Who's Watching Maddie?: A BookClub Recommendation by Veronica Mixon

Author:Veronica Mixon [Mixon, Veronica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sapelo Publishing
Published: 2020-04-10T04:00:00+00:00

22

DEIRDRE

Thursday, June 25, 2:20 PM—Hour 50

Rodrigo, the driver of the car I’d rented for the afternoon, slowed as we entered the outskirts of Santa Catarina Palopó. I rattled off the Muans’ address to Rodrigo, and he entered the information into the SUV’s GPS. A male voice announced our destination was two miles ahead on the right. Rodrigo turned left, away from the village, and traveled a dirt road around the mountain.

“This is my favorite village on the lake,” Camilla, my interpreter for the day, said. “Every day is like a carnival in this village.”

Alexander stirred from his nap. “Where are we?”

Rodrigo came to a stop in front of a flat-roofed white structure. The Muans’ home appeared neater, cleaner, and more significant than the neighboring houses...

“I need to talk to someone for just a few minutes. Stay in the car with Rodrigo and play a video game while Camilla and I go inside.” I handed him my phone.

Three knocks at the door and no answer. I walked to the side and peeked down a pathway between the neighboring homes. An older man, likely in his eighties, sat inside the neighbor’s open door. He called out in Spanish.

His accent was heavy, and I turned to Camilla for verification. “Did he say they weren’t home?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Ask him if he knows where they are.”

Camilla walked closer and spoke to the man. After a short back-and-forth, she said, “The Muans are in town at the street fair. They sell napkins and table mats at a booth in front of the school.”

Camilla and I climbed back into the car, and Rodrigo drove the two miles into the village. Rodrigo found a parking spot a block from the school.

All I knew about my son’s birth city came from the internet and travel books. The locals descended from the Kaqchikel Maya and relied on tourism, fishing, and selling handmade souvenirs for their livelihood.

I’d seen street fairs in several Maya villages, but even in my focused state, Santa Catarina Palopó captured my breath. Every man, woman, and child wore vivid celestial blues accented with shades of magenta, gold, and deep red wine. The huipils and headdresses worn by the women were the most beautiful I’d seen in Guatemala.

Maya women sat in small groups crafting hand-sewn worry dolls and slippers. Some of the men worked booths selling reams of patterned wools hung in long lines against the walls of the local buildings. Others carved toys from wood or operated the food and drink carts.

The view was a colorful and dramatic feast for the eyes. But I scanned the kids playing on the sidewalks and in the grass between the stalls, looking for blue eyes. Looking for Maddie. Julia had said Maddie’s hair was likely dyed, but they couldn’t change the color of her eyes. No child playing soccer in the street or jumping the rope made of twisted cloth looked anything like Maddie.

We came to a large booth with two weaving looms. Both machines sat empty. My heart tripped,

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