a way to bring up the subject of Taylor to see how he responds. Burke is fully float-focused, and it's hard to say, “So, I need more glue and blue carnations, and, by the way, that reminds me of Taylor.”

Taylor is across the room working on the library bookworm. I can't see her, but I think Burke is looking over in her general direction, or maybe I'm making the whole thing up. Burke says more blue carnations are being delivered, which is the perfect moment for me to casually say, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“What?”

I repeat the question.

“Not right now. No.”

I look over to the corner, way over to where Taylor is working, and smile.

“What?” he says, not getting it.

“Oh nothing,” I say, really staring at the corner now, pointing, actually, so he'll get the idea.

He doesn't. Siri and Ben carry the electric keyboard up onto the float. They plug it in. Siri plays a little as the Blues Mothers, two moms who support the band, walk by dressed in black.

Ben says, “Hi, Mrs. Wolsberger.”

Jonathan Wolsberger, who plays guitar in the band, says his mother wears black in the house all day and dark sunglasses to really get into her role. The entire Wolsberger family can't wait for the parade to be over.

Siri plays some more.

I look around this hangar at all the volunteers who've come to help, at all the flowers, the colors, the different floats, at the smiles and the focus of the people, at the old people leaning on their canes, at the young kids so excited to be doing anything, at the ladders, at this community of people who meet every year to celebrate the best this town has got.

Harvey Mutt himself is on his plumbing float, gluing carnations on the waving chipmunk.

“Hey, Harvey,” an old guy says. “You should have a toilet in the middle so people can relate.”

Harvey Mutt laughs. “I got something better, Buck.”

The animal rescue float has faces of dogs and cats, and a dog lifting its leg by a big tree with birds looking down.

The Small Business Association has a sign that says,
WE'RE IN THIS TOGETHER
, and an excellent gazebo.

And Chip Hoover Chevrolet has a car on their float that's dripping with flowers. They're having a problem with their inflatable dancing man balloon—the flowers keep falling off it—but they do have a huge picture of Chip Hoover that's being filled in with carnations.

It's hard to not feel happy here.

I touch the yellow scrunchie. Except I don't know how to stay happy, and I don't think I should.

I think about the girl in the van, and every bit of happiness in me runs out.

How can the world have so many different parts to it?

I see Dad walking toward me. “Brad wants to see us.”

“What did he say?”

“Just that he wants to see us.”

That doesn't sound good . . .

Dad and I head out the door.

I look at the basket of peach muffins in the kitchen.

Mim pours coffee.

I'm trying to read Brad's face. Winnie says to him, “You look tired.”

“I'm all right.” He takes a sip of coffee. “Let me start with what we know for sure. It looks as though Mr. Deng of Star Nails was forcing women to work at his nail salon for little, possibly no, money. They were the equivalent of slaves. And three other nail salons were involved in this practice. We raided them all.”

I don't move.

“This kind of activity is more common than people understand,” Brad continues. “The women at Star Nails were working against their will. They had no freedom. They'd been brought to this country under false pretenses—promised they'd have good jobs, nice houses. Instead, they entered a nightmare. They've been beaten, threatened, their families have been threatened, and some of them are afraid to testify against the people who did this. That's what happens in these cases. It's a terrible, terrible cycle.”

I look at my nails—most of the polish is gone, but I want to rub it all off, all of it.

“Now the woman who gave you the note, Anna, she is the mother of the girl you saw. She told us her story. She and her daughter had been brought here with big promises of a good job, good schools . . .”

I'm having trouble sitting still.

“She said Mr. Deng would often separate her from her daughter to make sure the mother did what he wanted her to do.”

“What did the note say?”

“It said it all. She and her daughter were being held against their will and they needed help.”

I'm trying to take this all in. “What about the lady in
the van?”

“We're trying to understand her involvement.”

“Where's the girl?” I ask quietly.

Brad taps his fingers on his knee. “We're working on that.”

“It's not done till you find her,” I remind him.

“I know.”

The doorbell rings.

I need to move. “I'll get it.”

I open the door.

“Oh wow,” I say.

The room starts spinning.

That's the last thing I remember.

“Anna!”

That's me. I open my eyes.

“Honey, are you all right?” That's my mom asking. She's kneeling by my side.

What's she doing here?

Now I remember—when I opened the door, she was standing there.

“Hi, Mom.”

Brad and Mim stand over me. We're gathered in Mim's hall right by the
NO WHINING
sign.

“What is going on here?” Mom demands.

“Take it easy, Sarah.” That's Dad. It's never good when he tells her to take it easy.

“I resent your tone, Brian!”

I wave my hand pitifully. “How about the kid on the floor?”

“Can you sit up?” Dad asks me.

“Maybe.”

He helps me do that.

“Don't let the blood rush too fast to her head!” Mom shouts.

Or rush too slow. I shake my head to get the blood flowing.

Dad looks at me. “Lots going on here, huh, kiddo? Did things get a little too much?”

“Maybe.”

I feel like I woke up in a new land—well, not exactly new, my parents are still fighting.

“I'm okay, Mom.” She's not convinced. I look at Bean. He comes over to check.

Dad gives me water. Brad kneels down.

“What I want to tell you, Anna, is that the biggest break in this case was your finding the mother. She had one picture of her daughter and she gave that to us.” He opens his phone and shows it to me. “Is this the girl you saw?”

The girl is smiling in this picture, not scared. Her eyes just seem big and wondering, not lost and frightened. She's wearing a small necklace. Everything about her is delicate. But I can see she's strong.

“That's her,” I whisper.

“Her name,” Brad says, “is Kim Su.”

“Kim Su,” I repeat. I try to memorize her face. Brad looks square at me. “We're on this, and we wouldn't be if it wasn't for you.” He pats my shoulder. “Keep doing what you're doing.”

I laugh. “You mean faint again?”

“Maybe not that.” He smiles like a superhero.

And Brad is out the door.

No cape, but still . . .

Dad takes Mim to the hangar to encourage the workers. The parade is tomorrow and Mom is staying till Sunday to watch me. She didn't put it that way, but a kid knows these things.

Flower Madness takes over Rosemont.

Everywhere in town there's beauty and color.

I keep trying not to think about Kim Su, but she's all I can think about.

I need an off button on my brain.

Maybe she was taken in a van to Canada.

Maybe she's sick and can't get medicine.

Maybe she's so scared she can't talk.

Maybe she's given up hope.

Bean, the hope dog, comes over, but I'm not feeling
much hope anywhere.

He drops the ball and looks at me like,
Pick it up. Do something.

He nudges it forward.

“I can't right now, Bean.”

I sit down and try to draw Kim Su's face—what I saw of it on Brad's phone.

This doesn't look anything like her.

Right then, I get the idea.

It's such a gargantuan idea, I already know it can't work.

There's not enough time.

Too many people would have to be involved.

No one can do this.

But I write down everything that comes to me.

I fill four sheets of paper.

It's crazy.

I run out the door and head to the hangar to find Ben and Siri.

I run over to the middle school jazz band float. Ben is sticking yellow daisies on a half moon that hangs over the big musical note that is filled in with lentils.

“I have an idea!” I shout. “We have to talk now!”

Every kid at work stops and looks at me. Caitlin puts down her trumpet. Siri puts down her glue brush.

I add, “I need to mention that the whole thing is impossible!”

Ben thinks about this. “I'm in.”

“Me, too.” That's Caitlin.

Siri says, “Don't you think we should know what this is first?”

We head outside, sit on a picnic bench under a flowering pink tree.

I draw what I see.

“Okay, and everybody's got to do it . . . that's how this works.”

They study what I drew.

Ben takes my pencil. “What if it looked like this?” He draws. I'm a better artist, but he's got a better idea.

“That's good, Ben.”

Siri says, “But we don't have enough time.”

“I know.”

“And we don't have the money to do this.”

She's right again.

Caitlin is studying the paper like it's going to be on a test. Ben says to me, “Don't you have to get permission from the big guys?”

I'm pretty sure the answer is yes. I take out Brad's card and call him. He answers. I explain.

Brad is quiet at first. “This is a little unusual, Anna.”

No kidding.

“All right,” he says. “You'll have it in a minute.”

I hold my phone, waiting. Then the buzz. I've got it.

“Thank you, Brad.”

Now Caitlin comes over waving the paper showing The Big Idea. “We need to tell my father.”

Whoa! I don't think so.

Ben says, “I don't think your dad would really—”

“Yes he would.”

Okay, I might as well put this in a shredder.

“He would,” Caitlin insists. She grabs my arm. “Come on, Anna. We're going to tell him.”

“Uh . . .” I look at Ben, who makes a
good luck
face. “Caitlin, really, I don't think your dad even likes me.”

She folds her arms. “It's not about liking people, it's about getting the job done, doing the deal. My father taught me all about that.”

I look desperately at Ben and Siri. “Maybe we should all go?”

They shake their cowards' heads and step back.

“Come on, Anna! Daddy is a busy man!”

Coleman Crudup is sitting in his office, although it should probably be called an apartment, it's that big.

It has a long table with eight leather chairs and fat rugs on the floors and photos of Coleman Crudup himself doing outdoor adventurer things—holding up a huge fish he caught, standing by a dead deer that he shot. There's one of him on top of a mountain with his hands on his hips like he personally owns the land. There are lots of pictures of him smiling too big and shaking hands with people, and one, and this is the one I'm focusing on, of him riding a camel in the desert.

At least he didn't shoot it.

He is sitting at his desk, which is so big it could belong to a giant who keeps a woolly mammoth as a pet. A few minutes ago, Caitlin and I just burst in, and she announced, “Daddy, we totally, and I mean totally, need you to listen to something. It's huge, Daddy. Huge.”

There's this awful silence in the room as Coleman Crudup looks at me. I go back to studying the dead deer photo.

“You ever shot a deer?” His voice is big and bounces off the dark wood wall.

“No, sir. I've waved at them. That's it.”

“You gotta get out there in this world, make your presence known.”

I feel it's best to nod.

“You were a strawberry,” he says.

“No, sir, a petunia. You wanted to hire me to be a strawberry.”

“A world-class strawberry.”

I nod and don't mention the fifty dollars.

“Why didn't you want to work for me?”

Caitlin steps forward. “Daddy, we're not here to talk about that.”

Coleman Crudup leans back in his huge chair and studies me. “How's the petunia thing going?”

“Pretty well, except for the hat.”

“Always something.”

“Right, sir.”

I shouldn't be here.

Caitlin tosses her blonde hair. “Daddy, Anna has an awesome idea she wants to talk to you about.”

“Uh, no, I don't think I should be the one to—”

“It costs money, Daddy, but it's important and you can lead the way.”

That isn't part of the idea. He leans forward in his
big leather chair.

I smile.

He doesn't.

“You, Daddy, can show the world what you really care about.”

He sits up a little straighter.

“And I care about this so much, Daddy, that if we can't do it, I just don't think I can handle it. You can do anything. I know you can.” Caitlin walks over and puts her hand on her father's arm. She nods to me. I wasn't expecting this. It wasn't my idea to come and see her father.

But I say, “Well, sir, probably only someone like you could make this happen and it needs to happen fast.”

“Superfast, Daddy.”

“And,” I add, “we need to start right away.”

“Time is running out, Daddy.” Caitlin takes a huge breath. “This is what I want for my birthday.”

He looks at her. “I thought you wanted a trip to Paris.”

Nice present.

She shakes her blonde hair. “I want this.”

He stands up. “Will someone please tell me what
this is!”

So I tell him.

I take out my pages of notes and lay them out on his humongous desk.

I hold up my hand with the yellow scrunchie around my wrist. Caitlin holds hers up, too.

And I'm telling you now, I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it myself. Because the minute I explain the whole, impossible thing and show him the photograph, Coleman Crudup actually gets kind of choked up.

He looks at Caitlin and says, “God. That's brilliant.”

Not impossible.

Not too big.

Not too crazy.

Brilliant.

“Of course we'll do it.” He slaps the desk, and picks up my last piece of paper. “I suggest one change.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It needs to happen all at once. A trumpet needs to sound.” He looks at Caitlin, who beams. “And then you do it.”

“That's good, Daddy.”

“That totally works, sir.”

And the next thing he says is even crazier: “And I'm
going to pay for the whole thing!”