I had the number for the taxi company where Mr. Patel worked stored in the memory. The cheerful voice of the dispatcher answered on the second ring.

“This is Madeline Brown,” I said. “I am at the amphitheater on Riverwalk and I need a taxi.”

“Hi, Madeline,” the familiar voice said. “Mrs. Jenkins here.”

Mrs. Jenkins. I knew her voice, but that was all. You know how it is with those telephone voices you get to know. They belong to people you have called before for some business reason, but you’ve never met them in person.

“Hi, Mrs. Jenkins,” I said.

“So where you going today?”

“Just to the library.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Far be it from me to turn away business, Madeline, but it’d be faster for you to just walk there from where you are. All you have to do is walk through the tunnel.”

NO. I almost yelled that into the phone. NOT the tunnel. But I controlled myself. “I, uh, I was out running and hurt my foot. Just a little. So I really need a taxi. Really.”

“Not a problem,” Mrs. Jenkins chirped. “Patel, your pal, is the closest cab. He’ll be there in ten.”

It was actually seven minutes. While we were waiting, I tried twice more to call Aunt Lyssa and got her voice mail each time. I didn’t bother to call back to the desk and see if they knew where she was. I’d be there myself in almost no time. I flipped my phone closed and stowed it back in my hip pack.

Then Roger and I sat without talking, just waiting. I do a lot of talking, but there are some people I can be quiet around. Roger is one. Grama Delia is another. Her silences always say so much. At times when I am with her and we are both not talking, it is like she is teaching me by speaking mind to mind, not with words, but with emotions. I wished I could talk with Grama Delia now. She’d probably know just the right thing to tell me. But I knew that she wasn’t home. She wasn’t even in Rhode Island. And I had no idea what city in New Mexico she was in for the Native American Elders’ Conference this week.

I closed my eyes, picturing Grama Delia’s confident, compassionate face. She has seen so much in her life, and every line in her face is a sign of knowledge she has earned. She says that we Indians can talk to each other when we are far away. We just need to use our minds and really focus. Telephone and e-mail and all the modern ways of communicating have made it harder for the old telepathy to work, but it is still possible. Reach for that person in your mind the right way, and then you hear a voice calling your name.

“Maddy.”